David Robbins - Citadel Run

“Did you clear it?” Blade asked.

Colonel Jarvis was confounded by the question. “Clear it? Clear what?”

Blade nodded at the Commando. “That. Did you clear it? The last time I used it, the thing jammed on me.

Jarvis snickered. “Fool! Do you think I’m that gullible? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Blade slowly nodded, smiling.

Jarvis turned red and pulled the Commando trigger.

Nothing happened.

“That answer your question?” Blade said mocking him.

Jarvis was frantically pulling the trigger.

Blade rose to his knees, the Bowie in his right hand.

Colonel Jarvis pounded the Commando on the ground, then stared at the Warrior, wide-eyed, his mouth moving soundlessly.

Blade closed in. “I only regret I can’t give you everything you have coming to you,” he stated, his voice hard and low, “but this will have to suffice.”

Jarvis tried to bring his hands up, to feebly save himself from his doom.

The hulking Warrior ripped the Bowie blade into the officer’s stomach and twisted. Jarvis made a choking sound and clutched at the knife.

“This,” Blade said, “is for all those innocent people you murdered today!” He steeled his arm and wrenched the knife upward.

The last sight Jarvis saw before he toppled into the long night was the sight of his own guts spilling over the ground.

Blade wrenched his Bowie free and stood. The clamor of shouts and shots outside drew him back to reality.

Hickok!

Blade knelt by the blanket and armed himself with the A-1, the Vegas, and the Bowies. He stuck the Dan Wesson .44 Magnum in his belt for added measure. He rose and saw the Commando at his left.

“Colonel Jarvis!” someone outside was yelling. “Colonel Jarvis!”

Blade knelt again and examined the Commando. He extracted the magazine and found the jammed bullet in the clip.

“Colonel Jarvis!”

Blade quickly reloaded the Commando, thankful the A-1 and it used the same caliber ammunition.

“Colonel Jarvis!” The voice was very close.

Nodding in satisfaction, Blade stood, the Commando held snugly in his right arm, the A-1 in his left.

“Colonel Jarvis! Sir!”

A soldier reached the tent and flung the flap to one side. He spotted the Warrior and attempted to bring his M-16 into play.

The Commando roared, bucking in Blade’s arm, and the slugs caught the trooper in the chest, his back exploding outward as he fell.

Blade emerged from the tent.

Both the sentry tower at the north end of the stockade and the tower on the west side were demolished, spewing fire and smoke. The SEAL was stopped in the center of a circle of soldiers, and they were pouring everything they had at the vehicle.

Blade advanced across the field. He fired as fast as soldiers appeared, the Commando and the A-1 tearing them apart before they knew what hit them. Four troopers directly ahead were engaged in replacing the magazines in their M-16’s. One of them spotted the Warrior and warned his companions; all four spun and were caught in a withering hail of fire.

He downed nine more in five seconds.

Something plowed into Blade’s left shoulder, stunning him and drawing blood. He knew he’d been hit, but he ignored the wound for the moment as he concentrated on wrapping up this operation. A group of soldiers suddenly appeared to his left, charging over a small rise.

Blade crouched, aiming the Commando, doubting he could hold them all off with just one good arm.

There were at least ten of them, and as they passed near the front of the SEAL there was a hissing and a puff of blue and the entire group was engulfed by a sheet of flame. Their death cries were awful.

Blade scanned the area, surprised to discover the troopers were gone.

The ones still alive, anyway. The ground was littered with dozens and dozens of bodies, some oozing blood from multiple perforations and others fried to a fine crisp.

The stench was staggering.

Blade rose to his feet, his ears ringing from the conflict. He could hear moans and groans coming from every direction; the sound was eerie.

During his time as a Warrior, he’d seen a lot of fights, a lot of killing, but nothing like this. This was his first taste of all-out warfare, and he was feeling oddly uncomfortable as he faced the SEAL.

The driver’s door flew open and Hickok emerged, his Pythons in his hands.

“Glad to see you could make it,” Blade said. “I was beginning to think you were on vacation.”

Hickok warily walked over to Blade, his eyes alertly seeking any indication of hostility from the bodies on the field. His lips were compressed, his expression drawn and haggard.

“Something wrong?” Blade asked him.

Hickok nodded. “I didn’t like it.”

“Didn’t like what?”

Hickok motioned with his left arm toward the SEAL. “It wasn’t a fair fight! These slobs never had a chance! All I had to do was sit there and flick a switch and I’d wipe out a dozen of them at a crack! Did you see the flamethrower? Those boys never stood a chance!” he repeated, sounding stunned. “I like it when I can face an enemy and go one-on-one. That’s my ideal of a fair fight. This was… was nothing more than outright slaughter.”

Blade knew what the gunfighter meant and agreed with him.

There was the thump of a door closing, and Joshua jogged into view around the SEAL. “Blade!” he shouted. “You’re okay!”

Blade rubbed his injured shoulder as Joshua reached them. “Not quite,” he said. “I took one.”

“I’ll tend it immediately,” Joshua stated, turning. “My medicine bag is in the SEAL. Did you see it?” he inquired, grinning, sweeping the field with his right hand. “Did you see it?”

“See what?”

Joshua, continuing toward the SEAL, glanced over his right shoulder.

“Did you see Hickok? Wasn’t he magnificent? He handled the SEAL like an expert! All that shooting and the explosions and everything and they never even touched us! Amazing!” And with that he entered the SEAL.

Blade eyed Hickok quizzically.

“Don’t look at me, pard!” the gunman protested. “It’s all his doing. Josh has decided he likes me.”

“He likes you?”

“Yep. Just the way I am.” Hickok saw a body nearby twitch and stopped talking, waiting to see if it would move again. Nothing. “How’s the wing?” he asked Blade.

“Seems to be a clean hit, in and out,” Blade replied, inspecting his left shoulder. “How about you?”

“Like Josh said,” Hickok responded, “they never laid a glove on us. The Founder did a great job on the SEAL. Whatever he forked out was well spent. That plastic body must be practically impenetrable. The M-16’s didn’t even faze us. We could hear the slugs ricocheting, kind of like the buzzing of a bunch of angry hornets, but they didn’t put a nick in the buggy.”

“There were some bigger guns in the sentry towers,” Blade mentioned.

“Yeah. I noticed them,” Hickok said. “They rocked the SEAL real good, which is why I took ’em out first. We were lucky. If they’d had grenades or a bazooka it might have been a different story.”

Blade gazed at the SEAL, wondering what was delaying the Empath. “I still can’t believe Joshua was excited over a fight,” he commented.

“I think he’s faking it,” Hickok confided.

“Why?”

Hickok looked around to insure Joshua was still in the SEAL. “I reckon he’s on a campaign to show us how helpful he can be. I think he knows he’s been a monumental pain in the butt, and this is his way of making amends. Shhhh. Here he comes.”

Joshua was running toward them, his leather medicine bag, supplied by the Family Healers, clutched in his right hand. “I finally found it!” he exclaimed as he rejoined them. “In all the commotion it slid under one of the seats. Let’s have a look at your shoulder.”