The children watched this in silence.
All over Yuma, the schools were cleared and the staffs put to death. Every food outlet was placed under armed guard. The gun shops were quarantined. All roads were closed and the Amtrak rail beds were dynamited.
Three hours into the Battle of Yuma, the electricity went out. The Yuma reservoir was placed under occupation control and water supplies shut off. Telephone lines to the outside world were severed. All television and radio stations were seized and taken off the air.
The police station was surrounded by T-62 tanks, which opened up with their .125-millimeter smoothbore cannon until the one-story stucco building was a shattered tumble. Individual police units were hunted down and crushed. The National Guard headquarters was seized and its weapons stores confiscated.
By noon, the tanks and the bodies had convinced the majority of the population that this was no film. Those with firearms took to the streets. For two more hours, pockets of resistance, snipers and roving groups of citizens, fought back with hunting rifles and handguns.
Then, at 2:06 in the afternoon, tanks blocking the runway of Yuma International Airport rolled aside to allow a squadron of five propeller-driven planes to take off. They lined up and crossed the sky under the high cirrus clouds. Simultaneously, each plane emitted a puff of white vapor. Then another puff.
Across the sky, in fluffy dot-matrix-style letters, the skywriting planes spelled out a message: RESISTANCE WILL END OR YOUR CHILDREN WILL DIE!
All over the city, sporadic gunfire began to die down. Not all citizens threw down their weapons at first. A few-those without families-kept on fighting. Those who weren't hunted down by Japanese troops were quelled by Yuma citizens with children at risk.
By six P. M. the city was quiet. The chill of afternoon deepened into a still cold. Fires burned at scattered locations, sending smoke into the air. Tanks prowled the streets with impunity. The sun fell behind the mountains, casting long, forlorn purple shadows on the surrounding sea of sand. It was magic hour.
Yuma, Arizona, had fallen to the Nishitsu Corporation.
Chapter 16
The closer she got to the Yuma city limits, the more afraid Sheryl Rose became. Yuma was her home. She had been born in Yuma, gone to school there, and after graduation from nearby Arizona Western College, got a job at a local television station. A scary day was when she got the cue cards out of order.
Sheryl fiddled with the radio. Stations as far away as Phoenix came in clearly. But none of the hometown stations were on the air.
If Sheryl hadn't been in broadcasting, it might not have hit her as hard. But the dead air was like a knife in her stomach.
"They got the radio stations," she sobbed. "How could this happen? This is America."
"And Rome was Rome," said Chiun gravely. "It, too, fell when it became old. Where is the Greece of days gone by? The Egyptians no longer rule their part of the world. Do not think because your nation has existed without knowing the tread of an invading army, that it could never happen. It has. Now we must deal with what has taken place, not deny it."
Bill Roam spoke up for the first time since they had left Luke.
"You're acting like Yuma has fallen to the Nazis," he said. "It's only a movie company. Sure, they've gone crazy, but they can't hold an American city indefinitely. And they sure can't widen their area of operations. They barely have the manpower to hold this city. When the shock wears off, the people will grab their guns and beat them off. You watch. You'll see."
No one responded to that. They came to the roadblock. The two T-62 tanks were still in place. But now they were quiet. As the Ninja passed them, the sound of its engine caused the trapped Japanese crews to begin pounding and shouting for attention.
"What happened to them?" Bill Roam wanted to know, looking back in bewilderment.
"He did," Sheryl said, jerking a thumb at Chiun.
"You must know some right powerful medicine, chief," Roam said.
"Yes," Chiun said. "Very powerful."
"Well, I know a few tricks myself," Roam said, his eyes on the desert. "Maybe I'll get to use them before this is done. I helped three planeloads of airmen step into eternity out there. Only blood will redeem that."
Chiun's eyes were on the desert too. He said nothing. They followed Route 8 through the city. Abandoned cars burned, releasing smudgy smoke that hung in the air like the visible stench of defeat. They stopped at a roadside pay phone at Chiun's insistence, but he returned complaining that it was broken.
Every pay phone they encountered was out of order. "Face it," Roam told him. "They've cut us off from the outside world."
"Oh, my goodness," Sheryl said in a small shocked voice. "Look!"
Off the road, there was a school. A desert-camouflage armored personnel carrier stood parked in front like some absurd ice-cream truck. Uniformed soldiers stood guard over the grounds, where rows of children squatted, their hands folded behind their heads. Other soldiers dragged adult bodies back into the building.
"Jesus!" Bill Roam muttered. "This can't be happening. "
"Stop the car," said Chiun.
"Are you crazy?" Sheryl cried. "They look like they'd shoot us as soon as look at us."
"I cannot allow those children to be threatened." Sheryl grabbed Chiun's sleeve.
"Look," she pleaded. "Think this through. There are more of them than there are of us."
Chiun looked into Bill Roam's weather-beaten face. "I'm up for it," Roam said quietly.
They both looked to Sheryl.
"All right," she said reluctantly. "But I don't think I'm going to be much help. My knees are shaking so hard I can barely keep my feet on the brake."
"Just keep the engine running, little lady," Bill Roam said as the jeep pulled over to the side of the road a ways beyond the schoolgrounds. "The chief here and I will do the rest."
"Why do you call me that?" Chiun asked.
"Because you look like a chief. Ready? Let's go." The two men left the car in silence. They worked their way toward the building. Chiun seemed to drift like so much silent smoke. Bill Roam walked low, so his tall lanky frame was not so obvious. Sheryl thought he moved like a stealthy Indian brave; then she remembered that Sunny Joe Roam was an Indian.
She watched anxiously through her rear window. The Master of Sinanju took a position behind a cactus that afforded a commanding view of the school, front and rear. It was as tall as a man and shaped like a barrel. He touched one of the long needles and found it quite sharp. With one fingernail he razored the needles off, collecting them in his hand like so much straw. Chiun peered around the side of the cactus and looked for Sunny Joe Roam. He frowned. There was no sign of him. Could he have been captured already? Even for a white, that would have been inordinately clumsy. Taking care not to be seen, Chiun moved to the other side of the cactus. He spotted Sunny Joe Roam sneaking up on a Japanese guard loitering near the back of the school, out of sight of the others. The Japanese was half-turned from Sunny Joe Roam. As Chiun watched, the soldier pulled a cigarette pack from his uniform blouse pocket and shook out a cigarette. He struck a match. The wind blew it out.
Moving on cat feet, Sunny Joe quickened his approach. Chiun, knowing the reason why, felt a tingle of admiration for the Indian. He realized that the guard would have to turn out of the wind to light his cigarette. And Sunny Joe was walking into the wind.
Chiun lifted a handful of needles, preparing to throw them.
He never had to. The Japanese turned; Sunny Joe shifted to one side and froze beside a lantana shrub. The guard was looking directly at the bush as he lit the stubborn cigarette. The bush shook slightly from a desert breeze. The Japanese seemed not to notice. Chiun's parchment face relaxed in mild surprise. He had never seen a white move so stealthily. Not since Remo. He lowered the needles and watched.
The guard reached for his fly, turned to the schoolhouse wall, and Sunny Joe came out from behind the bush like a ghost, one fist up.
Chiun turned aw
ay. Roam would not need his help.
He directed his attention to the guards surrounding the hostage children. Chiun shook his arms free of his sleeves and prepared to hurl the twin handfuls into the air. Above his head, he heard the drone of planes flying in unison. The wind was strong, but steady. He could compensate for it.
The Master of Sinanju brought his hands up in an underarm throw. The needles left his splayed fingers like splinters of pure light.
The first fusillade went the furthest. The needles arced high. Dropping their points as if programmed by a computer, they began to fall. The other needles reached the apex of their flight almost at the same time.
The Master of Sinanju jumped out from behind the sheltering cactus. If he was seen now, it would not matter. Arms pumping, he ran toward the children.
Then Sunny Joe came out from behind the schoolhouse. He carried an AK-47. Chiun hoped he had restraint enough not to use it.
The needles fell in two focused groups. They struck the soldiers wherever they stood, but none fell within the circle of guards to hit the children.
Seeing needles seemingly sprouting from their arms and shoulders, the guards had a perfectly sensible reaction. They gave the Japanese equivalent of "Ouch!" and looked up. They also raised their weapons defensively.
They were still looking up when the Master of Sinanju began to explode their internal organs within their bodies. Chiun's bony fists found abdomens and backs. He struck only once at each man, but his splindly arms struck like steam-driven pistons. No soldier made a sound after he fell. And all of them fell.
Instantly Chiun was in the midst of the children. "Make haste!" he scolded. "On your feet, little ones. You must flee. Return to your families. Go!"
The children reacted slowly. Not so the Japanese in the APC. They boiled out of the back like cockroaches from a lighted oven.
Bill Roam picked them off as they came with cool single shots from his AK-47. The first two out went down without firing a shot. Others ducked behind the machine and tried to return fire from under the eight-wheeled undercarriage.
Roam dropped to his stomach and lined up. He hit a tire, corrected his aim, and erased the face of a Japanese who was sighting down the barrel of his rifle. Roam's next shot took out the front tire. The APC listed suddenly; and the driver started the engine in an effort to escape. He didn't get far. There was still one sharpshooter under the chassis. The good rear tires ran over him, splintering his rib cage with a sickeningly loud sound. The Japanese must have been packing grenades, because his body exploded when the tires ran over it.
The APC jumped four feet into the air, then fell back, blowing the remaining tires.
Bill Roam peppered it with single shots, taking his time to aim, but giving the occupants of the APC no time to organize a response.
By that time, prodded by the Master of Sinanju, the students had all taken shelter inside the school building. Chiun shut the door after the last one.
He hurried to Bill Roam's position.
"Cease your firing," he told Roam. "The children are safe. I will deal with these vermin now."
"Mind if I join the festivities?" Roam said, standing up.
"Only if you do two things for me."
"What's that?" Roam wondered.
"Leave the weapon and do not get yourself killed."
"You got 'em both," Roam said, letting his AK-47 fall onto the grass. "It was about out of bullets anyhow." They moved on the APC from two directions. Chiun took the back. Roam went for the driver. He slipped up under the driver's angle of vision and took the door handle. He yanked it open so fast the driver, huddled under the steering wheel, only realized he was in trouble when an unexpected breeze touched his face. He opened his eyes. He saw Bill Roam's fist. Then he saw nothing. In the rear, three Japanese were crouched, their rifles aimed at the open doors. Smoke came up through the damaged floor, but no shrapnel had penetrated the APC's hard steel flooring.
The Master of Sinanju appeared framed in the opening like some wrathful spirit. One clawlike hand swept out, batting aside a rifle muzzle before its owner could pull the trigger. Another was sucked from its owner's clutch so fast that skin came off his fingers.
Chiun's fingernails found both men's throats at once. They sank in and then slipped out in a flash. Blood followed them out, in bright arterial streams. He hurled the dying soldiers from the vehicle with careless yanks.
One soldier remained. He fired a burst that would have gone through the old Korean's head had it not been for the unfortunate fact that between the time the trigger was pulled and the first bullet emerged from the muzzle, the rifle inexplicably swapped ends.
Instead, the bullets destroyed the soldier's intestinal tract. He looked down at his stomach. It was a ruin of camouflage cloth, now suitable only for blending in with hospital wastes. He noticed that he was holding his rifle the wrong way. How had that happened?
Then the old Korean set his palm against the butt end of the stock and pushed. Too late, the soldier realized that his bayonet was affixed to the muzzle. His eyes rolled up into his head. He was still clutching his weapon when he collapsed to the floor.
Chiun emerged from the APC with hard visage. A hulking shadow came around the side. Chiun whirled suddenly, taken by surprise. It was Bill Roam.
"You are very silent on your feet for a white," he said with a hint of respect in his dry voice.
"I'm an injun, remember?" Roam laughed. "And I told you I knew some powerful medicine."
"Your tribe. By what name does it go?"
"You never heard of them," Roam said evasively. "So what are we going to do with the children? They sure won't fit into our little jeep. Or this thing either," he added, smacking the APC's flank with his meaty hand.
"Perhaps they are safer here," Chiun said slowly, as he saw Sheryl drive up. She honked her horn repeatedly. "Uh-oh, I don't like the sound of that," Roam said ominously.
Sheryl leaned her head out the jeep's window, calling, "Look!" She pointed at the sky.
There, five airplanes were finishing writing a message in puffs of white vapor: RESISTANCE WILL END OR YOUR CHILDREN WILL DIE!
Roam grunted deep in his throat. "Empty threat now. "
"No," Chiun replied. "For if they have this school, they have the others."
"Damn! What are we going to do?"
"I know the Japanese mind," Chiun said levelly. "They ruled my homeland for many bitter years. They will instigate reprisals for what we have done."
"We gotta get those kids to safety. How about we make a dash for the reservation? The Japs might not have bothered with my people. The kids would be as safe there as anywhere."
"No," Chiun said. "There is a better way. We will send them back to their own homes."
"I get it. It's harder to bring down one pigeon than a flock of them, right?"
"Exactly. Come."
Moving rapidly, they emptied the school. The children were sent off in groups, older ones paired with the younger. It took most of the afternoon, but by the time they were done, every child had escaped into the city.
"Some of them might not make it," Sheryl said as she watched the last of them go.
"Some of them will not," Chiun said flatly.
"Then why send them? Wasn't there a better way?"
"The only other way was the desert. None of them would have survived the desert. Come."
They got into the jeep in silence.
Sheryl put the key into the ignition. "Look. If it's as bad as we think, we won't get through the city unchallenged. Not in broad daylight. My house isn't far from here. What do you say?"
"The little gal makes sense," Roam said.
"Agreed," Chiun said. "For if we are to deal with this situation, I must devise a plan."
"Deal?" Sheryl said as she spun the car around and ran in toward the city. "I vote we just wait until the Marines or the Rangers or whatever land."
"That is the problem with you people," Chiun sniffed. He was watching the puffy
skywriting spread and thin.
"What people?" Sheryl wanted to know as she took an off ramp.
"Americans," Chiun returned. "You are such creatures of your technology. Do you remember the time those whales were trapped in an ice hole?"
"Sure thing. It was in all the papers. What about it?"
"The Eskimo wanted to begin cutting a channel to the sea to release them," Chiun went on, "but the Americans refused to allow this. They said that when their ice-crushing ships arrived, they would do the job faster."
"And they came."
"After many delays in which the animals suffered. The ships could not break the ice fast enough. Finally the Americans relented and the Eskimo were allowed to begin cutting a channel by hand."
"As I recall, between them they got the job done."
"One animal died. Had the Americans not insisted on waiting for their mighty technology, no animals would have died, and the others would not have suffered."
"Am I missing something here? What does that have to do with our situation?"
"Americans always act helpless while waiting for their technology to arrive. It does not always arrive in time, nor does it always work when it does."
"What he's saying, Sheryl," Bill Roam cut in, "is that we can't afford to wait for the Marines."
"But they're coming, aren't they? I mean, the U.S. government isn't exactly going to sit on their duffs while Yuma is terrorized."
"You don't know the military," Roam said tightly. "The first thing they're going to be looking at is their posteriors. "
"That's crazy talk, Sunny Joe," Sheryl retorted. "This is America, not some banana republic where anyone can just waltz in and take over."
"Got news for you, kid. They already have."
"Oh." Sheryl sent the jeep down Arizona Avenue and took a right onto Twenty-fourth Street. The roads were deserted. Crude signs hung from lampposts: CURFEW IN EFFECT. VIOLATORS WILL BE SHOT. "We're gonna be awful conspicuous," she muttered.
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