Dakota Run

Chapter Six

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was concerned. The diminutive, wiry leader of Beta Triad counted eleven uniformed soldiers in front of him, meaning his Triad was outnumbered by almost four to one. Not the best of odds.

Ultimately, though, the amount of their opponents was irrelevant. Orders were orders. There could be twenty-five soldiers and it wouldn’t negate their instructions. Blade’s directive had been explicit: “We can’t permit them to return to their headquarters with more information concerning the Family. Take them out. If possible, a prisoner or two would be nice. But beyond that, there must be no survivors. Understood?” All three members of Beta Triad had acknowledged their comprehension.

Their moment of truth was upon them.

Rikki was crouched behind a boulder on the western edge of the hillock.

He wore his usual baggy black pants and shirt and ankle-high moccasins.

His black hair and brown eyes matched the serious, intense expression on his angular face. Clutched in his left hand was a long black scabbard containing his prized katana, the only genuine Japanese sword the Family owned. It was his by virtue of his amazing skill in the martial arts, exactly as Hickok possessed the Colt Pythons and Blade his cherished Bowies; they were the best with those particular weapons. Every Warrior took lessons in unarmed combat, taught by an Elder, a former Warrior. These lessons were called simply Tegner, because the manuals of instruction were dozens of books written by a man named Bruce Tegner.

Kurt Carpenter had placed every book Tegner ever wrote in the Family library: illustrated, step-by-step volumes on kung fu, savate, karate, jujitsu, judo, and other styles of martial combat. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was the Family’s premier martial artist.

Rikki glanced to his left and spotted Teucer behind a tree, his compound bow in his hands, an arrow already notched on the string. A full quiver was attached to his belt and slanted across his right hip. His green pants and shirt provided perfect camouflage. A six-inch strip of leather secured his shoulder-length blond hair at the base of his neck, suspending his blond locks in a ponytail. His blond beard was trimmed so that it jutted forward on his chin, presenting a decidedly medieval appearance. As he had several times before, Rikki wondered why the bowman had selected the name Teucer instead of Robin Hood or William Tell at his Naming. It was probably for the same reason Rikki had picked his own name; Teucer was as ardent a fan of Homer as Rikki was of Kipling.

The final member of Beta Triad was lying behind the fallen trunk of a former giant of the forest, off to Rikki’s right. Rikki could see his motionless, muscular form prone on the ground. Of all the Warriors in the Family, only one came anywhere close to matching Blade’s awesome physique and deadly ability with knives; of all the Warriors, just one could approximate Hickok’s incredible skill with handguns; and when it came to the martial arts, this same man was able to hold his own against Rikki and Seiko in competition. While not necessarily outstanding with any one weapon, or extremely exceptional in any lethal art, he was recognized as the best all-around Warrior the Family currently had, the one man capable of doing all things well. Rikki was grateful Plato had assigned him to Beta Triad. He just wished the man had chosen a more conventional name. Who in their right mind would want to be named after the Hindu god of death? And who else would have asked the Weavers to create a seamless dark-blue garment with the ebony silhouette of a skull on the back?

Only Yama.

There was another essential difference between Yama and the other Warriors. Although all of the Warriors were proficient in the use of various firearms and other weaponry, most evinced a predilection for a particular favorite: Blade, his Bowies; Hickok, his Pythons; Geronimo, his tomahawk; Teucer, his bow; and Rikki his katana. Yama displayed a small preference for a carved scimitar, but he tended to utilize a vast variety of arms, far more than any of the other Warriors. For this occasion he was armed to the proverbial teeth. He carried his scimitar in a sheath attached to his belt above his left hip. On his right hip was a fifteen-inch survival knife. In a shoulder holster under his right arm was a Browning Hi-Power 9 millimeter Automatic Pistol. Under his left arm he sported a Smith and Wesson Model 586 Distinguished Combat Magnum. Today he also had a Wilkinson “Terry” Carbine, converted to full automatic by the Family Gunsmiths and adapted to hold a fifty-shot magazine instead of the standard thirty.

Yes, sir, it definitely was wiser to have Yama on your side than against you.

Rikki admired the discipline Yama exhibited. The man might be petrified for all the movement he showed. The only incongruity about him was his cropped silver hair and drooping silver moustache.

Bright light suddenly flashed from the direction of the Home, arresting Rikki’s attention. He counted the times the light flicked out. One. Two.

And the light was back. Now it was gone.

So.

It was time.

Rikki studied the Civilized Zone troops in front of him, the men belonging to the Army of Samuel, the ones called the Watchers. They were busily engaged in erecting their monitoring equipment. Rikki was unsure of its function, but he knew that with it they were able to overhear Family conversations at great distances and to take photographs like the ones in the books in the Family library. There was a unit on a tripod, a large bowl-like affair with the convex end toward Rikki and a long metal stick pointed at the Home. A soldier was squatting beside this unit, headphones over his ears, adjusting the dials on a square metal case affixed to the base of the bowl. Another soldier was alongside the first, holding a pen and pad in his hands. Nearby two other soldiers were fiddling with what looked like a huge camera with a telescopic lens. Three more of the troopers were clustered around a portable radio placed on a flat rock. The rest of the troopers were idly standing around, relaxed, apparently not expecting any trouble. Why should they? According to Blade, the Watchers regularly engaged in this spying and had been doing so for years. They were unaware Blade knew about the clandestine operation; to them, this was simply business as usual.

Yama had heard them approaching first. Within moments, Beta Triad had been hidden from view. Rikki, using a small mirror he carried in his right front pocket, had signaled the Home. The soldiers had congregated in this relatively barren section of the hillock. Beta Triad had assumed its positions, and Rikki had awaited the cue from Blade.

Now, he had gotten it.

“What’s the hold up?” one of the soldiers near the radio demanded, looking at the pair preparing the big dish.

Rikki recalled Blade mentioning this thing. He’d heard about it in Montana and researched it after returning to the Home. What was it…

“It’s a bit fuzzy, sir,” the soldier with the headphones replied. “There’s static from somewhere, distorting the microphone.”

That was it! Rikki remembered. It was a parabolic microphone.

“Clear it,” the first trooper commanded. He, evidently, was their officer.

None of the others wore little gold bars pinned to their collars.

The soldier responsible for handling the radio glanced up at the officer.

“I have Colonel Jarvis on the other end, Lieutenant Putnam.”

Lieutenant Putnam took the radio’s microphone from the operator and raised it to his lips. “Lieutenant Putnam reporting as ordered, sir.” He hastily donned a headphone set.

Rikki, only twelve feet from the officer, clearly heard every word.

“No, sir. No problems.”

There was a pause while Putnam listened to Jarvis on the headset.

“We’re just about set up now, sir.”

Pause.

“Twenty-four hours. Yes, sir.”

Pause.

“We have ample cassettes, sir. Anything in particular?”

There was an extended wait while Colonel Jarvis dictated his instructions.

“Yes, sir. Anything dealing with why Blade was in Montana shall be immediately brought to your attention. Likewise, any information pertaining to their efforts at reversing the senility.”

The premature senility. What did these Watchers know about the dreaded affliction?

“…thought it was impossible,” Lieutenant Putnam was saying. “The Doktor must be furious! I agree. Anything the Doktor wants, the Doktor gets. Any references to the G.R.D. will be relayed to you as soon as possible.”

Rikki entertained an inkling of the subject of Putnam’s conversation.

The G.R.D. was the creature called Gremlin. Blade had supplied the essential information.

The capital of the remnant of the United States of America was currently located in Denver, Colorado. But Denver was not the only city still intact in the Civilized Zone. One city, once known as Cheyenne, Wyoming, was now called the Cheyenne Citadel. A contingent of the Army of Samuel was based at the Citadel. Also conducting operations from Cheyenne was the mysterious man known only as the Doktor. The mere mention of the Doktor would suffice to arouse fear in the ordinary army troops. The precise nature of the Doktor’s work and status in the new Government was unknown, although Blade had discovered the Doktor was very close to Samuel II. Blade had also learned that the Doktor operated something called the Genetic Research Division, the unit Gremlin had belonged to before deserting the Doktor and joining the Family.

“The jeeps?” Putnam said, still talking to the colonel. “We left them at the usual spot. No mechanical problems enroute. Yes, sir, will do. Over and out.”

So they had arrived by jeep? Rikki grinned. The Family could use additional modes of transportation. It only owned nine horses and the SEAL.

Lieutenant Putnam handed the microphone and the headset to the radio operator and turned toward the two men beside the parabolic microphone. “Is it clear yet?”

“Yes, sir,” the trooper handling the cassette recorder at the base of the microphone replied.

“Good. Then proceed. Be sure your transcript of the tape is legible,” Putnam ordered.

“Will do, sir.”

Rikki glanced at Teucer and Yama, still holding their positions and awaiting his command. The soldiers were engaged in their respective tasks, oblivious to the three Warriors only yards away.

Perfect, Rikki thought. They’d be able to neutralize this patrol with a minimum of difficulty. Surprise was totally on their side. The setup couldn’t be better if he’d personally planned it this way. It didn’t seem likely that anything could go wrong now.

As if to prove him wrong, a tremendous racket commenced in a tree near Yama.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi looked up into the branches above Yama’s head and pinpointed the source of the hubbub.

Dear Spirit! Not now!

A blue jay was perched on a limb twenty feet above Yama. The bird had spotted the intruder at the base of his tree and was letting the world know there was danger in the area.

Would the soldiers pay any attention? Were any of them sufficiently versed in wood lore to recognize the traditional warning cry of the jay?

One of the troopers, a lean soldier holding an M-16 and idly standing on guard about six feet from Yama, glanced up at the noisy bird, his brow furrowed.

Rikki tensed. What would he do? Would he investigate, or decide it was just a loud-mouthed blue jay?

The guard shuffled several steps toward the tree.

Yama was still invisible behind the log at the bottom of the tree.

The blue jay was screaming bloody murder.

Shut up! Rikki’s right hand closed on the hilt of his katana.

The soldier had spied the prancing jay and was watching it, smiling at its antics.

Good! Now just turn around, like a nice little boy, and return to your post! Rikki started to slide the katana from its scabbard.

Shaking his head, the trooper began to turn. Apparently, he finally realized the jay was excited about something at the base of the tree. The man hesitated.

Rikki imagined he could read the trooper’s mind. Should I take a peek or not? the man was probably thinking.

Don’t do it!

Leave it alone!

The guard lowered the barrel of his M-16 and advanced on the log, not really expecting trouble.

Rikki’s katana was clear of the scabbard.

Teucer had raised his bow and was sighting at a target.

Yama was still immobile on the ground.

The blue jay was squawking to high heaven.

Another soldier noticed the first moving toward the tree and turned to watch.

I never did much like blue jays, Rikki told himself.

The guard reached the fallen tree and peered over the top of the log.

Rikki could only imagine the shocked expression on his face.

With a startled curse, the guard leaned forward, aiming his M-16.