David Robbins - Armageddon Run

Orson disappeared from view as the window, the sill, and the wall enclosing it were riddled with holes.

That idiot!

Geronimo jumped up, his M-16 pressed to his shoulder, unable to afford the luxury of a choice thanks to Orson’s stupidity. He let them have it, his bullets ripping into their backs and exploding from their chests, spraying crimson and flesh over the highway. They fell like the proverbial flies, seven, ten, and more, before the rest realized they were under attack from the rear.

Some of the troopers spun, firing at the stocky form in green.

Geronimo moved, sprinting toward the house, still firing as he ran, taking down two, three, four more, and then he reached the porch and dodged for the door, slugs from the soldiers hitting the porch all around him.

Something nicked his left thigh.

Geronimo slammed into the door.

It didn’t budge!

Five of the troopers ran up to the fence, blasting away.

Geronimo dove, landing on his elbows and knees on the porch, as the wall above his body was perforated by bullets.

The firing near the highway rose in volume, as if others were joining the fray. More soldiers were falling. The five near the fence turned to face some unseen foes and were promptly cut to ribbons in a hail of gunfire.

Several more on the other side of the road dropped.

Those remaining broke and ran.

Geronimo crawled to the edge of the porch. He glanced down at his thigh. The bullet had only torn his pants and broken the skin; the wound was bleeding, but it wasn’t serious.

Blade and Hickok appeared at the fence.

“You okay, pard?” Hickok called out.

Geronimo nodded and rose to his feet. He could see eight soldiers sprinting toward the rise to the south as rapidly as their legs would carry them.

Orson emerged from the house across the highway.

Geronimo walked to the fence.

“You’ve been hit,” Blade commented as Geronimo approached.

“It’s nothing,” Geronimo assured him. “I’ve been hurt worse.”

Hickok gazed at the bodies of the fallen troopers. “I reckon we’ve just ruined the Doktor’s day.”

“We fall back to our next positions and wait for their next move,” Blade stated. “It won’t be as easy the next time.”

“How’d I do?” Orson eagerly inquired as he reached them.

Geronimo opened his mouth, about to rebuke the Mole for his carelessness, but he changed his mind. Orson, he deduced, hadn’t seen much combat, and it wouldn’t do to discourage the Mole so early in the conflict.

“From what I saw,” Blade said, “you did just fine, although you may have jumped the gun a bit.”

“I’m sorry,” Orson apologized, frowning.

Hickok patted Orson on the back. “Don’t fret it! We all get the jitters now and then.”

“Let’s fall back,” Blade suggested.

Geronimo hurried to a gate set in the middle of the southern section of fence, exited the yard, and walked around to the others.

“How long do you reckon the Doktor will wait before he tries something else?” Hickok casually inquired as they headed deeper into town.

“Not long,” Blade predicted.

Blade was right.

Bertha saw them coming first. She was posted behind a tree in the backyard of a residence 50 yards west of U.S. Highway 85, and she was extremely annoyed because she hadn’t been able to render assistance when the initial patrol had advanced on Catlow. She had seen them approach, but when the shooting had begun there were several buildings interposed between her position and the fire fight and she couldn’t get a clear shot at the soldiers. Blade had ordered her to stay put until he notified her to the contrary, and it had taken all of her self-control to comply with his command.

So when the jeep with a piece of white cloth affixed to its antenna roared over the rise and streaked across the field directly toward her, instead of using the highway, she was immensely pleased.

“Will you look at this!” she exclaimed to herself, raising her M-16 to her shoulder. “Are these dummies in for a surprise! Come to momma, sucker!”

There were four figures in the topless vehicle.

Bertha deliberately sighted on the driver, a hideous reptilian monstrosity, and waited, biding her time, wanting to be sure when she pulled the trigger.

Someone grabbed her elbow.

Startled, Bertha twisted around.

Blade stood behind her. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“Where’d you come from?” she blurted.

“I was making my rounds of our perimeter,” Blade replied, gazing at the speeding jeep. “Do you see their white flag?”

“I see it,” Bertha answered.

“And you were going to shoot them anyway?” Blade asked her.

“I wanted to sight in my gun,” Bertha quipped.

“You’re getting worse than Hickok,” Blade told her.

Bertha beamed, taking the statement as a compliment. “Thanks!”

The jeep slowed to a stop approximately 30 yards from the tree and slightly to the left.

“You, in the town! Can you hear me?” bellowed a deep voice. The speaker was a tall, apish mutant bearing a sledgehammer in his huge right fist. He stood on the front passenger seat, surveying the nearest homes and other buildings.

“Cover me,” Blade directed Bertha.

“You ain’t goin’ out there!” Bertha protested.

Blade nodded.

“It’s your funeral,” Bertha mumbled.

Blade stepped from behind the tree. “I hear you!” he shouted, and walked toward the jeep, an M-16 at the ready, his Commando over his left arm, the Vegas in their holsters, and the Bowies on his hips.

The ape-like mutant swiveled to face the Warrior.

Blade walked to within ten yards of the vehicle. “What do you want?”

“I am Thor,” the creature announced. “And you must be Blade.”

“I am,” Blade confirmed.

“I bring a message from the Doktor,” Thor said.

“What is it?”

“It’s for Lynx,” Thor revealed.

“You tell me,” Blade stated, “and I’ll relay the message to Lynx.”

“My message is for Lynx,” Thor insisted, “and only Lynx.”

Blade noticed all four of the occupants of the jeep were mutants. “Why didn’t the Doktor deliver this message in person?”

“He told me to do it,” Thor replied.

“Could it be the Doktor’s afraid to show his miserable face because he knows what we’ll do to it?” Blade said, taunting the creature.

“The Doktor knows best,” Thor responded. “Now get Lynx!”

“Give me your message,” Blade declared.

Thor put his knobby left hand on top of the windshield and leaned forward. “I won’t tell you again!” he growled. “Get Lynx!”

Blade’s eyes narrowed. “How would you like me to take that sledgehammer and shove it up your ass?”

“I’d like to see you try!” Thor angrily retorted. “Are you going to get Lynx or not?” he stubbornly persisted.

“I told you already,” Blade said flatly, “I’ll relay the message to Lynx.”

Thor seemed to be mulling the issue. “All right,” he said at length. “You can give Lynx the Doktor’s message. Tell Lynx the Doktor is only interested in him. If Lynx will surrender to the Doktor, the Doktor will allow the rest of you to leave here alive.”

“That’s the message?” Blade demanded.

“That’s it,” Thor confirmed.

Blade chuckled. “And you expect us to believe the Doktor will keep his word?”

“Of course he will,” Thor said blandly.

“Bet me,” Blade rejoined. “Tell the Doktor no deal.”

“You refuse to turn Lynx over to us?” Thor queried.

“For someone, or should I say something , with the brains of a turnip, you’re pretty bright!” Blade said, mocking him.