“I despise pushing papers,” Reese stressed.
Blade nodded absently. “I can understand why.” He stared at the laboring soldiers, thinking of the six hours they had spent in Sherman while the general organized the convoy to convey them to Sentry Post 17.
“I just wish it was me going into Dallas,” General Reese said. “I haven’t been involved in any combat for five or six years.”
“You can join us,” Hickok offered. “Bring your whole Army along. The more, the merrier.”
“The fewer we send in, the less risk we run of spreading the disease if indeed there is a plague,” General Reese pointed out. “You’ll be on your own.”
“Figures,” Hickok muttered.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Blade mentioned.
“What?” the general responded.
“You told us that Sentry Post 17 and Post 19 were both struck. What happened to Post 18?”
“Good question,” General Reese said. “We wondered about the same thing ourselves. Sentry Post 18 is located on a secondary road between Highway 289 and Interstate 35. Either the attackers weren’t aware of its existence, or they deliberately only attacked 17 and 19.”
“How many sentry posts do you have near Dallas?”
“There are five,” General Reese answered, gazing at the metropolis.
“There’s one on Highway 75 and another on Highway 78. Both of them are east of here.”
“And they weren’t hit?”
“Nope.”
Blade reflected for a moment, then glanced at the sentry hut. “How soon before the Command Center will be operational?”
“Forty-five minutes at the max,” General Reese said.
“What happened to that machine gun you promised me?”
“Thanks for reminding me,” General Reese replied. “I’ll be right back.”
He hurried toward the parked trucks, directing a nearby noncom to accompany him.
“Why didn’t you bring along one of the firearms from our Family armory?” Geronimo asked.
“Because the Family doesn’t own a machine gun like the one I want to use,” Blade said.
“Since when have you been finicky about your guns?” Hickok asked.
“Your specialty is knives. And the way you shoot, you’re lucky if you can hit the broad side of a barn with a bazooka at point-blank range.”
“Aren’t you exaggerating just a bit?” Blade responded with a smile.
“Just a mite,” the gunman acknowledged. In addition to his Colt Python revolvers, Hickok had a Navy Arms Henry Carbine slung over his left shoulder. The 44-40, a reproduction of a rifle used in the days of the Wild West, was a favorite of his. For this mission the gunman had included a derringer in his personal arsenal—a four-shot C.O.P. .357 Magnum, five and a half inches in length, double-action, constructed of stainless steel with four barrels. The derringer was concealed in a small holster attached to his left wrist two inches from the edge of his buckskin shirtsleeve.
Geronimo was also armed to the teeth. The Arminius rode in its holster under his right arm, and the tomahawk was under his belt in his right hip.
In a shoulder holster under his left arm was a Taurus Model 65, and in his right hand he held a Browning B-80 automatic shotgun. A bandolier filled with spare shells slanted across his stocky chest. “What’s so special about this machine gun?” he asked Blade. “You’ve used machine guns before. I thought you were partial to the Commando Arms Carbine.”
“I was,” Blade admitted, “until I started using the M60 on my assignments for the Freedom Force. The M60 has more stopping power than the Commando. Comparing them is like comparing a slingshot to a cannon.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Hickok said.
“Excuse me, sir,” Lieutenant Garber interjected. “I’ve used the M60 on a bipod on several occasions, and I think the gun is an excellent weapon.”
“Brown-noser,” Hickok mumbled.
“My only complaint is that the M60 is slightly difficult to control in the rapid-fire mode,” Lieutenant Garber commented. “Don’t you find it difficult to keep the bipod steady?”
“I don’t use the bipod,” Blade divulged.
“Do you use a tripod, sir?”
“No.”
“Then how do you control the weapon?” Lieutenant Garber asked, puzzled by the idea of anyone firing the M60 without a support. “Do you brace the stock against your hip in the conventional shooting posture?”
“I hold it in my hands.”
“But that’s impossible, sir,” Lieutenant Garber said without thinking.
“Are you callin’ my pard a liar?” Hickok demanded.
“Of course not,” Lieutenant Garber replied.
“Good. We wouldn’t want to lose a man before we start the mission,” Hickok stated, and grinned impishly.
“All I meant was that it would be inconceivable for someone to fire the M60 like you would an ordinary machine gun,” Lieutenant Garber elaborated. “You’d have to be as strong as an ox.”
Before the others quite realized what he was doing, and before a stunned Lieutenant Garber could collect his wits, Blade stepped in close, gripped the front of the officer’s shirt in his right hand, seized Garber’s right thigh in his left hand, and hoisted the young lieutenant into the air.
“Sir!” Garber blurted.
Hickok cackled.
Geronimo stared quizzically at his giant companion.
“Is this strong enough for you?” Blade asked, smiling.
“Yes, sir!” Lieutenant Gaber cried.
Blade slowly lowered the officer to the road, his arm and shoulder muscles rippling. “I trust you won’t see fit to doubt my word again?”
Lieutenant Garber licked his thin lips. “No, sir! I’ll never doubt you again.”
“Fine. This assignment will undoubtedly be extremely dangerous. I’ll need your complete trust at all times.”
“You have it, sir,” Lieutenant Garber assured the Warrior.
“Okay. Go get your squad. I want to meet them,” Blade directed.
“On my way,” Garber said. He spun and hastened away.
“It’s not like you to show off,” Geronimo observed.
“I was making a point,” Blade said.
“Sure,” Geronimo said.
“Give Blade a break! He didn’t hurt the greenhorn,” Hickok said.
General Reese and the noncom were coming toward the Warriors.
“What the hell was that all about?” the officer asked.
“I was getting my morning exercise,” Blade quipped.
“Well, I’ve got your machine gun,” General Reese said, and nodded at the noncom.
Hickok took one look and his eyes widened. “Wow! Now that’s what I call a piece of hardware.”
The M60E3 general-purpose machine gun had served as a versatile support weapon for the U.S. military for decades prior to the war. The Air Force had used the M60 for forward airfield defense and base security, while the Navy had used the M60 on their patrol craft and for their elite SEAL teams. Both the Army and the Marines utilized the M60 even more extensively. Modified versions had been employed on helicopter gunships and as helicopter door guns. The Marines had issued six M60’s to each rifle company commander.
Each M60 was 42 inches in length and weighed almost 19 pounds. It used standard 7.62mm ammunition, and the gunner could select a mix of tracer, ball, and armor-piercing rounds. With a rate of 100 rounds per minute in the sustained mode, 200 in the rapid fire, and up to 650 cyclic, the M60 provided blistering firepower. Its effective range was well over a thousand yards.
The noncom held the big machine gun in both hands, and draped over his shoulders were two ammo belts. “Here you are, sir,” he said.