The refugees from the Twin Cities had also been happy to join the Federation. Alpha Triad had led about 550 people, the surviving members of three separate groups, to safety. The three groups, known as the Horns, the Porns, and the Nomads, had been fighting among themselves for years over their miserable turf. Now all three were working to build a new home in Halma, not far from the Home. The Family was industriously aiding the refugees in adapting to their new locale. After their arrival in Halma, the heads of the groups had held a conclave and decided to strive to bury their animosity and begin anew. They had selected a title for themselves, using the Family as an example, and called themselves the Clan. Elections had been held, and Zahner had been chosen as their first collective leader. A man named Bear and another known as Brother Timothy had been appointed as Zahner’s lieutenants.
The final faction comprising the Freedom Federation was the Moles.
Initially discovered by Hickok, they existed in a subterranean city over 50 miles east of the Home. They were led by a man called Wolfe. Plato distrusted this Wolfe, but didn’t know why. There was simply some quality about the man engendering unease, an air of deviousness, as it were. Still, Wolfe had agreed to the Federation concept and sent 150 men as his share of the attacking force.
With the 500 or so Cavalry riders, and the 150 Moles, plus the 200 fighting men the Clan could spare, the Freedom Federation was launching an attack on the Civilized Zone with only 850 “soldiers.” The number seemed considerable, until one compared it to the amassed might of their foes.
The Civilized Zone was dominated by a dictator named Samuel II, abetted by the Doktor. Both were supported by the military. Apparently, during the Third World War, a member of the deceased President’s cabinet, Samuel Hyde, had assumed control of the reigns of Government and declared martial law. That had been the end of the United States of America’s Constitutional freedoms. The capital of the country had been moved to Denver, as the military and political forces still operational withdrew to the Midwest and Rocky Mountain region. While in Kalispell, Montana, Blade had learned of Samuel II’s ambition to reconquer all the former territory of the United States.
Plato watched the edge of the sun appear above the horizon.
And now the Freedom Federation was poised to strike before the dictator could realize his vision of conquest. The first major blow had already been struck, when Yama and Lynx had destroyed the Doktor’s headquarters at the Cheyenne Citadel. After Yama had returned from Wyoming and detailed his adventures, Plato had concocted the current plan. The beginning phase necessitated seven fighters entering the Civilized Zone. A conference had been held, and it had been agreed that each faction—the Family, the Clan, the Cavalry, and the Moles—should pick someone for the seven. Plato, Zahner, Kilrane, and Wolfe had agreed to use the SEAL for the operation, and the SEAL never went anywhere without Alpha Triad. With three of the seven automatically chosen, the Cavalry had nominated Rudabaugh as one of its best men, the Clan had opted for Bertha, and the Moles had volunteered Orson. Lynx had stepped forward on his own initiative. His intense hatred of the Doktor, combined with his thorough familiarity with the Civilized Zone, had made him an ideal candidate.
Seven against the Doktor.
Several sparrows darted from a nearby tree, chirping their greeting to the fresh day.
Plato somberly watched their flight, hoping he would have something to sing about too when this was over.
Chapter Six
The morning sun was slightly above the eastern horizon when the garrison commander, a portly officer with a crew cut and a neatly trimmed black mustache, emerged from the front door of the concrete command post. He lazily stretched and idly gazed across the town square.
How odd, he thought. Usually, even at this early hour, there would be people in the square, most enroute from one side of the town to the other.
With vehicles at a premium, the majority of them having been confiscated by the military over the years, “pedal power,” as the officer preferred to refer to it, was the normal means of locomotion. Civilians walked everywhere.
Why weren’t there any in the town square?
There was a fountain in the center of the square, the geyser long since defunct. The white basin mainly served as a catch for rain water, and at the moment was two-thirds full.
The officer walked toward the fountain, hoping he could spot the young woman he had seen at the fountain the day before at about this same time. His fatigues had been pressed and starched, and his Government Model Series 80 Automatic Pistol hung on his left hip. He wanted to present a favorable impression when he ordered her to join him for supper, a candlelit repast for two.
Smiling smugly, the officer stopped near the fountain and scanned the area, disappointed that the young woman was nowhere in sight. He was about to return to the command post to arouse his men when he saw someone heading his way. At first, he mistakenly assumed it was one of his men. Several seconds elapsed before he realized it was a woman.
His initial reaction was to admire her beauty.
His second response was to wonder what she was doing in fatigues. All of the troopers under him were men.
His next move was to drop his hand to his pistol. He started to draw, then hesitated, perplexed by her friendly smile. She waved to him, as if she knew him. An M-16 was slung over her left shoulder, but otherwise there wasn’t the faintest indication of hostility on her part.
Who the hell was she?
There was a commotion in the fountain behind him, and the sound of water splashing.
The officer glanced over his right shoulder and froze.
The barrel of a machine gun was an inch from his nose, being wielded by a huge man with bulging muscles. He wore a black vest, fatigue pants, and moccasins, all dripping wet.
“Captain Reno, I presume?” the giant asked.
Reno gingerly released his pistol and slowly raised his hands to shoulder height. “You have the advantage of me, sir,” he stated.
“Do you keep up with the intelligence reports?” the stranger inquired.
Reno was confused by the unexpected query. “I beg your pardon?”
“I know the Army has been spying on us for years,” the giant said.
“Have you ever heard of the Home and the Family?”
Reno’s eyes widened.
“Ahhh. I take it you have.” The big man grinned. “Then I can assume you have heard of the Warriors?”
“You’re Blade!” Reno exclaimed.
“This varmint ain’t as stupid as he looks,” commented someone to Reno’s right.
A blond man in buckskins stood at the east end of the fountain, a rifle in his hands, two pearl-handled revolvers on his hips.
“You’re Hickok!” Reno stated.
“And where Hickok and Blade are,” interjected another voice to the left, “can their faithful, smarter, and braver Indian companion be far behind?”
Reno glanced at the west end of the fountain.
The one known as Geronimo was there, an FNC Auto Rifle at the ready.