Blade and Bertha started running toward the south end, their speed impeded by Bertha’s injured right thigh.
Blade deliberately hung back, shielding Bertha. He abruptly spun and fired a few rounds at their pursuers, dropping a few and forcing the rest to duck for whatever scant cover was available.
Bertha reached the south end of the alley and took a right, and a second later Blade was on her heels.
“The town square?” Bertha asked.
Blade nodded.
Voices were heard all around them, as their adversaries closed in.
Blade and Bertha sprinted westward. A block and a half from the alley Blade spotted a row of metal trash cans lined up alongside the sidewalk.
Not much protection, but they would have to do!
Blade grabbed Bertha’s elbow and drew her from the sidewalk. They dodged behind the trash cans and dropped to their knees.
Dozens of their foes were in hot pursuit, maybe a block away.
“Hurry!” Blade directed her, his chest heaving from the strain. “One of your charges!”
They each removed a bundle of dynamite from their respective pillowcases.
Blade risked a quick peek over the trash cans.
“There they are!” the nearest trooper bellowed.
Blade nodded at Bertha, then lit his charge.
Bertha struck a match and ignited her fuse.
“On the count of three,” Blade told her.
Both fuses were sputtering and crackling.
“One…”
“They’re behind the trash cans!” someone bawled.
“Two…”
One of the approaching soldiers fired his M-16, and the trash cans pinged as the bullets hit.
“Three!” Blade cried.
Together, they popped up from behind the trash cans and threw their charges.
One of the troopers, faster than the rest, raised his M-16 to his shoulder and snapped off a shot.
Blade heard Bertha grunt as she was struck, but before he could turn to aid her the dynamite detonated. The tremendous concussion from the blast knocked Blade onto his broad back. He swiftly rose to his hands and knees.
Bertha was unconscious on the sidewalk beside him.
“Bertha!”
A cursory examination revealed a wound on the left side of her head. It didn’t appear to be deep, but you could never accurately judge a head injury without an extensive examination.
And there wasn’t time for that!
Coughing from the dust as much from the pain in his left side, Blade lifted Bertha into his brawny arms and jogged in the direction of the town square. This fiasco wasn’t going well at all. There was no way they could hold out until the end of the day. If Rikki and Kilrane didn’t show up soon, they might show up too late.
About 20 yards from the town square. Blade saw a house to his right with its front door wide open. The occupants must have evacuated in a hurry. He angled toward the door and cautiously entered the home.
“Is anybody here?” he called out.
No response.
Blade gently lowered Bertha to a sofa flanking a wall not ten feet from the door.
“Sleep tight,” he whispered. He wished he could say more: how very proud he was of her professionalism and courage, how he would be honored to sponsor her for Warrior status if she ever decided to formally join the Family, and how sorry he was her relationship with Hickok hadn’t worked out.
Circumstances dictated otherwise.
Blade exited the house, closing the front door behind him. He jogged toward the town square, his left side smarting.
What the—!
He saw the half-track parked in front of the command post. Three figures were near the vehicle. One of them was Lynx, and the diminutive feline was engaged in fighting an apish brute at least three feet taller than himself. Standing aloofly to one side, observing the struggle with a sneer on his lips, was a big man dressed in black, with a flowing black cape over his shoulders. His unruly hair was black, and he was holding a 45 in his right fist.
The Doktor!
It had to be!
Blade had never met the infamous Doktor, had never even seen him, but he intuitively recognized the man in black as the nefarious scientist.
The Doktor was concentrating on the fight between Lynx and the ape-man. The ape-like figure was striving to bash Lynx’s brains in with a sledgehammer, but Lynx was more than holding his own, his superior speed and agility enabling him to avoid the ponderous blows.
Blade darted to the left, crossing the street and zigzagging across a yard. He passed several trees and a bicycle, running due south, keeping his gaze on the command post, insuring the Doktor did not look in his direction. He wanted to put the corner of the command post between himself and the Doktor, then sneak up to the building and take the Doktor completely by surprise.
His left side was throbbing.
Blade suppressed the torment and kept running.
Where were Hickok and Geronimo and the others? he wondered. Were they faring any better?
Blade realized the Doktor and the half-track had disappeared from view. The command post was now blocking his avenue of approach from the Doktor. He turned, racing to the command post and stopping only when he reached the east wall of the structure, and was 15 feet from the northeastern corner.
The Spirit was smiling on him!
He took a moment to catch his breath, and then cautiously eased toward the corner. If his calculations were correct, the Doktor would be standing ten feet from the corner. Lynx, the ape-thing, and the halftrack were five to eight yards beyond the Doktor.
Blade was tingling with anticipation when he paused mere inches from the corner of the building. Their strategy had worked! And with the Doktor eliminated, Samuel II was next!
“Don’t toy with him,” the Warrior heard the Doktor say. “Get it over with!”
Blade grinned, placed his finger on the trigger of the Commando, and leaped from concealment.
The Doktor was watching the combat, his back to the corner.
“Doktor!” Blade shouted triumphantly.
The Doktor spun around, his dark eyes widening in disbelief.
Blade, relishing his victory, squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
There was a loud click, and that was all.
The Commando was empty!
Lynx had twisted at the sound of Blade’s voice, and for the briefest of instants was off guard.
Thor immediately took advantage of the unexpected diversion. He delivered a vicious stroke at Lynx’s head.
Lynx sensed the danger, but too late. He twisted, trying to avert the sledgehammer, but it struck him a glancing blow, the stunning impact sufficient to send him hurtling into the half-track. He slumped to the ground next to the front tire.
The Doktor was pointing his 45 at Blade’s chest. “Are we having problems?” he asked, grinning.
Blade considered rushing the madman, but discarded the notion as patently stupid. He’d be dead before he was halfway there.
“Drop it!” the Doktor commanded, nodding at the Commando.
Blade released his weapon and it clattered as it landed.
“Now the pistols,” the Doktor directed. “Slowly!”
Blade carefully drew the Vegas from their shoulder holsters and let them fall.
The Doktor seemed to relax slightly. He smiled and studied the knives on the Warrior’s hips. “Bowie knives,” he said matter-of-factly, and looked up. “You undoubtedly are Blade.”
Blade simply nodded.
“So we meet at last,” the Doktor remarked.
Thor was standing behind the Doktor, glaring at Blade.
“I truly wish I could prolong our encounter,” the Doktor commented, “but I must complete my business here and travel to Denver. Any last words before we wrap this up?”
Blade remained silent.
The Doktor chuckled. “Oh, come now! Not even a few words of spite and malice?”