David Robbins - Capital Run

Hickok pivoted to confront the lieutenant, and his fingers were beginning to squeeze the Python triggers when he thought better of the notion. He allowed himself to be tackled, carried to the hard floor of the cargo bay by Voroshilov’s rush, his arms pinned to his sides.

Lieutenant Voroshilov tried to knee the gunman in the groin, but missed.

Hickok grinned, then rammed his forehead into Voroshilov’s mouth.

Lieutenant Voroshilov was jolted by the savage blow; his head rocked back and his teeth jammed together. For the briefest instant, his vision swam, his senses staggered. When they cleared, he discovered the gunman standing over him, the barrels of the Pythons centimeters from his face.

“Piece of cake,” Hickok quipped. He cocked the Colts. “Don’t move! Don’t even blink!”

Lieutenant Voroshilov froze in place.

Hickok backed up a step and glanced toward the door. Had the pilot heard the gunfire? Maybe not. The twin rotors on the copter were making a heck of a lot of noise. On the other hand…

Hickok stared at Voroshilov. “On your feet! Real slow! Hands in the air!”

Lieutenant Voroshilov complied.

“We’re gonna walk up to the pilot,” Hickok directed him.

Voroshilov licked his dry lips. “He will see us coming and lock the cockpit.”

“You’d best hope he doesn’t,” Hickok warned, “or you’ll be gaining some weight right quick.” He paused. “How much do you figure a couple of slugs would weigh?”

Lieutenant Voroshilov swallowed. Hard. “What do you propose to do?”

“I don’t propose nothin’,” Hickok retorted. “I’m plain doin’ it! You’re gonna fly me to the SEAL.”

“You’re crazy! We’ll never make it. You will be caught,” Lieutenant Voroshilov said.

“No I won’t,” Hickok disagreed. “All I have to do is stay out of sight when you land to refuel. There’s no need for any of you to be getting off the helicopter. You’ll land, refuel, and take off again without letting anyone else on board.”

“Ground control will become suspicious,” Voroshilov stated. “There are papers to sign—”

“Tell ’em you’re in a big hurry,” Hickok instructed him. “Mention General Malenkov. That ought to make ’em listen.”

“It won’t work,” Lieutenant Voroshilov declared.

Hickok’s voice lowered to an angry growl. “You best pray it does work, or you’ll be the first to go.”

Lieutenant Voroshilov gazed at his fallen comrades. He thought of the disgrace he had suffered, the shame heaped on his name and career. If he lived, he would be demoted. Or worse, sentenced to hard labor in one of the concentration camps. Or even executed. The honorable course would be to compel the gunman to shoot him now, to end his life before his failure was discovered. If he died now, he would be hailed as a hero whose death was a tribute to the Party and the State. He looked at the gleaming barrels of the Pythons, and couldn’t bring himself to make the necessary move, to try and jump the gunman. He wasn’t a coward, but he didn’t want to die.

“What’s it gonna be?” Hickok demanded. “You either do as I say, or I’ll ventilate your eyeballs.”

Lieutenant Voroshilov took a deep breath. “I will do as you say.”

“No tricks,” Hickok warned.

“No tricks.”

“And do all your talkin’ in English,” Hickok ordered him. “Now that I know your men can speak both languages, there’s no risk involved and I’ll understand everything you say.”

Lieutenant Voroshilov frowned. Who would have believed it? Looking at the blond gunman’s inane, carefree grin and hearing his ridiculous Western slang, who would believe he was so competent a fighter?

“Let’s mosey on up to the cockpit,” Hickok said.

Voroshilov hesitated.

“Something wrong?” Hickok asked.

“Are there many like you?” Lieutenant Voroshilov asked. “Where you come from, I mean.”

“A whole passel of ’em,” Hickok said. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” Lieutenant Voroshilov said as he headed forward, carefully passing the gunman. “But if there had been more like you a century ago, America would still be free.”

Hickok laughed. “I ain’t nothin’ special.”

“That’s what you think,” Lieutenant Voroshilov said, complimenting his enemy.

They emerged from the bowels of the library into the fresh air and bright light of day in an alley due west of the building.

“You know St. Louis better than we do,” Blade said to Lex. “You’ve got to lead us out of the city. Stick to the alleys and back streets. We don’t want to run into any more Leather Knights.”

“I’ll do my best,” Lex promised. She led off, Rikki at her side.

Blade followed them, covering their flanks, constantly scanning to the rear. Amazingly, the expected counterattack hadn’t materialized. They hadn’t seen or heard a single Knight during their exit from the library.

Why not?

The rest of the Leather Knights undoubtedly were alerted to the debacle in the pit room. At least one of the Knights in the room at the time had survived and vanished.

So where the hell were they?

If the Leather Knights hadn’t appeared, there must be a good reason.

But what? Were the Knights afraid? It hardly seemed likely since they numbered in the hundreds. Perhaps many of the Knights were in other sections of the city, but there had to be enough in the immediate vicinity to overwhelm the two Warriors and the defector. Yet they hadn’t attacked.

Were the Knights wary of attempting to corner their former prisoners in the narrow confines of the underground hallways? Or, as sounded reasonable, were the Knights reluctant to pursue the trio through the labyrinth under the library for fear they would lose their captives in the maze? If that was the case, and if he were a Leather Knight, what would he do next?

The answer was so obvious, Blade stopped as if stunned by a physical blow.

There was only one possible recourse! To cover every exit from the library and wait for them to come forth.

Rikki and Lex had reached the mouth of the alley and moved into the street beyond.

Blade ran toward them. “Rikki!”

He was too late.

Hidden in the buildings on every side, over two dozen Leather Knights rose from concealment, some in windows, others in doorways, some hiding behind gutted cars on piles of trash.

“Now!” a sister shouted.

The Leather Knights opened fire.

Startled by the ambush, Lex still managed to raise her rifle and blast a stud in a nearby window. Then her left shoulder was jarred, and the rifle flew from her hands as she started to fall.

Rikki reached her side in the next instant, ignoring the hail of lead raining all around him. He placed his left arm around her waist and lifted, supporting her weight as he hurried to the alley, knowing he wouldn’t reach its cover without aid.

Blade burst from the alley with the Commando leveled. He swept the surrounding buildings with a devastating spray of bullets.

Sisters and studs screamed as they were hit, or ducked from sight to escape the giant’s onslaught.

Blade retreated into the alley.

Rikki was holding Lex in his arms. A bright red circle had formed on Lex’s left shoulder and there was a hole in her vest.

“Lex?” Blade asked.

Lexine, although pale, was game. “I’m fine,” she told Blade. “Tell this yoyo to stop worrying about me.”

Rikki gently eased her onto the ground. “Stay put,” he advised her. “We will attend to the Knights.”

Blade leaned against the west wall and eased to the corner. There was a lot of commotion from every nearby building. The Knights were reorganizing.