Armageddon Run

Chapter Twenty

“Where the blazes are they?” Hickok demanded impatiently.

“They’ll be here,” Geronimo stated. “What’s your rush?”

“They should have been here by now,” Hickok groused. “The sun was up hours ago.”

“Why is it,” Geronimo philosophized, “the white man is always as ready to get into trouble as he is to get out of it?”

They were standing at the corner of a brick house located on the western outskirts of Catlow. Blade had divided the defenders into pairs, leaving Lynx behind again at the command post. Blade and Bertha were somewhere in the southeastern part of the town, while Rudabaugh and Orson were watching to the north.

“Hey,” Hickok retorted, miffed, “the white man doesn’t go looking for trouble, pard. We’re peaceable folks at heart.”

“Tell that to Custer,” Geronimo quipped.

Hickok opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, staring to the west over Geronimo’s left shoulder.

Geronimo turned.

Over a dozen forms were moving toward the town, slowly advancing across a sagebrush- and weed-covered field.

“Looks like we got us some company,” Hickok declared.

“Astute observation, eagle-eye!” Geronimo said. “Do we fall back or take them here?”

“I ain’t one for running,” Hickok stated. “Let’s take ’em right here.”

Geronimo hurried to the other end of the house so they could cover both flanks. He cautiously peered around the northern corner of the home, spotting more of their adversaries coming toward Catlow, noting the assault force was composed of G.R.D.’s and soldiers. He looked down at the light green pillowcase dangling from his belt, the pillowcase containing his 2 bundles of dynamite. After Rudahaugh had prepared the 14 charges, 13 of them comprised of 4 sticks of dynamite and the final one including only 2, he had distributed them among the others. Blade, meanwhile, had entered the command post and emerged shortly thereafter bearing seven pillowcases taken from the cots the garrison had slept on. He had dispensed the pillowcases and a pack of matches to each of them. The matches had been taken from a drawer in the command post kitchen. Geronimo decided he wouldn’t use the dynamite until it was absolutely necessary. He glanced up.

A trooper was within 25 yards of the brick house, inching forward on his hands and knees.

Geronimo sighted the FNC, his fingers on the trigger.

Hickok’s Henry suddenly boomed, and in the distance there was a loud shriek.

Geronimo fired, the FNC recoiling against his shoulder.

The soldier jerked backward and flipped over, then lay still.

That should stir them up! Geronimo conjectured.

He was right.

A hail of lead tore into the brick house.

Geronimo ducked back as a bullet bit into the corner of the building and a brick fragment dislodged and whizzed past his eyes.

Hickok’s Henry thundered again, and once more.

Geronimo crouched and risked a hasty look-see.

The G.R.D.’s and troopers were rushing the house.

Geronimo shot twice, downing two foes, and then looked at Hickok.

The gunman waved to him, motioning for them to retreat.

Geronimo jogged to his friend, and together they ran 20 yards to a white frame house and swerved behind it.

None too soon.

Soldiers and G.R.D.’s poured around both corners of the brick home.

“How about a little cat and mouse?” Hickok whispered.

Geronimo grinned.

“Hold this,” Hickok said, and handed his Henry to Geronimo. He drew his Colts, winked at his partner, and stepped out into the open, his Pythons leveled.

One of the troopers saw him immediately and attempted to bring his M-16 to bear.

The Pythons blasted two, four, six times in rapid succession, and with each shot an opponent dropped, felled by a slug to the head.

Unnerved, the remaining soldiers and G.R.D.’s raced to the rear of the brick house and disappeared.

Hickok jumped from sight and twirled the Colts into his holsters. “Piece of cake,” he said.

“Let’s play some hide and seek,” Geronimo recommended, giving the Henry to Hickok.

“Lead on,” the gunfighter said. “You’ve always been better at gettin’ lost than I have.”

Geronimo recognized a cut when he heard one, but deferred retaliating for the moment. Instead, he led the way as they ran through several yards and reached a two-story structure with a stone foundation on the bottom and brown siding on the top. There was a large window in the middle of the second floor with a balcony on the outside.

“Do you see what I see?” Geronimo queried.

“I sure do, pard,” Hickok said, then reached out and grabbed Geronimo’s right elbow. “Listen!”

Geronimo heard it too. Sporadic gunfire splitting the morning air.

“Let’s do in these wimps so we can go lend a hand to the others,” Hickok suggested.

Geronimo nodded. He hurried to the back door and tried the knob. To his surprise, the door opened. Together, the two Warriors entered and Geronimo closed the door behind them. They found a flight of stairs at the other end of a narrow kitchen and ascended to the second floor.

“I kind of like this spread,” Hickok commented. “It’s a lot bigger than the cabins us hitched types get to live in at the Home.”

Geronimo hastened to the window he wanted. He discovered a latch in the center of one side and slid the window open.

In unison, the Warriors dropped to the carpeted floor and crawled out onto the wooden balcony. They eased to the railing and peeped between the rails, which were spaced about six inches apart.

There was no sign of pursuit.

“Where are they?” Geronimo inquired in a soft tone.

“Maybe they’re takin’ a potty break,” Hickok replied.

Geronimo reached down and removed a bundle of dynamite from his pillowcase. “I’ll do the honors. We might be able to get them all at once.”

“Here they come!” Hickok warned.

Geronimo looked up. He began counting, but gave it up when he reached 31. There were more of them than he had thought! They were moving forward very slowly, searching every nook and cranny, their eyes alertly scanning the terrain.

But very few of them were bothering to glance up.

Geronimo extracted his pack of matches from his right front pants pocket. He studied the bundle of dynamite. Rudabaugh had instructed them in its proper use, and had cautioned them they would have about half a minute between the time they lit the fuse and the charge going off.

Not much time.

Hickok nudged Geronimo.

The troopers and G.R.D.’s were only 15 yards from the balcony.

Geronimo quickly lit one of the matches and applied the flame to the fuse. It sputtered and crackled as it caught on fire.

Move! his mind screamed.

Geronimo rose and threw back his right arm, intending to lob the charge directly at the group nearing the house.

Hickok, on his stomach at Geronimo’s feet, detected a motion out of the corner of his left eye. He twisted, surveying the yard below, and even as he did he heard the crack of an M-16.

There was a trooper not more than five yards from the house!

Geronimo felt the bullet rip into his left shoulder, and he was slammed backward by the impact, crashing into the window and tumbling to the balcony.

Hickok aimed the Henry and fired, putting a slug into the soldier below.

The other troopers began shooting at the balcony.

Geronimo, his senses swimming, gaped at the charge in his right hand.

The fuse was continuing to crackle and sparkle.

Dear Spirit!

Geronimo struggled to rise, to get rid of the dynamite. His body refused to cooperate with his dazed mind.

Hickok was conducting a raging gun battle with the enemies below.

Geronimo shook his head to clear it, and managed to laboriously lift himself to his knees. The strain of his exertion prompted a surge of dizziness to engulf his consciousness. Unable to control his equilibrium, he pitched forward, the fuse over half gone.