“What the blazes is it?” Hickok asked.
“I don’t know,” Blade admitted. He racked his brain, recalling all the hours spent in the huge Family library personally stocked by Kurt Carpenter. Hundreds of thousands of books on every conceivable subject: dozens upon dozens of how-to books for everything from woodworking to herbal remedies; history books; literature books; religion and philosophy books; photographic books depicting the state of civilization before World War III one hundred years ago; and many, many more. Several of the books were devoted to aviation, and one of the photographs came to mind as Blade watched the aircraft. “I think that thing is called a helicopter,” he remarked.
“A helicopter?” Hickok repeated doubtfully. “Who would have a functional helicopter? Where did it come from?”
From far off, from the vicinity of the helicopter, came the sharp retort of gunfire.
Blade and Hickok exchanged worried glances.
“Rikki!” Hickok said apprehensively.
“We’d better check it out,” Blade declared. He turned toward the SEAL, parked behind them in the center of the highway.
“Look!” Hickok cried. “That contraption is comin’ our way!”
The helicopter was rapidly approaching them, apparently flying directly over the road, following the course of the highway.
Blade’s hands dropped to his Bowies. As the craft neared, he could distinguish its features. The helicopter was a dull brown in color with some sort of glass or plastic bubble in the front section and a long metallic tail behind. There was a spinning rotor on top of the craft and another one attached to the rear. Long, metal legs were affixed horizontally to the underbelly of the helicopter.
“Orders?” Hickok asked.
The bubble on the helicopter was tinted, just like the body of the SEAL, preventing Blade from viewing the interior of the craft. He debated the wisdom of remaining in the open, of attempting to persuade the occupants to land, hoping they would be friendly.
“They’re almost on us,” Hickok said, stating the obvious.
What to do? Blade hesitated.
Without any warning, the helicopter abruptly opened up with its machine guns, belching death and destruction from a pair of 45-caliber guns mounted on the front of the craft.
“Look out!” Hickok shouted, diving to the right as the highway in front of them erupted in a violent spray of asphalt and dirt.
Blade leaped aside, sprawling onto the ground. Damn his idiocy! How could he forget his favorite motto! Better safe than sorry!
Several of the rounds struck the SEAL, whining as they ricocheted from its steely structure.
Blade rolled to his feet.
Hickok was already on, his Pythons out and angled. As the helicopter passed overhead he fired four times in swift succession.
The helicopter kept going, circling around for another strafing run.
“In the SEAL!” Blade commanded. He ran to the driver’s door, yanked it open, and vaulted into the driver’s seat.
Hickok bolstered his Colts and clambered into the passenger side.
“Dangblasted varmints!” he muttered as he slammed his door. “Do you reckon they got Rikki?”
“We’ll check on Rikki after we take care of these bastards!” Blade promised.
The SEAL was hit again, the screeching of the heavy slugs as they were deflected by the bulletproof body almost painful to the ears.
The helicopter streaked overhead, swinging for another try.
“Let’s take ’em!” Hickok said.
Blade turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred to life.
The interior of the SEAL had been designed with economy of space in mind. Two bucket seats were in the front, one for the driver and another for a passenger, separated by a console between them. Behind the bucket seats was a wide seat for additional passengers, while the rear section, embracing at least a third of the transport, was devoted to storage space.
The Warriors had their food, spare ammunition, and other provisions stacked in the rear section.
Blade shifted into drive and plastered the accelerator to the floor. The SEAL surged forward.
“They’re comin’ straight at us!” Hickok yelled.
The helicopter gunner fired again.
Blade swerved to the left as the windshield was rocked by a sustained burst.
“Are those bozos in for a surprise!” Hickok predicted, his right hand resting on the dashboard next to four silver toggle switches.
The mercenaries Kurt Carpenter had employed were proficient at their craft. The SEAL incorporated four offensive armaments into its framework: a pair of 50-caliber machine guns mounted underneath each front headlight; a flamethrower positioned behind the front fender; a rocket launcher in the center of the front grill; and even a miniaturized surface-to-air missile secreted in the roof above the driver’s seat.
Hickok’s hand touched the toggle switch marked S. “Ready when you are, big guy.”
Blade had lost sight of the helicopter. Keeping the SEAL at 50 miles an hour, he leaned down and craned his neck in an effort to locate their antagonist. “I can’t see them,” he said.
“So what?” Hickok replied. “This surface-to-air dingus is heat-seeking, isn’t it? Just say the word and it will take care of the rest.”
“I don’t want to waste it,” Blade stated. “I want to be sure.”
Hickok peered out his side of the transport. “I see a starling up there. Do you want me to practice on it?”
“Find the copter!” Blade ordered.
A minute passed without another attack.
“Maybe they headed for the hills,” Hickok said.
“We’ve got to be sure,” Blade told the gunfighter.
The SEAL was heading east, toward St. Louis.
“Where do you think it came from?” Hickok absently queried.
“How would I know?” Blade retorted.
Hickok grinned. “Boy! Somebody tries to kill you and you go to pieces! It doesn’t take much to put you in a bad mood, does it?”
Blade braked the transport. “Get the binoculars.”
Hickok climbed over the console and the wide seat into the rear section.
“Where the blazes did we put them?” he asked.
“They’ve got to be there somewhere,” Blade said, still searching for the helicopter.
Hickok unexpectedly started coughing. “Oh no!” he cried in mock horror.
“What is it?” Blade demanded, turning in his seat.
Hickok was pinching his nose shut with his right hand while he held a pair of black socks aloft in his left. “I found your dirty socks!” He wheezed.
“Whew! How does Jenny stand it?” he asked, referring to Blade’s wife.
Blade glared at this friend. “Forget the socks and find those binoculars!”
“We don’t need them,” Hickok said, dropping the smelly socks.
“Why not?”
“Look!” Hickok pointed out the passenger side of the SEAL.
Blade turned.
The helicopter was coming in from the south, angling for a broadside run.
In the fraction of a second before Blade reacted, he spotted a bright red star painted on the tail of the copter. He buried the accelerator and slewed the SEAL to the left, off the highway and into the trees, barreling through the brush and snapping limbs and small saplings as the transport plowed onward.
To their rear, a large portion of the road exploded skyward as a deafening blast rocked the countryside.
“They must have rockets!” Hickok exclaimed as he climbed over the center seat and the console and reached his bucket seat.
Blade stopped the SEAL under the spreading branches of a large maple tree. The vehicle’s green color, he reasoned, would serve as excellent camouflage in the midst of the forest.
“Do you reckon those hombres lost us?” Hickok queried.
“Let’s hope so,” Blade answered.