“Do tell,” Blade said dryly, and at last saw several Spartans step from the barracks. He immediately took a liking to the soldier in the lead, a muscular man four or five inches over six feet in height and endowed with an imposing physique. The man’s helmet shimmered in the bright sunlight.
“I’m General Leonidas. Who are you and why do you want to see me?”
“Are you loyal to King Dercyllidas?” Blade asked bluntly.
The Spartan studied the giant. His features were rugged, his eyes and hair both dark. “If you knew me well, stranger, you’d know that my life is the king’s to do with as he pleases.”
“And would you protect him with your dying breath?”
Leonidas smiled. “What a stupid question. I would walk through hell barefoot for my liege.”
“Good,” Blade said, and opened his door. “Because King Agesilaus has tried to kill him and he needs a doctor.”
The general stiffened. “How do you know? Where is King Dercyllidas? And who the hell are you?”
“I’m Blade,” the Warrior disclosed, and jerked his right thumb to the rear. “Dercyllidas is in here. He’s been stabbed. Do you have a stretcher?”
Leonidas turned to another soldier. “Get one immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” the Spartan said, and ran into the barracks.
“Do you know Captain Chiton?” Blade queried.
“Yes.”
“Good. He can explain everything. He is right behind me with your king.”
“What’s your—” Leonidas began, then stopped when the metallic rumble of racing engines came from the east.
Blade twisted and saw a rising cloud of dust drawing steadily nearer.
The remaining jeeps were back in action. He shifted into park and stepped out of the SEAL. “Hurry and get Dercyllidas out. Those jeeps are filled with Agesilaus’s men.”
The general turned and pointed at four approaching soldiers. “Over here on the double.”
They raced to the transport.
“Climb in and assist Captain Chiton in removing King Dercyllidas. And be gentle,” Leonidas instructed them.
Blade admired the precision with which the Spartans went about their business. No one pestered the general with meaningless queries. In half a minute they had their monarch out and lowered him to the ground. “We’ll be back,” Blade said, and vaulted into the driver’s seat.
“Where are you going?” Chiton inquired. He stood next to the general.
“It’s payback time.”
“You’re going to try and take out the jeeps?”
“We’ll buy Leonidas the time he needs to get organized,” Blade said. He backed up, then drove to the side street and took a right.
The jeeps were 50 yards distant and going over 70 miles an hour.
“Teucer, be ready,” Blade directed, and swung the SEAL onto the gravel road. He promptly braked and reached for the toggle switches.
Predictably, the soldiers in the three jeeps opened up, their weapons chattering, the drivers holding the vehicles steady so the gunners could aim with a reasonable degree of accuracy. Two jeeps were speeding abreast of one another while the third trailed by three vehicle lengths.
Blade waited, letting them get within range, listening to the slugs zing off the windshield.
Thirty yards separated the jeeps from the transport.
“When?” Teucer asked, his right hand poised to roll down the window, the bow in his left hand with an arrow already notched.
“I’ll let you know,” Blade replied, still waiting.
Twenty yards and closing.
Rounds were smacking into the SEAL in a continual hail of lead, peppering the van and the puncture-proof tires, buzzing like angry hornets.
Fifteen yards.
Blade’s right index finger flicked the switch to activate the rocket launcher. The SEAL shook as the conical projectile shot from its launch tube, a tendril of smoke and flame marking its level trajectory.
The rocket struck the right-hand jeep in the left headlight.
A tremendous explosion shook the very earth and a blistering fireball swirled skyward. All three jeeps were totally shrouded in a cloud of flame, smoke, bits of gravel, and dust.
The concussion buffeted the SEAL, actually sliding the transport backwards a half-dozen yards. Blade was tossed from side to side and front to back, gritting his teeth as he struggled to retain his hold on the steering wheel and his foot on the brake. Out of the corner of his right eye he glimpsed the bowman being thrown into the door. He glanced behind him and saw Rikki gripping the top of the back seat, his face composed, unaffected by the bucking motion.
As quickly as it occurred, the concussion force of the explosion expended itself. The fireball took a little longer to subside, and the murky cloud persisted for minutes.
Blade placed his hand near the toggles again, his narrowed eyes probing the roadway. With any luck, the rocket had taken out a pair of jeeps. Conceivably, but not likely, even the third vehicle had been caught in the blast.
“You cut that a bit close, didn’t you?” Teucer asked.
“I’ve cut them closer.”
“Glad I wasn’t along at the time,” the bowman cracked.
“Traveling with Blade is always an educational experience,” Rikki threw in. “Each time I return to the Home, I seem to have more bumps and bruises than the last trip.”
“Then why do you volunteer to go on so many runs?” Teucer inquired.
“Bumps and bruises build character.”
“Remind me to hear all about your philosophy of life sometime.”
Blade leaned over the steering wheel, striving to detect any sign of life in the cloud of death and destruction. Nothing appeared, and just when he leaned back, almost convinced the rocket had blown up all three jeeps, the roar of an engine proved his assumption to be wrong. He tramped on the accelerator and backed up, striving to put as much distance between the SEAL and the cloud as he could, vexed at himself for not doing it sooner.
A jeep barreled into the open, its windshield cracked but otherwise unscathed. Leaning out the passenger side was a Spartan, an assault rifle resting on his right shoulder.
On his shoulder?
Blade looked again, and this time he recognized the contours of an Armbrust 700 anti-tank portable missile launcher. A tingle ran along his spine. If he remembered his Warrior training on ordnance and armaments, the Armbrust 700 could penetrate up to 12 inches of armor plating. Even the SEAL might not withstand such firepower.
The soldier was tracking the front of the van.
Instantly Blade swerved, attempting to throw the Spartan’s aim off. If he recalled correctly, the primary blast radius for a 700 was 50 feet. If he could only get more than that distance from the jeep, the SEAL might not be damaged. All he needed was a few more seconds.
He didn’t have them.
A heartbeat later the soldier fired.
CHAPTER TEN
Blade had only a split second to react, and his response was automatic.
He already knew the SEAL hadn’t covered enough ground to be safe from the missile. He already knew the transport would be caught in the blast radius. And he already knew evasive tactics would be unavailing at such short range. So instead of trying to evade the missile he committed an act of desperation. His right hand hit the switch to the machine guns.
In a staccato burst of the twin devastators a barrage of lead zinged toward the jeep. With so many rounds filling the air, and with the SEAL and the jeep facing each other when the 50-calibers opened fire, the inevitable occurred. The missile was hit in mid-flight, halfway between the two vehicles, and detonated with an explosion that rivaled the earlier one in intensity.
Again Blade withstood the harsh buffeting. During those precious seconds he had a chance to think, to recollect every fact he knew about the Armbrust 700. One fact, in particular, gave him a glimmer of hope. When the buffeting ceased, he was ready. Instead of continuing in reverse, he put the van into drive and put the pedal to the metal.