Citadel Run

by David Robbins

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m bored to tears standing around here watching this bucket of bolts,” the young guard groused.

  “You’d better not let an officer hear you,” said one of his companions. “I can promise you that you wouldn’t be bored at your court-martial.”

  “How long do we have to stay here?” the young soldier demanded. “It’s starting to get dark.”

  “What’s the matter? You afraid of the bogeyman?” taunted his companion.

  “There ain’t no such thing!” snapped the young trooper.

  “Say! Who’s that?” asked a third soldier.

  As one, the four troopers assigned to watch the vehicle the Warriors arrived in at Moore Lake swung around, facing an intruder who was standing twenty feet away, near one of the Nomad tents.

  “Who the hell is that?” queried the young soldier.

  “It’s him! He’s one of them!” exclaimed the fourth guard. “The one called Hickok.”

  Hickok stood with his hands at his sides, near the pearl handles on his Pythons. He’d stashed the M-16’s he’d taken from the two tropoers earlier behind one of the other tents. The four in front of him were exchanging worried looks and nervously fingering their weapons. Two of the soldiers had their M-16’s slung over their shoulder, the third carried his cradled under his left arm, and the fourth was holding his in front of him, horizontally, at waist level.

  “Howdy, boys!” Hickok greeted them. “Did you miss me?”

  “What are you doing here?” one of the troopers arrogantly questioned.

  “What happened to the others?”

  Hickok grinned. “I’m here because I’m going to get in that contraption behind you and go for a little drive. Unless, of course, you reckon you four can stop me.”

  “What do we do?” asked the young soldier uneasily.

  One of the troopers, the one holding his M-16 in front of his waist, started to inch his right hand toward the trigger guard. “You know what we’ve got to do,” he told the youngest.

  “Didn’t you hear what Hickok did in Thief River Falls?” inquired another of the soldiers.

  “I heard,” said a third, “he beat twenty of our guys with those Colts of his.”

  “Sounds like an exaggeration to me,” remarked the one with his M-16 near his waist.

  “Well, I overheard the old man the other day,” stated the youngest. “He was talking with Captain Rice about how this Hickok and his friends wiped out the Trolls. Just the three of ’em, and they killed all of the Trolls!”

  For a fleeting moment, judging by the frightened looks of the soldiers, Hickok thought he might be able to bluff them into dropping their weapons without a fight.

  He was wrong.

  “Just think how famous we’ll be,” said M-16 at the waist, “if we take him out. Our names will be in all the papers. There might even be promotions in it for all of us!”

  Hickok could tell they were wrestling with a dilemma; should they meekly give in or go for the fame and fortune?

  Fame and fortune won.

  The one with the M-16 at waist level swung the barrel of his gun up, thinking he was fast, recognizing in his final fleeting moment of life on this planet that, compared to the Warrior gunfighter, he was as slow as the proverbial molasses.

  Incredibly quick, Hickok’s Colts cleared leather, the hammers already cocked as the Pythons leveled and roared.

  Two of the troopers were simultaneously tossed backwards by the force of impact, the one with his M-16 in front of him taking a slug through the center of his forehead, while the soldier with the M-16 cradled in his arm was struck in the right eye. As the remaining two troopers endeavored to bring their weapons into play, Hickok’s hands shifted slightly and the Pythons bucked and spat their projectiles of death. Each of the men took a shot in the head, and they fell as one to the ground.

  Hickok twirled his Pythons into their holsters and nodded. “Piece of cake.” He strode to the bodies and examined them to insure they were finished.

  Something clicked to his right and he drew the Colts, crouching and stepping to one side in case he was already in an opponent’s sights.

  Joshua was standing there, the SEAL door wide open, sadly staring at the dead soldiers.

  “You came close, pard,” Hickok informed him. “Next time, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  Joshua absently nodded, still gazing at the troopers.

  “You’ve done it again,” he commented.

  “You bet, pard,” Hickok said. “It was them hombres or me. Any more of these simpletons around?”

  “I don’t think so,” Joshua answered. “They’ve been the only ones here since Blade, Geronimo, and you were taken away.”

  “How come you’re still here?” Hickok asked. “I thought the big guy told you to make tracks if anything happened to us.”

  “I couldn’t just desert you,” Joshua responded.

  “So what have you been doing all this time?”

  “Praying.”

  Hickok’s eyebrows arched. “Doing what?”

  “Praying for guidance,” Joshua elucidated. “Asking our Spirit Father for His will. Striving to ascertain an appropriate course of action. Should I confront the four guards or…”

  “It’s best for you that you didn’t confront them,” Hickok interrupted.

  “They’d have blown you away for sure.

  Joshua looked forlornly at each of the four corpses. “They won’t be blowing anyone away ever again.”

  “Sure won’t!” Hickok beamed. “Listen. We’ve got some serious traveling to do. Last I saw, the soldiers were taking Blade and Geronimo south.

  We’re going to go after them and free them.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” Hickok affirmed.

  “How do you do it?” Joshua queried.

  “Do what?”

  “Always have such an optimistic, confident attitude? I don’t comprehend how you do it,” Joshua said.

  “That works both ways, pard,” Hickok rejoined.

  “Both ways?”

  “Sure. You’re supposed to be the spiritual person in the Family, aren’t you? The one with all the answers about life and death? The one who is close to God? If you’re so close to God, then how come you don’t always have a optimistic, confident attitude?” Hickok asked.

  Joshua seemed taken aback by the question. He started to speak, then stopped.

  “Never mind, pard. Now’s not the time for this kind of chit-chat anyway. Let’s load up their guns and take off,” Hickok proposed.

  “Won’t we bury them?” Joshua inquired.

  Hickok chuckled. “You never give up, do you?”

  “No, I don’t.” Joshua paused, watching the gunman collect the weapons. “We’re not going to give them a decent burial, are we?”

  “Nope. There’s a lot of critters around these parts, lots of wild animals looking for a meal. Didn’t the Spirit design some critters to go around and eat dead things? I wouldn’t want to deprive them of their din-din, and I certainly wouldn’t want to try and buck creative design, now would I?”

  “You know something, Hickok?” Joshua asked.

  The gunman glanced at the Empath. “What’s that, pard?”

  Joshua grinned. “You’re not as dumb as you pretend to be.”

  “Blast!” Hickok exclaimed, sounding exasperated.

  “What is it?”

  “That darn Injun ain’t here to hear you say that!” Hickok’s face brightened. “Say, you wouldn’t want to put that in writing, would you? Geronimo’s never going to believe it unless I can supply some proof. What do you say, pard?”

  “I think I’m beginning to agree with Geronimo,” Joshua said. “You are nuts!”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Geronimo declared.

  “So do I,” Blade agreed apprehensively. They were standing near the western gate in the stockade, Zahner, Bear, and Bertha al
ongside them, staring outside the enclosure at a large group of prisoners. The soldiers, under the direction of Colonel Jarvis, had taken several hours to remove a couple of hundred of the captives, herding the unfortunates chosen into a compact mass only a few dozen feet west of the stockade. AH of the troopers had participated, with fifty training their weapons on the group being separated from the main body, while the rest of the soldiers kept their eyes on the compound.

  “What are they up to now?” Zahner asked anxiously. “Do you think they’re going to truck us to the Civilized Zone in stages?”

  “Didn’t anyone else notice?” Bertha ventured. “The bastards only took the oldest ones out of here and some of the young ones. Not the real little kids, mind you, but ones about ten to twenty. Didn’t you see it?”

  Blade had seen it, but hesitated to comment, reluctant to instill fear and panic in the prisoners. What was it Jarvis had said earlier?

  Something about having two hundred or so captives too many? “What do I do with the excess?” Jarvis had remarked. What was he going to do with those poor souls out there?

  Colonel Jarvis, with Captain Rice at his left elbow, approached the barbed wire.

  “Here comes the chief prick himself,” Bertha muttered. “Lordy, how I’d love to cram his teeth down his throat!”

  “I see I have your undivided attention, Blade,” Jarvis said greeting the Warrior as he stopped next to the fence.

  “Don’t do it,” Blade said softly.

  “But I must,” Jarvis countered. “You know that.”

  “Do what?” Zahner interjected. “What are you planning to do with them?”

  Colonel Jarvis clasped his hands behind his back and puffed up his chest. “You might consider this as object lesson number two. The first lesson was when those others managed to sneak out under the fence the other night. How many were there? Fifty-two, I believe?” He glanced at Blade. “Have you told them yet?”

  Zahner clasped Blade’s right arm. “Told us what? Didn’t they make it?”

  Blade averted his eyes and shook his head.

  Zahner turned, his eyes blazing his hatred. “Damn you!” He lunged at Jarvis, his arms between the strands of barbed wire.

  Jarvis deftly side-stepped, chuckling. “I’d behave myself, if I were you, Zahner. Or maybe you want me to haul more of your people out here?”

  Zahner gripped the wire, heedless of the pain, his arms quivering, as a loud groan racked his body.

  “Good!” Jarvis grinned. “That’s a good boy. But I want to demonstrate how fair I can be. Notice.” He waved his right arm and three soldiers ushered another trooper in the direction of the group outside the stockade. The trooper being compelled to join the two hundred was unarmed, his face white as a sheet.

  “He’s the one who fell asleep at his post,” Jarvis explained, “permitting those fifty-two to escape.”

  Bertha took a step toward the fence, her fists clenched. “You’d best not do what I think you’re gonna do!” she threatened.

  Colonel Jarvis feigned a shudder. “You scare me to death, bitch! Would you like to come out here too?”

  “Any time you’re ready!” Bertha snapped defiantly.

  “Yes, you probably would,” Jarvis said. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, my dear. Cheer up, though! You’ll have a front-row seat, as it were.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Blade stated. “You could release them. No one would ever know.”

  “Be serious!” Jarvis scoffed. “What do you take me for? I am a soldier and I have my duty.”

  “Is that how you justify it?” Blade angrily demanded. “By telling yourself you’re just doing your duty?”

  Jarvis only smiled and turned, facing the clustered bunch of prisoners and the fifty soldiers encircling them.

  “Please!” Zahner pleaded. “I beg of you! Have mercy!”

  Colonel Jarvis looked over his left shoulder, his slit of a mouth twisted in contempt. “Mercy is for weaklings! In case you haven’t noticed, the law of life is the survival of the fittest! And we are the fittest!” He nodded at Captain Rice.

  A hush fell over the entire compound as the prisoners suddenly realized what was about to transpire.

  “Ready!” Captain Rice shouted.

  Blade leaned forward. “I just want you to know, Jarvis, that if I ever get the chance, I’m going to personally see to it that you get everything you have coming to you!”

  “You shouldn’t take things so personally,” Colonel Jarvis said over his shoulder. “Fighting men like us must develop a detached, aloof attitude toward scum like these. You must learn to be objective, Blade.” He paused.

  “I might add that I’m finding you to be a bit of a disappointment. I’d heard so much about you and your renowned fighting ability, and now I discover you are little more than a simpering weakling.”

  “Aim!” Captain Rice yelled.

  Blade couldn’t recall an instance in which he had felt more helpless than he did now. He knew what was coming, but he couldn’t prevent it, he was unable to save the two hundred doomed to be slaughtered. For a moment, he thought the fifty soldiers ringing the victims would perform the actual execution, but then he heard the metallic click of a bolt being thrown above his head and he looked up at the western sentry tower.

  There were four troopers in the tower, and one of them had the big machine gun aimed at the two hundred people below. Blade couldn’t identify the make or manufacture of the mounted machine gun; he only knew it was impressive and undoubtedly deadly. If they were utilizing the mounted gun for their butchery, then the fifty soldiers surrounding the group were there to prevent anyone from escaping.

  “Lordy!” Bertha mumbled, terrified. “Please don’t let them do it!”

  “Fire!” Rice screamed.

  Pandemonium ensued.

  Those within the barbed wire watched helplessly as horrifying carnage erupted outside.

  The machine gun in the sentry tower opened up, the gun roaring as the heavy slugs ripped into the packed innocents below. Many of the two hundred attempted to escape their fate; they bolted in every direction, fleeing for their lives, panic-stricken, some voicing their fear at the top of their lungs as they shrieked and wailed. The fifty soldiers encircling the victims were enjoying themselves, shooting those who endeavored to escape before they could manage more than ten yards. Old or young, male or female, it didn’t matter, they were indiscriminately massacred, their bodies being struck again and again and again, their faces contorted as they were hit, the slugs tearing through them, causing them to jerk and writhe and twist and squirm before they fell to the hard ground, lifeless.

  Even after they dropped, it wasn’t over. The soldiers kept raking the group with fire, round after round pouring into the deceased, creating the illusion the dead forms were still alive as they flopped and jumped from the force of the impact.

  The killing went on and on and on.

  And finally ceased.

  The silence following the gruesome execution seemed preternatural, as the troopers surveyed their handiwork and the prisoners in the compound gaped at the torn and bleeding bodies of their relatives and friends.

  Colonel Jarvis faced the stockade, smiling. “Now you know I am not to be trifled with!” he announced. “If any of you give me any trouble whatsoever, I will do to you what I just did to them!” He glanced at Zahner and Bear. “You are their leaders. I will hold you accountable if trouble arises. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

  Zahner gazed up at the sentry tower, then at the corpses on the field.

  “You have made yourself clearer than anyone else I have ever known.”

  “Good.” Jarvis nodded, staring at Blade. “I’ll have Rice fetch you in an hour. My men are erecting a tent and we shall dine together.”

  “What makes you think I would join you for a meal?” Blade demanded.

  Jarvis started to walk off. “Oh, you’ll come, all right, if motivated by nothing more than curiousity.
See you in an hour.” He departed, walking toward the trucks.

  “Okay, men!” Captain Rice ordered. “Let’s hop to it and clean up this mess! There will be no evening meal until it’s done!” He strolled off, organizing the work detail.

  “How could anyone eat after witnessing… that?” Zahner asked.

  “Why’d they do it?” Bear inquired, looking at Blade.

  “They were excess,” Blade replied.

  “Excess?”

  Blade nodded. “Jarvis told me earlier there were about two hundred more prisoners than he could accommodate in his trucks. Now everyone will fit into the troop transports and the Army won’t need to make two trips.”

  “I’m goin’ to waste that sucker!” Bertha vowed.

  “You’ll have to stand in line,” Blade told her.

  “What’s this about a meal?” Zahner queried.

  “Beats me,” Blade said shrugging. “Jarvis insists on having a meal with me. Maybe he wants to gloat some more.”

  “It’s odd…” Geronimo began, his brow furrowed.

  “What’s odd?” Blade wanted to know.

  “I could be wrong,” Geronimo elaborated, “but I get the impression Jarvis is treating us, and especially you, as if we’re some kind of celebrities.”

  “You’re off your rocker,” Blade informed him. “The only reason we’re still alive is because Samuel the Second wants to kill us himself.”

  “Could be,” Geronimo agreed, “but haven’t you noticed how hard Jarvis tries to impress you, how he’s tacitly seeking your approval of his actions?”

  Blade smiled. “Have you been reading the psychology books in the Family Library again?”

  “Are you goin’ to eat with that son of a bitch?” Bertha demanded angrily.

  “Yes.”

  “Traitor!” she snapped.

  “Bertha, I don’t have any choice. They’d probably drag me off if I refused. Besides, Jarvis is right. I am curious. I may learn some important information that will aid us in escaping.”

  Bear swept his left arm around the stockade. “How can we get out? They’ve doubled the guard since the others got out under the fence the other night. And look at all that hardware. How can we get out of this?”