“It didn’t seem like he was breathing,” the Hound on the left said. “So we didn’t bother.”

  “You incompetent jackasses!” Captain Ludvin stated. “You’ll receive thirty lashes for this!”

  “How about some lead instead?” interjected the object of their controversy, startling the duo by wrenching his arms from their grasp and taking several strides backwards. “You mangy varmints.”

  For the span of a second no one moved. The Hounds were caught napping, with most holding their weapons pointed carelessly at the ground. On the half-track the machine gunner gaped at the man he’d killed.”

  Chastity precipitated the inevitable blood bath. “Daddy!” she cried happily, and her voice galvanized the men around her to action.

  The Hounds endeavored to bring their rifles and machine guns into play as Captain Ludvin bellowed, “Get him!”

  Hickok’s hands were a blur as the Pythons cleared leather. His first two shots took out the stunned duo, a slug penetrating each Hound’s forehead and exploding from the top of their craniums, showering hair, flesh, and fluid every which way. He shifted, his hands held at waist height, the Colt barrels angled upwards, and fired twice.

  The machine gunner, about to swing the .50 to slay the Warrior, was hit in the face, a slug to each eye. His head snapped back and he toppled over the tailgate.

  With ambidextrous, lethal precision, and with a smile on his lips, Hickok squeezed off round after round. His next shot smashed the half-track’s windshield, the driver stiffening and slumping over the steering wheel, and without any pressure on the brake, the half-track lurched ahead. Preoccupied with the gunman, the Hounds did not notice.

  Blade did. He dropped, trying to remove Chastity from the line of fire, and out of the corner of his right eye, as he landed on his left side, he saw the half-track creep forward and bump into one of the Hounds.

  Five of the men in black were already down. Another snapped off a shot from his rifle and received a slug in the brain for his trouble.

  Releasing Chastity, Blade swept his legs around, slamming them into the Hound carrying his Bowies and upending the man.

  Hickok shot Captain Ludvin, the slug perforating the officer’s nostrils and flinging him to the grass.

  Blade elbowed the Hound with the Bowies in the mouth, dazing his foe, and yanked the Bowies from the Hound’s hand. Even as his palms caressed the hilts, Blade speared them up and in, burying the keen blades in the Hound’s throat. He rolled onto his broad back, tugging the Bowies out, assessing the situation in the blink of an eye.

  Three of the squad were still standing. A man with a scar on his chin elevated an M-16, but a slug in his right eye spun him completely around and felled him in his tracks.

  Leaving only two. Both were within six feet of Blade, one to his left, the other his right. With the consummate skill of someone who had practiced the technique countless times over the years, Blade raised the knives overhead and threw them. Their blades glistened in the sunlight as they flew into the chests of their respective targets. Twelve inches of cold steel were imbedded to the hilt in each Hound. Both men looked astonished; both dropped their machine guns and clutched at the Bowies; both gawked at Blade in amazement for a moment; and both sank into eternity without uttering a sound.

  No sooner were the last of the squad dispatched than two more dangers loomed.

  Blade, flat on his back, saw the massive wheels of the halftrack coming at him, ten feet away.

  “Blade!” Chastity shouted, lying four feet to the giant’s left.

  The Warrior threw himself to the left, grabbing the girl and rolling until he was certain he was well beyond the path of the armored vehicle.

  He rose to his knees in time to see Hickok, the Colts in their holsters, climb onto the cab of the half-track and clamber higher.

  What the—!

  A yell from the end of the field drew Blade’s gaze, and there were over a dozen men in black charging toward the Warriors, the tall figure leading them.

  Hickok leaped into the bed and stepped behind the big .50. He smirked as he swung the machine gun to cover the attacking Hounds. “Let’s see how you coyotes like a taste of your own medicine,” he said, and fired. The half-track was moving at a snail’s pace, enabling him to aim with his customary deadly efficiency.

  The .50-caliber made mincemeat of the Hounds, its heavy slugs ripping through the men in black and felling them in midstride. Geysers of blood spattered the grass as the thundering .50 mowed them down. Within 30 seconds all of the Hounds were dead except for two, the tall figure and one other. They had turned as the gunman began firing, and they managed to reach the protective shelter of the forest before the .50 bagged them.

  His ears ringing, grinning impishly, Hickok peered over the smoking barrel at the row of crimson-dotted corpses. “Piece of cake,” he said.

  Blade rose, clutching Chastity in his left arm. He crossed to the nearest of the pair he’d slain with his Bowies and removed the knife. After wiping the blade clean on the Hound’s black outfit, he repeated the procedure with the second commando.

  The half-track continued to crawl toward the tree line.

  “Daddy!” Chastity called excitedly.

  “Don’t yell,” Blade advised, jogging after the vehicle.

  “Why not?” Chastity inquired.

  “If you make a lot of noise, you let your enemies know where you’re at,” Blade instructed her.

  “Don’t they already know where we’re at?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then I don’t see why I can’t yell,” Chastity declared.

  “Because if you make a lot of noise, you draw their attention,” Blade explained.

  “But they’re running away.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Then why can’t I yell?”

  “Because I said so,” Blade stated in a stern tone.

  “Oh.”

  Blade looked at the half-track and observed the gunman swing into the cab from the roof. A moment later the vehicle clunked to a complete stop and the engine died.

  “Isn’t Daddy wonderful?” Chastity asked in awe.

  “He has his moments,” Blade admitted, grinning. He reached the driver’s door and glanced up. “Are you okay?”

  Hickok shoved the door wide and slid to the ground. “Fit as a fiddle.”

  He took Chastity and squeezed her tight. “And how are you, princess?”

  “Fine,” Chastity answered. “But I was so scared for you.”

  “I was fakin’.” Hickok detailed. “I wanted to catch these varmints by surprise, and my plan worked like a charm.” He snickered, “We sure skunked them, didn’t we?”

  “Not quite,” Blade said.

  “How so?” Hickok responded.

  “You’re forgetting about Rikki.”

  Hickok gazed at the woods with a worried expression. “No, I’m not, pard.”

  Chapter Four

  “Move it!” General Thayer barked.

  Rikki had heard the harsh sounds of the battle, anxiety flooding over him at the thought of his friends dying due to his negligence. He’d listened with baited breath when the gunfire abruptly stopped, and now the general and another man were racing up to the jeeps, both winded.

  “What happened, sir?” Sergeant Boynton asked.

  General Thayer sat down in the passenger-side seat in the jeep Rikki occupied. “I said move it!” he snapped. The katana was snug under his belt on his right side.

  “You heard the man,” Boynton said to the four troopers, three of whom promptly climbed into the second jeep. The fourth took the wheel beside the general, while Boynton positioned himself at Rikki’s side, hunching over and unslinging the HK-33.

  “Memphis,” General Thayer ordered the driver.

  Rikki felt the jeep vibrate as the key was twisted in the ignition and the motor caught. The driver backed up, then took a sharp right, following a path of pulverized vegetation bearing the marks of caterpillar treads in the soft earth.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” Sergeant Boynton ventured to inquire, “where are the rest of the men?”

  “Dead,” General Thayer said angrily.

  “All of them, sir?” Boynton queried in astonishment.

  “All of them,” Thayer said.

  “May I ask what happened?” Sergeant Boynton questioned.

  “You may not.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  General Thayer gazed speculatively at the martial artist. “Who are you?”

  Rikki did not reply.

  “I’ll find out, sooner or later,” General Thayer vowed. “One thing I do know. Whoever the hell the three of you are, you’re damn good.”

  “The best,” Rikki said.

  “That leader of yours is unbelievable.”

  “Leader?” Rikki repeated quizzically. How did the general know Blade was the leader of the Warriors?

  “Yeah. The guy in the buckskins. I’ve never seen anyone take such gambles,” Thayer commented. “And fast! If I had a regiment like him, I’d conquer the whole continent.”

  The general was referring to Hickok! Rikki lowered his face so his captors couldn’t see him grin.

  “Something’s nagging at me,” General Thayer remarked. “There’s something about the three of you, as if I should know you.”

  “We’ve never met before,” Rikki said.

  “I know.” General Thayer scratched his chin. “Maybe it’s something I’ve heard about you.” He studied the small man, reflecting. “But what?”

  “Sir,” Sergeant Boynton interjected. “I’ve had the same feeling.”

  General Thayer glanced at the noncom. “You have?”

  “Yes, sir. Ever since I saw this guy in action,” Boynton said. “But I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “This is most extraordinary,” Thayer mentioned.

  They drove in silence for the better part of 15 minutes, with the jeeps staying on the pathway of crushed vegetation until they came to a dirt road. There, they turned to the left.

  “We’ll be in Memphis in about a half-hour,” General Thayer said to the Warrior.

  Rikki merely nodded.

  “Provided we don’t bump into a Leather Knight patrol, sir,” Sergeant Boynton remarked.

  “Use your head, Sergeant,” General Thayer said. “The Leather Knights never send patrols southeast of the city, and you know it. St. Louis is northwest of Memphis, remember? That’s why we encounter the Leather Knights on highways to the northwest.”

  “One day we’ll wipe out those bastards,” Sergeant Boynton declared.

  “Or should I say bitches, sir?”

  General Thayer looked at his prisoner. “The Leather Knights are bikers, and their leaders are all women.” He paused. “At least, they were all women once. But we’ve heard reports that some men are serving in leadership capacities now.”

  “I don’t believe it, sir,” Sergeant Boynton stated. “Those women would never allow a man to have a say in anything. They’re all a bunch of rotten dykes.”

  “They are not,” Rikki disputed him, and instantly regretted his impetuousness. But he would not permit an insult to his beloved Lexine to pass undefended. She had been a Leather Knight, until she’d tried to buck the system and been sentenced to death. He’d saved her, grown to love her, and taken her with him to the Home. The poignant memories of the run to St. Louis stirred his mind. He recalled, vividly, the battles with the Leather Knights; the repulsive rats; the savage mutants, Slither and Grotto; and the forging of an eternal binding amid the blazing heat of combat.

  “You sound like you know the Leather Knights,” General Thayer said suspiciously.

  “The Knights are widely known.” Rikki declared.

  “One day we’ll be as widely known as the Knights,” Sergeant Boynton bragged to Rikki. “You wait and see.”

  The jeep unexpectedly arrived at an intersection with a paved highway.

  After braking and glancing both ways, the driver wheeled to the right.

  Marred, pitted, and warped by years of abandoned neglect, the highway was in deplorable condition. The jeep bounced and bumped as it struck ruts and potholes.

  “Where did you learn about the Leather Knights?” General Thayer inquired.

  “Elsewhere,” Rikki said.

  “When?”

  “A while ago.”

  “What do you know about them?”

  Rikki shrugged. “This and that.”

  “Do you want me to slug him, sir?” Sergeant Boynton queried. “The son of a bitch needs to learn manners.”

  “In due course,” General Thayer said patiently. He reached down and stroked the katana hilt. “We’ve never seen anyone with a fine sword like this. Perhaps the sword is the key. Perhaps…”

  “What kind of sword is that, sir?” Boynton inquired.

  “I don’t…” General Thayer began, then snapped the fingers on his right hand. “That’s it!”

  “What, sir?” Sergeant Boynton asked.

  “The outsider with the sword! Now I remember!” General Thayer exclaimed.

  “I don’t follow, sir.”

  General Thayer scrutinized their captive. “Yes. You do fit the description.”

  “Do I?” Rikki responded.

  “What description, sir?” Sergeant Boynton inquired.

  “Think back to the last Leather Knight patrol we ambushed,” General Thayer said.

  “I remember it, sir. I was there,” Sergeant Boynton said.

  “And we captured one of the Leather Knights, a man named Anson,” General Thayer stated.

  “The one we promised to spare if he provided information,” Sergeant Boynton commented, and chuckled. “Of course, he was executed anyway.”

  “That’s the one,” General Thayer said. “He told us everything he knew about the Leather Knights. He even spun a tale about two outsiders who took on the Leather Knights and beat them on their own turf. I was positive he was concocting the story to prolong his life. Do you remember what he said?”

  Sergeant Boynton recollected for several seconds. “He claimed the outsiders killed dozens of Leather Knights, sir. One of them was supposed to be a giant armed with knives, and the other was a little guy with a sword!” As he said the last words, his brown eyes narrowed, focused on the Warrior. “You!”

  “Yes, him,” General Thayer confirmed.

  Rikki stared at the trees alongside the road.

  “Do you deny it was you?” General Thayer asked the martial artist.

  “Does it matter?” Rikki responded.

  “I told the King about the story,” General Thayer said. “He was very interested and wanted me to learn more about these outsiders. Two men holding their own against all the Knights seemed far-fetched at the time, but after seeing your friends and you in action, the idea isn’t so crazy. If you are one of those outsiders, the King might strike a deal with you.”

  “Like he did with the Leather Knight you executed?” Rikki remarked.

  “This is different,” General Thayer said.

  “I won’t be as gullible as the Knight,” Rikki assured him.

  “I know you won’t,” Thayer agreed. “And I won’t make the mistake of underestimating you twice. If you are one of the outsiders the Knight talked about, then you were inside St. Louis. You know the layout. The knowledge you possess could be crucial to the success of our raid.”

  “Raid?”

  General Thayer nodded and grinned wickedly. “The King has planned a raid on the Knights, an attack designed to eliminate their leadership in one swoop.”

  “He has, sir?” Sergeant Boynton asked eagerly.

  “If you breathe one word of this. Sergeant, you or any of your men, you will be summarily put to death,” General Thayer warned.

  “On my honor as a soldier, I won’t,” Sergeant Boynton promised. “None of these men will.”

  General Thayer shifted his attention back to the martial artist. “What’s your name?”

  Rikki maintained a stony profile.

  “What harm can your name do?” the general demanded. “Make up one if you want. Just give me a name to use.”

  What harm could supplying his real name do? Rikki wondered. Plenty, he guessed, because the Leather Knights had known it. So his choices were clear. He could give them a false name, no name at all, or his real name and be willing to suffer the consequences. The words of his favorite book, the I Ching, served as a guidepost in this instance: “Words and deeds are the string and bow of the superior man. As the string and bow move, they accord honor or disgrace,” he paraphrased aloud.

  General Thayer and Sergeant Boynton exchanged perplexed looks.

  “What?” the general said.

  “My name is Rikki-Tikki-Tavi.”

  “I knew it!” General Thayer declared.

  “This is the guy, sir?” Boynton inquired.

  “Is there any doubt?” General Thayer answered. “The King and the Dark Lord will both be pleased.”

  “Who is the Dark Lord?” Rikki inquired.

  “The Dark Lord is the power behind the throne, so to speak,” General Thayer said. “The King listens to no one but the Dark Lord.”

  “Have you seen this Dark Lord?” Rikki asked.

  General Thayer nodded and licked his lips. “Yes. Once. The King escorted me into the Dark Lord’s presence.” He lowered his voice. “I never want to go through that again.”

  “You actually saw the Dark Lord?” Sergeant Boynton said, interrupting, So astounded by the revelation that he forgot military protocol.

  The general, engrossed in a private terror, did not notice.

  “I saw him. The King wanted to introduce me, his new commander in chief of the Hounds of Hades army.”

  “Then the King answers to one other?” Rikki probed, his curiosity stimulated.

  “The King answers to the Dark Lord,” Thayer divulged. “And the Dark Lord answers to no one.”

  “Is the Dark Lord a person or a mutant?” Rikki questioned.

  “The Dark Lord is like nothing I’ve ever seen,” General Thayer said.

  “And no one, other than me, has ever been in to see him and lived to talk about it.”

  “Is the Dark Lord male?” Rikki queried.

  “I don’t know.”

 

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