They looked over their shoulders. The rest of the group led by Cat-Ballou and Mr Snow was about two hundred yards behind them. Suddenly, the last three horses staggered and went down, pitching their riders out of the saddle. Cat-Ballou promptly reined in his horse, dismounted, pulled his passenger off, dumped him on the ground, then ran back to the fallen riders, firing over their heads at some Mutes who had popped into view behind them.
It all looked pretty convincing.
Steve and Cadillac rode on. The air over their heads crackled and rustled as Red River laid down covering fire. An eight-man, flak-jacketed squad of Trail-Blazers came down the ramp and waved them in. Steve and Cadillac dismounted, slapped their horses’ rumps to drive them away, then ran towards the ramp, raising their visors as they covered the last few yards.
They looked back at the fallen horsemen. Two were running at the double, carrying a limp figure between them, one was giving covering fire, and the fourth was hobbling on a damaged left leg.
The squad leader waved Steve and Cadillac up the ramp with his rifle. ‘C’mon you guys! Get your asses outta here! We’ll bring your buddies in!’
Cadillac checked his watch and exchanged glances with Steve. This was something they hadn’t planned for. Standing at the top of the ramp in full combat gear was someone Steve recognized. ‘Commander Moore!’
‘Brickman! What the heck have you been up to?! I heard you were coming in. Just couldn’t believe it!’ He hurried them over to the stairwell. ‘This way. You’re wanted in the saddle.’ Moore aimed a finger at Cadillac. ‘Is this Mister Malone?’
Steve was tempted to say ‘Yes’, but didn’t. Someone on board might know Malone. Might even know – or have viddies of – all his team. But that was a chance they had to take. They were relying on speed, and the tenseness generated by a ground action to carry them through.
Best to stick with the script… ‘No. This is Barney Kyle, one of his side-kicks!’
‘Okay. Follow me.’ Moore went up the stairs two at a time. ‘We’ll take a wheelie!’
As they neared the top floor, they saw a group of soldiers heading down. The stairwells linking the three floors of a wagon-train consisted of short flights with landings that made right angled turns around a fire-man’s pole. To avoid a traffic jam, anyone in a hurry ran up and slid down.
That was when Steve got his second surprise. Coming onto the top floor one step ahead of Cadillac, he found himself eyeball to eyeball with a uniformed Jodi Kazan as she stepped out and grabbed hold of the pole.
‘Steve?!’ – ‘Jodi?!’ The names collided in mid-air. In that same fleeting moment, Steve saw Jodi’s eyes switch onto Cadillac, saw the brief nano-second of puzzlement then the flicker of recognition as she slid downwards and was followed by the next in line.
Mouth agape, Steve leaned over the rail and watched her go. This was absolutely disastrous! With Kelso dead, Jodi was one of only four people who could recognize Cadillac – and the only other Tracker still alive in the whole of the Federation to have seen Mr Snow.!
What the fuck was SHE doing here?!!
A shout from Commander Moore broke the spell: ‘BRICKman!! Get the lead out!!’
‘YESSURR!!’ Steve leapt onto the wheelie, dragging Cadillac with him. The Mute looked stunned.
‘Did you see who that –’
‘I know!’ hissed Steve, hoping like hell that his voice was masked by the general hubbub and the whine of the wheelie. ‘And d’you know where she’s going? Outside to help bring in –’
‘Ohh, no –!!’
Moore looked over his shoulder and smiled cheerfully. ‘Guess you guys have had a pretty bad time, huhh?’
‘Yessir,’ cried Steve. And it was getting worse by the minute. His head snapped round and practically came off his shoulders as another familiar face stepped back into a side passage to let the wheelie through. It was Big D. Buck McDonnell … Trail Boss of –
Had he been transferred to Red River along with Commander Moore –?
Cadillac checked his watch again. Barely fifteen seconds to go. The wheelie sped through the top floor of the power car between a maze of pipes and the drumming exhaust vents and stopped inside the command car where the Junior Field Commander – a guy whose breast-tag gave his name as Drysdale – was waiting.
‘Brickman and Kyle!’ shouted Moore. ‘Take ’em on up! I’m going back to the ramp. We may have some trouble getting the others in in one piece!’ Moore spun the wheelie around and sped away.
Drysdale led Steve and Cadillac along the last few yards of corridor and up the steps to the saddle. He paused at the top to salute. ‘With your permission, Sir – Brickman and Kyle.’
‘Bring them aboard, Mr Drysdale …’
That voice …
Drysdale beckoned to Steve and Cadillac.
Steve stepped up onto the saddle on leaden limbs. Rising to greet him from the wagon-master’s high-backed chair was ‘Buffalo Bill’ Hartmann – commander of The Lady from Louisiana. And more than half of those manning the screens and control panels were people he had known and served with before being shot out of the sky.
They were attacking the wrong train!
He founds his heels coming together. Transferring his carbine to his left hand, he snapped off a parade-ground salute. Cadillac did the same.
Hartmann responded more casually. ‘We’ll save the welcome till later, gentlemen. What can you tell us about these Mutes?’
As he uttered that last fateful word, there was a series of muffled explosions, then two louder ones from almost directly underneath. The command car shuddered then tipped forward as the front tyres collapsed, throwing those who were standing off balance.
Steve and Cadillac had been braced for the impact. Twelve charges of PX had exploded within milliseconds of each other. Four, each reinforced by an AP mine, had blown out the front tyres on both the forward and rear command cars; the other eight had severed the life-giving umbilicals on both sides and at each end of the two power cars. Eight explosions that cut all electrical power to the command cars and the other wagons, deactivating the gun positions and plunging the entire train into darkness.
But only for a second. Emergency batteries in each car cut in, restoring the lighting and power to the external cameras, screens and radio communications equipment.
It was that second that made the difference. When Hartmann and his command staff recovered from their surprise, they found themselves confronted by two faceless camouflaged figures with closed helmets, firing from the hip as riot gas grenades rolled along the floor and exploded.
Steve dropped another down the stairway followed by a standard fragmentation grenade then, while Cadillac continued to sweep the saddle with fire, he stepped over the bodies in front of him and dropped into Hartmann’s seat. Holding his carbine ready in his left hand, he searched for and found the Emergency Fire Control Panel. Lifting the cover, he activated the alarm by means of a switch and hit the button.
The cover and switch were designed to prevent accidental use. When pressed, the button triggered shrill warbling alarms that signalled a major uncontrollable fire hazard warning. Signs lit up, ordering the crew to evacuate the train and every boarding and escape ramp was automatically lowered.
Steve had twice taken part in practice drills at Fort Worth. The ramps could be lowered using the emergency battery supply but once down they could not be raised without mains power. The belly of the wagon-train was now open from end to end, and with all the system lines severed, steam could not be piped through the jets to defend it …
Outside the wagon-train, in the closing seconds before the PX charges exploded, another part of the master-plan misfired. The timing had always been perilous since none of the Mutes involved had been able to grasp the notion of time as displayed on the digital watches taken from the dead defaulters.
The aim had been to arrive at the top of the ramp just as the PX charges exploded whereupon Mr Snow – protected by his escort – would use his pow
ers to cause the maximum disarray inside the train in the seconds prior to the main assault – which was to be launched when all the ramps came down.
To create the illusion that the ‘renegades” lives were under threat, Steve had arranged for three of the horses to be brought down by the bowmen. This would provide a convincing delay enabling Steve and Cadillac to get to the saddle, take over, and activate the ramps. As bonafide Mutes, Cat-Ballou, Mr Snow and the others could not enter the train before that moment of confusion because their real identities would be revealed as soon as they raised their visors – which they would have been expected to do. The plan called for Cat-Ballou and Mr Snow to dismount and rally the fallen who between them would shoulder the old wordsmith, then limp – but not too slowly – towards the open ramp, arriving in time for the big bang.
Unfortunately, the well-being of their riders is not always uppermost in the minds of horses fatally wounded in mid-gallop. They tend to jerk and stagger then founder untidily, crashing and rolling – usually on top of something breakable like the legs or back of their passengers.
With no experience at being pitched from the saddle, the Mutes did not know how to fall, so when they picked themselves up, they didn’t have to pretend to be hurt. The damage was for real and it was only their in-born resistance to pain that kept them going.
No one had anticipated that their display of fortitude under fire would cause two squads of Trail-Blazers to come down the ramp, one to guard it while the other eight ran out with four stretchers to carry the ‘walking-wounded’ on board!
Before the five Mutes had time to work out how to cope with this unforeseen departure from the script, Mr Snow had been transferred to a stretcher then, as he was hurried away with Cat-Ballou running alongside, Purple-Rain, Diamond-Head and Lethal-Weapon were invited to adopt the same mode of transport. Which – after a brief hesitation – they did.
With their visors closed and their hands concealed in gloves, no one could tell they were not Trackers, but their real identity could not be concealed for long. Conscious that they must not ruin the element of surprise – at least until they reached the ramp, the three Mutes lay back clasping their rifles to their chests and allowed themselves to be carried feet first into battle.
Things were unravelling even faster for Mr Snow. Jodi Kazan was part of a third combat squad that had now joined the Blazers guarding the bottom of the ramp, and as his stretcher was carried towards it, Buck McDonnell, the Trail Boss of The Lady, ran down to take charge of the situation.
Ignoring the breathless requests to lie down, Mr Snow had hoisted himself into a semi-sitting position on the swaying stretcher in order to appraise the situation. Seconds later, the lead stretcher-bearer made a sharp right-hand turn up the ramp. The soldier manning the poles behind Mr Snow’s back stumbled over the toe of the ramp as he swung left to get into line, tripped over his own Size 12’s and went down – whump! – on both knees. He held onto the stretcher but the momentum gained in the turn toppled Mr Snow sideways to land in a heap at Jodi’s feet.
Laying down her rifle, Jodi moved in smartly with the stretcher-bearers to pick him up. Cat-Ballou, sensing danger, backed off, fingering his rifle nervously. Mr Snow, who had been seized with a feeling of suffocation ever since he’d been obliged to shut his visor, wrenched the badly-fitting helmet off his head as he was given an underarm lift.
‘Enough of this farce!’ Mr Snow kicked away the hands trying to lift his feet back onto the stretcher, forced himself upright between the two surprised bearers and broke their hold on his arms. ‘Clumsy oafs!’
Jodi rose to find herself looking into the deformed, angry face of a Mute with white hair and a – ‘Christo! Buck!’ She levelled an accusing finger. ‘It’s Mr Snow!’
McDonnell, moving faster than he’d ever done in his life, was already in action. He’d seen Cat-Ballou back off suspiciously and now the helmeted figure was about to bring his rifle up into the firing position.
Raising his own rifle across his body, McDonnell pumped four triples into Cat-Ballou’s chest at close range. Continuing the same swift movement, he rammed the hard rubber butt forward, hitting Mr Snow right between the eyes as those same eyes widened and blazed.
Kerr-runch! The wordsmith’s head snapped backwards. An instant later, the twelve charges placed by Cadillac during the night exploded in quick succession – B-B-B-B-BA-BA-BBOOOMMM!!
McDonnell saw the lights above him go out then blink on again a second later.
One of the Blazers standing clear of the train pointed to the smoke and steam billowing out sideways from the front end. ‘The forward power car’s blown!’
‘They both have!’ yelled someone else.
There was a burst of confused shouting from people at the top of the ramp and a lot of things happened at once –
The three ‘renegades’ on the incoming stretchers rolled off and came up on one knee with rifle raised and started shooting at their startled bearers as they themselves were gunned down by the Blazers guarding the bottom of the ramp.
‘Cover me!’ McDonnell tossed his rifle to Jodi, grabbed hold of Mr Snow’s baggy uniform in two places and ran him up the ramp like a half-filled sack of potatoes.
Unable to resist a fire-fight, Jodi loosed off several volleys but by the time her rounds struck home, the three attackers were dead several times over. She backed up the ramp and as she caught up with McDonnell her ears were assaulted by a high-pitched warbling alarm. Warning panels lit up and started flashing –
‘EMERGENCY! MAJOR FIRE/EXPLOSION HAZARD! EVACUATE TRAIN!’
There was a rumbling roar and a winding-down of gears as the ramps came down along the whole length of the train. And as the rubber-capped toes hit the earth with a dull thud, the ground on both sides of the train erupted to reveal a horde of screaming Mutes armed with rifles, knives and crossbows.
Each of the shallow trenches that had been surreptitiously filled in during the passage of the buffalo under and around the train, concealed a Mute warrior. With the stillness only primitive hunters can attain, they had lain silent and unmoving under a covering of earth and scrub for over three hours, waiting for just this moment. And now, as they hurled themselves towards the foot of the undefended ramps, the crew of The Lady, responding to the evacuation order started down and ran slap into trouble.
Jodi stared aghast as the line-men below her gamely fought off a swarm of Mutes. She clutched at McDonnell’s sleeve and pointed to the unconscious Mr Snow. ‘Buck! It’s not just him! Brickman had another smart Mute with him! He’s the clear-skinned guy I told you about –’
‘WHAA-ATT?! And you let him go up to the command car?! The guy was festooned with grenades! Fer crissakes, Jodi! Why the fuck didn’t you blow the whistle?!’
‘I just caught a fleeting glimpse of him! I couldn’t believe it! It was only when I spotted Mr Snow that it hit me!’
Still clutching the limp body of Mr Snow, McDonnell threw himself towards a wall-mike linked to the PA system and punched it into life. ‘Hear this! Hear this! The fire hazard warning is a false alarm! Repeat – FALSE ALARM! The Lady is under attack! Stay on board and hold the ramps!’
The banshee warbling of the alarm continued and the warning panels continued to flash, and the conflicting information the crew was getting seemed to add to the general confusion.
‘Can’t you turn that fire warning off?!’ shouted Jodi.
‘Only from the saddle! The whole fucking system’s shot to hell. C’mon! Let’s get this joker out of here!’
McDonnell hoisted Mr Snow over his shoulder, turned aft into the next wagon and ran up forward stairs onto the second floor. Pulling out a smart key-card made of red plastic, he opened the door to a small narrow cubicle.
It was a punishment cell. A bare-metal bunk, table, chair, wash-basin and toilet all folded away into the walls. You either slept, sat, washed or shat. There wasn’t enough room to do more than one thing at a time.
McDonnell pitched Mr Snow onto the
bunk then stepped outside and pushed Jodi into the cell. ‘Stay with him. I’m gonna lock you in, okay?’ McDonnell pulled out his hand-gun. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t forget where you are.’ He found time for a reassuring grin. ‘And by the way, well done. You may have saved our asses.’
The door started to close.
‘Buck! Wait! What do I–’
‘You’ve got the rifle. Don’t hesitate to use it.’ McDonnell closed the door. The mechanism locked, pushing the red key-card he’d inserted to the mouth of the slot leaving one of the short edges protruding by one eighth of an inch. The slot had two finger-sized scoops, allowing the card to be grasped and withdrawn. And this was what he proceeded to do with his left hand – since the pistol was in his right.
In the brief moment of time it took to raise his left hand, McDonnell’s brain was evaluating the situation and working out what to do next. An inner voice told him that Hartmann was probably out of action. The explosions that had cut the power and steam lines was the work of someone who knew about wagon-trains. Those smart Mutes who had hit The Lady the previous year had pulled another fast one and this time, Brickman was definitely in on it. Fuggin’ lump-sucker …
Shouts and animal-like screams, the thump of bodies locked in combat, the clash of steel and the characteristic sound of compressed air exploding from rifle barrels filled the air as Blazers on the floor below tried to beat back the invading Mutes.
McDonnell was faced with three choices: (a) to stay where he was and organize the local defence, (b) to try and find out what had caused Commander Hartmann to go off the air and, if possible, retake the forward command car or (c) make his way along the top floor to the rear command car where Lt. Commander Jim Cooper, the deputy wagon-master, was no doubt trying to hold the fort.
The fire alarms had been silenced and the signs switched off, and it was Cooper’s voice now that was coming over the PA system, telling the crew to stay on the train, seal the lower wagon access doors and hold the middle floor.
It made sense. If the Mutes could be boxed in and kept on the lower deck the train could be held until help arrived. Fortunately there was no ramp under the flight cars – but there was one under the blood-wagon. Bad news …
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