Memphis Run

Chapter Three

With its .50-caliber machine gun blasting, the green halftrack clanked toward the two Warriors and the girl.

Hickok scooped Chastity into his arms and raced on Blade’s heels, heading for the cover of the woods at the opposite end of the field. He expected to be outdistanced easily by his friend; Blade’s stride was twice the average. Instead, the head Warrior intentionally slowed. “Keep going, pard!” Hickok shouted. “You can make it!”

“I’m not leaving you,” Blade said.

The gunman glanced over his right shoulder. For an antiquated armored vehicle with caterpillar treads on its rear wheels, the half-track was barreling toward them at a rapid clip. There was no way they could outrun the contraption. If any of them were to escape, then one had to make a sacrifice, take a risk. “Here!” he yelled, and shoved Chastity into Blade’s arms.

Taken unawares. Blade reflexively grabbed the girl. “What—!”

Hickok spun and sprinted at the half-track.

“Daddy!” Chastity wailed.

Blade halted. “Hickok!”

Ignoring them, the gunman was going all out, his arms and legs pumping.

Blade glanced at the half-track and saw the trooper or soldier in black manning the machine gun swivel the piece to cover the gunfighter. The initial bursts from the .50 had fallen short of the Warriors, and the first rounds aimed in Hickok’s direction also fell short by several yards stitching the earth and sending clumps of turf flying. Blade recognized the machine gunner had given Hickok a warning burst. Incredibly, the gunman paid it no heed.

“Daddy! No!” Chastity cried.

What the hell was Hickok doing? Blade dashed for the trees. Once Chastity was out of harm’s way, he could lend assistance to the gunfighter.

He looked over his left shoulder as he ran and watched the tableau unfold.

The machine gunner, apparently surprised by the gunman’s failure to stop, fired a hasty burst at the Warrior’s feet.

His eyes widening in horror, Blade inadvertently halted as Hickok went down. The gunman clutched at his chest and pitched onto his stomach.

“No!” Chastity screamed at the top of her lungs, the word coming out as a strangled screech.

The half-track swerved to bypass the prone Warrior, revealing eleven men in black following the vehicle with rifles and machine guns in their hands. Two of the squad jogged to Hickok and hoisted him by the arms.

The gunfighter’s head slumped on his chest.

“They killed my new daddy!” Chastity exclaimed.

Blade sped for the woods.

“Halt!” one of the men in black ordered.

Well-aimed rounds from the .50 were sent zinging over the giant’s head as additional incentive.

Blade drew up short.

“Go!” Chastity urged, kicking her legs.

“We can’t outrun a bullet,” Blade said.

The squad of men in black hastened nearer as the halftrack executed a wide U-turn, the driver positioning the vehicle between the giant and the woods, cutting off Blade’s retreat.

“My daddy,” Chastity stated sadly, sniffling.

“Don’t touch those knives,” the leader of the squad barked when he was ten feet off.

“Don’t harm the girl,” Blade said.

“Worry about your own hide, stranger,” the leader responded. “I’m Captain Ludvin of the Hounds of Hades. You are under arrest for trespassing in our territory.”

“I didn’t see any signs telling us to keep out,” Blade mentioned.

“Ignorance is no excuse,” Captain Ludvin snapped. His men ringed the giant, their rifles and machine guns trained on his chest. “You will come with us.”

“I don’t have any choice,” Blade commented.

“No, you don’t,” Captain Ludwin confirmed. He motioned with the Valmet M-76 he was holding. “Let’s go.”

On the far side of the field over a dozen forms in black were waiting, with an exceptionally tall figure standing in the center. Halfway across were the pair with Hickok, at the spot where he fell, likewise awaiting the squad and the half-track.

One of the Hounds took the giant’s knives.

“Don’t lose them,” Blade said. “I may want them back soon.”

Captain Ludvin snorted. “Fat chance. Now move your ass.”

Blade walked between Ludvin and the man carrying the Bowies. He gazed at Hickok, his mouth turned down.

Chastity weeped softly on his left shoulder.

“The one in the buckskins was a moron,” Captain Ludwin remarked.

“What was he trying to prove?”

“Don’t talk that way about my daddy!” Chastity said.

“Shut your mouth, brat,” Captain Ludvin responded.

Tears streaming down her cheeks. Chastity bunched her fists and glared at the officer. “If I was bigger, I’d show you! You’re a mean man!”

Ludvin raised his right arm, about to smack the girl, but a glance at the giant’s expression deterred him. “You’re not worth the bother,” he muttered angrily, and lowered his arm.

“You—you—” Chastity said, apparently unable to find the word she wanted. “You cow chip!”

Captain Ludvin laughed.

“Where’s my other friend?” Blade inquired, restraining his temper with a monumental effort.

“You mean the one in the fancy pajamas?” Captain Ludvin replied.

“Those clothes were tailor-made by our Weavers,” Blade remarked.

“The style is patterned after the type of uniform worn by Chinese martial artists before the Big Blast.”

“Before World War Three?” Ludvin queried. “How would you know what the clothes back then were like?”

“From photographs in books in our library.”

Captain Ludvin paused and his men halted. “Your people have a library?”

Blade nodded.

“The King will be very interested in this,” Ludvin said. “He’s a real book nut.”

“Who is this King?” Blade asked.

“You’ll meet him soon enough. Keep moving,” Ludvin directed, and walked forward.

“You still haven’t told me what happened to my other friend,” Blade noted.

“He’s in our custody,” Captain Ludvin disclosed. “Just like you.”

“Do the Hounds of Hades capture everyone who enters their so-called territory?” Blade probed.

“Everyone entering our territory is taken to the King for interrogation,” the officer said. “And for your information, anything within fifty miles of Memphis is ours.” He grinned. “One day we’ll have much more.”

“Big plans, huh?” Blade quipped sarcastically.

“If you only knew.”

They were within 20 feet of the duo supporting Hickok.

“We’ll leave the moron for the vultures and the mutants,” Captain Ludvin mentioned. He stared at the revolvers in the gunman’s holsters.

“And I think I’ll ask the general if I can have one of those. Colts, are they?”

“Yes,” Blade answered softly.

Chastity was sniffling again.

The squad stopped five feet away. Behind them, the halftrack braked.

The machine gunner was resting his elbows on the .50-caliber in the open rear bed.

“Is he dead?” Captain Ludvin inquired of the duo.

They looked at one another.

“We didn’t check him, sir,” replied the Hound on the right.

“Didn’t check him?” Ludvin declared. “You didn’t even feel his pulse?”

“It didn’t seem like he was breathing,” the Hound on the left said. “So we didn’t bother.”

“You incompetent jackasses!” Captain Ludvin stated. “You’ll receive thirty lashes for this!”

“How about some lead instead?” interjected the object of their controversy, startling the duo by wrenching his arms from their grasp and taking several strides backwards. “You mangy varmints.”

For the span of a second no one moved. The Hounds were caught napping, with most holding their weapons pointed carelessly at the ground. On the half-track the machine gunner gaped at the man he’d killed.”

Chastity precipitated the inevitable blood bath. “Daddy!” she cried happily, and her voice galvanized the men around her to action.

The Hounds endeavored to bring their rifles and machine guns into play as Captain Ludvin bellowed, “Get him!”

Hickok’s hands were a blur as the Pythons cleared leather. His first two shots took out the stunned duo, a slug penetrating each Hound’s forehead and exploding from the top of their craniums, showering hair, flesh, and fluid every which way. He shifted, his hands held at waist height, the Colt barrels angled upwards, and fired twice.

The machine gunner, about to swing the .50 to slay the Warrior, was hit in the face, a slug to each eye. His head snapped back and he toppled over the tailgate.

With ambidextrous, lethal precision, and with a smile on his lips, Hickok squeezed off round after round. His next shot smashed the half-track’s windshield, the driver stiffening and slumping over the steering wheel, and without any pressure on the brake, the half-track lurched ahead. Preoccupied with the gunman, the Hounds did not notice.

Blade did. He dropped, trying to remove Chastity from the line of fire, and out of the corner of his right eye, as he landed on his left side, he saw the half-track creep forward and bump into one of the Hounds.

Five of the men in black were already down. Another snapped off a shot from his rifle and received a slug in the brain for his trouble.

Releasing Chastity, Blade swept his legs around, slamming them into the Hound carrying his Bowies and upending the man.

Hickok shot Captain Ludvin, the slug perforating the officer’s nostrils and flinging him to the grass.

Blade elbowed the Hound with the Bowies in the mouth, dazing his foe, and yanked the Bowies from the Hound’s hand. Even as his palms caressed the hilts, Blade speared them up and in, burying the keen blades in the Hound’s throat. He rolled onto his broad back, tugging the Bowies out, assessing the situation in the blink of an eye.

Three of the squad were still standing. A man with a scar on his chin elevated an M-16, but a slug in his right eye spun him completely around and felled him in his tracks.

Leaving only two. Both were within six feet of Blade, one to his left, the other his right. With the consummate skill of someone who had practiced the technique countless times over the years, Blade raised the knives overhead and threw them. Their blades glistened in the sunlight as they flew into the chests of their respective targets. Twelve inches of cold steel were imbedded to the hilt in each Hound. Both men looked astonished; both dropped their machine guns and clutched at the Bowies; both gawked at Blade in amazement for a moment; and both sank into eternity without uttering a sound.

No sooner were the last of the squad dispatched than two more dangers loomed.

Blade, flat on his back, saw the massive wheels of the halftrack coming at him, ten feet away.

“Blade!” Chastity shouted, lying four feet to the giant’s left.

The Warrior threw himself to the left, grabbing the girl and rolling until he was certain he was well beyond the path of the armored vehicle.

He rose to his knees in time to see Hickok, the Colts in their holsters, climb onto the cab of the half-track and clamber higher.

What the—!

A yell from the end of the field drew Blade’s gaze, and there were over a dozen men in black charging toward the Warriors, the tall figure leading them.

Hickok leaped into the bed and stepped behind the big .50. He smirked as he swung the machine gun to cover the attacking Hounds. “Let’s see how you coyotes like a taste of your own medicine,” he said, and fired. The half-track was moving at a snail’s pace, enabling him to aim with his customary deadly efficiency.

The .50-caliber made mincemeat of the Hounds, its heavy slugs ripping through the men in black and felling them in midstride. Geysers of blood spattered the grass as the thundering .50 mowed them down. Within 30 seconds all of the Hounds were dead except for two, the tall figure and one other. They had turned as the gunman began firing, and they managed to reach the protective shelter of the forest before the .50 bagged them.

His ears ringing, grinning impishly, Hickok peered over the smoking barrel at the row of crimson-dotted corpses. “Piece of cake,” he said.

Blade rose, clutching Chastity in his left arm. He crossed to the nearest of the pair he’d slain with his Bowies and removed the knife. After wiping the blade clean on the Hound’s black outfit, he repeated the procedure with the second commando.

The half-track continued to crawl toward the tree line.

“Daddy!” Chastity called excitedly.

“Don’t yell,” Blade advised, jogging after the vehicle.

“Why not?” Chastity inquired.

“If you make a lot of noise, you let your enemies know where you’re at,” Blade instructed her.

“Don’t they already know where we’re at?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then I don’t see why I can’t yell,” Chastity declared.

“Because if you make a lot of noise, you draw their attention,” Blade explained.

“But they’re running away.”

“I know, but—”

“Then why can’t I yell?”

“Because I said so,” Blade stated in a stern tone.

“Oh.”

Blade looked at the half-track and observed the gunman swing into the cab from the roof. A moment later the vehicle clunked to a complete stop and the engine died.

“Isn’t Daddy wonderful?” Chastity asked in awe.

“He has his moments,” Blade admitted, grinning. He reached the driver’s door and glanced up. “Are you okay?”

Hickok shoved the door wide and slid to the ground. “Fit as a fiddle.”

He took Chastity and squeezed her tight. “And how are you, princess?”

“Fine,” Chastity answered. “But I was so scared for you.”

“I was fakin’.” Hickok detailed. “I wanted to catch these varmints by surprise, and my plan worked like a charm.” He snickered, “We sure skunked them, didn’t we?”

“Not quite,” Blade said.

“How so?” Hickok responded.

“You’re forgetting about Rikki.”

Hickok gazed at the woods with a worried expression. “No, I’m not, pard.”