David Robbins - Armageddon Run

“And you say Blade sent you?” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi asked.

The column was halted at the western edge of the Black Hills National Forest in South Dakota, only 15 miles from the Wyoming border and about 23 miles from Catlow.

“How else do you think we found you?” the Indian responded. “Blade gave us explicit directions. He said you would be waiting here for word on when you should attack the Doktor.”

“And your people are willing to fight, Red Cloud?” Rikki inquired.

“We will gladly join you against those who enslaved us!” Red Cloud stated earnestly.

Rikki glanced at the two troop transports and the jeep parked in the field ahead. Dozens of Indians were clustered near the vehicles. “How many are with you?”

“Forty-eight,” Red Cloud answered. “We all want to fight,” he added proudly.

“You’ll get your chance,” Rikki promised him. He glanced over his left shoulder. The Freedom Federation’s fledgling army was encamped in a wide meadow near the forest, awaiting the signal to march on Catlow. The volunteers from the Clan and the Moles occupied the center of the meadow, positioned next to the 14 trucks. The Cavalry riders encircled the meadow, serving as a mobile buffer, prepared to take the field at a moment’s notice.

Five yards to Rikki’s right stood three stalwart figures: Kilrane in his inevitable buckskins, Yama in his blue “death shirt,” and Teucer, the third member of Beta Triad, a lean, rakish Warrior attired in a green shirt and pants. Teucer’s hair was blond, his locks secured in a ponytail, and he cultivated a neatly trimmed blond beard on his chin. He carried a compound bow in his left hand, and a quiver full of arrows was attached to his brown leather belt and slanted across his right hip. Like every other Warrior, Teucer had a preference in weaponry based on his natural aptitude and ability. As the Family’s best archer, Teucer preferred a bow and arrows. Hickok, by virtue of his uncanny skill with handguns, was entitled to possess the Colt Pythons. Blade, because of his expertise at knife fighting, carried the Bowies. And Rikki, in honor of his position as the Family’s supreme martial artist, could claim the only katana in the Family’s armory. The Founder of the Home, Kurt Carpenter, had stocked an incredible array of arms including hundreds of guns as well as more exotic weapons. Family members, even the Warriors, could not automatically assume ownership of a particular firearm or other weapon; they first had to prove themselves worthy of such a distinction.

“May I ask you something?” Red Cloud ventured.

Rikki nodded.

“Why are you so far from Catlow?” Red Cloud inquired. “Wouldn’t it be wiser to be closer?”

“We don’t want to alert the Doktor to our presence,” Rikki explained.

“If we were any closer, we would risk detection by one of his patrols.”

“But how will you know when to attack?”

“We have a man watching Catlow,” Rikki detailed. “He has one of our fastest horses. If he determines Blade and the others require our assistance, he will ride and warn us. If not, he is under orders to notify us on the evening of the second day after the battle has begun.”

Red Cloud slowly shook his head, his shoulder-length black hair waving.

“It sounds too dangerous to me. Blade and his companions could be killed before you got there.”

“It’s a chance we have to take,” Rikki said. “We want the Doktor so involved with defeating Blade, he won’t realize we are here until it is too late.”

“Are you a close friend of Blade’s?” Red Cloud questioned.

“I am,” Rikki stated.

“Then I hope, for his sake, you know how to pray!”

The Doktor strode from his tent and stared at the pair in front of him.

One was Thor. The other was a short man, standing slightly under five feet in height, who was covered with a coat of light brown hair. His body was well proportioned and muscular, but his face was a startling contrast to his physique. His nose was circular and protruded at a slant above his large oval mouth. Beady brown eyes were focused on his creator in abject fear. The corners of his mouth tended to chronically droop, exposing his oversized teeth.

The sun was just clearing the eastern horizon.

“What is it, Thor?” the Doktor demanded impatiently. “I told you not to awaken me unless it was absolutely necessary.”

Thor bowed deferentially. “I’m sorry, Doktor, but I felt this was important.”

“What is it?”

Thor extended his right arm. Clutched in his furry right hand was a bloodstained buckskin shirt.

The Doktor took the shirt and examined the fabric, noting the back of the garment had been torn to shreds. “What is this?”

Thor glanced at the one to his left. “Tell him. Boar.”

Boar went to speak, but hesitated.

Thor hefted the sledgehammer in his left hand. “Tell him!” he bellowed.

“Do you know where this shirt came from?” the Doktor asked in a calm tone of voice, smiling at the terrified Boar.

“Y… y… yes,” Boar stuttered.

“Tell me,” the Doktor coaxed him.

Boar began wringing his hands together. “You promise you won’t get mad?”

A steely gleam flickered across the Doktor’s features. “Mad? Why should I get mad?” He walked up to Boar and placed his right arm around his underling’s shoulders. “Tell the Doktor all about it.”

Boar took a deep breath. “I was going to tell you myself, really! Thor didn’t need to bring me.”

The Doktor held up the bloody shirt in his left hand. “I’m waiting.”

“I was going to tell you about it this morning,” Boar said nervously.

“When I saw him,” Thor interjected, “he was trying to bury it.”

“Oh?” The Doktor stared into Boar’s eyes. “Are you open to some unsolicited advice?”

Boar’s head bounced up and down.

“Talk to me. Boar,” the Doktor urged softly. “Talk to me right this instant and explain to me where you got this shirt.”

“I took it from the man,” Boar hastily blurted. “Last night I was assigned to patrol the area northeast of the town. I heard this sound, like someone coughing, and when I went to check I found a man hiding in a ravine. There was a horse with him.”

“What happened then?” the Doktor prompted.

“I tried to capture him, to take him alive for questioning,” Boar said.

“But during our struggle I accidentally killed him. The horse ran away.”

Boar paused.

“Where is this man now? Did you bury his body?” The Doktor suppressed an impulse to laugh; he already knew the answers to his questions.

“I… I… d… didn’t bury him,” Boar stammered.

“Oh? What did you do with him?”

“You’ve got to understand!” Boar whined. “We’ve been on short rations since we left the Citadel. I was hungry. No one else was around. What harm was done?”

“You still haven’t told me what you did with the body,” the Doktor said, toying with him.

Boar mumbled some words.

“What was that?” The Doktor grinned. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

Boar started trembling. “I ate it.”

“You ate the body?”

“Yes, Doktor.”

“And when Thor spotted you,” the Doktor deduced, “you were burying the evidence.”

“I brought one of his arms back with me wrapped in the shirt,” Boar said. “Sort of a snack.”

“Sort of a snack,” the Doktor said, mimicking him.

“Are you mad at me?” Boar asked, dreading the answer.

“No.”

“You’re not?” Boar brightened. “You’re really not?”

The Doktor smiled. “No, I’m not mad at you, but…” His right hand fell from Boar’s shoulder, then streaked upward, his fingers clamping on Boar’s throat. He squeezed and heaved, lifting Boar bodily from the ground.