Armageddon Run

Chapter Twelve

“It sure is quiet around here with everybody else gone,” Bertha commented, cradling her M-16 in her arms.

“I like the quiet,” Rudabaugh said. “I never was much for city life.”

The sun was hovering above the western horizon and the air was becoming a bit chill.

“Why do you think the Doc ain’t hit us yet?” Bertha asked, keeping her eyes trained on the surrounding countryside. They were at the extreme southern edge of Catlow, alongside U.S. Highway 85. Rudabaugh had dug a hole in the ground and was carefully planting a bundle of dynamite in the hole.

“Maybe he couldn’t decide what to wear,” Rudabaugh said.

Bertha chuckled. “That’s a good one.” She watched him place dirt on top of the dynamite while holding the fuse to one side. “Say, where’d you learn to use this stuff?”

“The dynamite? The Cavalry has a lot of it. Some of the ranchers hoarded it after the war. I learned how to use it from my paw, and he learned from his. Some of it is real unstable.” He completed hiding the bundle and aligned the fuse to one side.

“How do you mean?” Bertha asked.

“When it gets real old, sometimes it’ll go up if you just drop it or bump the crate it’s in,” Rudabaugh explained.

“Lordy! You mean to tell me we rode out here with two crates of that stuff and it could of went kablewy if somebody sneezed?”

“I checked it before we left,” Rudabaugh said. “I know what I’m doing.”

“And I know what I’m doing,” Bertha stated. “I ain’t sleepin’ in the SEAL tonight!”

“There isn’t any in the SEAL,” Rudabaugh informed her. “This is the last of it.”

“We got it all set up?”

“Yep. All I have to do is unwind this line back to the detonating point,” Rudabaugh responded.

“How’s this stuff work?” Bertha inquired.

“You really want to know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” Bertha retorted.

Rudabaugh grinned. “Okay. From what I learned, dynamite was used a lot before the war. They used it for things like construction projects and in quarries—”

“What are quarries?” Bertha queried.

“A quarry is a big hole in the ground,” Rudabaugh informed her.

“You’re puttin’ me on.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Why would anyone want a big hole in the ground?”

“They were blasting for stones they could use in their buildings,” Rudabaugh elaborated. “Dynamite is wrapped in waxed-paper cylinders we call cartridges. These cartridges come in all different sizes, depending on the size of the job. The older dynamite was made up of something called nitroglycerin, mixed in with inert materials. Before the war, they used a lot of ammonium nitrate instead of nitro. Normally, the charge is pretty safe, because you need a blasting cap, or detonating cap, to set it off. We use the cap and one of two types of fuses, safety fuses or detonating fuses. A safety fuse has black powder in it. It burns real slow and gives the dynamiter time to get away before it blows. A detonating fuse, on the other hand, has explosive in the core. I like to use a special kind of cap sometimes, called an electric blasting cap. I hook it up to that box you saw earlier, the one with the plunger. All I have to do is press the plunger, and it sends an electric current through the line to the charge. Boom!”

“Wow! You sure do know a lot about this dynamite,” Bertha complimented him.

Rudabaugh stood and began unraveling his line. “It’s one of the reasons Kilrane wanted me to volunteer.”

“You got yourself a main squeeze?” Bertha asked.

“A what?”

“A fox, fool.”

“I owned a dog once,” Rudabaugh said, “but I’ve never owned a fox.”

“Are you serious?”

“I never owned a fox,” Rudabaugh assured her.

Bertha shook her head. “You people from the sticks sure do talk weird!”

“And you don’t?” Rudabaugh rejoined.

They were nearing a brick wall as Rudabaugh continued to unstring his line.

“The Doc is gonna be in for a big surprise when he gets here,” Bertha stated.

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Rudabaugh inquired.

“What?”

“Why’d you volunteer for this mission?”

Bertha shrugged. “I didn’t have nothin’ better to do.”

“What’s the real reason?” Rudabaugh pressed her.

“I like to travel,” she defensively replied.

“Would your reason have anything to do with Hickok?” Rudabaugh queried.

“Ain’t you heard? Hickok’s married.”

“I know that,” Rudabaugh stated. “But I couldn’t help but notice the way you look at him sometimes.”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Bertha said.

“I know what I saw,” Rudabaugh disputed her. They reached the wall and he climbed over it to the other side. A wooden box with a handle on top was resting on the ground.

Bertha, eager to change the subject, pointed at the line. “Won’t they see that and figure out what we’re up to?”

“I’ll cover it with grass and leaves, just like I did the others,” Rudabaugh told her.

“How many of those charges do you have set up?” Bertha asked.

“Enough.” Rudabaugh knelt and began attaching the line to the box.

“How come you didn’t answer my question?”

“What question was that?”

Rudabaugh smirked. “You do like him, don’t you?”

“You shouldn’t butt your big nose in where it don’t belong,” Bertha advised him.

“I’m just curious, is all,” Rudabaugh explained.

“Well, you know what curiosity did to the cat,” Bertha reminded him.

“I like Hickok,” Rudabaugh commented. “I’d heard about his reputation before I met him. They tell stories about him, you know. About the gunfights he had in Fox, Thief River Falls, and the Twin Cities. They say he’s greased lightning with those Colts of his.”

“If you knew he’s so fast,” Bertha said, “why’d you challenge him to a shootin’ match?”

“I wanted to see for myself. I’m no gunfighter, mind you, but I’m right handy with my pistols. I wanted to set up some targets and see how good Hickok really is.” Rudabaugh stood, brushing some dirt from his clothes.

“It wouldn’t be the same,” Bertha remarked.

“I don’t follow you.”

“I’ve seen Hickok target shoot,” Bertha detailed, “and it ain’t the same as the real thing. When White Meat’s in action, there ain’t nobody like him!” she said proudly. “I saw him in Thief River Falls and the Twin Cities. He was beautiful!”

“You see?” Rudabaugh said, grinning. “The look on your face right now is the one I’m talking about.”

“I used to like you,” Bertha snapped, “before you became such a know-it-all! If you…” she began, and abruptly stopped speaking, gazing over Rudabaugh’s left shoulder.

Rudabaugh turned, his hands dropping to his pistols.

Hickok was strolling toward them, his Henry in his left hand, his right thumb hooked in his belt buckle. “Are you done yet?” he inquired. “Blade sent me to get you. He wants to palaver by the SEAL.”

“He wants to what?” Bertha queried.

“Talk, Black Beauty,” Hickok stated.

Rudabaugh’s Winchester was leaning against the brick wall. He scooped it up and faced the Warrior. “We’re finished here,” he said.

“Good. Let’s mosey on back to the town square.” Hickok led the way. “I hope the Doktor gets here soon. I’m itchin’ for some action.”

“From what I hear, you see a lot of it,” Rudabaugh mentioned.

“How about you?” Hickok inquired. “Have you seen a lot of action?”

“Some,” Rudabaugh replied.

“Are you hitched?” Hickok asked.

“No.”

“Where do you hang your hat?”

Rudabaugh glanced at the gunfighter. “What is this, an interrogation?”

“Just want to get to know you, is all,” Hickok said. “I already know a lot about Orson. He doesn’t have a wife, either—”

“Who would marry Potbelly?” Bertha quipped.

“—and he comes from a big family and has seven brothers and sisters,” Hickok went on. “I gather Wolfe, the leader of the Moles, couldn’t find any volunteers ’cause everybody reckoned this trip would be suicide, so he kind of twisted Orson’s arm to make him join up.”

“How’d you find out Orson ain’t married and about his family and all?”

Bertha questioned. “I didn’t think you two was on speakin’ terms.”

“Geronimo and Orson had a talk last night,” Hickok disclosed, “while they were pulling guard duty. Geronimo told me about it this morning. He thinks we’ve been a mite hard on Orson.”

“Oh, the poor baby!” Bertha cracked sarcastically.

“So how about it, pard?” Hickok said to Rudabaugh. “Where do you live?”

“I have a small ranch about thirty miles north of Pierre,” Rudabaugh answered. “I run about two hundred head of cattle, and I handle the dynamiting chores for anybody who needs some blasting done.”

“Who watches your ranch while you’re gallivanting around?” Hickok asked.

“My younger brother. One day he’ll be getting a spread of his own, and it’s good experience for him,” Rudabaugh stated.

They were only one block from the town square.

“How many brothers and sisters have you got?” Hickok inquired.

Rudabaugh grinned at the mention of his family. “Two older sisters and my younger brother. My sisters are married and they keep nagging me to tie the knot.”

“Typical,” Hickok declared. “Women are never happy unless they’re tellin’ a man what to do.”

“Oh, really?” Bertha said. “You get married, and all of a sudden you’re an expert on women, huh?”

“No man can be an expert on women,” Hickok opined.

“And why’s that?” Bertha pestered him.

Hickok nudged Rudabaugh with his left elbow and winked. “It’s because females are such contrary critters, no man could ever make sense out of ‘em.”

“I’ll be sure and tell your wife you said that the next time I see her,” Bertha commented.

They rounded a building and saw the SEAL still parked in front of the command post. Blade and Geronimo were standing near the driver’s door, conversing. Lynx was leaning against the vehicle, listening. Orson was visible on top of the command post, peering through the binoculars. The concrete command post was rectangular in shape with a flat roof. Access to the roof was gained via a flight of metal stairs attached to the western side of the structure, only 20 feet from the northwestern corner. The front door faced due north, and there was another exit in the eastern wall, about halfway along the building.

“We’re all here, pard,” Hickok said as they reached the transport.

Blade turned from his discussion with Geronimo. “Okay. We have a few things to talk about.” He gazed up at the roof. “Orson, can you hear me up there?”

Orson’s bearded countenance appeared over the rim of the roof. “Loud and clear.”

“Good. Give a listen to what I’m about to say, but keep your eyes peeled for any sign of movement on U.S. Highway 85,” Blade directed.

“Will do,” Orson replied.

Bertha grinned. Orson had obeyed Blade’s every command since the incident with Hickok the other night.

“The Spirit has smiled on us so far,” Blade said to them, “but the worst is yet to come. We’re as ready as we’re going to be for the Doktor. I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up yet, but his delay has worked to our advantage, allowing us the time to prepare our little surprises.” He paused, glancing at each of them in turn. “You all know what we’re doing here. We’re to stall as best we can. Somehow, some way, we’re to hold out here for two days.”

“Why two days?” Bertha asked.

“The Doktor will be expecting an ambush,” Blade stated. “He’s not stupid. He’ll have patrols scouting this area. If all of the Freedom Federation, all of the Cavalry and the Clan and the Moles and ourselves, were waiting for him here, he might decide to avoid a conflict and return to Cheyenne. Or he might elect to use a thermo on Catlow and wipe us all out—”

“What’s to stop the Doktor from using a thermo on our Home?”

Geronimo interjected.

“I doubt the Doc would waste a thermo on the Family,” Lynx declared.

“There weren’t too many thermo units still functional. If they have any left, you can bet the Doc and Sammy will save ’em for something special.”

“As I was saying,” Blade resumed, “we want to draw the Doktor in, deceive him into believing we’re alone. If our main column stays miles from here, if the Doktor doesn’t know we have a well-armed army of our own, he’ll become overconfident. He’ll throw everything he has at us, and the longer we can hold out, the more convinced he’ll be that we’re by ourselves. He’ll concentrate on us and his perimeter security will lapse.

Two days should do it. Two days after the fighting starts, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and Kilrane will lead their forces in a combined assault on the Doktor’s flanks and defeat him.”

“We hope,” Hickok muttered.

“Wait a minute,” Rudabaugh said. “This plan of yours has a couple of holes in it. How do we know how big the Doktor’s force will be?”

“We don’t,” Blade replied.

“And what if his army is bigger than ours?” Rudabaugh queried.

“Rikki and Kilrane will attack unless they feel their column would be slaughtered if they did. In which case, it has already been decided they should retreat,” Blade explained.

“Leaving us high and dry.” Rudabaugh stated the obvious.

“Now you know why this was a volunteer mission,” Blade commented.

“One more thing,” Rudabaugh remarked. “How will Rikki and Kilrane know when to attack? How will they know when the fighting begins if they’re off in the distance somewhere? And what happens if we need them sooner, if we can’t hold out for two days?”

“Already taken care of,” Blade disclosed. “One of Kilrane’s most trusted men should be watching us at this very second. He’s under orders to keep Catlow under surveillance, evade the Doktor’s patrols, and report to Kilrane and Rikki on the double if we need them sooner than anticipated.”

“Hey!” Orson called down from the roof.

Blade looked up. “What is it?”

“Did Wolfe know all of this?” Orson asked.

“Every stage. He was in on all the planning sessions. Why?” Blade responded.

“He never told me all the details,” Orson complained. “All he said was whoever came here might not come back.”

“We didn’t want to divulge the entire scheme,” Blade informed him.

“Who knows where the Doktor might have spies?”

“There’s one thing I’d like to know, chuckles,” Lynx mentioned.

“What?”

“Why just seven of us? Why not ten? Or twenty?”

“Seven was the most we could comfortably cram into the SEAL,” Blade answered.

“Speaking of the SEAL,” Rudabaugh stated, “I’ve heard you guys mention it has some armaments. What type of weapons, exactly?”

Blade reached out and patted the door. “The SEAL has already been battle tested, and we can vouch for its reliability. Our Founder, Kurt Carpenter, had two fifty-caliber machine guns hidden in recessed compartments under the front headlights. There is a flamethrower hidden in the center of the front fender. The SEAL has a rocket launcher positioned in the middle of the front grill. And, finally, we have a miniaturized surface-to-air missile mounted in the roof above the driver’s seat. The weapons systems are activated by a bank of four toggle switches installed in the dash. You also know the body is shatterproof and bulletproof. The SEAL will be our ace in the hole, so to speak.”

“So we might be able to boogie out of here if things get too hot,” Bertha said.

“Yes and no,” Blade declared.

“Uh-oh.” Bertha frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that. What do you mean by yes and no?”

“Yes, we could boogie, as you put it, and we’d probably stand a good chance of breaking through the Doktor’s lines. But no, we won’t do it because I don’t intend to let the Doktor know we have the SEAL here.”

Bertha’s brow creased. “I may not be too bright sometimes, but even I can figure out you don’t intend to use the SEAL in our fight with the Doktor, do you?”

Blade shook his head. “Not during the first two days. We’ll hide it in the big shed behind the command post.”

“Hey!” Orson yelled down from the roof again.

Blade glanced up. “What?”

Orson pointed to the south. “We’ve got company!”

Everyone tensed.

“What do you see?” Blade asked.

Orson had the binoculars pressed to his eyes. “A lot of vehicles coming over a low hill about a mile south of town. Ten, twelve, fourteen…” Orson looked down at Blade “A hell of a lot of “em!”

“Keep watching!” Blade ordered. He stepped up to the transport and grabbed the door handle. “I’m going to hide the SEAL in the shed. You all know where your posts are. Remember, each of you is to take an M-16 and as much ammunition as you can carry from the collection we took from those dead soldiers. It’s piled inside the command post, in the first room to your left.”

Hickok patted his right Python. “I’m partial to these, pard.”

“We’ve already covered this,” Blade reminded him. “Save your favorite weapons until you really need them. Use the M-16s as much as you can.

We have ample ammunition for them.” He grinned at each of them. “Hop to it!”

Lynx watched Blade climb into the SEAL and drive the transport around the western corner of the command post.

Rudabaugh started into the building to claim an M-16. “Do you want me to get one for you, Lynx?” he offered.

Lynx shook his head. “Thanks, chuckles, but I don’t go in for firearms.”

“Then what’re you gonna fight the Doktor with?” Bertha inquired.

“Spitballs?”

Lynx chuckled and raised his right hand. One by one, he extended his fingers and thumb, revealing the tapered nails, in reality iron-like claws, on the end of each digit. “These little beauties will do just fine, thanks.”

“Your claws against guns?” Rudabaugh queried doubtfully.

“If the Doc has brought his G.R.D.’s with him,” Lynx said, “it’ll be even-steven, ’cause us genetic misfits don’t go in much for guns. And as far as the soldiers are concerned,” Lynx said confidently, “if you don’t think I have a chance against guns, why don’t you walk over to the fountain and tell that to Captain Reno? I’m sure he’ll be tickled pink at the news.”

Rudabaugh had seen the gory remains of the hapless officer. “No, thanks. I get the point.”

Lynx clicked his nails. “So will they, bub! So will they!”