Dakota Run

Chapter Nine

The inexperienced guard really should have shot first and cursed later.

A burst from the Wilkinson tore through his forehead, blowing the rear of his cranium completely away.

Yama’s shots precipitated immediate mayhem on the hillock. He leaped to his feet and fired again, this time catching the second guard in the midsection and doubling him over, his abdomen ruptured and leaking blood like a sieve.

One of the troopers, reacting in reflex, snapped a shot from his M-16 at the silver-haired intruder.

Yama dove for cover behind the log.

A soldier on the far side of the clearing was unslinging his M-16 when an arrow penetrated his head from behind, the three-bladed hunting point emerging from between his eyes. The trooper jerked spasmodically as he fell.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was already in motion, the scabbard lying behind the boulder, his katana upraised as he ran from hiding and made for the soldiers near the radio. One of the Watchers was grabbing for his automatic pistol as Rikki, thankful none of the troopers wore helmets, swept the razor-edged blade downward, burying the katana in the man’s forehead and splitting it open with the same ease a sharp knife might cut a melon.

The remaining soldiers were galvanizing into action, several of them firing at the log Yama was behind. Others were shooting wildly at the trees to the north of the clearing, trying to nail the bowman.

The second radio man had his pistol out and aimed.

Rikki sidestepped as the gun boomed, his left side wracked with a burning sensation, knowing he’d been creased, but ignoring the pain as he savagely wrenched the katana sideways, the gleaming, bloody blade slicing through the second man’s wrist and severing his hand from his arm.

The soldier wailed and held the crimson-covered stump aloft, gaping at it in abject horror.

Rikki finished him with a tsuki thrust, the point of the katana lancing into the soldier’s throat.

The last trooper near the radio was Lieutenant Putnam. Initially shocked by the carnage, he recovered as the swordsman faced him.

Instead of drawing his automatic, or retrieving his M-16 on the grass near the radio, he leaped at the swordsman, his arms held wide.

Rikki allowed Putnam to tackle him, releasing the katana as they tumbled to the ground. Putnam landed on top, pinning him.

Putnam, outweighing the swordsman by at least forty pounds and towering over him by a good two feet, was confident he could subdue this little man and take him prisoner.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi grinned as he brutally jammed his forehead into Putnam’s nose. He could feel the nasal cartilage break as fresh warm blood gushed over his face.

Putnam squealed in agony and released the swordsman, attempting to roll to his feet.

Rikki struck again, a hiji blow to Putnam’s jaw from the side.

Lieutenant Putnam weaved as he rose to his knees, his mouth and jaw coated with his own blood.

Rikki followed the elbow strike with the coup d’etat: a tega-tana-naka-uchi, a cross-body chop of the hand to the Lieutenant’s temple, downing Putnam instantly.

The battle elsewhere was still raging.

Rikki, still on his back, glanced up. He saw another trooper on the ground with an arrow imbedded in his chest. Seven downed and four to go. One was to his left, raking the trees with automatic fire while crouched behind a small boulder. Three more were to his right, advancing on the log, holding their fire and waiting for Yama to appear.

Yama did.

A blue form suddenly hurtled from the underbrush twenty feet from the log, the Wilkinson chattering. One of the Watchers was ripped from his crotch to his throat. The other two hit the dirt, firing as they did. The dust around Yama’s feet swirled upward as he leaped into a shallow depression.

Rikki began to rise, to aid his fellow Warriors, when the trooper on his left turned, having spotted Yama out of the corner of his eye. The soldier had a clear shot and he hastily raised his M-16, forgetting, for the moment, the bowman in the trees.

Unerring as ever, Teucer’s arrow took the Watcher in the neck. The trooper gurgled and gasped as he slid to the ground.

Only two of the soldiers were still standing.

One of them, throwing caution to the wind, recklessly charged Yama’s position, blasting at the depression with his M-16. He was ten feet from Yama when he expended the final rounds in his clip. Pausing, he urgently endeavored to reload.

Yama was up and running at the trooper, gambling he could reach the Watcher before the soldier succeeded.

Rikki jumped to his feet and reclaimed his katana, prepared to assist his fellow Warrior if necessary.

But his aid wasn’t needed.

Yama’s incredible speed was equal to the occasion. He slammed the butt of the Wilkinson into the trooper’s head just as the soldier was bringing the M-16 into play.

The final Watcher bolted, tearing into the trees, bearing to the south.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi started in pursuit. He looked over his left shoulder and spied Teucer emerging from his vantage point. “You two mop up!” he ordered, then dove into the undergrowth on the trail of the last soldier.

More than likely the trooper was making for the jeeps. Rikki realized he must prevent the Watcher from escaping at all costs. If word of this ambush managed to reach Samuel II, the dictator might opt to launch a full-scale assault on the Home. The Family was well armed, and the Home adequately fortified, but there was no way the Family could fend off a determined attack by a vastly superior force.

From somewhere up ahead came the noisy sounds of someone crashing pell-mell through the forest.

Good.

It made his task easier.

Rikki focused on the snapping and crackling sounds generated by the Watcher’s passage. He judged the trooper to be about twenty yards in front of him, and slightly to his left. How far from the hillock would the soldiers have parked their jeeps? Not too distant, because they had to lug all that equipment. Yet not too close either, for fear the Family might hear the engines and come to investigate.

The Watcher abruptly altered direction and was now heading due west.

Rikki slowed, debating his next move. Was the soldier lost and uncertain of where they left the vehicles? Was he aware he was being chased and attempting to elude his pursuer? Or, even more likely, had the man fled south in his initial panic and was now compensating and correcting his escape path?

Whatever, the move placed the Watcher at a disadvantage.

Rikki accelerated, angling toward the southwest, running as rapidly as he could and as silently as possible. If he pushed himself, he might be able to outdistance the soldier and pounce on the Watcher unexpectedly from concealment.

The hillock was far behind them, at least half a mile, when the woods tapered into a large field.

Rikki stopped at the border of the field. What should he do? If he went into the open, the Watcher would spot him instantly. But if he stayed in the forest, the soldier would be…

The matter was abruptly rendered moot.

The Watcher burst from the tree line fifteen yards south of Rikki’s position, his youthful face caked with sweat and his green uniform in disarray. Without missing a beat, he continued his breakneck pace, his brown eyes alighting on the far side of the field, a satisfied smile creasing his features.

Rikki followed the trooper’s line of vision and promptly darted on his heels.

Four jeeps were parked on the other side of the field.

Rikki found himself at least twelve yards behind the soldier. He concentrated, pushing his muscles to the utmost, his legs flying.

The trooper either heard or sensed he was being followed, because he glanced over his left shoulder, his eyes widening at the sight of the black-garbed Warrior after him. His exertions intensified and he pulled slightly ahead.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was calculating probabilities. Fifty yards separated the Watcher from the jeeps. The soldier enjoyed a longer stride and his flight was fueled by the impetus of stark fear. It would be impossible for Rikki to overtake the trooper before he reached the vehicles. The Watcher might be able to start a jeep and drive away before Rikki reached him. Or the soldier might decide to try to get Rikki with the M-16. If the trooper reached the vehicle first, Rikki would have ten yards of open space, minimum, to cover before he could engage the Watcher. Plenty of time for a competent marksman to nail a moving target.

Rikki was compelled to try a long shot.

So to speak.

The Warrior slowed as he reached behind his back and unsnapped the flap on the leather pouch he carried attached to his black belt. His probing fingers closed on the object he required and he slipped the metal into his hand, cautiously avoiding lacerating his skin on the wicked points.

Convinced he was winning their race, the Watcher looked back again confidently.

Rikki was now fifteen yards behind the fleeing trooper with his mind centered on the soldier’s head.

Nine yards separated the Watcher from the nearest vehicle.

Rikki held his ace in the hole in his right hand, his katana in his left.

Seven yards.

The soldier was gripping his M-16 in both hands.

Five yards.

Rikki stopped and raised his right arm over his head, his elbow bent, his hand clasping one of the points.

Three yards.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi tensed his shoulders and arms, judging the trajectory and determining the angle for a perfect throw.

Two.

One.

The elated Watcher reached the first jeep and whirled, the M-16 up and ready, his finger tightening on the trigger, a self-satisfied look on his face.

Rikki threw, all the power of his steely frame unleashed along his right arm, his technique honed during hours and hours of practice. The sunlight glittered on the four-pointed shuriken as it sped from Rikki’s hand and flashed across the intervening space to penetrate the soldier’s forehead.

The Watcher’s eyes comically crossed as he endeavored to pinpoint the object buried in his forehead. His hold on the M-16 relaxed, his fingers going limp, and the weapon dropped to the ground. Feebly, the trooper tried to speak, to no avail. His mouth opened and closed several times, his body stiffened, and he toppled to the grass and lay there, quivering.

Rikki carefully approached the vehicles, surprised there wasn’t a guard posted.

Birds twittered and a squirrel chattered, the normal forest sounds, indicating all was well.

The jeeps displayed evidence of advanced age; some of the tires were bald, a few of the seat covers were ripped and in need of repair, one of the vehicles had a cracked windshield, and all four were filthy with dirt. Still, they would make a welcome addition to the Family’s sole means of mechanical transport, the SEAL.

Rikki searched the jeeps for their keys, but could find none. The Watchers undoubtedly carried the keys on their persons. It would be easy to check the bodies and find which ones had them.

The forest suddenly went deathly silent.

Rikki spun, his katana at the ready, scanning the vegetation. What was out there? A mutate? He waited and watched, his ears straining, alert for anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing.

The woods gradually filled with wildlife calls and cries again: birds in the trees, crickets in the grass, and somewhere to the south the croak of a frog.

Rikki decided to return to the hillock, but first he bent over the dead soldier and extracted his shuriken from the trooper’s forehead. He wiped his crimson fingers and the gory shuriken on the green grass at his feet.

Not a bad day’s work! Plato and Blade would be immensely pleased at the outcome of the conflict. From Lieutenant Putnam and the other captured Watcher, the Family might be able to learn considerable information concerning the Civilized Zone and Samuel II. Every tidbit of new data they could glean would be crucial. The more they could learn about their enemies, the better.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi slowly traversed the field and disappeared in the trees.

Mere moments later, two grotesque creatures stepped from the forest near the jeeps and glanced at one another.

“We should have finished him when we had the chance,” the taller of the creatures stated. It stood over seven feet in height and weighed over four hundred pounds. Except for a deerskin loincloth, the being was naked. Its skin was light blue and had a scaly aspect. Blazing red eyes peered at the world from under a sloping forehead. Its wild shock of hair and prominent eyebrows were colored black. A pointed nose and a cruel slit of a mouth completed the picture.

“Oh, sure,” the smaller of the duo retorted, its voice raspy and low.

“And arouse their suspicions! Great idea, Ox!”

“Are you making fun of me, Ferret?” the giant demanded.

The second creature chuckled. This one only reached four feet in height and attained sixty pounds in weight. Brown hair, on the average about three inches long, covered its entire form. Like the first being, this one wore a loincloth. Its head was outsized for the body, its nose long and tapered, its beady eyes always shifting as it scanned the surrounding terrain. “I wouldn’t think of making fun of you, Ox,” Ferret replied.

“Well, you better not!” Ox threatened.

“Did you see the way he took Private Murray out?” Ferret said, changing the subject and nodding at the deceased soldier.

“These Warriors are very skilled,” Ox admitted.

“Which is precisely the reason we didn’t kill the Warrior with the sword,” Ferret explained. “The Doktor gave us explicit orders. If we fail to follow them to the letter we’re as good as dead. You know that!”

Ox visibly shuddered. “The Doktor! Ox forgot! We must do exactly what the Doktor says.”

Ferret reached up and touched the metal collar around his neck. A small indicator light was placed in the center of the collar. “We have no other option,” Ferret stated.

“We must be good!” Ox reiterated. “We must not make the Doktor mad!”

“We won’t,” Ferret promised. “We’ll surreptitiously enter their Home tonight and kill him as ordered. We’ll be in and out before they know what hit them!”

“Can I terminate?” Ox beseeched his companion. “You know how I love to snap their puny necks!”

“Be my guest,” Ferret said.

Ox walked over to the fallen Watcher, grasped the man’s left arm in his brawny right hand, and effortlessly tore the arm from its shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Ferret demanded.

Ox held the arm under his nose, sniffing at the torn flesh and the dripping blood. “Ox needs a snack.” He extended the arm toward Ferret, smiling. “How about you? Would you like a bite?”

“I’m not hungry,” Ferret replied.

“Suit yourself,” the giant shrugged. “But there’s nothing like fresh munchies.” Ox stripped the sleeve from the arm and hungrily tore a chunk of flesh off, exposing a row of wickedly pointed teeth. He greedily gulped the mouthful, grinning broadly.

“UmmmMmmm, good!”