Daniel walked up to him and started to speak, but Michael gestured him to silence. He wanted nothing to disturb this process. Slowly, gently, the idea blossomed into his awareness. He explored it, admiring its simplicity and knowing in his gut it would work.
He turned to Daniel Windwalker.
“Where to, Yellow Eyes?” Daniel asked. He could see something was up.
“Adam.”
Daniel led off and as the two men forded the river to Adam’s position Michael explained what he had in mind. By the time they got to Adam and Bob, Daniel was looking grim.
Michael shook hands with Adam, saying, “I’ve got an idea I’d like to try out.” He proceeded to explain. Adam didn’t like it, but he could see it had potential.
“Look, Adam,” Michael summed it up, “I know that Royal pain in the ass wants me alive, so just maybe he’ll want to talk.”
Seeing the stubborn look on both of the Young’s faces, Michael added, “Aside from me, what have we got to lose?”
“I wouldn’t underestimate your value to our side, Michael,” Adam stated flatly. “That stunt you pulled on Edge Mountain gave morale a big boost. That and the fact you killed Prince Anthony, has damn near made you a legend around here. Men are saying you can’t be killed. Losing you would hurt our effort.”
“Adam, if we don’t stop them here, we don’t have an effort.”
The last of the stragglers had arrived and the enemy troops would soon be in rifle range.
Adam nodded and brushed a hand through his white hair. Suddenly he grinned. “Why is it you win every argument Bob or I have with you?”
“Because I’m real careful not to start any arguments with you I might lose.”
“Okay, Michael,” Adam conceded, “We’ll try it your way and good luck.”
Adam turned to Sergeant Buell, who had been listening in.
“Buell, make ready the warning siren and be ready to sound it when the white flag goes down.”
“Yes, Sir,” the sergeant responded and busied himself with the old air raid klaxon.
Adam turned next to Bob and Daniel. “Get word to the snipers up above that there’s likely going to be a parley. No one interferes.”
Michael grabbed Daniel’s arm before he could go.
“If I don’t come back,” he said, “promise me you’ll rescue Sara Garcia so Ellen can have the surgery she needs.”
Daniel gripped Michael’s hand and looked him straight in the eyes. “My word on it.”
There could be no better guarantee.
Adam and Michael stood together for a moment as the others went about their business. Then Michael turned his head to Adam and said, “You know, I didn’t much care for you when we first met at the Freeholds.”
Adam chucked at the memory. “The feeling was mutual.”
Michael held out his hand. “I was wrong. Wasn’t for you, the King would have rolled right over us. We wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
Adam took his hand. “I was wrong, too.” Then he smiled. “But don’t let it go to your head, hot-shot.” They looked out over the mass of enemy soldiers, less than a thousand yards away.
Michael cleared his throat. “We’ll be needing a white flag.”
Chapter 50: Whitebear and Prince John
It was a surprised enemy force that closed on the Allies only to see a white flag flying above the huge bunker. The hand-drawn bear’s head on the flag was enough to make the quick-minded among the enemy scream for their comrades to cease-fire. No one dared forget the Prince himself wanted the man known as Whitebear taken alive. The advance ground to a halt until the Prince arrived at the forefront of the lines to see for himself.
Michael stood on the embankment and waved the flag back and forth as soon as he saw the Prince.
“I’m Michael Whitebear. I want to talk to you.”
John recognized the ploy immediately. “You’re just stalling for time!”
“You afraid to meet me man to man, John?”
John knew that, aside from his father, he feared no man, but if he refused to meet this one his troops would think he was afraid. Rumors already circulated to that effect. After all, he had sent 800 men up Edge Mountain after this one man and then had a shit fit when the man escaped. Tales of Whitebear’s exploits circulated freely among the ranks, replacing those of John’s own deeds during the Washington Campaign and from the nervous shuffling around him John could see his men hated the thought of charging any place defended by a man they already considered a demon. Hell, the momentum of the charge was already broken and he couldn’t allow the men to think he was afraid of anyone.
“I fear no man!”
“Good,” Michael shouted. “Meet me at the bend of the river in one hour.” Michael pointed to a place midway between their lines and in plain sight of both positions. “Come alone and unarmed.”
“I’ll be there,” John roared. “And just be sure you aren’t armed.”
John didn’t object to the delay, even though he recognized it for what it was. His men were a bit winded from the run up the canyon and could use some time to recover before charging up that huge bunker. Besides, he still hadn’t heard from his armada and slowing things down a bit could give them time to arrive and seal the trap.
“One hour, John,” Michael responded. “And don’t worry about me being armed, I keep my word.”
John sneered. If Whitebear truly came unarmed, John knew he could overpower the smaller man and take him captive. Nothing would boost his standing in the eyes of his men more than to perform such a coup right in front of them. It would make him a legend and cement his reputation with his troops for all time.
Still, no sense taking chances. His choice of fighting knives was the same as Michael’s. But the large, bowie-style boot knife and the combat dagger he slipped into his boots were much larger and heavier than the blades Michael wore, being sculpted to fit John’s enormous paws. By comparison, the small semi-automatic pistol he secreted in the pocket of his vest looked like a child’s toy. He took care that none of his men saw the weapons. He wouldn’t want them thinking he needed an edge against any man.
Back at the embankment Michael caught Sergeant Buell eyeing his boot knives. He pulled out the Bowie and the combat dagger and handed them over.
“You should take them,” the Sergeant said. “For sure he’ll be armed. He has no honor.”
“I know,” Michael said. “But I do.”
“He’ll kill you if you don’t take a weapon.”
“Maybe,” Michael admitted. “But a life without honor is no life at all.” He fixed Sergeant Buell with a deadly serious look and said, “When we forgot that ideal, this country started going to hell. You just be ready to sound that siren when the flag goes down.”
“You’re that certain he’ll try to take you?”
“I killed his twin brother. It won’t take much for me to piss him off.”
All along the line, the men who made up the rear guard were going to their assigned positions, while the remainder propped empty weapons and helmets along the top of the dirt bank, then went to add their numbers to Jim’s men in the shafts below. From farther down the canyon, where the enemy forces were deployed, no one could see the Allies were mostly abandoning the line. Within minutes, Michael, the Sergeant and the two hundred men of the rear guard were alone.
The klaxon would sound a warning to the men in the tunnels when the Prince attacked Michael Whitebear. It would signal them to abandon the tunnels and return to the firing line.
Michael looked at his watch. The hour was almost up. He turned to the Sergeant.
“You ready?”
Sergeant Buell checked the siren one last time.
“When that flag drops, so does this handle.”
“Use your own best judgment,” Michael warned. “He might kill me before I can topple the flag.”
The Sergeant nodded.
Michael took up the flag and started walking toward the rendezvous. From the enemy lines,
he saw Prince John begin his approach. If anything, the Prince looked even bigger and more powerful than Anthony. Michael looked up at the overhanging bluffs without seeming to pay them any attention. He couldn’t see anybody up there, but he knew his friends would be watching.
Like two gunmen in an old west showdown Michael and the Prince walked toward each other cautiously. Michael recalled everything he knew about John. Images flickered across his mind, reminding him John was snake-fast and deadly accurate with a knife, as well as being big and strong. From the way John had conducted the battle to this point Michael knew he was smart, if impetuous. John was also impatient, easily frustrated and quick to anger. Michael was counting on that last bit.
From John’s perspective, he was surprised Michael wasn’t taller, or at least bigger somehow. It just didn’t seem right that the man who’d been such a thorn in his side could be so average looking. Michael’s five-foot-ten-inch, 185-pound frame didn’t exactly inspire awe. This was the man who’d dared to threaten him? This was the man who’d killed Anthony in personal combat? Who’d killed or wounded over one hundred men on Edge Mountain? It just didn’t seem possible. But as they neared each other, John noted Michael’s panther-like gait and the fact that his muscles were long and smooth, rather than bulky. He’s stronger than he looks, the Prince thought.
Michael had considered limping, or otherwise trying to appear weaker and less able than he was, but discarded the notion. With all the Prince knew about him, he figured there was no way to lull the man into a false sense of security. Besides, the man didn’t need any more confidence.
His mind flickered to Ellen and darted away. Thinking about her would just distract him. He focused on John.
Michael reached the meeting ground first and planted the white flag.
Prince John stopped fifteen feet away.
The silence between them grew.
Michael was perfectly content to wait it out. He was buying time, so this suited him just fine. He let his eyes roam over the enemy troops, thinking, no matter how many we kill they still have more to send.
He returned to his study of Prince John. The man looked like he’d been fighting--not that he seemed weary, but there was a bullet hole in his right sleeve and a few smudges of dirt and grass stains marred the appearance of his normally crisp clothing, including his red beret.
There was nothing wrong with the Prince’s demeanor, though. He looked as haughty and arrogant as ever. The only time Michael had ever seen him looking any other way was when the Prince was fleeing the debacle at the Freeholds.
For his part, John was also engaged in an appraisal. In particular he noted the circles under Michael’s eyes and the tattered and soiled condition of his clothing. He shook his head slightly. He just couldn’t believe this was the man who had caused him so much trouble. Enough! It was time to put an end to the man and all he stood for.
John gestured to a fallen tree. “Have a seat.”
“No thanks. I’ll stand,” Michael said with a shrug. “But feel free to sit down if you want to. At least that way we could talk eye to eye. My neck won’t get a crick looking up at you and your eyes won’t get crossed looking down your nose at me.”
“Funny man,” John said and remained standing.
The silence stretched again.
“If you’re trying to stall until your relief army gets here, it isn’t coming,” John said, breaking the silence with a sneer. “My planes decimated it three days ago.”
“We know.”
“Well, you’re the one who wanted to talk, so say something,” John challenged.
Michael just smiled. He could see it aggravated the Prince. And sure enough, the silence proved to be too much for John to stand.
“If you want to talk surrender, it’s too late. We’ve got you cornered and we can tell you’re low on ammo. No matter what you do, we’ll roll over you sometime today. So what do you have to offer?”
“Not much, I suppose,” Michael admitted. “Just the lives of you and your men.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” John sneered. “The men I lose mopping you up are readily replaced. Hell! There’s fifty thousand more in California.”
“What about you, John?” Michael scratched the side of his nose. “Your old man have any more heirs? Every one of us will be aiming for you, you know. If you lead, or even take part in the next attack, we’ll kill you. And if you don’t, your men will know why.”
John refused to even consider that. “The Empire will stop for no one. Even if both I and my father, the King, were killed, the Empire would go on. Don’t you see? It’s history in action. It’s always been that way. Men strive constantly to build better, more enduring lives for themselves. Out of our dynasty will arise a civilization greater than any that has gone before it. We are rebuilding and reuniting the nation and eventually, the world! Compared to that driving purpose, this little battle is just a sideshow.”
John waved his arms to encompass his own troops, as well as the Allied bunker.
“Nothing you can do will halt the march of progress,” John said.
Michael burst out laughing.
The Prince’s face reddened and swelled. His eyes narrowed to slits. Laughter! Any form of belittlement sent his blood pressure through the roof.
“Jesus!” Michael chuckled. “I can’t believe you’re trying to tell me you’re doing this to improve the condition of humanity. You’re a real humanitarian, John--you and your daddy both. I may just have to nominate you to the Nobel Committee.
“I can see the headlines now,” he continued. “They destroyed the world in order to save it.”
“That’s not...” John began angrily.
“You sorry-assed hypocrite,” Michael interrupted sharply. “The only cause that serves humanity’s long term interest is the cause of freedom, individual freedom--the more, the better. And the only cause you are the least bit interested in is whatever gratifies your overgrown ego.”
“Very well, you sawed-off son of a bitch,” John snapped. “I didn’t come here to discuss politics or philosophy with you anyway.”
Michael pointed a finger at John. “Well, you don’t want to talk philosophy and you don’t want to talk terms, so why did you come out to talk?” As if he didn’t know.
“Why, I came for you, of course,” John said, as he pulled his pistol out from behind his back and aimed it at Michael. A triumphant smile covered his face.
“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, boy.” John spit the words at Michael as if they could harm him. “And now it’s time for a little payback.”
Satisfaction dripped from his words.
Michael thought fast.
“I’d set that gun down real careful if I was you,” Michael cautioned. “Or your daddy’s gonna have to find himself another heir.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“There’s a little red spot from a laser targeting scope centered just in front of your right ear,” Michael explained with a grin. “Now put the gun down or you’ll discover first hand what a .303 lobotomy feels like.”
“You’re bluffing.” John’s eyes shifted.
“God! What are you? Dense? You think I’d come out here to meet you without backup?”
Michael tugged Mariko’s scalp far enough from beneath his shirt for the Prince to see it, then shoved it back inside. “Especially after I know what your word’s worth. I didn’t survive this long by being a fool!”
It made sense. John didn’t like it, but it made sense. If he controlled the high ground, that’s exactly what he would have done. John lowered the gun. He wasn’t ready to die just yet.
“Now, give it a nice little underhand toss into the river,” Michael ordered.
The pistol splashed as it hit the water.
Inwardly Michael breathed a huge sigh of relief. None of his men had a laser scope and he had no idea whether any of them were in position to shoot John or not.
“Now what?”
; “Now we get down to cases,” Michael said.
“How am I supposed to do that with a gun at my head?” John asked.
“You ignore it, the same way I’m ignoring the rifles your men have trained on me,” Michael said as he took a step toward John.
“That was merely to guard against any treachery on your part,” John explained.
“Yeah. Sure.” Michael shrugged and took another step closer to the Prince.
John noticed that Michael was now within striking range and wondered why the man would deliberately expose himself to such danger. John’s eyes darted about, seeking a clue. What advantage did Michael gain by coming within reach?
Michael started talking again. “Now my boys up in those rocks are damn fine shots. Shoot a gnat off a flea’s ass, any one of them. But that Dan Osaka, he’s the one with the laser scope, well, he’s the best of ’em all. I’d trust Dan not to miss you even if I was standing right next to you.”
John almost gave a start, but quickly controlled himself. Now he knew why Michael had moved so close.
“The point is,” Michael continued, “where I’m standing right now makes you and me just about one target from your men’s vantage point. So if you trust their abilities as much as I trust Dan’s, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Otherwise, you might want to give them a signal to stand easy. I’ll do the same and then it’ll be just you and me, John-boy.”
John’s face purpled. He looked at Michael through a red haze. God, how he hated this man, hated him with the passion a man reserves for those who are right when he desperately wants them to be wrong. John couldn’t trust those idiots behind him not to kill him by mistake and it was infuriating that Michael had unerringly targeted the weakest chink in his armor. But then he had myriad reasons to hate Michael Whitebear. They flashed through his mind as he raised his right arm and waved it in a circle over his head.
Beyond John, Michael could see several rifles being averted. He raised a clenched fist then dropped it.
The Dying Time (Book 2): After The Dying Time Page 52
