“I don’t know. Why?”
“Nathan isn’t in the best frame of mind right now,” Geronimo explained. “I had a talk with him today. He’s pretty rattled over what happened to Sherry. He might be too distracted to perform effectively.”
“Thanks for telling me,” Blade said. “If that’s the case, I’ll have the Warriors draw lots. The two short straws will go, regardless of Triad affiliation.”
“Like you did when you went to St. Louis,” Geronimo commented.
“You’ve got it.” Blade started to veer off toward the cast.
“Hey!” Geronimo said.
“What?”
“Where do you think you’ll be this time tomorrow?” Cieronimo queried him.
Blade mused for a moment. “Probably the Twin Cities.”
Geronimo grinned. “Your favorite vacation spot in all the world!”
Chapter Five
As it turned out, Blade underestimated. The SEAL stopped for the night just south of what was once Mason City, Iowa. Like many cities and towns, Mason City had been abandoned during the war when the government had evacuated all citizens into the Rocky Mountain and Plains states.
Now, Mason City was comprised of darkened ruins, situated in no-man’s-land, with the Civilized Zone to the west, the Soviet-occupied territory to the southeast, and Chicago far to the east.
Blade had pushed the SEAL the first day. The SEAL had been the Founder’s pride and joy. Kurt Carpenter had expended millions on the transport. Carpenter had foreseen the collapse of mass transportation and the public highway system. Accordingly, he’d provided for the Family’s transportation needs by having a special vehicle constructed to his specifications. The scientists and engineers he’d employed were all experts in their chosen fields, and they’d given Carpenter his money’s worth.
The SEAL was a prototype, revolutionary in its design and capabilities.
The Solar Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle—or SEAL, as it became known—was, as its name indicated, powered by the sun. The light was collected by a pair of solar panels affixed to the roof of the vanlike transport. The energy was converted and stored in unique batteries located in a lead-lined case under the SEAL. The floor was an impervious metal alloy. The body, the entire shell, was composed of a heat-resistant and virtually shatterproof plastic, fabricated to be indestructible. Four huge puncture-resistant tires, each four feet high and two feet wide, supported the vehicle.
Carpenter had wanted additional features added to the transport, and to incorporate them he’d turned to weapons specialists, to hired mercenaries. The military men had outfitted the vehicle with an array of armaments. Four toggle switches on the dashboard activated the SEAL’s firepower. A pair of 50-caliber machine guns were hidden in recessed compartments under each front headlight. When the toggle marked M was thrown, a small metal plate would slide upward and the machine guns would automatically fire. A miniaturized surface-to-air missile was mounted in the roof above the driver’s seat. Once the toggle labeled S was activated, a panel in the roof slid aside and a missile was launched. The missiles were heat-seeking Stingers with a range of ten miles. A rocket launcher was secreted in the center of the front grill, and the rocket was instantly fired if the R toggle was thrown. And finally, Carpenter had had the mercenaries include a flamethrower in the SEAL. It was an Army Surplus Model with an effective range of 20 feet. Located in the middle of the front fender, surrounded by layers of insulation, the flamethrower was activated when the F toggle was moved.
Blade gazed out the windshield at the night. The SEAL’s body was tinted green, allowing those within to see out, but anyone outside was unable to view the interior. He stared up at the starry sky, then twisted in his bucket seat to check out his traveling companions. A console was situated between his bucket seat and the other bucket seat in the front of the transport. Behind the bucket seats, running the width of the vehicle, was another seat for passengers. The rear of the SEAL, comprising a third of its inside space, was devoted to a large storage area for spare parts, tools, and whatever provisions were necessary.
“We’re makin’ good time, ain’t we, Big Guy?” Bertha asked. She was seated in the other bucket seat, her M-16 snuggled in her lap.
“So far, so good,” Blade acknowledged. He glanced at the two passengers occupying the wide seat. “How are we holding up?”
Lieutenant Frol Lysenko was seated behind Bertha. His face conveyed his intense misery. Arms folded in front of him, hunched over dejectedly, he glared at the giant Warrior behind the wheel. “You lied to me!” he whined for the umpteenth time that day.
“No I didn’t,” Blade rejoined.
“Yes you did!” Lysenko snapped. “You promised me my freedom! You said I could have an AK-47 and ammo. Not to mention the canteen and jerky.”
Blade smiled. “I beg to differ. I told you that you would be able to leave the Home, and you left it at sunrise this morning. There are several canteens and five pounds of venison jerky stored in the back of the SEAL. Take your pick.”
Lysenko glowered at the Warrior.
“As for the AK-47,” Blade went on, “we gave you one, remember? It’s not our fault you didn’t want it.”
“Damn you!” Lysenko spat. “What good would it have done me? Sure, you offered me an AK-47 this morning! And you also offered me ten magazines of ammo… but it wasn’t AK-47 ammo!”
Blade shrugged. “I kept my word. I promised to give you an AK-47 and all the ammunition you could carry. I never said the ammo would be for the AK-47.”
“You devious son of a bitch!” Lysenko said.
Bertha glanced at Blade. “Do you want me to bop this sucker for you?”
“No need,” Blade replied.
“I wouldn’t let him talk to me that way,” Bertha commented.
Lysenko made the mistake of leaning forward, sneering. “Oh? And what would you do, woman?” He accented the last word contemptuously.
The M-16 was up and around in the blink of the eye, the barrel rammed into Lysenko’s nose.
The Russian gulped and blinked.
Bertha smiled sweetly, her brown eyes dancing with mirth. “You ever talk to me like that again, honky, and I’ll waste you on the spot. Got that, ugly?”
Lysenko nodded.
Blade grinned. He enjoyed Bertha’s company immensely. They had shared many an adventure over the years, ever since Alpha Triad had rescued her from the Watchers in Thief River Falls. She had assisted them in the Twin Cities, and later had been of inestimable help in the Family’s fight against the wicked Doktor. Although she had been born and reared in the Twin Cities, and spent most of her life involved in the bitter gang warfare there, Bertha had been accepted as a Warrior based on her prior service to the Family. Blade, Hickok, and Geronimo had appealed to the Elders to approve her nomination. Hickok had made a rare, yet oddly eloquent speech calling for her installation as a Warrior, saying at one point, as Blade recalled: “If Bertha ain’t fit to be a Warrior, then neither am I, or Blade, or Geronimo, or Rikki. Bertha may not have been raised in the Home, but she’s as Family as can be. And, more importantly, she’s a born Warrior in her heart. That feisty female can whip her weight in wildcats. So you’d best approve her application, or she’ll most likely storm in here and punch you out.” Blade could still remember the amused expressions of the assembled Elders.
Bertha turned toward the fourth member of their little group. He was seated behind Blade, dressed in a fancy gray shirt and trousers, both tailor-made for him by the Family Weavers. The shirt had wide lapels and black buttons; the pants legs were flared at the bottom. He wore a wide black belt with a silver buckle. Nestled in a black shoulder holster under each arm was an L.A.R. Grizzly. The Grizzly was an automatic pistol with a seven-shot magazine, chambered for the devastating .45 Winchester Magnum cartridge. Its grips were black, but the rest of it was shining silver. The man wore his black hair neatly trimmed around the ears, and a full black mustache added to his strikingly handsome appearance. “What’s with you, Sundance?” Bertha asked. “You’ve hardly said a word this whole trip so far.”