David Robbins - Thief River Falls Run

The bonds holding his wrists seemed slightly loose.

Blade cautiously flexed his steely muscles and felt the ropes give a fraction.

Good!

The sun was rising.

Blade surged against the ropes, attempting to minimize his body movements, hoping to prevent the Watchers from detecting his efforts.

The Watchers would be intent on the front door of the building, waiting for those inside to surrender.

I can do it! Blade told himself. If he applied sufficient pressure, eventually the ropes would slacken enough to free his arms.

The only question was, could he succeed before the sun was completely above the horizon?

Several Watchers suddenly appeared on the buildings nearest the headquarters, their rifles pointing at the front door.

Sweat coated his powerful frame as Blade strained against his bonds, his body quivering.

Just a few more minutes! All he needed was a few measly minutes!

Someone was moving in the park behind him, rustling the underbrush.

Blade was on the verge of freeing his hands, and wondering what his next move should be, considering his legs were still fastened to the post, when the one thing he didn’t expect to happen happened.

The front door opened and Hickok stepped outside, holding his arms over his head, grinning like an idiot.

Hickok stopped on the third step, smiling, slowly glancing to his left, then to his right. As he expected, Watchers were posted on the roofs of nearby structures, their M-16s at the ready. He counted three to his left, two to his right. That meant seven were still unaccounted for.

“ I’m glad to see you have some sense ,” Captain Williams boomed from the cover of the park.

Hickok faced front, still grinning. He stared at Blade, puzzled. Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or was Blade moving?

“Where are the others?”

Stall. He had to stall, giving Geronimo and Bertha time to clamber down their makeshift rope, fall to the ground, and made their way around front.

“ Where are the others ?” Captain Williams repeated. “ I know there are more of you .”

“They’re still inside,” Hickok shouted.

“ Tell them to come out, now !” Williams ordered.

“They don’t trust you,” Hickok yelled. “They’re afraid you’ll shoot them in the back.”

“ They have nothing to fear ,” Williams said, sounding impatient.

“They don’t know that,” Hickok countered.

“ We do not intend to kill you ,” Williams stressed. “ If they don’t come out and drop their weapons, we will kill your friend .”

“Looks like we don’t have much choice,” Hickok admitted.

“ Then you first. Drop your guns .”

Hickok took two more steps, then paused. He’d given his Henry to Geronimo, leaving him the Colts and the Ruger, fully loaded. Eighteen shots didn’t seem like much at a time like this.

“ Drop your guns !” Williams barked. “ Now !”

Hickok nodded and slowly lowered his hands, knowing the Watchers wouldn’t expect him to match his revolvers against their M-16’s, wouldn’t anticipate anyone being that dumb, especially when he was so vulnerable, in the open, without any protection, so he could well imagine their surprise when he shifted to the right, drawing, the Pythons flashing from their holsters as he cocked the hammers, the Colts held waist high in the traditional gunfighter’s stance, the two shots sounding as one.

The Watchers to his right, each on a different roof, disappeared from sight in a spray of blood and brains. .

Hickok moved, the slugs from the M-16’s already striking the concrete steps at his feet. He twisted and waved, dodged and spun, being as difficult a target as he could possibly be.

One of the shots tore a gash in the right side of his neck.

Another slug chipped his left heel.

Hickok reached the SEAL and whirled, firing each Python, and one of the Watchers to his left screamed, tumbling down the slanted roof and plummeting to the hard ground.

“Get the son of a bitch!”

Hickok dropped to the ground, rolling under the SEAL, relishing the temporary protection afforded by the transports body, wishing he could stay where he was, but he couldn’t, it wasn’t part of his plan. He kept moving, coming out from under the vehicle on the side fronting the park, and he was up and running, heading for Blade, realizing it was do-or-die time.

A Watcher emerged from the vegetation, shouldering his M-16, taking precise aim.

Hickok let him have one in the head.

The Watchers were focusing all their firepower on the bobbing, spinning, twirling, and churning Warrior.

Another bullet hit home, biting into the gunman’s left side.

Hickok slowed, ten yards from Blade, and snapped off shot at a Watcher directly ahead. The soldier went down, his hands over his face, shrieking and thrashing.

Blade abruptly came to life, his arms finally free. He stooped over, frantically tugging at the ropes binding his ankles.

Hickok heard a new gun enter the conflict, the blast of the Henry followed by Bertha’s shotgun. He reached Blade’s side, placing his body between Blade and the park. “Hurry it up, slowpoke!”

Three Watchers charged from the undergrowth, firing as they ran.

Hickok fired his right Colt twice, seeing one of the soldiers stumble and fall, and something ripped through his left shoulder. He staggered, dropping to his knees, flinging the empty right Colt aside and grabbing for the Ruger.

Somebody beat him to it.

Blade was suddenly at his side, leaning over him and drawing the Ruger, aiming at the remaining Watchers.

Geronimo opened up with the Henry again.

The two Watchers were caught in a vicious cross fire, game to the very end, trying to shoot their foes even as slugs pierced their bodies, their faces contorted as they jerked from the impact. They landed on their stomachs, oozing blood, one of them gasping and wheezing from a shattered windpipe.

The firing suddenly ceased.

Geronimo and Bertha ran from the left side of the headquarters and joined their companions.

“Are you all right?” Bertha asked, placing her left hand on Hickok’s shoulder. “You look pitiful.”

“Thanks, Black Beauty,” Hickok said wearily. “I needed that.”

“Where are the rest?” Blade asked warily, scanning the park. “Or did we get them all?”

“By my calculations,” Hickok replied, “there should be four of them left.”

“Geronimo?” Blade said, running off. “The jeeps and the truck!”

Geronimo followed, alert for another attack from the park.

Hickok watched them go, his body aching. They were still in sight when the noise of engines cranking rent the dawn.

“They’ll never make it,” Bertha commented.

Hickok stood, his legs shaky.

“Hey, let me,” Bertha said, using her right arm to support him around the waist. “How many times you been hit?”

“I lost count,” Hickok replied.

“We’d best get you in to old Josh,” Bertha stated, leading the gunman toward the steps. “He’ll take care of you.”

“Okay by me,” Hickok agreed.

“You did real good, White Meat,” Bertha beamed. “I was proud of you.”

“Piece of cake.”

“I’ve never seen anyone handle a gun like you.”

“Piece of cake.”

“You sure say that a lot,” Bertha noted. “Is it your favorite expression, or something?”

“I just like cake.” Hickok grinned.

“You big dummy!” Bertha said affectionately.

They were half the distance to the SEAL when the heavy footsteps thudded behind them.

“What the…?” Bertha began to turn, but something struck her across her chin, knocking her down.