Citadel Run

Chapter Fourteen

“I trust you’ve enjoyed your meal?”

“My compliments to your cook. What was it? I’ve never tasted meat quite like it before.”

Colonel Jarvis leaned back in his wooden folding chair and placed his hands over his slightly paunchy belly. “You’ve never eaten steak before?”

Blade, seated across from the officer at a small table in his tent, stared at the bone on his paper plate. “The Family normally consumes venison. Once, years ago, one of our horses was struck by lightning and we all had horse meat for several meals in a row. But I’ve never had meat like this. What animal was it from?”

“A cow.”

“Did you bring the cow from Denver?”

Jarvis laughed. “No. Cattle are roaming loose all over the place. There’s a big herd not more than ten miles west of the Twin Cities. I had some of my men bag one this morning. Rank does have its privileges, you know.”

“So I see,” Blade acknowledged.

Colonel Jarvis reached into his right shirt pocket and removed a thin cigar. “Care for a smoke?” He extracted a box of matches from his left pocket.

“No. I don’t smoke.”

“Of course. Ever the noble Warrior, eh? I’d imagine you don’t have too many vices, do you?”

“Why should I? Vices impair your effectiveness and inhibit spiritual communion with our Creator. None of the Family smokes or drinks alcohol, although I understand both practices were widespread before the Big Blast.”

“The Big Blast?” the colonel repeated. Then he nodded. “Oh. I forgot. That’s how your people refer to the Third World War. Cute. But let me ask you something…” Jarvis said, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the Warrior, “about this Creator business. Do you really mean to tell me you believe in a God?”

“You mean to tell me you don’t?”

“There’s no such thing as God,” Jarvis replied. “Everybody knows that. It’s illegal to believe in a Supreme Being. You can be thrown into prison for just talking about it.”

“What?” Blade asked in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

Colonel Jarvis grinned. “Looks like you don’t know as much about the Civilized Zone as you thought you did.”

“How could they make it illegal to believe in our Heavenly Father?” Blade inquired.

“Easy. They passed a law.”

“They can’t do that!”

Jarvis smiled. “Why can’t they? The Government has all the power, and when you have power you can do anything you want. About eighty years ago, I think it was, they passed a law outlawing all religion. They said our scientists had conclusively proven God does not exist. They said the fact that World War III took place shows the universe isn’t dominated by a God of love. How could a God allow so many people to be slaughtered? No. There is no God.”

“You can’t hold God accountable for the insanity mankind perpetuates,” Blade countered.

“I had no idea you were such a philosopher.”

“Everyone in the Family is encouraged to cultivate his or her religious nature,” Blade explained. “We’re free to adopt whatever beliefs we choose.”

“Does everyone in your Family believe in a Supreme Being?”

Blade nodded.

“Amazing!” Jarvis stated.

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Captain Rice at the tent flap. “Colonel!”

Jarvis twisted in his seat. “What is it? You may enter.”

Rice walked into the tent and saluted. “Our patrol has just returned.”

“And?”

Captain Rice shot a spiteful glance at Blade. “They found the two men sent after Hickok. Dead. They tracked him to the Nomad Camp. The four guards we left there are dead and the vehicle is gone.”

Colonel Jarvis frowned. “Any sign of the vehicle?”

“None. We have two jeeps out looking now, but they haven’t radioed in yet.”

“Good. Keep me posted.” Jarvis dismissed his subordinate with a wave of his left hand. “So,” he said as Rice left the tent, “it appears your Hickok is going to be more of a problem than I thought. Where could he have gone?”

“Beats me.”

“We’ll find him,” Jarvis predicted. “Knowing Hickok as I do, I expect he’ll stupidly try to rescue you. When he does, we’ll be ready for him.”

Blade’s mind was racing. So Hickok had reached the SEAL! Good.

Jarvis was right; Hickok would try to get them out. The gunman might be grossly outnumbered, but he had an edge. The Army was unaware of the SEAL’s armament.

“Something on your mind?” Jarvis queried, noting Blade’s reflective expression.

“I was thinking about your jeeps,” Blade lied. “I didn’t know you had any here.”

“Three of them,” Jarvis said. “We keep them on constant patrol.”

“Something else,” Blade mentioned, “I’ve been meaning to ask about.

We took a radio from your men in Thief River Falls. We’ve tried to monitor your broadcasts with it, but we haven’t had much luck. Why is that?”

Colonel Jarvis laughed. “We alter the frequency used on a daily basis according to a secret schedule, and we rotate the times of our regular broadcasts. Even if you went down the entire dial, the odds of stumbling across us at the right time and frequency are slim.”

“We know,” Blade agreed.

“We’re not as dumb as you might think,” Jarvis boasted with a smile.

“I’ll never underestimate you again,” Blade vowed, thinking of the massacre.

Jarvis gazed over his right shoulder at the night sky visible through the tent flap. “It’s getting late and I have work to do.” He faced the Warrior.

“I’ve enjoyed our little talk immensely. It isn’t often I get to associate with an equal. Say! I just remembered something I wanted to show you.” Jarvis rose and walked to the tent opening and spoke to one of the two guards positioned outside.

Blade searched for a potential weapon. A lantern hung on the tent’s center post, and there was a sleeping bag rolled up in one corner. In another corner was a rumpled green blanket. Blade debated using his steak knife, but rejected the idea.

“Wait until you see these,” Jarvis said, still standing near the tent flap, waiting for one of the guards to return. “I couldn’t believe it when we found them. I should be able to get a good price for them.”

There was the pounding of running feet and Jarvis reached thru the opening.

Blade, his line of sight blocked by the officer’s body, put his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands.

“Look at these!” Jarvis said elated, turning. “Aren’t they gems?”

Blade straightened, startled.

Colonel Jarvis was holding an auto-loading rifle in his right hand, a Commando Arms Carbine with a ninety-shot magazine. In his left hand dangled two shoulder holsters containing Vega 45 automatics. “Ever seen anything like them?” Jarvis asked.

Blade almost nodded. He had seen them before. In fact, he had owned them, had taken them from the Family armory and brought them to the Twin Cities on the Triad’s last trip here. He’d given them up for lost after they’d been confiscated by the Wacks. “Where did you get them?” he asked Jarvis.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” Jarvis responded. “After we attacked those crazies, the Wacks, at that hospital headquarters of theirs, we made a room by room sweep of the building. One of my men found these in one of the rooms on the second floor. I haven’t the slightest idea how they got there, but I do know I can get a pretty penny for them after we return to the Civilized Zone.”

“Sell them? Who’d want to buy them?”

“Anyone,” Jarvis answered. “I can’t sell them to civilians because it’s illegal for them to own firearms, but it is legit for us in the service to own guns. A lot of officers like to collect old firearms like these. We can’t manufacture them anymore, you know.”

“You don’t say.”

Colonel Jarvis placed the Commando and the Vegas on top of the green blanket in the corner. “Yes, sir. Between these and the ones we took from you Warriors, I should add about five thousand to my bank account. I think I’ll…” Jarvis began, then stopped, staring at the Commando. “That’s odd.”

“What is?” Blade glanced at the tent flap. There was no sign of the guards; they must be standing on either side of the opening.

“This gun…” Colonel Jarvis said absently. He knelt and retrieved the Commando, then lifted the green blanket.

Blade gripped the edge of the table, excited.

The A-1, the Dan Wesson, the Arminius, Hickok’s Henry, and the other Warrior arms were all under the green blanket.

“Look at this!” Colonel Jarvis exclaimed. “The gun we took from you and the one we found at the Wack hospital look almost alike. Isn’t that strange?”

“They both look like the Thompson submachine gun,” Blade revealed.

“The Thompson submachine gun?” Jarvis reiterated. “Yes. I think I read an article about the Thompson once. An ancient piece, if I recall.” He looked at Blade. “You certainly seem to know a lot about it.”

“The Family Library has an extensive section on firearms,” Blade divulged.

“It figures,” Jarvis commented. He placed the Commando and the Vegas under the green blanket. “I’d better see about returning you to the stockade or your friends will think you’ve turned traitor on them.”

“They know I would never do that,” Blade replied. Colonel Jarvis was tucking the blanket around the weapons, his back to his supper guest.

This was his chance!

If he could kill Jarvis silently, he could reclaim his weapons and…

“Colonel!” someone shouted, and a moment later Rat burst into the tent.

Jarvis stood, instantly enraged. “How dare you enter without my consent!”

One of the guards peered inside. “Sorry, sir! He slipped past us before we could stop him.”

Colonel Jarvis motioned for the guard to leave, which he promptly did.

“I repeat!” Jarvis snapped, glaring at Rat. “How dare you enter my tent without permission!”

Rat wasn’t about to be cowered by the intimidating officer. “I just heard about those men you sent after Hickok! They’re dead! You know what that means? He’s coming! He’s on his way!”

“So? What can he do against all of my men?” Colonel Jarvis asked.

“Why don’t you go ask Captain Rice for a drink? You could use something to steady your nerves, little man!” he said contemptuously.

Rat clenched and unclenched his fists. “You’re makin’ a big mistake, Jarvis! You should have killed Hickok and his friends the moment you had them in your custody. Look at this! You’re having your meal with Blade!”

Rat took a step toward the officer. “You jackass! Don’t you know how dangerous these guys are? They play for keeps!”

Colonel Jarvis unexpectedly lunged, grabbing Rat by the front of his shirt and nearly lifting him from the ground. “So do I!” he warned. “If you’d care for a demonstration, it can be arranged right now!”

It was as if Rat’s backbone turned to mush. He blanched and recoiled from the officer’s baleful glare. “Hey! Let me go! I didn’t mean nothin’! Honest!”

“Mark my words, weasel!” Jarvis hissed. “Cross me again and it will be the last act you ever commit. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Rat nodded his head over and over.

Colonel Jarvis shoved Rat toward the tent flap. “Get out! And remember what I’ve told you!”

“Yes, sir! I’m sorry, sir!” Rat’s chin was quivering as he backed from the tent.

“Disgusting filth!” Jarvis stated angrily. Then he glanced at the Warrior. “The presumptuous fool has ruined my mood! My men will escort you back and I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll be going for a little ride.” Jarvis smiled. “Guards!”

Two guards entered the tent.

“Take this man to the stockade,” Jarvis ordered. “Watch him! If he escapes, I’ll have your balls for breakfast!”

The troopers stood aside to allow Blade to pass.

Blade rose and nodded at the officer. “I want to thank you for an… interesting… evening.”

“Make the most of the time you have left,” Jarvis advised. “I have a feeling you won’t be eating too many meals after Samuel gets through with you.”

Blade exited, marveling at how careless Jarvis could be. If only two soldiers were taking him to the stockade, he’d overpower them, return to the tent, and grab his weapons.

“Hold it!” directed one of the troopers behind Blade.

Four more soldiers appeared from behind a nearby truck. The tent was located on the grass near the parked troop transports.

“Take this scum to the stockade,” the guard instructed, and one of the four nodded, pushing the Warrior with the barrel of his M-16.

“Move it, jerk!”

Blade meekly complied, hoping to deceive the four guards, to convince them he was docile. He idly gazed up at the full moon, then at the nearby trucks. The transports were about fifteen yards distant, providing the closest cover. If he could reach the troop transports, he stood a good chance of eluding the soldiers. The troopers weren’t about to fire into their own vehicles.

At least, he hoped they wouldn’t.

Two of the escorts were immediately behind the Warrior, the third walked just to his right, and the fourth was staying alongside his left elbow.

Blade hesitated, stopping and glancing down at his left foot.

“Why’d you stop?” demanded the one to his left, poking Blade for the second time with his M-16.

Blade twisted his leg and used his right hand to elevate his left foot.

“I’ve got something in my moccasin. Feels like a small stone.”

“Ahhhh! Poor baby!” the one on the left cracked. “Does the teeny-weeny pebble hurt the big, bad Warrior?”

The other three soldiers laughed.

Blade grinned, surreptitiously scanning the area.

The stockade was brilliantly illuminated by the spotlights mounted on the four sentry towers. Most of the soldiers were gathered around campfires, cooking and relaxing. Those troopers standing near the barbed wire fence seemed bored with their duty. The soldiers in the sentry towers seemed to be keeping their eyes on the prisoners.

It was now or never!

“Get moving!” the soldier on the left barked. “You can take off your moccasins in the stockade. Do you think we want to catch a whiff of your smelly foot?”

“I guess not,” Blade said, placing his left foot on the ground. “Although it would be a distinct improvement over your body odor,” he added, calculating the remark would provoke another prod from the M-16.

It did.

Blade exploded into action at the same instant the barrel of the M-16 touched his left side. He swung his left elbow back and up, feeling it crunch against the trooper’s nose even as he gripped the barrel of the rifle and spun, jerking the M-16 from the soldier’s grasp and slamming the stock into the face of the trooper on his right, downing him, two of the four now out of commission.

The pair behind the Warrior were starting to bring their weapons into play.

Blade dove for the one on his left, knowing there was no way he could bag the one on his right before he was cut to ribbons. As he leaped, as his massive arms encircled his opponent and dragged him to the ground, Blade caught sight of the two soldiers in front of the tent. The tent guards were maybe ten yards off, and one of them suddenly perceived what was transpiring. He reacted automatically, whipping up his M-16 and firing a short burst.

There was a grunt and a gasp and the last of Blade’s four escorts tumbled to the dirt.

The one in Blade’s arms was still, stupidly, striving to use his M-16.

Blade drove his stony right fist into the trooper’s mouth and felt teeth give. The soldier went momentarily limp, and Blade scooped up the M-16, rose to his knees, and pulled the trigger.

The two tent guards were charging on the run, and they were caught in the chest by the slugs, their bodies flipping backward and crashing to the hard earth.

Blade pivoted, staying on his knees to minimize the target he presented.

Three soldiers were approaching from the direction of the fence.

Blade angled the barrel of the M-16 to reduce the possibility of any of the bullets striking the captives in the stockade, and let loose with a short burst.

The three were struck in the head and died in a bloody heap.

A large gun abruptly opened up, one of the machine guns, the one on the western sentry tower.

Blade rolled backwards as the spot he vacated erupted in a spray of dirt and sod.

Soldiers were converging on the tent, drawn by the gunfire.

Blade crawled toward the troop transports, wondering if the sentry gunner had lost track of him.

No.

The machine gun chattered, the heavy slugs ripping a path through the ground not four inches from the Warrior.

Damn!

Blade rose, running at full speed, making for the trucks. He was within seven yards of the parked vehicles when he whirled and fired a burst into the nearest troopers, four of them approaching from the north. He saw them go down as he turned and raced for the transports, diving when he was yet a yard away and scrambling underneath the first truck as shots punctuated the night above him.

“Not at the trucks, you idiots!” Colonel Jarvis was bellowing, enraged.

“We can’t get home without them! Surround them! Surround them and flush him out! Go truck to truck if you have to but get him!”

Blade scurried under the second of the troop transports as boots pounded all around him.

The soldiers were hemming him in!

He was trapped!

“Bring flashlights!” someone was shouting.

“Watch yourselves!” another cautioned.

Blade glanced over his shoulder.

Boots!

He looked to his left.

More boots!

Doubledamn!

To be so close!

“Listen to me!” Colonel Jarvis yelled. “Listen to me! I don’t care what Samuel wants! After what that bastard just did, I want him dead! An extended leave for the man who gets him! A month off with pay!”

“Did you hear that?” Blade heard a young trooper ask from somewhere near the cab.

“Sure did,” replied a friend. “This sucker is as good as dead!”

“You got it!”