"I spit upon artillery."
Page flinched as if stung. "That is no way for a son of the South to talk."
"I am from the North."
For the first time Captain Page saw the little old man's almond eyes clearly.
"Well, Ah declare. You look more Eastern to me, at that."
"You command this legion?"
"It has fallen upon mah care-worn shoulders. Ah am Captain Page, at your service, suh. "
"And I am Chiun, Reigning Master."
"Ah do not know that rank, suh."
"I am at the service of the emperor of this land, who has sent me to this province to discuss terms."
Page blinked. "Terms of surrender?"
"Yes."
"Isn't it a mite early in the day to surrender? The true battle for these blood-blessed grounds has not yet been waged. "
A voice off to Captain Page's right. said, "The battle's over, pal. You just haven't got the word yet."
Captain Page started. Just behind him stood a Yankee completely out of uniform. Unless a T-shirt and pants could constitute a uniform, but to Captain Page they did not.
"And whom do Ah have the pleasure of addressing?"
"Remo."
"First name or last?"
"Isn't that a National Guard uniform?" Remo asked.
"It is"
"What kind of hat is that?"
"Mah ancestors called it a chapeau."
"That is French for hat, " whispered Chiun.
"Hold the phone," Remo shot back. "What are you doing with these weekend warriors?" he asked Captain Page.
"Commanding them, suh. By what right do you challenge mah authority?"
"Washington wants to know what the heck's going on down here."
"Why, the South is rising again. Ain't you got eyes?"
"I have a brain, too, and as near as I can tell, this whole thing started over a scuffle between Civil War reenactors. "
"In that, you are sorely mistaken. This is a fight for the honor of Virginia in which traitorous reenactors have elected to take the wrong side. The enemy is due at high noon, and we will not surrender this hallowed ground which our ancestors defended so mightily."
"What enemy?"
"Ah will not profane this discussion by mentioning his cursed name."
"Better rethink that attitude," warned Remo. "Uncle Sam doesn't take no for an answer."
"Ya'll are with Uncle Sam?"
"Didn't I say Washington sent me?"
"It is hardly the same thing, suh. "
Remo frowned. "Since when?"
"Since Uncle Sam has vowed to pillage this fine state, just as he looted the treasury of Old Dominion."
"I told you treasure was involved," said Chiun.
Remo lifted his hands. "Hold the phone. Something's not right here. Who looted the state treasury?"
"The godless forces of Uncle Sam."
"The your-country-needs-you Uncle Sam?"
"Hardly."
Remo and Chiun exchanged glances.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Remo asked Chiun.
"You never think," spat Chiun.
Remo turned to Captain Page and asked a seemingly unrelated question. "You got a phone around here I can borrow?"
"Why do you ask?"
Before Remo could answer the question with a hard, angry squeeze of the captain's neck, a black helicopter rattled overhead.
All eyes naturally went to it. It circled once and slowed, hovering over the Crater itself.
Something large and spherical and the color of stainless steel swung from the undercarriage, between the skids.
"What in tarnation is that?" Captain Page asked.
"It looks like a bomb," said Chiun thinly.
"I never saw a bomb like that," said Remo. "It's got lenses all over it."
It was true. The object resembled an old-fashioned steel bathysphere, except instead of portholes, it was pocked with great round lenses, every one a dull, glassy yellow.
"Looks to me kinda like a traffic light," muttered Captain Page.
"Traffic lights are red, green and yellow. That thing has only yellow lights."
Just then, the lights flared into life, warming to a mellow yellow.
"Yellow naturally indicates caution, does it not?" asked Captain Page.
"On a traffic light, yeah," said Remo. "But that isn't a traffic light, so I don't know what it means."
"It is a bomb," repeated Chiun, stroking his wispy beard uneasily.
"Bombs don't light up," Remo said. "They detonate."
The yellow-lit sphere continued to hang off the hovering helicopter, swinging less and less as the seconds ticked by.
"Do they not also fall?" wondered Chiun.
"Sure. Old-fashioned aerial bombs. But that's not a bomb. Looks more like an Easter egg, or maybe a Christmas-tree ornament."
Then, with the sharp snap of a parting cable, the stainless-steel object dropped free.
Captain Page shouted, "Take cover, men! We are under attack! Take cover!" And he threw himself flat.
Remo grabbed him up and tucked him under one arm, then followed the Master of Sinanju as he ran with ungainly speed as far away from ground zero as possible in the few seconds left before impact.
Behind them everything turned as yellow as an exploding sun.
Chapter 6
There was no explosion. That is, no sound accompanied the powerful detonation. The sky turned sunflower yellow as far as the eye could see. The green grass turned momentarily blue. Trees changed color, too. But not a leaf shook. There was no shock wave, no screaming chunks of superheated shrapnel, no shrieks of wounded or dying men.
Except for the overwhelming sunburst of yellow, nothing much happened.
Until men began pouring out of the Crater.
They were running for their lives, faces twisted and full of horror. Unarmed, they wore the Union blue of the captive First Massachusetts Interpretive Cavalry. Clearly the object that had fallen in the grassy pit among them had spooked them so much they all but trampled their erstwhile captors in their mad rush to escape.
It didn't exactly hurt their chances that the Confederate troops were flat on their stomachs, heads cradled in their hands, awaiting an explosion that had already taken place. They had no reaction time. Their prisoners were well on their way to freedom by the time the Rebels lifted their faces with expressions that could only be interpreted as asking, "When's the explosion coming?"
Remo paused to drop Captain Page to the greensward and called ahead to Chiun, "Looks like a dud, Little Father."
"We do not know this," Chiun shot back. "Do not stop!"
A ragged line of bluecoats surged in Remo's direction, eyes wide as saucers, faces ghost white.
Remo stepped in their path. "What's the rush? It didn't go off."
Like frightened Boy Scouts, the men in blue charged past. They wore the expressions of men chased by angry wasps.
Casually Remo reached out and snared one by the arm. He lifted him over so quickly the man ran on air until his feet scuffed grass again.
"Talk to me," said Remo.
"I-I'm scared."
"Take it easy. It's over. They can't hurt you. They're still crouched down."
"It's not the Johnnys I fear," the man said in a feardistorted voice. "It's that damn thing that fell into the pit."
"What about it?"
"It turned yellow."
"Yeah?"
"It was the most yellow thing I ever saw in my life. It scared the living bejesus out of me."
"Anyone in the pit hurt?" asked Remo.
"No. I-I think we all got out."
"So what's the problem?"
"I tell you, it was yellow. It was the most hideous yellow I ever saw. It was an unearthly yellow. Nothing should be that yellow. Nothing sane."
"I take it yellow isn't exactly your favorite color."
The bluecoat wiped his sweaty brow. "I always liked yellow. Until today. I don't ever wanna see anything so yellow for the rest of my life." The soldier cast fearful eyes back toward the Crater and started struggling.
"I think you've been sitting in the sun too long," said Remo, not relinquishing his grip.