It did.
In the middle of the room was a trap door to the roof.
Blade hurried toward it. “Bertha,” he said over his shoulder, “I’ve seen the way you look at Hickok—”
“Brother! First Rudabaugh and now you!” Bertha said interrupting him. “Does everybody know?”
“Probably,” Blade replied. “You don’t exactly hide things well.”
“I don’t believe in beatin’ around the bush,” Bertha said.
“We know it,” Blade assured her. “I can imagine how you feel about him. I don’t think you’ve accepted his marriage, and possibly you never will. But that’s rightfully none of my business—”
“You bet it ain’t, sucker!” Bertha snapped.
“Unless it falls within my province as a Warrior and the head of this mission,” Blade elaborated. “If I sent you out with Hickok, and the two of you came under fire, you’d be so worried about protecting him, about making certain he wasn’t hurt, you’d undoubtedly fail to watch out for yourself.”
“I would not,” Bertha protested, but her tone lacked conviction.
“And I was born yesterday,” Blade cracked.
They reached the aisle under the trap door. A piece of rope about a foot long was attached to a handle in the door.
Blade jumped up and caught the rope in his right hand. He yanked, and the trap door swung open.
“How we gonna get up there?” Bertha wanted to know.
There was a four-foot space between the top of Blade’s head and the opening.
The Warrior glanced around the room and spied a display of stepladders two aisles over. “Wait here.” He jogged to the rack and returned with a six-foot ladder.
“What are we gonna do once we’re up there?” Bertha inquired as he quickly unfolded the step-ladder.
“Play it by ear.” Blade began climbing the ladder.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Bertha mumbled, staying on his heels.
The roof was flat and rectangular. A large metal antenna was situated a few feet north of the trap door. The surface of the roof was coated with a peculiar sticky black substance.
“What is this?” Blade asked, noting how the coating stuck to his hands and fingers where he touched the roof.
“Beats me,” Bertha responded.
A brick rim, standing about twelve inches high, completely encircled the roof.
Blade, his body crouched over, ran to the front of the building and dropped to his hands and knees.
Bertha joined him, muttering something about “this damn sticky stuff!”
Cautiously, Blade peered over the rim and looked to the south.
The half-track and its deadly entourage were approximately 100 yards from Catlow.
“It’s not too late to get the SEAL,” Bertha remarked hopefully.
“Will you forget the SEAL?” Blade urged her.
“So let me hear your great plan for takin’ that thing out,” Bertha said, watching the rumbling halftrack.
“Simple,” Blade declared. “You light your charge and we drop it on the half-track as it drives by below.”
“What if one of those boys in green spot us and begin blastin’ away?” Bertha inquired.
“That’s the chance we take,” Blade mentioned.
The vehicle was 50 yards from the town and closing.
“Do you have your matches?” Blade asked.
Bertha fished in her pants pockets and withdrew a pack of matches.
“Got ’em.”
“Then get set,” Blade directed.
The half-track had passed the stone wall.
Bertha giggled. “Are they in for a big surprise?”
The half-track was abreast of the intervening homes between the stone wall and the business district.
In the distance, from the west, came the crackle of gunfire.
Bertha shut the noise from her mind, knowing it meant Hickok and Geronimo were engaging some of the Doktor’s forces.
“After you blow the half-track,” Blade was saying, “I’ll let the infantrymen have it.”
Bertha glanced at the half-track, her stomach muscles involuntarily tightening.
“When I give the word,” Blade instructed her, then abruptly exclaimed, “What the—”
One block south of the business district, the half-track took a left on a side street, heading westward.
Bertha couldn’t believe it. “What the hell are they doin’?”
“They’re heading for the town square,” Blade guessed. “Come on!”
Together, they descended from the roof and raced to the rear of the store. Blade peeked out the door, looking south, and saw several of the soldiers pass the mouth of the alley.
Damn!
Blade was angry at himself. Bertha and he had crossed the side street to enter the alley, and it had never occurred to him the half-track might take it instead of using U.S. Highway 85.
“What now, bright boy?” Bertha asked.
There was only one feasible recourse. Turn right up the alley until they reached the next side street, one paralleling the street being used by the half-track. Then they would need to outrace the lumbering vehicle and get ahead of it.
“Is your leg up to some serious running?” Blade questioned her.
“I’ll keep up with you,” she vowed.
Blade smiled reassuringly and bolted from the building, hugging the wall, his eyes on the mouth of the alley to the south as he bore due north.
The troopers and G.R.D.’s were still passing the alley, but none of them gave it more than a cursory examination.
Deep in the alley, partially concealed by the shadows, Blade and Bertha ran to the next side street, designated as Lexington by a street sign. They darted to the left, sticking to the sidewalk, their legs pumping as they gathered speed.
Blade’s left side was aching miserably before they reached the end of the first block. He stoically suppressed the discomfort, hoping his exertions wouldn’t cause the wound to start bleeding again. At the junction of Lexington and Hamilton he paused, prudently inching to the edge of the sidewalk and glancing to the south.
Several troopers and G.R.D.’s were one block away to the south, as they continued their advance toward the town square, now only two blocks off to the west.
Blade frowned, frustrated. There was no way they could outrun the half-track in their condition. They needed to do something to turn the half-track around, to divert it from the town square. He had geared his entire defensive stratagem on utilizing the town square as the penultimate battleground. He wanted to draw the Doktor as far into the town as possible, but not until he was ready.
“What’s the holdup?” Bertha asked. She was bent over, her hand on her injured thigh, and breathing heavily.
“We need to do something to get their attention,” Blade told her.
“Oh? Is that all?”
Before Blade could restrain her, Bertha limped to the middle of Hamilton and, facing south, cupped her left hand to her mouth. “Hey! You ugly bozos! Your momma wears combat boots!”
Bertha giggled and hurried to Blade’s side. “How’s that?”
“Your momma wears combat boots?” Blade repeated, puzzled.
“I’ll tell ya’ later,” Bertha promised. “Right now, we’d best split!”
They began jogging, retracing their footsteps to the mouth of the alley.
As they reached it, Blade peered over his shoulder and spotted four troopers just arriving in the intersection of Lexington and Hamilton. One of the four gave a loud yell, and they charged after the Warrior and his companion.
“What now, big brain?” Bertha queried.
Blade led her down the alley to the back door of the food-and-hardware store.
“We goin’ up on that roof again?” Bertha asked, holding up her right hand. It was covered with the tar-like substance coating the roof. “This icky gunk could ruin my beautiful complexion!”
Blade grinned and hurried into the structure and along the hall. Instead of turning to take the stairs to the second floor, he proceeded straight ahead until he came to a large chamber containing racks of food and other items.