The lake was quiet and peaceful, its surface tranquil, reflecting the light from the bright moon above.
Hickok rolled down his window and heard an owl voice it’s distinctive
“who?” from a stand of trees to his left.
“What happens when we find Blade and Geronimo?” Joshua inquired.
“We free them,” Hickok answered.
“What if we’re outnumbered?”
“So what? Since when has that stopped a Warrior from doing his duty?”
Joshua stared at the gunfighter for a moment. “Hickok, can I tell you something?” he asked gravely.
“I reckon so,” Hickok said. “What is it? You sound so serious.”
“I know that you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye,” Joshua mentioned.
“You’ve got that right!”
“So I just thought you should know I’m really glad you are the way you are,” Joshua said. “I sincerely believe you’re one of the best Warriors in the Family, maybe the very best. I know I have criticized your frequently callous attitude in the past. I know I’ve lambasted your cavalier disposition toward the taking of other lives. But I’ve given the matter considerable thought, and I’ve reached the conclusion I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
“Does all of that mean you like me?”
“It means I like you,” Joshua confirmed.
“Thanks, pard!” Hickok beamed. “I appreciate it.”
“Actually,” Joshua went on, “I’ve never disliked you. I’ve experienced considerable difficulty adjusting to the reality of life outside our Home.”
“I know,” the gunman acknowledged.
“I’m afraid my shock at encountering so much casual violence affected my personal relationships, particularly with you,” Joshua stated.
“Why are you telling me all this?” Hickok asked.
“Because I want you to know how I feel. I don’t want you to despise me because I’ve been, at times, such a… jerk,” he concluded.
“None of us despises you,” Hickok informed the Empath. “I’ll admit I’ve been on your case a lot in the past, but that’s because I couldn’t handle all of your whinin’ every time we killed someone. It took me a while to see that we look at the world differently, Josh, and just because we do doesn’t make either of us wrong. You are the spiritual type, and you tend to view other folks, even those you’ve never met before, as your brothers and sisters. You’re always ready to offer your hand in friendship. Heck, that’s why Plato picked you as the Family ambassador. Me, I’m completely different. I’m a Warrior, and I’m naturally suspicious of everybody, particularly the people we run into outside the Home. I don’t trust nobody until they show me they deserve my trust. As a Warrior, as someone responsible for protecting the Home and the Family, I’ve got to be this way. I’d sooner shoot someone in the head if they look at me crosswise than give them the chance to plug me in the back. I know it’s the opposite of the way you look at things, but I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
“I’ll never hold it against you,” Joshua guaranteed.
“Good! Now that that’s settled, let’s go waste some wimps!”
Chapter Thirteen
The convoy of troop transports and munitions trucks was five miles out of the Citadel when one of the vehicles unexpectedly gained additional weight.
Yama.
After leaving the Mason ranch, he had headed due south until he had reached Interstate Highway 80. The traffic on 80 had been sparse; apparently few of the Civilized Zone inhabitants had wanted to travel any farther west than Cheyenne. He had kept going, bearing to the southeast, intending to enter the Citadel from the south, hoping the ploy would thwart any attempts to determine his origination point if he were apprehended. The sun was well below the western horizon by the time he had reached Interstate Highway 25.
The volume of vehicles had been incredible.
The vast majority of the nearly ceaseless caravan had been military vehicles of one kind or another: jeeps, troop carriers loaded with armed soldiers, supply trucks, a few noisy half-tracks, and two tanks. Once, a dozen flatbeds had driven past Yama’s place of concealment behind a tree near the Interstate, huge artillery pieces mounted on the back.
He had wondered how he could successfully join the procession without being detected. The traffic had been moving at forty miles an hour, making a running leap into the rear of one of the trucks an extremely hazardous and unappealing strategy.
Yama had waited for over an hour at the side of the highway, and just when he had been convinced there was no other recourse but to attempt the running leap, the Spirit had smiled upon him.
The second of the two tanks had been passing his position, its motor clanking and wheezing as if from old age, when it had coughed and sputtered and the night had been rent by a loud clanging sound. The tank had shuddered, spouting smoke from underneath, and had ground to a stop, completely blocking the traffic behind it. The troop transports ahead of the tank had continued on their way, oblivious to its plight. Behind the tank had been six more flatbeds with missile launchers on the beds. The flatbeds had slowed and pulled up behind the disabled tank.
Yama had suddenly found himself abreast of one of the flatbeds. Except for the driver and a fellow rider in the cab, the flatbeds had been deserted.
The base of each missile launcher had been covered with a heavy tarp as protection from the elements.
“What the hell is the holdup?” the driver of the first flatbed had bellowed.
A soldier had emerged from the stricken tank to examine the underside. “It looks like we blew our motor!” he had called to the flatbed driver. “Damn piece of junk!” He had kicked the treads in frustration. “If they don’t complete that new factory soon, this whole Army will be as useless as a tin can with both ends missing!”
“Is there any way you can get your tank to the side?” the flatbed driver had asked. “We can try and go around you.”
“No problem!” the tank trooper had yelled. “Give me a minute and I’ll throw it into Neutral. When I shout out the hatch, give me a push!”
“Got ya!” the driver of the flatbed had responded.
Yama had scanned the highway behind the final flatbed, encouraged to find the road free of traffic. But he had known the situation wouldn’t last long, that soon headlights would appear from the south and ruin his golden opportunity.
There had been a call from inside the tank, and the first flatbed had inched forward until its front bumper nudged the tank. Slowly, its engine whining, the truck had been able to move the tank to one side, to the right, clearing a path for the other vehicles to proceed.
A head had popped out of the top tank hatch. “Thanks! When you get to the Citadel, would you let the Motor Pool guys know what happened and tell them to get their lazy asses out here on the double? The brass want this baby operational for the attack.”
“I’ll let the Motor Pool know first thing,” the flatbed driver had promised.
The procession of flatbeds had begun to move out.
Yama had waited.
The first flatbed had driven past the tank, its gears grinding as it gained speed.
Not yet.
The second truck had curved by the tank and followed the first.
Not yet.
The next three flatbeds had done likewise.
Now!
Yama had darted from behind the tree as the last of the flatbeds had started to roll. He had glanced over his shoulder, staring southward.
He had seen the feeble gleam of approaching headlights in the distance.
Yama had run, covering the ground in a surge of speed, hoping the troopers in the cab were concentrating on the tank and not looking in their rearview mirrors. The flatbed had been doing about ten miles an hour when he had leaped, landing on the tarp spread over the base of the missile launcher.