Capital Run

by David Robbins

  We knew the rebellion there had reached a critical stage. Then the shortwave broadcasts stopped. Cryptographic communications ceased.

  Every ship we sent to investigate failed to return. Our forces in America found themselves isolated, cut off from our motherland.”

  “Hold your horses,” Hickok interjected. “You say you lost contact with Russia thirty years ago?”

  “Yes.”

  Hickok pointed at the five soldiers on the opposite bench. “Then where the dickens did they come from? They sure don’t look over thirty to me.”

  “They are not,” Lieutenant Voroshilov replied. “Since we could not replenish our forces from the motherland, we’ve established a system of modified racial breeding.”

  “I don’t follow,” Hickok said.

  “We impregnate selected American women,” Lieutenant Voroshilov stated. “Their children are turned over to us for training and education.

  Our indoctrination is quite thorough. Russian history and values are stressed. Communism, of course, is exalted. The result you see before you.

  Soldiers every bit as Russian as if they had come from the U.S.S.R., and fluent in English and Russian.”

  “Where do you get these American women?” Hickok asked. “Do they volunteer?”

  Voroshilov snickered. “They cooperate whether they want to or not.”

  Hickok ruminated on the revelations he’d received. The information explained a lot. Like, why the Russians had not invaded the Civilized Zone, why the Reds hadn’t taken over the whole country. Simply because they lacked the manpower and the resources to achieve it. “How much of the country do you have under your thumb?” he ventured to ask.

  Voroshilov reflected for a moment. “Let me see if I can remember the names of the states involved. New England we control,” he said, “and southern New York, southern Pennsylvania, Maryland, New Jersey, southern Ohio, southern Indiana, portions of Illinois, Kentucky, Virginia, and West Virginia. We also have sections of North and South Carolina under our hegemony. We wanted to subjugate all of the Southeast, but the Southerners are a most hardy, independent lot. They resisted us every foot of the way and stopped our advance, leaving us the Northeast and a wide corridor in the middle of the East.”

  Hickok stared at Voroshilov. “I can’t get over you tellin’ me all of this.”

  Lieutenant Voroshilov grinned. “As I said before,” he stated, “you won’t live to pass it on. General Malenkov will not treat you so lightly the second time.”

  Hickok idly gazed at the five troopers on the other wooden bench, and at the sergeant, standing to the right of Voroshilov. The five had relaxed their guard and lowered their weapons, but the sergeant still covered him with an AK-47. He needed to stall some more, and hope he had a chance to go for his Colts. “You said there were several reasons why you’re not takin’ me straight back to Washington,” he reminded the lieutenant.

  Voroshilov nodded. “Time is of the essence. We must reach your vehicle as quickly as possible, before your people can remove it.”

  “You still think you can tote the SEAL to Washington with this contraption?” Hickok smacked the metal side of the copter.

  “Easily,” Lieutenant Voroshilov bragged. “We will dig a small trench under your vehicle, and then slide our sling underneath. Once the sling is secured, our helicopter will lift the vehicle into the air and transport it to General Malenkov.”

  Hickok thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip. If the Reds could do what they claimed, it would be a piece of cake to lift the SEAL into the air, then lower it again on its wheels. Hmmmm.

  Lieutenant Voroshilov stood. “I must rejoin our pilot. You will be removed at our first refueling stop and held there until our return trip. We will pick you up and carry you to Washington for your rendezvous with General Malenkov and the KGB.”

  “Do you mind if I take off this uniform?” Hickok asked. “I’ve got my buckskins on under it, and I’m sweatin’ to beat the band.”

  “As you wish,” Lieutenant Voroshilov graciously offered.

  Hickok started to tug on the uniform shirt.

  Lieutenant Voroshilov turned to the sergeant. “Did you find any weapons on him when you searched him?”

  The sergeant blinked twice, then cleared his throat. “We did not search him,” he confessed. “He did not appear to be armed—”

  With a sinking feeling in his gut, Lieutenant Voroshilov spun, hoping his premonition was inaccurate. Instead, he saw his worst fear realized.

  Hickok had pulled the uniform shirt from his pants, exposing his buckskins. And also exposing the Colt Python revolvers tucked in his belt.

  But even as the uniform shirt came clear, his hands streaked to the pearl-handled Magnums, his draw an invisible blur.

  The sergeant awoke to the danger first, and aimed his AK-47 at the gunman’s head.

  Hickok was already on the move, rising and stepping to the left, putting a few extra feet between Voroshilov and himself. His right Python boomed, and the sergeant’s face acquired a new hole directly between the eyes.

  The sergeant was thrown backward into a pile of crates by the impact.

  Lieutenant Voroshilov went for his pistol, his arms seemingly moving at a snail’s pace compared to the gunfighter’s.

  Hickok crouched and whirled, the Colts held at waist level, his elbows against his waist, and they thundered simultaneously.

  Two of the five soldiers on the opposite bench were slammed into the wall of the craft, their brains exploding from their heads in a spray of red and pink flesh.

  The remaining three were bringing their AK-47’s to bear.

  Hickok’s next three shots sounded as one, his aim unerring, going for the head as he invariably did.

  One after the other, the three Red soldiers died, each shot in the forehead, each astonished by the speed of their adversary, each overcome by their own sluggishness.

  Lieutenant Voroshilov, in the process of drawing his automatic, realized the futility of the attempt and darted forward instead, his arms outstretched.

  Hickok pivoted to confront the lieutenant, and his fingers were beginning to squeeze the Python triggers when he thought better of the notion. He allowed himself to be tackled, carried to the hard floor of the cargo bay by Voroshilov’s rush, his arms pinned to his sides.

  Lieutenant Voroshilov tried to knee the gunman in the groin, but missed.

  Hickok grinned, then rammed his forehead into Voroshilov’s mouth.

  Lieutenant Voroshilov was jolted by the savage blow; his head rocked back and his teeth jammed together. For the briefest instant, his vision swam, his senses staggered. When they cleared, he discovered the gunman standing over him, the barrels of the Pythons centimeters from his face.

  “Piece of cake,” Hickok quipped. He cocked the Colts. “Don’t move! Don’t even blink!”

  Lieutenant Voroshilov froze in place.

  Hickok backed up a step and glanced toward the door. Had the pilot heard the gunfire? Maybe not. The twin rotors on the copter were making a heck of a lot of noise. On the other hand…

  Hickok stared at Voroshilov. “On your feet! Real slow! Hands in the air!”

  Lieutenant Voroshilov complied.

  “We’re gonna walk up to the pilot,” Hickok directed him.

  Voroshilov licked his dry lips. “He will see us coming and lock the cockpit.”

  “You’d best hope he doesn’t,” Hickok warned, “or you’ll be gaining some weight right quick.” He paused. “How much do you figure a couple of slugs would weigh?”

  Lieutenant Voroshilov swallowed. Hard. “What do you propose to do?”

  “I don’t propose nothin’,” Hickok retorted. “I’m plain doin’ it! You’re gonna fly me to the SEAL.”

  “You’re crazy! We’ll never make it. You will be caught,” Lieutenant Voroshilov said.

  “No I won’t,” Hickok disagreed. “All I have to do is stay out of sight when you land to refuel. There’s no need for any of you to be getting
off the helicopter. You’ll land, refuel, and take off again without letting anyone else on board.”

  “Ground control will become suspicious,” Voroshilov stated. “There are papers to sign—”

  “Tell ’em you’re in a big hurry,” Hickok instructed him. “Mention General Malenkov. That ought to make ’em listen.”

  “It won’t work,” Lieutenant Voroshilov declared.

  Hickok’s voice lowered to an angry growl. “You best pray it does work, or you’ll be the first to go.”

  Lieutenant Voroshilov gazed at his fallen comrades. He thought of the disgrace he had suffered, the shame heaped on his name and career. If he lived, he would be demoted. Or worse, sentenced to hard labor in one of the concentration camps. Or even executed. The honorable course would be to compel the gunman to shoot him now, to end his life before his failure was discovered. If he died now, he would be hailed as a hero whose death was a tribute to the Party and the State. He looked at the gleaming barrels of the Pythons, and couldn’t bring himself to make the necessary move, to try and jump the gunman. He wasn’t a coward, but he didn’t want to die.

  “What’s it gonna be?” Hickok demanded. “You either do as I say, or I’ll ventilate your eyeballs.”

  Lieutenant Voroshilov took a deep breath. “I will do as you say.”

  “No tricks,” Hickok warned.

  “No tricks.”

  “And do all your talkin’ in English,” Hickok ordered him. “Now that I know your men can speak both languages, there’s no risk involved and I’ll understand everything you say.”

  Lieutenant Voroshilov frowned. Who would have believed it? Looking at the blond gunman’s inane, carefree grin and hearing his ridiculous Western slang, who would believe he was so competent a fighter?

  “Let’s mosey on up to the cockpit,” Hickok said.

  Voroshilov hesitated.

  “Something wrong?” Hickok asked.

  “Are there many like you?” Lieutenant Voroshilov asked. “Where you come from, I mean.”

  “A whole passel of ’em,” Hickok said. “Why?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Lieutenant Voroshilov said as he headed forward, carefully passing the gunman. “But if there had been more like you a century ago, America would still be free.”

  Hickok laughed. “I ain’t nothin’ special.”

  “That’s what you think,” Lieutenant Voroshilov said, complimenting his enemy.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They emerged from the bowels of the library into the fresh air and bright light of day in an alley due west of the building.

  “You know St. Louis better than we do,” Blade said to Lex. “You’ve got to lead us out of the city. Stick to the alleys and back streets. We don’t want to run into any more Leather Knights.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Lex promised. She led off, Rikki at her side.

  Blade followed them, covering their flanks, constantly scanning to the rear. Amazingly, the expected counterattack hadn’t materialized. They hadn’t seen or heard a single Knight during their exit from the library.

  Why not?

  The rest of the Leather Knights undoubtedly were alerted to the debacle in the pit room. At least one of the Knights in the room at the time had survived and vanished.

  So where the hell were they?

  If the Leather Knights hadn’t appeared, there must be a good reason.

  But what? Were the Knights afraid? It hardly seemed likely since they numbered in the hundreds. Perhaps many of the Knights were in other sections of the city, but there had to be enough in the immediate vicinity to overwhelm the two Warriors and the defector. Yet they hadn’t attacked.

  Were the Knights wary of attempting to corner their former prisoners in the narrow confines of the underground hallways? Or, as sounded reasonable, were the Knights reluctant to pursue the trio through the labyrinth under the library for fear they would lose their captives in the maze? If that was the case, and if he were a Leather Knight, what would he do next?

  The answer was so obvious, Blade stopped as if stunned by a physical blow.

  There was only one possible recourse! To cover every exit from the library and wait for them to come forth.

  Rikki and Lex had reached the mouth of the alley and moved into the street beyond.

  Blade ran toward them. “Rikki!”

  He was too late.

  Hidden in the buildings on every side, over two dozen Leather Knights rose from concealment, some in windows, others in doorways, some hiding behind gutted cars on piles of trash.

  “Now!” a sister shouted.

  The Leather Knights opened fire.

  Startled by the ambush, Lex still managed to raise her rifle and blast a stud in a nearby window. Then her left shoulder was jarred, and the rifle flew from her hands as she started to fall.

  Rikki reached her side in the next instant, ignoring the hail of lead raining all around him. He placed his left arm around her waist and lifted, supporting her weight as he hurried to the alley, knowing he wouldn’t reach its cover without aid.

  Blade burst from the alley with the Commando leveled. He swept the surrounding buildings with a devastating spray of bullets.

  Sisters and studs screamed as they were hit, or ducked from sight to escape the giant’s onslaught.

  Blade retreated into the alley.

  Rikki was holding Lex in his arms. A bright red circle had formed on Lex’s left shoulder and there was a hole in her vest.

  “Lex?” Blade asked.

  Lexine, although pale, was game. “I’m fine,” she told Blade. “Tell this yoyo to stop worrying about me.”

  Rikki gently eased her onto the ground. “Stay put,” he advised her. “We will attend to the Knights.”

  Blade leaned against the west wall and eased to the corner. There was a lot of commotion from every nearby building. The Knights were reorganizing.

  Rikki joined him. “Any orders?” he asked.

  “If they rush us,” Blade said, “we’ll never hold them.”

  “We could reenter the library,” Rikki recommended.

  Blade shook his head. “That could be what they want us to do. Once we’re inside, they’ll close off the alley and have us bottled up inside.”

  “Then what?” Rikki inquired. “Do you want me to take them one by one?”

  “If it was dark you could do it,” Blade said. “But they’d spot you in broad daylight.”

  “I’d get a few,” Rikki vowed.

  “True,” Blade agreed. “But I need you here. Lex needs you here.”

  Rikki glanced at the redhead. “I’ve become quite… fond… of her,” he said in a soft tone.

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “I’ve never felt this way before,” Rikki declared.

  “I know.”

  Beyond the alley, there was the rattle of a tin can.

  Blade looked behind him. There was an eight-foot wall at the far end of the alley. Piles of garbage and debris were scattered everywhere. The stench was awful. If the three of them could reach that wall-There was a loud clanking outside the alley.

  “What are they doing?” Rikki inquired.

  Blade risked a hasty peek.

  Leather Knights were advancing on the mouth of the alley from both directions. To his right, four studs were pushing a wooden cart laden with metal trash cans filled to the brim with trash. Two sisters were carrying oddly shaped sticks or branches near the cart.

  No!

  They weren’t sticks or branches!

  They were torches!

  Blade glanced at Rikki. “They plan to smoke us out. If we try to make a break for it, they’ll cut us down in a crossfire.”

  “We can’t stay here,” Rikki said.

  “I know.” Blade scrutinized the buildings lining the street across from the alley. Knights weren’t in evidence, but that didn’t mean a thing.

  Lex moaned.

  Blade placed his right hand on Rikki’s shoulder. “You’ll have to hold them while
I get Lex over the wall.” He nodded toward the far end of the alley.

  “I will hold them,” Rikki pledged.

  “They’ll try and rush us,” Blade guessed. “Try and shove a cart in here filled with burning trash, hoping the flames will spread and force us from cover. If you can hold them until I have Lex safe, I’ll cover you from the wall until you reach us. Fair enough?”

  “Sounds okay to me,” Rikki said. He looked at Lex, clutching her shoulder in agony but not complaining. “Take good care of her. If something should happen to me… insure she reaches the Home safely.”

  “I will,” Blade promised. “Here. Use the Commando.”

  “And what will you cover me with? Your Bowies?” Rikki grinned. “Get going.”

  Blade ran to Lex, slung the Commando over his right shoulder, and knelt. “Hold on tight,” he cautioned her.

  Lex opened her eyes. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Out of here.” Blade lifted her into his arms.

  “I won’t leave Rikki,” Lex stated.

  “You have no choice,” Blade responded, and jogged toward the wall 40 yards away.

  “Rikki!” Lex yelled.

  Rikki smiled and waved, then flattened against the west wall. His sensitive nostrils detected the acrid scent of smoke.

  It would be soon.

  Blade and Lex were 20 yards off, Blade negotiating the trash and garbage as he threaded a route to the wall.

  Rikki held his katana in front of him, calming his emotions. He had to shut Lex from his mind, to submerge his feelings for her and concentrate his total energy on the matter at hand.

  Smoke drifted past the alley entrance.

  It would be very soon.

  Rikki emptied his mind of every distraction, focusing on the katana, wedding his instincts to the blade. He would buy Blade and Lex the precious time they needed, even at the expense of his own life.

  “Do it!” a sister yelled from outside the alley.

  There was a sudden clanking and rattling, and the Leather Knights swarmed toward the alley. The four studs pushing the cart were in the lead, the contents of the trash cans already ablaze, pouring whitish gray smoke into the air, obscuring the cart and the nearest Knights.