Blade took the M60 and hefted the weapon, his lips curling upward. He leaned the machine gun against his legs and took the ammo belts, sliding each arm through one of the belts and angling the belts across his chest.
“Thanks.”
“Anything you want, you get,” General Reese responded.
“I want to travel light. We’ll need six strips of jerky per man, canteens we can loop on the back of our belts, and a portable radio.”
“That’s right. You prefer jerky over field rations. I’ll dig some up. Give me ten minutes,” Reese said, and walked toward the hut.
Blade lifted the M60 and saw Lieutenant Garber and four troopers approaching.
“Here’s my squad, sir,” Garber announced, saluting.
The quartet snapped to attention.
“Introduce me,” Blade instructed.
Garber indicated each soldier with a wave of his left hand. All four were armed with M16’s and a semiautomatic pistol. “This is Private Griffonetti, Private Humes, Private McGonical, and Private Liter.”
“I’m Blade,” the Warrior said, nodding at each man, appraising them.
Griffonetti was swarthy and dark haired, Humes was a string bean, McGonical stocky and square jawed, and Liter possessed a sinewy build.
“I’ll expect all of you to follow my orders to the letter. Is that understood?”
A chorus of, “Yes, sir!” punctuated his question.
“We’ll be leaving shortly,” Blade told them. “If you—” He stopped when he realized the four privates and Lieutenant Garber were all gazing past him, to the south, with amazement on their faces. He turned.
“Am I seein’ what I think I’m seein’?” Hickok asked.
Blade wondered the same thing.
Approximately 100 yards from Sentry Post 17, in the middle of the road, were two women on horseback.
“They came out of the brush on the right,” Geronimo said.
Both women had long hair. One rode a white horse, the other a black steed.
“Do I need my peepers examined, or are they buck naked?” Hickok queried in disbelief.
“They’re nude,” Geronimo verified.
“Maybe there’s a shortage of clothes hereabouts,” Hickok cracked.
Blade’s eyes narrowed as he tried to distinguish details. The women were simply sitting there, watching the soldiers. Some of the troopers had noticed the two riders and ceased working to gawk in astonishment.
“Do you want me to go after them in a jeep?” Lieutenant Garber inquired eagerly.
“No,” Blade said. “They’d just take to the brush and you wouldn’t be able to catch them. For all we know, there might be more hiding in the fields or in those buildings, waiting to jump whoever goes after the women.”
Hickok unslung his Henry. “Do you want me to wing one of them, pard? It’d be a piece of cake.”
“Too risky,” Blade said. “We need a prisoner intact.”
General Reese rushed up. “It’s them! It’s them!”
“Who?” Hickok responded.
“The women I told you about,” General Reese said, gesturing at the riders.
“What women? You must be sufferin’ from heatstroke. All I see are two figments of your imagination.”
“Figments of—!” General Reese blustered, and glanced at Blade. “Is he always this way?”
“Always,” Blade said.
“How do you put up with it?”
Geronimo chuckled. “Don’t let him get to you. All you have to do is remember you’re dealing with a congenital idiot.”
General Reese gazed at the women. “What do you suppose they’re doing there?”
“Counting your men,” Blade replied.
“What?” Reese exclaimed.
“What else would they be doing? They’re memorizing the disposition of your forces.”
“Damn!” General Reese fumed.
“I’ve got to hand it to him or her,” Blade commented.
“Who?” General Reese asked.
“The brains behind their operation. The person in charge doesn’t miss a trick. They must be monitoring your sentry posts constantly.”
The two women abruptly rode into the undergrowth on the right side of Highway 289 and disappeared from view.
“Let them look all they want,” General Reese stated. “They’ll know we’re ready for anything they throw at us.”
“And that’s not all,” Blade remarked.
“What?”
Blade gazed at his fellow Warriors. “If they keep the sentry posts under constant surveillance, they’ll know we’re coming.”
Chapter Seven
“I feel like a blamed sittin’ duck.”
“You’re walking.”
“Okay. I feel like a walkin’ duck.”
Geronimo snorted. “If you ask me, I think you’ve quacked,” he said, and shook with repressed laughter.
“Pitiful. Just pitiful,” Hickok muttered. “It’s sad to see a body moseying around without a mind to direct it.”
“So that’s your problem,” Geronimo said.
In front of them, Blade suddenly halted and glanced back. “I don’t want to hear another peep out of you.”
“What’s the big deal?” Hickok countered. “They know we’re comin’ anyway.”
“Most likely. But we don’t need to compound the problem by advertising our presence,” Blade said.
They were advancing southward on Highway 289, and they had reached a point about 200 yards from the sentry point. Blade came first in line, then Hickok and Geronimo, followed by Lieutenant Garber, and Humes, McGonical, Liter, and Griffonetti. The soldiers held their M-16’s at the ready. Liter bore the radio on his back.
Blade scrutinized the field on the left, then studied the row of neglected, worn-down structures on the right. There was no sign of movement in the shadows. A hot breeze from the southwest caressed his cheeks. His instincts warned him that they were being watched, and he fingered the M60 trigger nervously. In a way, he hoped they would be attacked right then and there. Their mission was to capture an infected individual, and the sooner they accomplished their task, the sooner they could return to Sentry Post 17.
They passed the structures without incident.
Frowning, Blade scanned the terrain ahead, mentally marking the positions of the densest vegetation. Three hundred yards distant on the left, affording ample hiding places for unseen watchers, abandoned frame homes in various stages of disrepair were arranged in a tidy line stretching for as far as the eye could see. A former residential neighborhood, Blade deduced.
“Pssst! Can I peep?” Hickok whispered.
“What is it?” Blade said softly over his right shoulder.
“What were General Blood-and-Guts and you yakkin’ about when we were gettin’ set to leave? I heard him mention that private, Nelson.”
“General Reese received a message from President Toland,” Blade disclosed. “Private Nelson hasn’t displayed any strange symptoms yet. No fever, no green splotches. He appears to be in excellent health.”
“So maybe the green splotches aren’t contagious,” Hickok stated hopefully.
“It’s too soon to tell.”
“Boy, are you a bundle of sunshine.”
They proceeded warily, drawing ever nearer to the frame houses. The undergrowth was deathly still; not so much as a bug buzzed.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Hickok commented.
Blade heard a twig snap to his right and pivoted, leveling the M60, and glimpsed a hunched-over figure scurrying through the brush. The figure promptly dropped from sight. Blade raised his left hand and pumped his arm twice, and instantly Hickok and Geronimo flanked him.
“I saw it,” Geronimo said.
“So did I, pard,” Hickok stated.