David Robbins - Citadel Run

“You know Samuel,” said the rider. “He always has to play it safe. This time, though, I think he’s planning to beat the Cavalry in one fell swoop. I don’t think he wants a repeat of what happened in Montana with those damn Indians!”

“Yeah!” The driver laughed. “They would of beat us if it hadn’t of been for the Doktor and his gas.”

“I don’t know if they would have beat us,” disagreed the rider, “but they could have holed up in Kalispell a lot longer than they did.”

“I wonder if Samuel sent the Doktor a thank-you note,” joked the driver.

“Don’t do that!” snapped the rider.

“What’s eating you?”

“Don’t make fun of the Doktor or Samuel. You know they have ears everywhere. They could even have this cab bugged!” stated the rider, sounding scared.

“Don’t be such a crybaby!” laughed the driver. “I went over this cab with a fine-tooth comb before we left Denver. It’s clean as a whistle.”

“You hope.”

“I know.”

“Listen,” said the rider, “can’t we talk about something else? I get nervous discussing the Doktor or Samuel.”

“Sure we can,” concurred the driver. “I expect we’ll have the rest of the night free, since they’re not planning to move us out until tomorrow morning…”

“Where’d you hear that?” queried the rider.

“I have my sources,” the driver divulged. “Anyway, since we’ll have the night off, why don’t we visit this little lady I know? She’ll give both of us a tumble at a discount.”

“I don’t know…”

“What’s the matter with you? Got the jitters over a broad too? Don’t worry. She gets herself inspected at the clinic once a month, just like the Government says she should. I’m tellin’ you, we can have a blast! She has the biggest…”

Yama flattened, ruminating on the significance of the information he’d learned. As part of his campaign to reconquer the territory formerly held by the United States of America, Samuel was gearing up for a major thrust against the Cavalry in South Dakota, against the only ally the Family currently had in their struggle to resist Samuel and the Doktor.

The Cavalry must be warned! But how?

The flatbed was gaining considerable speed.

From the comments made by the blabbermouths, Yama gathered the Army was utilizing outdated equipment, possibly even from before the Third World War. Why would the Government be using such antiquated hardware? Didn’t the Civilized Zone have the factories necessary to produce new military equipment? Was their problem a lack of manufacturing capability, or did it go deeper than that?

Could it be a lack of natural resources?

Yama mentally reviewed the area encompassing the Civilized Zone. He knew it embraced the former states of Kansas, Nebraska, probably most or all of Wyoming, Colorado, eastern Arizona, New Mexico, Oklahoma, the northern half of a state once called Texas, and, now that the Flathead Indians were eradicated, most of the state of Montana as well.

Quite a large tract.

But what sort of natural resources was available? The Government would need certain types of metals to build tanks and cannons and such, right? Were those metals available in the Civilized Zone?

Yama grinned.

Possibly, just possibly, he’d stumbled over information crucial to the Family’s future.

Possibly, just possibly, Samuel and the Doktor weren’t as militarily strong as everyone thought they were.

And hopefully he’d discovered the chink in the Civilized Zone’s armor.

Yama raised the tarp and peered out.

The convoy was only a mile from the Citadel, according to a sign at the side of the highway.

Would every vehicle be checked as it entered the Citadel?

Before departing the Home for his spying mission to the Citadel, Yama had visited the enormous Family Library and researched every book he could find on the region, and specifically on Cheyenne. Unfortunately, Cheyenne, Wyoming, after World War III, was a vastly-altered city from the one existing prior to the Big Blast. The tremendous influx of refugees and evacuees, combined with the necessity for improved security and fortification, had drastically transformed Cheyenne into a veritable fortress.

The Citadel.

Within minutes, the first line of defense was in sight, and Yama was awed by the structure.

The Army Corps of Engineers had erected a massive stone and mortar wall completely enclosing the city. The wall stood forty feet high and was three feet thick. Perched atop this wall were numerous gun emplacements and observation towers, enabling the soldiers to see for miles in every direction on a clear day. Four iron gates were established as the only entry and exit points, one such gate being positioned in the middle of each wall.

The Army had hoped their huge wall would withstand a sustained mass assault, an assault which never came.

Cheyenne had been spared a direct strike from a nuclear weapon, and the anticipated Soviet land attack had failed to materialize. In fact, surprisingly, the entire Civilized Zone had been spared from a Red invasion. No one knew why. There were unsubstantiated rumors the Russian Army had indeed invaded and occupied much of the eastern half of the country, its advance inexplicably halted at the Mississippi River.

But these reports were unconfirmed, because the patrols sent east to verify them never returned.

The convoy turned right onto another road. The sign at the junction revealed they were now traveling on College Drive.

Yama craned his neck and peered up at the huge wall looming above them. College Drive was immediately outside the wall. According to the intelligence he’d received, Yama knew the wall extended to the west several miles, completely enclosing the Francis E. Warren Air Force Base and the United States Experimental Station within its confines. The northern boundary of the wall was once known as Four Mile Road, and the eastern perimeter was only two miles beyond North College Drive.

The first of the flatbeds reached the iron gate in the center of the southern wall. All of the flatbeds slowed and braked while the driver of the first truck conversed with one of the guards stationed at the gate.

Yama glanced over his left shoulder, gratified to discover the nearest traffic behind them was at least a half-mile to their rear.

“…love coming up here,” the driver was saying. “Denver makes me feel so cramped, so crowded all the time. At least here you have some elbow room.”

What was he talking about? Yama wondered.

“Yeah,” concurred the passenger, “I hear tell they only have one hundred thousand or so on the graveyard shift. Imagine that! I’d like to move here, some day, if the Housing Authority will allow it. The wide open spaces appeal to me.”

“Me too,” echoed the driver.

Yama crawled forward and risked a peek around the corner of the cab.

The first flatbed was still stopped at the gate, the driver joking and laughing with the guard.

How much longer would they dally at the gate? Time was a crucial factor; he had to be out of the Citadel by daylight. He might be able to roam the city undetected at night, but Yama doubted he’d pass a close scrutiny in the light of day.

The first flatbed gunned its motor and drove into the Citadel.

Yama smiled. The Spirit was smiling on his enterprise. The guards were not bothering to check the flat-beds, and why should they? The Citadel had never been attacked nor the Civilized Zone invaded for over a century. Why should they expect any trouble now?

The second flatbed was passing through the massive gate.

Yama ducked and scurried under the tarp, pulling it over his head and holding the Wilkinson close to his chest. A moment later, the last of the flatbeds moved slowly forward.