David Robbins - Denver Run

Carter’s mouth was twisted in a wry grin. He tried to speak, but his mouth formed soundless words. His breath expelled from his body in a prolonged, raspy wheeze, his back arched, and he died, his lifeless green eyes staring blankly at Ares.

“Good-bye, old friend,” the tall Warrior said sadly. “I will miss you. Someday we will be together in the worlds on high.”

“Here they come again!” a nearby man cried in alarm.

The soldiers were advancing across the field for yet another go at the south wall.

Ares gently lowered Carter to the rampart, retrieved his AR-15, and stood, his thin lips compressed tightly, his brow furrowed in mounting anguish commingled with sheer rage. He glared at the troopers in the field. They were going to pay for what they had done! They had killed his two best friends and Triad mates! By the Spirit, they were going to pay!

“On my command,” Ares shouted, raising the AR-15 to his shoulder.

Day three of the siege.

Two hours after the barrage began.

The north wall.

There was a temporary lull in the fighting at the north wall, although the continuing sounds of combat could be heard from the other walls.

“The Spirit smiles on us,” Seiko said, using a phrase frequently heard from Family members.

“How do you mean?” inquired Shane, his brown eyes watching the distant forest for sign of another assault. His black clothes were filthy from the accumulated smoke, dirt, and his own sweat. He held a Galil Model 361, which had been converted to full auto, in his weary hands.

The defenders on the north wall had successfully repulsed three waves of soldiers. Dead troopers littered the field and were piled along the outer base of the wall.

Like the youthful Shane, Seiko’s Oriental-style black clothing, especially constructed by the Family Weavers using photographs in the martial arts books in the library as a guideline, was caked with dust and grime. “We have it easier than the other walls,” he said.

“We do?” Shane rejoined.

Seiko pointed at a large ditch located 20 yards from the north wall.

This ditch was six feet across and four feet deep. It served as an emergency runoff tributary for the stream entering the Home. The west end of the ditch connected to the stream just north of the compound.

Ordinarily, the ditch was dammed at its junction with the stream. But whenever the stream threatened to flood, whether from heavy rainfall or another reason, the narrow dam and mud and stones could be quickly torn down, allowing the excess water to flow east past the Home. When the flooding was over, the dam could be rebuilt until the ditch was needed again. It was another of Kurt Carpenter’s safety precautions. “That ditch makes our job easier,” Seiko stated.

Shane gazed at the ditch, uncomprehending, his mind still dazed from the ferocity of the onslaught, from all the brutal savagery he had witnessed. This was his first major conflict, and the experience had ravaged his soul. Never, not in his wildest imaginings, had he envisioned actual war as being so utterly gruesome, so supremely… vile.

Seiko sensed his colleague’s inner turmoil. “The ditch slows them down,” he went on, hoping to dispel Shane’s shock by engaging him in conversation. “The soldiers can’t get up a full head of steam with the ditch there. They have to slow to cross the ditch, and that gives us all the time we need to pick them off.” He paused. “We have an advantage over the other walls.”

Shane glanced to the west. “How do you think Hickok and the others are doing?”

Seiko shrugged. “We’ll know soon enough.” He was armed with a Valmet M76 with 30-round magazine and 12-inch bayonet mounted on the tip of the barrel. Tucked under his waistband in the small of his back, covered by his baggy shirt, were his favorite nunchaku. Also tucked under his waistband, but on either hip, were a pair of sai.

Shane absently gazed at the morning sun. “It seems like we’ve been fighting forever.”

Seiko chuckled. “You will see much more fighting before your career as a Warrior is over.”

“I don’t know if I can take this on a regular basis,” Shane confided.

“No one forced you to become a Warrior,” Seiko reminded him.

“True,” Shane conceded. “I became a Warrior because I wanted to do my bit to help the Family. And because of Hickok.”

“You look up to him, do you not?”

Shane nodded, frowning.

“What is the matter?” Seiko probed, keeping his alert brown eyes focused on the treeline.

“I don’t see how Hickok does it,” Shane commented.

“Does what?”

“You know his reputation,” Shane said. “And I’ve seen him in action.

He’s been in all kinds of battles. He’s killed—who knows how many? I used to think he was the greatest. Now, I don’t know. I’ve shot about two dozen soldiers today. Instead of feeling happy about it, I feel… ashamed,” he confessed.

Seiko could read the torment in Shane’s features. “Do you think Hickok feels happy about all the foes he has killed?”

Shane’s busy brows narrowed. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“I doubt he does,” Seiko stated.

“But he takes it all in stride,” Shane observed. “I’ve seen him, remember? Hickok can crack jokes in the middle of a fight.”

“You think he is too flippant then?”

“Don’t you?” Shane countered.

Seiko sighed. “I am not here to judge my fellow man.”

“That’s a cop-out,” Shane said.

“Let me ask you a question,” Seiko ventured. “Do you believe in the Family and the Home?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe they should be preserved at all cost?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe in freedom? In the higher concepts of truth, beauty, and goodness?” Seiko asked.

“Yeah.”

“Do you believe in your right to commune with the Spirit?”

“Of course!” Shane responded impatiently. “What’s all of this got to do with anything?”

Seiko smiled. “Everything.” He considered for a moment. “I don’t know Hickok as well as, say, Geronimo does. But I do know that Hickok, and every other Warrior for that matter, believes in all of the values we’ve discussed. I also know, as do you, that there are many people in this crazy world who don’t believe in the values we do. Many of them would deny us our values. Many of them want us to live the way they live. Samuel the Second is a good example. He wants the Family to conform to his ideas about living. He wants to dictate the lives of those around him. We can’t permit that.” Seiko indicated the fallen troopers in the field. “Do you hate them?”

Shane stared at the corpses, puzzled. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“I don’t hate them,” Seiko said. “I see them as pawns in a cosmic struggle between good and evil. Mindless pawns, because they fight for Samuel’s values instead of their own.”

“But what does all of this have to do with Hickok?” Shane interjected.

“Hickok doesn’t slay others because he enjoys it, because it makes him happy. He’s a Warrior because he believes certain values are worth defending to the death. If he seems flippant at times, it’s only because Warriors can’t allow the killing to get to them. If you dwell on the slaughter, you won’t be able to function as a Warrior. And then who will defend the values in which you believe?”

“I never thought of it that way,” Shane acknowledged.

“Think about it,” Seiko suggested, hefting his Valmet M76, “but not right now.”

“Why not?”

Seiko nodded at the forest. “Because company is coming.”

With a mighty clamor, the soldiers poured from the trees once again.