Brutus was obviously one of the Doktor’s killers.
Captain Luther and Brutus had calmed themselves considerably.
Apparently, the officer wanted to stay on the best possible terms with Brutus despite their disagreement.
“Do you ever wonder what this Family is like?” Captain Luther asked.
“Who cares?” Brutus retorted.
Brutus certainly is the intellectual type, Geronimo thought.
“Don’t you ever think about what life would be like outside the Civilized Zone?” Captain Luther inquired.
“Such thoughts are dangerous,” Brutus reminded the officer. “They can get you in a lot of hot water.”
“Then you’ve never considered it?” Capture Luther pressed him.
Brutus fidgeted uncomfortably. He unconsciously ran his left hand along his neck, stroking a thin metal collar he wore.
“Don’t worry,” Captain Luther said, laughing. “The Doktor can’t hear you with that monitoring collar of his.”
“What?”
“How can he eavesdrop?” Captain Luther queried. “All of his equipment, including the satellite link, was destroyed when Cheyenne was nuked. There’s no way he can hear us.”
“I don’t know,” Brutus said doubtfully.
“Suit yourself,” Captain Luther stated, and shrugged. “But I can’t help but wonder what these people are like. We know a lot about them, like why they call themselves Warriors and Tillers and Healers and such, but—”
“Why do they?” Brutus interrupted.
“It has something to do with the man who started the Home,” Captain Luther revealed. “He was a believer in ‘social equality,’ so he began this nonsense about having every member of the Family receive a title. He thought it would make everyone socially acceptable. You wouldn’t have anyone looking down their nose at someone else just because of the job they did.”
“Sounds pretty weird to me,” Brutus said.
“They’re a weird bunch,” Captain Luther concurred. “When I learned I was coming here,” he elaborated, “I consulted the records on this Family. I wanted to learn their strengths and their weaknesses.”
“What did you find out?”
“You’d be surprised how much data we’ve accumulated over the years with out listening posts,” Captain Luther remarked. “Samuel had a great idea there. By periodically setting up our sensitive microphones outside isolated communities, we’ve been able to keep taps on them.” He paused, staring at the encampment. “This Family isn’t all that strong. They have a dozen or so warriors who are responsible for protecting their Home. They also have a well-stocked armory. But that’s about it. Nothing we can’t handle.”
“We’ll crush them like bugs!” Brutus predicted.
“We haven’t spied on them in months, though,” Captain Luther went on, “so we don’t know what they’ve been up to lately.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Brutus opined.
“The Doktor gave me the impression he thought they might have had something to do with the nuking of Cheyenne,” Captain Luther said.
“The Family?”
“I know it’s hard to believe,” Captain Luther stated, “but that’s the impression I received.”
“Do we leave at first light?”
Captain Luther gazed at the stars. “At first light,” he confirmed. He looked at the camp again. “I still can’t believe the Doktor gave command of this assignment to me.”
“Most of the senior officers were killed when the headquarters in Cheyenne went up in smoke,” Brutus pointed out. “Besides, the Doktor trusts you.”
Captain Luther smiled slyly, as if the unsuspecting canary had swooped within range of the cat’s claws. “Then why don’t you?”
“It isn’t that I don’t trust you,” Brutus began lamely.
“Then why do you keep butting in?” Captain Luther demanded.
“I need to insure we succeed.”
“We will,” Captain Luther promised. “Don’t worry.”
“I can’t help but worry,” Brutus declared. “If we don’t do as the Doktor wants, I could wind up being the course of instruction in one of his anatomy classes.”
“If you’re—” Captain Luther started to say, then abruptly stopped.
The sharp crack of gunfire erupted from the east side of the encampment.
Captain Luther and Brutus took off at a brisk clip.
Geronimo crawled from under the pine tree and stood.
It had to be Hickok!
What had the big dummy done and gone now?
Geronimo turned and jogged to the south, moving as rapidly as feasible. The trees were giant black sentinels in the night, their limbs ready to gouge or ensnare him if he blundered into one of them.
The shooting had ceased.
What if the soldiers had killed Hickok?
Geronimo increased his pace, taking senseless risks, darting between and around trunks and other obstacles at a reckless speed.
He should never have let Hickok go off by himself!
They should have stayed together!
Some shouting broke out, off to the east.
Geronimo ran between two trees and artfully skipped to his right to avoid a big bush.
That’s when it happened.
His left foot caught in something, an exposed root or a low limb, and before he could break free and right himself, he stumbled forward, headfirst, his arms outstretched.
He never saw the tree trunk.
Geronimo felt an excrucating pain lance through his head. He fell to his knees, dazed, struggling to retain his consciousness. Bright white stars exploded before his eyes, and he collapsed on the musty ground.
In the distance there was more shooting.
Chapter Six
Hickok traveled in a circular pattern after leaving Geronimo. He stayed clear of the camp, swinging to the east as he searched for a weak spot.
He had a terrific idea.
If he could somehow sneak into the enemy camp and find the head honchos, he’d up and blow ’em away. Maybe, if these wimps were deprived of their leaders, they’d hightail it back to the Civilized Zone and leave the Family in peace.
He grinned at his brainstorm.
True, it might be smart to try and overhear what the bigwings were talkin’ about, to see what they had in mind. And there was a prime drawback to his scheme to perforate their noggins; the other troopers would probably gun him down on the spot.
But it would be worth it, he told himself, if it stopped the attack on the Home.
The gunman was a hundred yards along the eastern perimeter of the encampment when he detected the flaw in their sentry arrangement.
Bingo!
There were two of the guards, posted as the others were, 20 yards apart. Behind these guards, lined up single file, was a row of troop transports. Beyond the trucks were several campfires surrounded by soldiers. But the troop transports effectively blocked off the light from the campfires. The area between the two sentries was plunged into darkness.
Hickok smiled as he advanced through the trees for a closer look-see.
What a bunch of cow chips! They hadn’t spotted the weakness in their perimeter and taken appropriate steps to recify it. These Civilized Zone goons sure were amateurs!
This would be a piece of cake!
The gunman reached the last tree before the camp. The guards were about ten yards off, one in each direction. They appeared to be bored by the sentry detail; at least they weren’t actively scanning the woods for any indication of a threat.
That was their second mistake!
Hickok eased onto his stomach, cradled the Henry in his left elbow, and started to crawl from cover. He hesitated. The rifle would only slow him up, and a stray streak of light from the fires might glint off the gun and give him away. He couldn’t take the risk. Reluctantly, he placed the Henry at the base of the tree.