Memphis Run, page 5
part #18 of Endworld Series
“The King isn’t here?”
General Thayer laughed. “The King is at his mansion. He wouldn’t live in a barracks with two dozen grunts.”
“When will I meet him?”
“What’s your rush, pal?” General Thayer responded. “After I detail a platoon to go back and nab your buddies, we’ll be heading for the King’s mansion.”
“Is such a plan wise?” Rikki inquired.
“What do you mean?”
“Can you afford to lose more men?” Rikki elaborated.
“Smart ass,” General Thayer mumbled. He chewed on his lower lip nervously.
Rikki noted the officer’s reaction. “I understand that you trained the Hounds,” he remarked.
“Yes,” General Thayer said proudly. “I whipped a no-talent bunch of misfits into a top-notch fighting outfit.”
“Your men did display outstanding discipline when they attempted to subdue me,” Rikki conceded.
General Thayer was genuinely flattered. “Thank you. Coming from a man of your caliber, that’s quite a compliment.”
“And where did you acquire your expertise?” Rikki asked tactfully.
In the twinkling of an eye, the officer’s expression changed drastically.
He frowned and averted his eyes.
“The general’s past is a sensitive subject,” Sergeant Boynton said. “One better left alone.”
“I can speak for myself. Sergeant,” General Thayer stated.
“Sorry, sir.”
Thayer cleared his throat and looked at the martial artist. “My prior experience was acquired in Sparta.”
Rikki’s brow creased. “Sparta?”
“You’ve never heard of it?” General Thayer asked.
“We studied the history of Greece in our school,” Rikki said. “We learned about Sparta, Athens, and the rest of the Greek city-states. Sparta was renowned for her military prowess and for the quality of her soldiers.
The Spartans and the Japanese samurai were the two greatest warrior castes the world has ever seen.”
“Again you impress me,” General Thayer declared. “But I wasn’t referring to the Spartans of antiquity. Another Sparta has arisen.”
Rikki’s surprise showed.
“I was born in Sparta,” General Thayer went on without noticing. “I spent thirty years of my life there, and I was trained by Spartan instructors. There are none finer.”
“Where is this new Sparta located?” Rikki queried.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“I’d like to hear about it,” Rikki said, hoping to coax the information from the officer. Another Sparta! If the new one was anything like the ancient Sparta, the Family Elders would be intensely interested in ascertaining Sparta’s location. And the Freedom Federation would welcome another ally.
“I can’t say,” General Thayer snapped. “I won’t say. I pledged never to reveal Sparta’s location, and it’s a promise I’ll never break.”
“Why did you leave?”
“I didn’t leave,” Thayer said, downcast. “I was booted out.”
Rikki was an astute judge of human nature, and he perceived an incongruity in the general’s behavior. The Spartans expelled the man, yet he held them in the highest regard. Why? He waited for Thayer to elaborate, but the general changed the subject.
“So I drifted like a common scavenger until I reached Memphis,” Thayer detailed. “The King was in the process of organizing his campaign.
Boynton and a few others were already with him. He saw fit to honor me with command, and I haven’t disappointed him.”
The jeeps were slowing as they neared a gate.
“What is the King’s campaign?” Rikki probed.
“Ask him when you meet him,” General Thayer said.
A pair of men in black, both with slung AR-15’s, stood guard at the closed gate. They saluted the general as his jeep braked, then hurried to swing the gate inward.
“I haven’t noticed any female Hounds,” Rikki commented.
“And you won’t,” General Thayer said. “The King doesn’t want women in his army. He claims women are inferior fighters.”
“He is mistaken,” Rikki said. “I have close friends, female Warriors, who are the equal of any man.”
“You know he’s wrong, and I know he’s wrong, but I’m not about to commit suicide by telling the King to his face,” General Thayer declared.
The jeep drove into the complex.
“He would kill you?”
“In a minute, if killing me suited his purpose,” Thayer said. “But he won’t because I’m valuable to him. I’ve created a crack tactical unit he can employ to further his ambition. He has the grand schemes, and I put them into effect.”
“Why do you work for him if he is so unstable?” Rikki asked.
The former Spartan gazed thoughtfully at the martial artist. “I’ve asked myself the same thing time and again.” He sighed. “I guess I’m trying to prove something to myself, to prove I’m competent at my trade. Besides, I have nowhere else to go. Memphis is as good as anywhere else.”
“So you work for a man who is mentally unbalanced,” Rikki remarked.
“I never said that,” General Thayer responded testily. “And quit trying to put words in my mouth. It won’t work.”
“What?”
“Don’t play innocent with me,” Thayer declared. “You’re trying to turn me against the King. Well, you’re wasting your time. For better or worse, I’m with the King for the duration.”
The jeeps braked in front of a large structure fabricated from corrugated metal and painted green.
“This is my Command Center,” General Thayer disclosed. “You will stay in the jeep while I attend to dispatching a platoon.” He looked at the noncom. “Watch him closely. Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
The officer entered the Command Center.
“I like him a lot,” Sergeant Boynton mentioned.
“Do you like the King too?” Rikki inquired.
Boynton shrugged. “I’m not being paid to like the King, just to kick ass for him. And I like kicking ass.”
“The King pays you?”
“Did you think we’re all in this for our health?” Sergeant Boynton rejoined. “Except for the general, the rest of us are in this for the gold.”
“Gold?”
“The King has a hoard of gold in his mansion,” Boynton said. “A room full of the stuff. Gold, mister, is the one commodity you can exchange everywhere. Gold talks. It’s not like the old paper money, which isn’t worth the paper it was printed on. Oh, I hear that a few places will honor the paper junk, but only because they can’t print their own— and even then they back the paper crap with gold or silver.” He smiled. “Gold can get a person anything they want.”
“Then you did not tell the truth earlier,” Rikki observed.
“What are you talking about?”
“You told me that you’re not a professional mercenary.” Rikki said, “but you are. You fight for money.”
“Only until I’ve saved enough gold.”
“How much is enough?” Rikki asked.
“Until I’m satisfied,” Boynton said.
“You’ll never be satisfied.”
“You think so?”
“I know so,” Rikki stated. “True satisfaction comes from living a life devoted to spiritual truth, not collecting material wealth. You’ll never be satisfied because you’ll always want more.”
Sergeant Boynton snickered. “Wait until I tell the general you’re a religious fanatic.”
“Are you religious?”
“Me? Hell, no!” Boynton chuckled. “Religion is mumbo jumbo. There’s no God.”
General Thayer stepped from the Command Center and crossed to the jeep. “Let’s go,” he said to the driver as he climbed in. “We’re taking our prisoner to the King.”
“Here’s a laugh for you, sir,” Sergeant Boynton said. “This guy is religious.”
Thayer glanced at the Warrior. “You are? Then you’d better start praying to whatever deity you worship. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”
Chapter Seven
Blade felt goose bumps prick his skin as the Caspian barrel poked into his genitals. In the instant before she squeezed the trigger, instinctively, fleetingly terrified at the prospect of losing his organ, he involuntarily flinched, his breath catching in his throat.
But nothing happened.
The gun didn’t fire.
“What the hell!” Bonnie exclaimed, lowering the Caspian and gazing at the firearm in disbelief. “I loaded it myself!” Her astonishment over the auto pistol’s presumed failure to discharge was abruptly changed to fear for her personal safety when the giant clamped his left hand on the front of her green shirt and hauled her into the air.
“Put her down!” Clyde shouted, running toward them, the bazooka flapping on his shoulder.
“Put me down, you big ox!” Bonnie shrieked, kicking and thrashing.
“Let me sock her on the jaw?” Hickok asked.
Blade pressed the M-10 up to Bonnie’s mouth. “Drop the damn gun. Now!”
Frightened by the fury on his features, Bonnie released the Caspian and ceased struggling.
“Let go of her!” yelled Clyde, still 15 feet off.
“How about lettin’ me sock him on the jaw?” Hickok requested.
Ignoring the gunfighter’s cracks. Blade dumped Bonnie onto the asphalt. “Don’t move,” he growled.
“I’d like to sock somebody in the jaw,” Hickok mumbled.
Clyde pounded to within four feet of the Warriors and pointed the bazooka at Blade. “Run, Bonnie! I’ll protect you.”
Annoyed to the limits of his endurance, Blade glared at the bespectacled bantamweight, then glanced at Hickok. “Him!” he ordered.
Grinning in delight, the gunman twirled the Pythons into their holsters, the sunlight glinting from the steel.
Distracted by the spinning revolvers, Clyde shifted his gaze from the giant to the gunman. As he did, he accidentally tilted the bazooka upward and fired. A thunderous blast accompanied the launching of the finned rocket and hot gases were expelled out the rear of the smooth-bore tube, scorching the ground behind him. Clyde fell onto his posterior.
Five pairs of eyes gaped at the rocket’s trajectory as the projectile arced skyward, then descended in a graceful loop and struck the earth 300 yards distant, disappearing in the forest on the right side of the highway. The explosion sent shredded leaves, bits of bark, dirt, weeds, and the feathers from a roosting flock of starlings swirling into the atmosphere.
Blade smacked his left palm against his forehead and closed his eyes.
“You idiot!” Bonnie snapped at her defender.
Clyde appeared on the verge of tears.
His right fist clenched in preparation for delivering a blow to Clyde’s jaw, Hickok watched three injured starlings striving to become airborne.
“Wow. I’d like to take this guy fishin’ sometime,” he quipped.
“Yippee!” enthused an unexpected spectator, applauding. “Do that again!”
Everyone glanced at the half-track.
“How did you do that?” Chastity asked. She was sitting on the hood next to the windshield, her wondering gaze on the bazooka.
“What are you doing up there?” Hickok demanded.
“Watching the fireworks,” Chastity answered. “We had fireworks in Atlanta once a year on Civil Rights day.”
“How did you get on the hood?” Hickok inquired.
“I crawled through the window,” Chastity said, gesturing at the missing windshield.
“Get down from there,” Hickok directed, stepping close to the fender and extending his arms. “I’ll catch you.”
Giggling. Chastity slid down the hood into his waiting hands. “Who is the pretty lady?” she inquired.
Bonnie was staring at the girl in transparent bewilderment. “You have a child with you!” she blurted.
“What was your first clue?” Hickok responded.
Her eyes widening, Bonnie studied the gunman and the giant. “Hey! Where are your uniforms?”
“We don’t wear uniforms,” Blade said.
“But Hounds always wear black uniforms,” Bonnie reiterated.
“We’re not Hounds, dingbat,” Hickok stated.
“Not Hounds?” Bonnie shook her head and gazed at her companion.
“They’re not Hounds!”
“Apparently we committed a slight blunder,” Clyde said.
“You boneheaded cow chip! You could’ve killed us,” Hickok snapped.
“We thought you were Hounds,” Bonnie declared.
“If we’d been Hounds, you’d both be dead,” Blade informed her. He leaned over and snatched the Caspian from the roadway. “The two of you should seriously consider another line of work.”
“This isn’t our vocation,” Clyde said, and giggled.
Blade tucked the M-10 under his left arm and proceeded to inspect the Commander. “Have you ever shot one of these before?” he asked Bonnie.
“No,” she admitted.
“Thank the Spirit,” Blade remarked, glancing at Hickok.
“I’ll be able to have more children because she didn’t know a round has to be fed into the chamber before the gun will fire.”
“Let’s hear it for stupidity,” the gunman joked.
“Who are you calling stupid?” Bonnie retorted.
“If the shoe fits…” Hickok said.
“I want some answers,” Blade announced, squatting and looking from Bonnie to Clyde and back again. “Why did you jump the half-track? What were you trying to accomplish?”
“Don’t tell him a thing,” Clyde stated. “He could be working for the King.”
“We’re not,” Blade said. “We’ve never even met this King.”
“Then why are you driving the Hounds’ half-track?” Clyde demanded.
“We stole it from them,” Blade replied. “We’re after the Hounds. They’ve taken a friend prisoner.”
“You can kiss him good-bye,” Bonnie remarked.
“Not on your life,” Hickok vowed. “Warriors never desert their pards. And if the Hounds hurt our sidekick, I won’t leave a Hound alive.”
“I’m still not convinced we can trust you,” Clyde commented.
Hickok deposited Chastity on the ground. “Is that a fact?” he said, then drew his right Colt ever so slowly. He cocked the hammer, took a stride, and touched the barrel to the tip of Clyde’s nose. “I don’t much care whether you trust us or not.”
“You won’t shoot,” Clyde blustered.
The gunman leaned forward, smiling. “Look into my eyes,” he directed.
Clyde obeyed.
“I’ll count to three. If you haven’t started spillin’ the beans by the time I get to three, I’ll plug you,” Hickok said.
“You’re bluffing,” Clyde declared.
“One,” Hickok stated.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Clyde maintained.
“Don’t mess with him, Clyde,” Bonnie urged nervously.
“Don’t look,” Blade said to Chastity.
“Two,” Hickok continued.
Clyde licked his lips and glanced at Bonnie. “I think he means it.”
“Then tell them!” Bonnie prompted.
“Adios,” Hickok said, gouging the Python into Clyde’s nostrils. “Get set to greet your Maker.”
“No!” Clyde cried. “Don’t! I’ll talk! What do you want to know?” His glasses were tilted at an angle.
Hickok lowered the Colt. “I want you to answer every question the Big Guy asks. If you don’t…” He wagged the Colt for emphasis, then twirled the Python into its holster.
“Now then,” Blade said, “let’s start at the beginning. My name is Blade. This is Hickok and his daughter, Chastity. A friend of ours by the name of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi has been captured by the Hounds. What do you know about them?”
Bonnie uttered a snorting noise. “What don’t we know?”
“Are they based in Memphis?” Blade inquired.
“Yes,” Bonnie confirmed. “Their Headquarters Complex is in the center of the city.” She paused. “The bastards.”
“You don’t like them?”
“I hate the sons—” Bonnie began to respond, but amended her statement after glancing at Chastity. “The scum.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons. First, they wouldn’t let Clyde join the Hounds. They claimed he wasn’t fit enough, but Boynton rigged his entrance test.”
“Explain,” Blade said.
“Boynton has had the hots for me for two years,” Bonnie disclosed.
“Ever since my brother and I came to Memphis.”
“Clyde is your brother?” Blade deduced.
“Yep,” Bonnie verified. “And he wants to join the Hounds. Sergeant Boyndon is in charge of giving the entrance tests for each candidate, and he deliberately fixed the test so Clyde would fail.”
“Boynton told me to do one hundred push-ups,” Clyde interrupted.
“Nobody can do one hundred push-ups.”
“I can,” Blade said.
“That’s not the point,” Bonnie declared. “No one has ever had to do one hundred push-ups to get into the Hounds. Boynton made the test impossible for Clyde to pass because I won’t go to bed with him.”
“What does all of this have to do with ambushing the halftrack?” Blade probed.
“We’re leaving Memphis. And before we go, we want to pay the sons—scum—back for what they did. No one humiliates us and gets away with it,” Bonnie affirmed.
“But ambush a half-track?” Blade queried in disbelief.
“Why do you think we swiped the bazooka from the Hound armory? I distracted the guard last night while Clyde snuck in and took the bazooka.
We know how much the halftrack means to the King and the Hounds.”
“So to teach the Hounds a lesson, you planned to destroy the half-track?” Blade said.
“You got it.” Bonnie laughed. “It was my idea.”
“I couldn’t talk her out of it,” Clyde mentioned. “She’s always doing something rash.” He sighed. “I wanted to forget the whole affair, but she insisted on getting even. She can’t stand being insulted, and she has a temper you wouldn’t believe.”
