Citadel Run

by David Robbins

  “Hundreds of miles!” Gail exclaimed. “We’d never make it!”

  “How did you get here?” Seth demanded.

  “In a jeep my people confiscated from some of your soldiers who no longer had any use for it,” Yama detailed. “It took me a while to learn the intricacies of driving, and we have to siphon additional gasoline from other confiscated vehicles, but the trip itself was relatively easy. I did encounter a few difficulties, but,” he patted his machine gun, “they weren’t too hard to handle.”

  “Could your jeep hold all of us?” Seth wanted to know.

  “It could,” Yama confirmed. “We’d need to travel light to conserve our fuel, but we could do it.” He glanced at Gail Mason. “Don’t worry. We won’t get lost. My maps are accurate, and you’d be surprised at how light the traffic is.”

  “Did you run into many soldiers?” Seth inquired.

  “No. As a matter of fact, for most of the trip I didn’t see another vehicle. The highways, or what’s left of them a century after the War, are still serviceable. There are collapsed and buckled sections, but we’ll bypass them.”

  “What about the checkpoints?” Gail asked Yama. “We know the Army has checkpoints on all of the roads and highways into the Civilized Zone.”

  “The primary weakness of checkpoints,” Yama said, “is their distinct lack of mobility. A good pair of binoculars and a two-mile detour over the countryside will overcome any checkpoint.”

  “You seem to have an answer for everything,” Gail stated somewhat defensively.

  “I’m still working on the meaning of life.” Yama grinned.

  “Answer me this,” Seth requested. “You mentioned you have business to finish here. Are you still planning to go into the Citadel?”

  “I must.”

  “You’ll be killed!” Gail warned him.

  “I have no option.”

  “We can’t talk you out of going into the Citadel?” Seth queried.

  “I must venture into the Citadel,” Yama reiterated.

  “Well, then let me draw you a sketch of the inside of the city,” Seth offered. “It might come in handy once you’re inside.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll be right with you after I complete a necessary chore,” Yama said.

  “Chore?” Gail asked.

  Yama indicated the bodies of the soldiers. “They need to be buried.”

  “I’ll lend you a hand, Yama,” Seth stated. “I’ve got some shovels in the barn. I’ll be right back.”

  Seth walked toward their barn.

  Gail, emotionally distraught, nervously rubbed her hands on her legs. “I think I’ll clear the table. I don’t think any of us are in the mood for food now anyway.” She turned and entered the house.

  Yama gazed at the boy. “You’ve been very quiet.”

  Adam nodded. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “About what?”

  Adam pointed at the dead officer. “I think I’ve figured out why you named yourself after that King of Death.”

  Yama’s expression became somber. “Very perceptive. Dealing in death is my business, Adam. I’m responsible for helping to protect the people at my Home, and this means I’ve had to perfect the craft of killing to a fine art. Yama is a fitting name.”

  “I’ve never met anyone like you,” the boy said.

  “There are others like me,” Yama informed him, “at the place where I live. I’m not unique.”

  Adam stared at Yama in wonder, his youthful eyes brimming with unrestrained hero worship. “I’m going to be just like you when I grow up.”

  He smiled, wheeled, and walked into the house.

  Yama’s face tightened as he strolled over to the deceased Simms. They were about the same size. He’d be able to wear the uniform when he entered the Cheyenne Citadel.

  A crow cawing overhead arrested his attention.

  This spying mission wasn’t proceeding precisely according to plan.

  Plato wanted him to learn as much as possible about the Citadel and the nefarious Doktor. The Family required the information if they were to successfully combat the efforts by the Doktor and Samuel the Second to eliminate them. Realistically, the best method to acquire the desired data was to physically enter the Citadel. A question formed in his mind, unbidden, disturbing his equanimity:

  Would he be able to get out again once he was inside?

  Only time would tell.

  Chapter Five

  For an instant, Blade considered resisting, weighing the likelihood of downing the men in the tent before they plugged him. The probability factor was markedly slim. He allowed one of the soldiers to take his A-1 from him.

  “It’s nice to see you have some intelligence to go with all those muscles,” commented the speaker with the harsh voice, a burly figure in a green uniform with gold clusters on his lapels.

  A commotion erupted outside. There was the muffled blast of a solitary shot, the sounds of a struggle, someone shouting, “Get him!” and a loud thump.

  “Outside!” barked the burly officer, and the three troopers covering Blade backed him out of the tent.

  Blade noticed Geronimo standing in front of another tent, his hands in the air, surrounded by three more soldiers.

  The officer was staring at a third tent. “Captain Rice! Any problems?”

  The flap to the third tent opened and four soldiers emerged, three of them bearing an unconscious Hickok in their arms.

  Blade started to move toward them, and the barrel of an M-16 was pressed against his left temple.

  “Don’t move, buddy!” advised the trooper with the weapon.

  Captain Rice, a lean man with a wisp of a moustache and a crooked nose, approached the first officer and saluted. “No problems, Colonel.”

  “What was all that noise?” the colonel demanded.

  “We followed your instructions to the letter,” Captain Rice explained.

  “Incredibly, the fool went for his guns! Three M-16’s in his face and he went for his Pythons!”

  “And the shot?” the colonel inquired, staring at Hickok.

  “I couldn’t believe it,” Captain Rice stated, amazed. “The man is the fastest on the draw I’ve ever seen. He actually managed to clear leather before one of my men slugged him over the head. He even got off a shot.

  He’s tricky, Colonel, real tricky. He handed over his rifle, no problem, but while I was taking it from him, momentarily distracted, he drew the Colts.

  Private MacLean jarred his arms as he fired, as MacLean tried to grab him, and the shot missed me by an inch. It was close. Real close.”

  The colonel grinned. “Hickok always did have more courage than brains.” He turned and faced Blade. “Isn’t that right, Blade?” he asked, pleased by the look of surprise flitting across the huge Warrior’s features.

  “I should introduce myself. I am Colonel Jarvis. Does that name ring a bell?”

  “Should it?” Blade responded.

  “Possibly not, although I thought it might. You see,” Colonel Jarvis said, putting his left hand on Blade’s right shoulder in a deceptively friendly gesture, “I’m in charge of this district. You may recall running into some of my men in Thief River Falls? A few of them escaped and reported your activities there. You do remember what you did to my unit in Thief River Falls?”

  Blade felt the colonel’s sturdy fingers dig into his flesh, and he was impressed by the officer’s strength. “Were those your men we went up against? They weren’t very professional,” he said baiting Jarvis.

  “Oh, they were professional, all right,” Jarvis rejoined. “But they made the crucial mistake of underestimating your abilities. I won’t make that same mistake, I assure you.”

  “You did already,” Blade taunted him, nodding at Hickok.

  Jarvis’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at the gunman. “Hickok is difficult to predict. He never does what you’d expect him to do, what any sane person would do.” He paused. “He’s developing quite a reputation. Did you know that? In f
act, all of you are. Aren’t you curious to learn how I know so much about you?”

  Blade exaggerated his feigned indifference, pretending to yawn. “I already know.”

  “Oh?” Colonel Jarvis said doubtfully. “I’ll bet you do.”

  Blade locked his eyes on Jarvis. “You’re an officer in the Army of Samuel the Second, the dictator of the Civilized Zone, which is what’s left of the former United States of America. Samuel the Second is the son of a man named Samuel Hyde. Hyde was the Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare when the Third World War erupted, and he was the only member of the Cabinet to survive. Since Congress and the Supreme Court were wiped out, Hyde took over the reigns of government, declared martial law, and established a new national capital in Denver. Hyde died a few years back, and now his son is intent on reconquering all of the former territory of the United States, all the area outside the Civilized Zone. The Army has been used to keep tabs on all inhabited centers outside the Zone, using sophisticated technology to eavesdrop and maintain extensive files on each group you find. You know so much about us because you’ve been spying on the Family, on our Home, for years and years.” Blade stopped, a gleam in his eyes. “Any more stupid questions?”

  Colonel Jarvis was having a hard time disguising his astonishment. “I had no idea you knew that much about us.”

  “We know more,” Blade informed him.

  “But how?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  Colonel Jarvis smiled. “Well find out, sooner or later. But first, I’d wager you don’t know the reason we’re here, in the Twin Cities, and how it is we were waiting for you in these tents. Curious?”

  Blade refused to reply.

  “No need to answer,” Colonel Jarvis said, grinning. “If I were in your shoes, or should I say moccasins, I would be intensely curious. Bear with me a while and you’ll find out.”

  “I am curious about one thing,” Blade mentioned.

  “What?”

  “Why are you being so courteous? Why not kill us and get it over with?”

  Jarvis chuckled. “I’m a fighting man, Blade, like you and your fellow Warriors. My courtesy is simply professional respect, from one fighting man to another. As to the reason you’re not dead already, you can thank Samuel for that. He’s given orders to take you alive. You’ve caused him considerable grief, and Samuel is the type of man who firmly believes in an eye for an eye. I imagine he wants to pluck yours out.”

  “If I ever get the opportunity,” Blade vowed, “I’ll do unto him as he intends to do to me.”

  Colonel Jarvis placed his hands on his hips. “We have so much to talk about, but first things first.” He reached into a pocket on his shirt and extracted a black whistle.

  Blade abruptly realized that Jarvis was the only soldier present not bearing a weapon.

  Jarvis put the stem of the whistle between his thick lips and blew two sustained notes.

  Immediately, from behind a stand of trees forty yards distant, a motor turned over with a sputtering roar. A few moments later a large truck, a troop transport, drove from concealment and toward the tents.

  “My compliments,” Blade said, deciding he might glean more information from Jarvis if he acted friendly to the officer. “This operation was extremely well planned. Your doing?”

  Jarvis beamed, delighted at the unexpected praise. “Yes. We knew you were returning to the Twin Cities, but we didn’t know when until one of our monitoring posts spotted your vehicle about ten miles outside the city. They radioed me, and I prepared my little trap.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Speaking of your vehicle…” He stared at the SEAL.

  The troop transport braked to a stop a few yards from the tents, the canvas cover over the bed fluttering in the strong wind.

  Colonel Jarvis looked at Blade and extended his calloused right hand.

  “The keys, please.”

  “I don’t have them.”

  Jarvis nodded at Rice.

  “Search them for the keys!” Rice commanded, and all three Warriors were subjected to a thorough search at gunpoint.

  Blade was relieved of his Bowies and the Dan Wesson, while Geronimo was stripped of his Arminius and his cherished tomahawk. Hickock’s Colts were already in Rice’s possession.

  “The keys aren’t on them,” Rice announced at the conclusion of the search, “nor did we find any additional weapons.”

  “That’s odd,” Jarvis noted. “I was under the impression you boys packed a lot of back-up hardware.”

  “Not this run,” Blade revealed. “We’ve lost a lot of weapons in recent months, so this trip we decided to stick to the basics. Besides, we weren’t expecting major trouble.”

  Jarvis glanced at Rice. “You are positive the keys aren’t on them?”

  “Yes, sir,” Captain Rice responded.

  Colonel Jarvis ran his right hand through his curly black hair, his brown eyes squinting in thought as he faced the SEAL. “The keys have to be here, somewhere. Possibly they neglected to secure the doors.”

  Blade gazed at the SEAL, thankful for the tinted plastic body. There was no way anyone would be able to see Joshua inside the vehicle, so Joshua was safe as long as he remained inside. But would he? Hickok wasn’t the only one who could be unpredictable.

  “Bring him!” Jarvis commanded.

  Captain Rice and three soldiers escorted Blade to the SEAL, the colonel leading them.

  Jarvis attempted to open the driver’s door. “The damn thing is locked. Try the other side.”

  Rice promptly obeyed. “Locked over here too,” he shouted.

  “I don’t understand,” Jarvis admitted, stroking his pointed chin. “Is there a secret latch somewhere? You must have a way of getting back inside.” He leaned forward and pressed his face against the plastic. “Can’t see a thing!”

  “Should we blow the doors open?” Captain Rice asked.

  “Don’t be an idiot!” Colonel Jarvis complained. “This vehicle of theirs is priceless! There isn’t another one like it on the face of the planet. Samuel wants this thing in one piece. We’ll find a way to get inside without blowing it open. In the meantime, post four guards here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rice said.

  Colonel Jarvis turned to Blade. “I don’t suppose you’d like to reveal how to get inside?”

  “Sorry,” Blade said shrugging. “Think of it as a challenge.”

  Jarvis grinned. “You must be hungry after your long trip. Would you care to join me for a late lunch?”

  “Do I have any choice?”

  “None.”

  Blade was hustled aboard the troop transport and forced to sit on the bed beside Geronimo and a prone Hickok. Five of the troopers and Captain Rice rode in the back with the Warriors, while Colonel Jarvis joined the driver in the cab. Four of the soldiers were left behind as guards on the SEAL.

  “Where are we headed?” Blade asked Rice as the troop transport pulled out, heading south.

  “I don’t want to spoil the colonel’s little surprise,” Rice answered.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Geronimo was examining Hickok. “He’s got a bump on the noggin. It doesn’t look to be too serious. Thank the Spirit they hit him on the head!”

  The gunman moaned.

  “I think he’s coming around,” Geronimo said, gently shaking Hickok.

  Captain Rice produced a canteen. “Here.”

  Geronimo took the canteen, unscrewed the cap, and splashed some water on Hickok’s face.

  Blade kept his eyes focused on the soldiers, hoping the truck would hit a rut or a hole and throw them off balance. If he could grab his Bowies or the A-1 from the pile near Rice…

  Hickok’s eyelids fluttered. He gasped as a handful of water dropped into his open mouth. “Blast! First an earthquake, and now I’m being drowned!”

  His eyes shot open and he caught sight of Geronimo. “I should have known! Enough with the water already!” He sputtered as he sat u
p.

  “It was time for your annual bath anyway,” Geronimo remarked as he replaced the cap onto the canteen.

  “Where the blazes are we?” Hickok glanced around and discovered the soldiers. “Terrific! Couldn’t you two take care of these wimps without me?”

  Blade placed his right hand on Hickok’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Hickok rubbed a tender spot on his head. “Yep. I’m fit as a fiddle.”

  “You sure?” Blade pressed him.

  “Yes, Mother, thank you.” Hickok glared at one of the soldiers. “You the one who slugged me?”

  The trooper grinned.

  “Just wanted to be sure,” Hickok told him. “You and I have a score to settle, and I always collect on my debts.”

  The soldier swallowed hard.

  “Where we headin’?” Hickok inquired.

  “It’s a big surprise,” Blade let him know.

  “Where’s the SEAL?” Hickok asked.

  “Still at the Nomad camp,” Blade replied.

  “And where’s…” Hickok begun, about to question Blade on Joshua’s whereabouts. He caught himself in time.

  “Where’s what?” Captain Rice interjected.

  “Where’s my Pythons?” Hickok demanded, thinking fast.

  “Right here.” Captain Rice indicated the pile of Warrior weaponry. The Pythons were lying on top of the heap.

  “Don’t let anything happen to them,” Hickok threatened, “or I’ll hold you accountable when I get them back.”

  “You won’t be getting them back,” Rice assured him.

  “That’s what you think,” Hickok stated.

  Captain Rice looked at Blade. “Is he always this…” He tried to find the right word. “Belligerent?”

  “We prefer to think of it as bullheaded,” Geronimo chimed in. “It’s an absolute miracle his eyes are blue and not brown.”

  “How can you joke at a time like this?” Captain Rice inquired. “Your lives are on the line and all you do is make fun of each other. It’s incredible.”

  “It’s all part of our Warrior training,” Hickok said.

  “Your Warrior training?” Rice stated.

  “Yep. If we ever find ourselves in a situation where we’re outgunned, we razzle-dazzle the enemy with our wit,” Hickok declared.