Armageddon Run

Chapter Six

The morning sun was slightly above the eastern horizon when the garrison commander, a portly officer with a crew cut and a neatly trimmed black mustache, emerged from the front door of the concrete command post. He lazily stretched and idly gazed across the town square.

How odd, he thought. Usually, even at this early hour, there would be people in the square, most enroute from one side of the town to the other.

With vehicles at a premium, the majority of them having been confiscated by the military over the years, “pedal power,” as the officer preferred to refer to it, was the normal means of locomotion. Civilians walked everywhere.

Why weren’t there any in the town square?

There was a fountain in the center of the square, the geyser long since defunct. The white basin mainly served as a catch for rain water, and at the moment was two-thirds full.

The officer walked toward the fountain, hoping he could spot the young woman he had seen at the fountain the day before at about this same time. His fatigues had been pressed and starched, and his Government Model Series 80 Automatic Pistol hung on his left hip. He wanted to present a favorable impression when he ordered her to join him for supper, a candlelit repast for two.

Smiling smugly, the officer stopped near the fountain and scanned the area, disappointed that the young woman was nowhere in sight. He was about to return to the command post to arouse his men when he saw someone heading his way. At first, he mistakenly assumed it was one of his men. Several seconds elapsed before he realized it was a woman.

His initial reaction was to admire her beauty.

His second response was to wonder what she was doing in fatigues. All of the troopers under him were men.

His next move was to drop his hand to his pistol. He started to draw, then hesitated, perplexed by her friendly smile. She waved to him, as if she knew him. An M-16 was slung over her left shoulder, but otherwise there wasn’t the faintest indication of hostility on her part.

Who the hell was she?

There was a commotion in the fountain behind him, and the sound of water splashing.

The officer glanced over his right shoulder and froze.

The barrel of a machine gun was an inch from his nose, being wielded by a huge man with bulging muscles. He wore a black vest, fatigue pants, and moccasins, all dripping wet.

“Captain Reno, I presume?” the giant asked.

Reno gingerly released his pistol and slowly raised his hands to shoulder height. “You have the advantage of me, sir,” he stated.

“Do you keep up with the intelligence reports?” the stranger inquired.

Reno was confused by the unexpected query. “I beg your pardon?”

“I know the Army has been spying on us for years,” the giant said.

“Have you ever heard of the Home and the Family?”

Reno’s eyes widened.

“Ahhh. I take it you have.” The big man grinned. “Then I can assume you have heard of the Warriors?”

“You’re Blade!” Reno exclaimed.

“This varmint ain’t as stupid as he looks,” commented someone to Reno’s right.

A blond man in buckskins stood at the east end of the fountain, a rifle in his hands, two pearl-handled revolvers on his hips.

“You’re Hickok!” Reno stated.

“And where Hickok and Blade are,” interjected another voice to the left, “can their faithful, smarter, and braver Indian companion be far behind?”

Reno glanced at the west end of the fountain.

The one known as Geronimo was there, an FNC Auto Rifle at the ready.

“What are you idiots doin’, standing out in the open like this?” demanded the woman in the fatigues as she joined them.

“Shootin” the breeze with Captain Reno here,” Hickok replied.

Reno recognized he had been set up. Blade must have been lying in wait in the fountain, with Hickok and Geronimo on either side. The woman had served as a distraction, allowing Blade to get the drop on him. “My compliments on your strategy,” he said, addressing Blade. “How did you know I would be coming out here so early?”

“We didn’t,” Blade admitted. “I was expecting your men to come out first.”

“And what is it you want?” Reno inquired. He struggled to maintain a calm demeanor, although he was extremely nervous. Every officer knew about the Warriors and had heard of their decidedly deadly reputation.

He was astonished to discover these three so far from their usual stamping grounds. Who was the woman and how did she fit into the scheme of things? What was going on?

“What we want,” Blade said, “and what we will get, is Catlow. You can make it easy for us, or hard on yourself. The choice is yours.”

Reno looked at the command post. Where the hell were his men? He stalled, acting friendly. “Just the four of you against my garrison? You can’t be serious!”

“There’s more than four of us, bub!”

Reno casually turned, completely unprepared for the sight he beheld.

One of the Doktor’s genetic creations, a short creature resembling a cross between a man and a feline, was strolling his way, coming around the eastern arc of the fountain, past Hickok.

Reno gaped, nonplussed.

The creature, smiling, stopped next to Reno and tweaked his chin.

“What the matter, chuckles? Cat got your tongue?” He laughed.

“You!” Reno exploded. “You’re Lynx!”

Lynx made a show of examining his own body. “Are you sure?”

“How is it everybody knows you?” the woman asked Lynx.

“You tell her,” Lynx instructed Reno.

“Lynx, here, is famous,” Reno explained. “He was in all the papers and on all the newscasts after he tried to kill the Doktor. He actually turned against the Doktor!” Reno said in a stunned disbelief.

“Too bad I wasn’t able to rip him to shreds, like I wanted,” Lynx stated regretfully.

“Did you know the Doktor has posted a reward for your capture?” Reno asked Lynx.

“Oh yeah? How much?”

“One million credits,” Reno revealed.

Lynx whistled appreciatively.

“The Doktor wants you real bad,” Reno elaborated. “I can imagine the reason. Everyone knows what you did to the Biological Center. All the newscasts reported how you used a thermo on the Doktor’s headquarters.”

“A million credits, dead or alive,” Lynx said, marveling at his notoriety.

“No,” Reno corrected him, “a million credits alive.”

Lynx’s brow furrowed in perplexity. “I don’t get it. The Doc doesn’t want me dead?”

Reno grinned. “The Doktor has made it clear he wants you alive. He has threatened to kill anyone who harms you.”

“How would you like to impress the Doktor and win his good favor?”

Blade asked Reno.

“I don’t follow you,” the officer admitted.

“It’s simple. You drive to the Citadel and tell the Doktor Lynx is waiting for him here in Catlow,” Blade explained. “Along with us, of course.”

Reno looked from Blade to Lynx to Blade again. “You must be crazy! You want me to inform the Doktor you’re here?”

“That’s what I just said,” Blade noted.

“Why would you want me to do something like that?” Reno asked.

“You let us worry about the reason,” Blade said. “Just take your men, drive to the Citadel, and let the Doktor know we’re here. It’s easy enough, isn’t it?”

“I find two problems with that scenario,” Reno stated.

“What?” Blade responded.

“First, I’m not certain the Doktor is still in the Citadel,” Reno said.

“Who are you kidding, dimples?” Lynx snapped. “The Doc has always used the Cheyenne Citadel as his base of operations.”

“That was before you obliterated his headquarters and all of his scientific equipment,” Reno retorted. “Don’t you know how many thousands of people you killed when you used that thermo? Do you have any idea how much hardware you destroyed? They had a panic on their hands! The civilian populace went bananas! The Doktor and Samuel the Second believe you’ve joined the rebels. They’re concerned you might have access to additional thermo units. The last I heard, they were in the process of evacuating Cheyenne.”

“Evacuating the Citadel?” Lynx declared.

“Precisely. The Doktor salvaged what he could from the rubble. You annihilated most of the Genetic Research Division. The last I knew, there were rumors the Doktor was relocating his operations in Denver. So you see, I might not find the Doktor in the Citadel to deliver your message.”

“You said you had two problems with the idea,” Blade commented.

“What’s the other?”

“I’m not stupid,” Reno said harshly. “What you’re proposing is certain suicide for all of you. You must have an ulterior motive.”

“Like what?”

“Like setting a trap for the Doktor,” Reno asserted.

“Uh-oh,” Hickok interrupted. “Look who finally rolled out of the sack!”

Four troopers were congregated outside the command post, observing the conversation near the fountain. They were armed with the inevitable M-16s, but they were reluctant to use their arms, hesitant to initiate a conflict when their superior officer was obviously being covered and might be one of the first to fall.

“It’s up to you,” Blade told Reno. “Which way will it be? Easy or hard?”

Captain Reno was calculating his move. If the Warriors and Lynx were here, in Catlow, it did not bode well for his missing work detail. In addition, the patrol in the jeep he’d sent out the night before had not reported back as yet. And there was no sign of the guard he always posted on the roof of the command center each night. Which could mean only one thing: 16 of his men were more than likely dead, leaving him with 24.

More than enough to polish off Blade and his companions! Blade was a fool if he expected a career military man to capitulate so readily! Reno’s lips tightened in resolve. His friends did not call him “Bulldog” for nothing!

“Tell your men to drop their guns,” Blade directed.

“And if I don’t?” Reno inquired.

“I’ll kill you,” Blade vowed.

Reno slowly twisted, staring at his men. Eight of them were now outside, and the rest would join them any second. He smiled at his men, hoping to convince Blade he was going to comply. “Men!” he shouted. “Listen to me real good!”

Three more of his men exited the command post.

“Do exactly as I tell you!” Captain Reno yelled.

Hickok, tensely surveying the growing group of troopers outside of the command post, saw them begin to spread out. He glanced at Reno, noting the officer’s calm countenance, positive the captain would obey. He was all the more amazed when the officer abruptly bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Get them!” Reno then whirled, brushing the Commando barrel aside, and plowed into the much larger Blade.

The town square erupted into concentrated violence.

Blade and Reno tumbled into the fountain.

The soldiers started firing, advancing toward the middle of the square.

Hickok backed up, raising the Henry to his shoulder and pulling the trigger.

One of the troopers was struck in the chest and propelled to the ground.

Bertha and Geronimo opened up, both of them crouching to pose less of a target.

Lynx, unarmed, dove into the fountain.

More and more soldiers were bursting from the command post on the run, fanning out, deploying with an eye to encircling the fountain.

Hickok downed two more troopers.

Rudabaugh suddenly appeared on the roof of the command center, directly above the front door and the soldiers, a lit stick of dynamite in his right hand. He tossed the dynamite and dropped from sight.

The explosion was tremendous, spraying dirt and dust and chunks of flesh and blood in every direction.

Dumfounded by the blast, the soldiers still alive were looking for the source, unaware of the man on the roof above them. The concentration of gunfire directed at the fountain momentarily slacked off.

Rudabaugh jumped up again, another stick of dynamite clutched in his right fist. His arm swept down, then up, and he threw the explosive underhand.

One of the troopers spotted the man in black on the roof and tried to get off a hasty shot.

A second blast rocked the town square. Soldiers were screaming in pain and fear. Three of the troopers broke from the rest and ran toward the east side of the command post.

Orson leaped into view at the corner of the structure, his shotgun thundering.

The three troopers went down in a bloody heap.

Hickok held his fire, waiting for an enemy to show himself. The air was choked with dust and dirt, obscuring both sides in the clash. The area near the fountain was still relatively clear, and the gunman clearly saw Blade and Reno thrashing inside along the rim. What was taking Blade so long to finish off that wimp?

Lynx rose up next to the struggling pair, his lips contorted in a feral snarl. His right hand flicked out, and his claws closed on the back of Reno’s squat neck. Lynx heaved, yanking Reno away from Blade and shoving the officer under the water. His pointed teeth exposed, Lynx piled on top of Reno.

Something was wrong with Blade. He was leaning on the rim of the fountain and gasping for air.

Hickok started toward his friend.

Bertha beat him there, reaching Blade and lifting his head in her left arm.

What the blazes was the matter with Blade? Hickok was less than ten yards from them when the dust and dirt dispersed enough for the soldiers to see their opponents. Without warning, the remaining troopers bore down on the fountain.

Geronimo was providing covering fire.

Rudabaugh entered the fray, using a Winchester from the roof of the command post.

Orson added to the carnage from the corner of the building.

Caught in a withering cross fire, the soldiers were getting the worst of the battle, littering the ground with their dead and dying. A small cluster was racing toward the fountain, determined to reach their commander.

Hickok perceived there was no way Bertha could hold them off, that some of them might even reach the fountain. He dropped his Henry and drew his Pythons, running at full speed now, firing as he ran, going for the head as he invariably did, his shots spaced so closely together it was almost impossible to tell them apart. He reached Bertha’s side, the two of them shoulder to shoulder.

Blade suddenly wrenched free of Bertha and rose, the Commando chattering, swinging the machine gun in an arc. Four charging troopers jerked and danced as the heavy slugs stitched a crimson patchwork across their chests.

The ensuing silence seemed unnatural.

Bodies filled the area between the fountain and the command post.

Some of the injured were moaning. Pools of blood dotted the square.

Hickok took hold of Blade’s right arm. “Are you all right? You look a mite pale.”

“I’m fine,” Blade replied, his voice ragged.

“What happened?” Hickok asked.

Blade ignored the question. He pointed at the fallen troopers. “Bertha! Geronimo! Check on them! See if any are faking. Be careful!”

Bertha and Geronimo began their circuit of the bodies.

“What happened?” Hickok repeated.

Blade doubled over, grimacing. “The bastard kneed me in the family jewels.”

“You mean he got you in the nuts?” Hickok said, snickering.

“It isn’t funny,” Blade stated. “Jenny and I may never have kids!”

“Yeah, I know how that can hurt, pard,” Hickok agreed sympathetically.

He glanced at the pool of water in the fountain. “What happened to…” He stopped, shocked.

Blade turned.

Lynx was standing near the center of the fountain. Floating next to his left leg was Captain Reno’s body. Floating next to his right leg was Captain Reno’s head, the neck a jagged ring of red flesh, the captain’s eyes open and seemingly alive as the head bobbed in the murky water. Blood dribbled from Lynx’s mouth and over his hairy chin. He walked to the rim of the fountain and stepped over it to firm ground. “That was my idea of a fun time,” he quipped. “I can’t wait for the Doc to show his ugly face so we can do it again.”

Hickok scrutinized the genetic deviate. “You like doing what you just did?”

Lynx nodded. “It’s in my blood.”

Hickok gazed at the grisly corpse in the pool. “Lynx, I’ve been accused of being trigger-happy now and then. But you, pard, plumb take the cake.”

“You gotta understand something, Hickok,” Lynx said earnestly. “The Doktor created me from a test-tube. He did whatever he does to a human embryo and, presto, I’m the result. He created me, and all the others like me, for only one purpose: to kill. We’re his personal assassin corps. Oh yeah, some of us in the Genetic Research Division perform other functions, but primarily we’re bred to kill. It’s what I do best. I only feel comfortable when I’m fightin’ or killin’. You, more than any of the rest, should be able to appreciate that.”

Hickok slowly nodded. “I reckon I do.”

Blade strode several yards from the fountain, scanning the town square.

The residents of Catlow were wisely staying in their homes. Earlier in the day, just before sunrise, when Blade and his strike force had surreptitiously entered the town, they had inadvertently bumped into several of the local citizens. Without exception, each one had gawked for a few seconds, then wheeled and fled.

Geronimo and Bertha were still verifying the status of the soldiers sprawled on the square.

Blade looked at Hickok. “Take Lynx with you. Bring the SEAL here.”

Hickok nodded and ran off, Lynx in tow. They had left the vehicle parked behind a dilapidated shack four blocks to the north.

Rudabaugh and Orson jogged up to Blade.

“We made a quick sweep of the command post,” Rudabaugh reported.

“It’s all ours.”

“What’s inside?” Blade inquired.

“Not much,” Rudabaugh detailed. “Two big rooms with cots for sleeping, a smaller room with a bunch of tables and a stove, an office, and a room with a lot of electronic equipment.”

“What type of electronic equipment?” Blade asked.

Rudabaugh shrugged. “Beats me. We don’t have anything like it in the Cavalry. All the fancy stuff we had like that wore out years ago. 1 did see an old shortwave set once, and I think this stuff inside could be a radio of some kind.”

“Stay here and keep alert,” Blade ordered. “I’m going to have a look.”

He took two steps, then paused. “You both did a good job,” he praised them.

“Even me?” Orson asked.

“Even you,” Blade confirmed.

Orson grinned sheepishly.

Blade headed for the command post. He sincerely hoped there was a radio inside. Unless they could find a trooper relatively unscathed, capable of driving an extended distance, they would need to devise another method of contacting the Doktor. A radio might be just what the… doctor… ordered.

Grinning at his thoughts, he entered the concrete structure and found himself in a hallway. There was a door to his left, partially open, and he walked to it and shoved.

One wall of the room was filled with sophisticated electronic equipment. There was a wooden table aligned against the wall, and several pieces of equipment were on top of the table. In front of the table was a swivel chair, and in the chair, slumped forward so his forehead was resting on the edge of the table, was a trooper, a pair of headphones on his ears.

Blade crossed to the chair and touched the trooper’s left shoulder.

The chair swiveled to one side, causing the trooper to begin to slide toward the cement floor. There was a neat hole in the back of the soldier’s head, and a larger cavity where his right eye had once been.

Rudabaugh, Blade guessed. It looked like the type of wound a Winchester would make. Evidently, Rudabaugh had caught this trooper in the act of radioing for assistance.

The soldier slipped from the chair and landed in a disjointed pile on the floor.

Blade leaned down and stripped the headphones from the soldier. He placed them over his own ears.

“Charlie-Alfa-Tango-Lima-Oscar-Whiskey, come in, please!”

Blade sat down in the chair and studied the equipment on the table.

“Charlie-Alfa-Tango-Lima-Oscar-Whiskey, come in, please!” a faint voice requested.

Blade racked his memory. The Warriors had confiscated some portable radio equipment during their previous encounters with the Army, but the items on the table were completely different in many respects. He recalled his hours spent in the Family library, and one book in particular.

Kurt Carpenter, the Founder of the Home, had personally stocked the hundreds of thousands of books included in the library. Books on every conceivable subject. History books, literature books, humorous books, music books, books on math, geography, astronomy, and all other branches of science. Encyclopedias, dictionaries, and reference books galore. How-to books proliferated. Carpenter had foreseen the Family’s future need for sources of knowledge and instruction. Accordingly, he had included books on the fundamentals of everything from gardening and weaving to metalworking and gunsmithing. As an added treat, Carpenter had added scores upon scores of photographic books to the library. These photographic books, filled as they were with pictures of the prewar society and its incredible accomplishments and lifestyle, were especially cherished by the Family, affording a glimpse of the wonders of the previous age. One of the books, a book Blade remembered at this instant, contained glossy photos and a fascinating narration of the astonishing array of electronic means of communication: television, radios, CBs, telephones, and more.

Blade reached out and took hold of a metallic stick on a stand. If his memory served, this thing was called a microphone. There was a black switch on the base of the microphone. He depressed it and heard an audible click.

“This is Charlie-Alfa-Tango-Lima-Oscar-Whiskey,” he said into the microphone, hoping his hunch was correct, and released the switch.

There were several seconds of static in the headphones.

Had he been wrong? Did he have to do something else to get this contraption to send a signal?

“Charlie-Alfa-Tango-Lima-Oscar-Whiskey, we receive you,” the faint voice stated. “What happened to you? You were cut off in midsentence.

You were saying something about an emergency. What emergency?”

Blade cleared his throat and pressed the switch. “The emergency is over,” he informed the man at the other end. “But I do need to ask a favor.”

“A favor? What are you talking about?” the man demanded.

“I need you to relay a message for me,” Blade told him.

“Say, who is this?” the man asked. “Is it you, Darren?”

“No, this isn’t Darren.”

“Then who is it?” the man impatiently queried.

“My identity isn’t important,” Blade replied. “Will you relay my message or not?”

“I don’t know who you are, buddy,” the man snapped, “but you’re in violation of standard operating procedure. Identity yourself!”

“Will you relay my message?” Blade reiterated.

“What message are you talking about? Why don’t you send it yourself? Who the hell is this?”

“I need you to send a message to the Doktor,” Blade stated.

“The Doktor? Are you crazy?” The man sounded fearful.

“Will you do it?” Blade prompted him.

“Are you serious? The Doktor? I could be taking my life in my hands!” The man paused. “What’s this message, anyway?”

“You’ll do it?”

“I didn’t say that. First tell me what this message is that’s so important.”

Blade smiled. “I can assure you the Doktor will want to receive this message. You have nothing to worry about.”

“So what the hell is it?”

“Tell the Doktor this: Lynx sends his love.”

“Lynx! Lynx!” the man sputtered. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“It is no joke.”

“Are you trying to tell me Lynx is there, in Catlow? Who is this, anyway? What the hell kind of game are you playing? If you don’t—”

Blade removed the headphones and switched off the set. He had no doubt the message would get through to its destination. The radioman would consult with his superior, and they would endeavor to contact Catlow again. After failing several times, the radioman’s superior would notify his superior, and so it would go on up the line until someone with the proper authority decided to report the situation to the Doktor. Hours might pass, but the Doktor would be apprised of the message.

Would the Doktor respond as Plato and Lynx had predicted? From what Captain Reno had said about the million-credit reward, the Doktor just might take the bait. Certainly, a man with the Doktor’s intellect would deduce the setup was a trap of some kind. But the key to the success of this operation was the Doktor’s monumental ego; would the Doktor march into the ambush anyway, confident in his ability to exterminate his adversaries? Another factor would be the Doktor’s unquenchable thirst for revenge against Lynx. According to the diminutive mutant—and verified by the statements Captain Reno had made—the Doktor would want to get his hands on Lynx personally.

Which meant, if the assumptions were valid and events proceeded as projected, the tiny community of Catlow, Wyoming, was going to be visited by a prestigious psychopath and his murderous misfits.

Blade walked outside and spotted the SEAL parked next to the fountain.

Geronimo and Bertha walked up.

“There are eleven injured,” Geronimo reported. “Seven or eight will die soon, and the rest might pull through with the proper medical help.’’

“We’re not Healers,” Blade stated. “There’s nothing we can do for them.”

Hickok, Lynx, Rudabaugh and Orson approached and joined them.

“We were lucky today,” Blade declared. “We can thank the Spirit none of us was killed. Now we have to get ready for the Doktor—

“How are we going to let him know we’re here if none of the garrison can take the word to him?” Geronimo interjected.

“I’ve taken care of that,” Blade disclosed. He jerked his right thumb toward the command post. “There’s a radio inside. I’ve just sent a message to the Doktor.”

“The one we agreed on?” Lynx inquired.

Blade nodded. “The same one you gave when you destroyed the Biological Center in Cheyenne.”

Lynx grinned contentedly. “That’ll do it! I can’t wait to get my claws on the bastard!”

“We have a lot of preparations to make,” Blade announced. “I want Bertha, Rudabaugh, and Orson to cart these bodies into one of the buildings. We don’t have time to bury them. Hickok, I want you and Geronimo to round up the good citizens of Catlow and assemble them in the town square. See if you can get some of them to tend to the wounded soldiers and have them moved to a house on the north side of town. Lynx, I want you to scout around. See how many vehicles there are in town. Also look for any supplies the garrison might have had stashed, especially weapons or explosives.” He paused. “Okay! Hop to it!”

All of them moved off except Bertha.

“Something the matter?” Blade questioned her.

“Do you really think it’s gonna work?” she bluntly asked.

Blade shrugged. “It might.”

“We could all be killed, you know,” Bertha mentioned.

Blade didn’t answer.

“Why didn’t we use the SEAL today?” Bertha queried.

“We’re saving it for the Doktor,” Blade divulged.

“Figured as much.” She gazed around the square. “I must be as wacko as you boys are to go through with this! But there’s something I wanted you to know.”

“What’s that?”

Bertha fondly glanced at Hickok and Geronimo, then at Blade. “I couldn’t die in better company.”

“We’re all going to live through this,” Blade disputed her. “You’ll see.”

Bertha laughed cynically. “I ain’t much for fairy tales, so don’t try and jive me, sucker! Besides, I got me a… a feelin’ about this.”

“What kind of feeling?”

“I don’t know how to put it into words,” she said.

“Your intuition could be wrong,” Blade remarked. “I think we have a fair chance of coming out of this in one piece.”

Bertha started to leave, chuckling. “You just keep thinkin’, Blade! That’s what you’re good at!”

Blade walked toward the SEAL, troubled. Bertha’s intuition had better be wrong, because he didn’t relish the thought of dying in Catlow, a town he’d never heard of until a couple of weeks before when Yama had returned from his spying mission to Cheyenne with Lynx. After several long talks with Lynx, Plato had formulated his plan. He had picked Catlow because it was one of the northernmost towns in the Civilized Zone, had a relatively small garrison, and was close to South Dakota, the Cavalry’s stamping grounds. Speed was imperative, with Plato insisting they achieve their objectives before the heavy snows began. Well, the first step had been taken.

The next move was up to the Doktor.