David Robbins - Citadel Run

Rat took a step toward the officer. “You jackass! Don’t you know how dangerous these guys are? They play for keeps!”

Colonel Jarvis unexpectedly lunged, grabbing Rat by the front of his shirt and nearly lifting him from the ground. “So do I!” he warned. “If you’d care for a demonstration, it can be arranged right now!”

It was as if Rat’s backbone turned to mush. He blanched and recoiled from the officer’s baleful glare. “Hey! Let me go! I didn’t mean nothin’! Honest!”

“Mark my words, weasel!” Jarvis hissed. “Cross me again and it will be the last act you ever commit. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Rat nodded his head over and over.

Colonel Jarvis shoved Rat toward the tent flap. “Get out! And remember what I’ve told you!”

“Yes, sir! I’m sorry, sir!” Rat’s chin was quivering as he backed from the tent.

“Disgusting filth!” Jarvis stated angrily. Then he glanced at the Warrior. “The presumptuous fool has ruined my mood! My men will escort you back and I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll be going for a little ride.” Jarvis smiled. “Guards!”

Two guards entered the tent.

“Take this man to the stockade,” Jarvis ordered. “Watch him! If he escapes, I’ll have your balls for breakfast!”

The troopers stood aside to allow Blade to pass.

Blade rose and nodded at the officer. “I want to thank you for an… interesting… evening.”

“Make the most of the time you have left,” Jarvis advised. “I have a feeling you won’t be eating too many meals after Samuel gets through with you.”

Blade exited, marveling at how careless Jarvis could be. If only two soldiers were taking him to the stockade, he’d overpower them, return to the tent, and grab his weapons.

“Hold it!” directed one of the troopers behind Blade.

Four more soldiers appeared from behind a nearby truck. The tent was located on the grass near the parked troop transports.

“Take this scum to the stockade,” the guard instructed, and one of the four nodded, pushing the Warrior with the barrel of his M-16.

“Move it, jerk!”

Blade meekly complied, hoping to deceive the four guards, to convince them he was docile. He idly gazed up at the full moon, then at the nearby trucks. The transports were about fifteen yards distant, providing the closest cover. If he could reach the troop transports, he stood a good chance of eluding the soldiers. The troopers weren’t about to fire into their own vehicles.

At least, he hoped they wouldn’t.

Two of the escorts were immediately behind the Warrior, the third walked just to his right, and the fourth was staying alongside his left elbow.

Blade hesitated, stopping and glancing down at his left foot.

“Why’d you stop?” demanded the one to his left, poking Blade for the second time with his M-16.

Blade twisted his leg and used his right hand to elevate his left foot.

“I’ve got something in my moccasin. Feels like a small stone.”

“Ahhhh! Poor baby!” the one on the left cracked. “Does the teeny-weeny pebble hurt the big, bad Warrior?”

The other three soldiers laughed.

Blade grinned, surreptitiously scanning the area.

The stockade was brilliantly illuminated by the spotlights mounted on the four sentry towers. Most of the soldiers were gathered around campfires, cooking and relaxing. Those troopers standing near the barbed wire fence seemed bored with their duty. The soldiers in the sentry towers seemed to be keeping their eyes on the prisoners.

It was now or never!

“Get moving!” the soldier on the left barked. “You can take off your moccasins in the stockade. Do you think we want to catch a whiff of your smelly foot?”

“I guess not,” Blade said, placing his left foot on the ground. “Although it would be a distinct improvement over your body odor,” he added, calculating the remark would provoke another prod from the M-16.

It did.

Blade exploded into action at the same instant the barrel of the M-16 touched his left side. He swung his left elbow back and up, feeling it crunch against the trooper’s nose even as he gripped the barrel of the rifle and spun, jerking the M-16 from the soldier’s grasp and slamming the stock into the face of the trooper on his right, downing him, two of the four now out of commission.

The pair behind the Warrior were starting to bring their weapons into play.

Blade dove for the one on his left, knowing there was no way he could bag the one on his right before he was cut to ribbons. As he leaped, as his massive arms encircled his opponent and dragged him to the ground, Blade caught sight of the two soldiers in front of the tent. The tent guards were maybe ten yards off, and one of them suddenly perceived what was transpiring. He reacted automatically, whipping up his M-16 and firing a short burst.

There was a grunt and a gasp and the last of Blade’s four escorts tumbled to the dirt.

The one in Blade’s arms was still, stupidly, striving to use his M-16.

Blade drove his stony right fist into the trooper’s mouth and felt teeth give. The soldier went momentarily limp, and Blade scooped up the M-16, rose to his knees, and pulled the trigger.

The two tent guards were charging on the run, and they were caught in the chest by the slugs, their bodies flipping backward and crashing to the hard earth.

Blade pivoted, staying on his knees to minimize the target he presented.

Three soldiers were approaching from the direction of the fence.

Blade angled the barrel of the M-16 to reduce the possibility of any of the bullets striking the captives in the stockade, and let loose with a short burst.

The three were struck in the head and died in a bloody heap.

A large gun abruptly opened up, one of the machine guns, the one on the western sentry tower.

Blade rolled backwards as the spot he vacated erupted in a spray of dirt and sod.

Soldiers were converging on the tent, drawn by the gunfire.

Blade crawled toward the troop transports, wondering if the sentry gunner had lost track of him.

No.

The machine gun chattered, the heavy slugs ripping a path through the ground not four inches from the Warrior.

Damn!

Blade rose, running at full speed, making for the trucks. He was within seven yards of the parked vehicles when he whirled and fired a burst into the nearest troopers, four of them approaching from the north. He saw them go down as he turned and raced for the transports, diving when he was yet a yard away and scrambling underneath the first truck as shots punctuated the night above him.

“Not at the trucks, you idiots!” Colonel Jarvis was bellowing, enraged.

“We can’t get home without them! Surround them! Surround them and flush him out! Go truck to truck if you have to but get him!”

Blade scurried under the second of the troop transports as boots pounded all around him.

The soldiers were hemming him in!

He was trapped!

“Bring flashlights!” someone was shouting.

“Watch yourselves!” another cautioned.

Blade glanced over his shoulder.

Boots!

He looked to his left.

More boots!

Doubledamn!

To be so close!

“Listen to me!” Colonel Jarvis yelled. “Listen to me! I don’t care what Samuel wants! After what that bastard just did, I want him dead! An extended leave for the man who gets him! A month off with pay!”

“Did you hear that?” Blade heard a young trooper ask from somewhere near the cab.

“Sure did,” replied a friend. “This sucker is as good as dead!”

“You got it!”

Yama was all set to cut the approaching trooper in two when a funny thing happened.