“What are all those?” Cindy questioned, pointing at the dashboard.
Hickok glanced to his right. She was indicating a row of toggle switches in the center of the dash. These switches were not mentioned in the Operations Manual. There were four of them, each with a single letter etched below it: M, S, F, and R. Blade intended to ask Plato about them upon their return.
“Beats me,” Hickok admitted. “Just don’t touch them. Don’t touch anything in here unless I tell you otherwise.”
“Getting back to this great plan of yours,” Joan interjected.
“Yes?” Hickok squeezed the transport between two saplings.
“How is waiting in the middle of a field going to help Blade?”
“Easy,” Hickok replied. “If we park in the field, we’re bound to draw the Trolls to the west fence. They’ll be curious, but a mite afraid because they’ve never seen anything like the SEAL.”
“And with most of the Trolls watching us,” Joan completed the line of reasoning, “Blade will be free to find Jenny and the others and maybe even sneak them out of Fox. I’m impressed! You’re not as dumb as I thought you were!”
“Ouch,” was all Hickok said in response.
“What happens if the Trolls charge the SEAL?” Clyde queried.
“We get the hell out of there,” Hickok answered. “I was told this critter is bulletproof, so we shouldn’t be in any danger.”
“Look!” Cindy shouted, gesturing with her left arm. “The field!”
Hickok stopped the vehicle. They could see the field through the trees.
“Hold onto your hats,” he advised, and drove the transport out of the protective cover of the foliage onto the exposed open field.
“Who’s wearing a hat?” Tyson asked.
The SEAL was forty yards from the west gate, the dilapidated structures clearly visible.
“I still say the Trolls will charge us,” Clyde stated, worried.
Hickok halted the vehicle, leaning forward and peering through the windshield. “Where are the guards at the gate?”
“I don’t see any sign of life.” Geronimo was studying the western fence and the buildings.
“They’ll see us, any moment,” Joan assured them. “Wait and see if they don’t.”
They didn’t. Time passed, and nary a sound or movement from Fox.
“What’s going on here?” Clyde demanded. “This ain’t right.”
“You’re telling us, old-timer,” Hickok agreed. “Any ideas?”
“They’re holding their annual Troll picnic and wilderness frolic,” Geronimo suggested, “and no one is home.”
“They had to have spotted us by now,” Joan stated. “What gives?”
“That’s what I’d like to find out,” Hickok said, twisting the key, turning the engine off.
“You shouldn’t of done that!” Clyde nervously declared.
“Relax,” Hickok ordered. He faced Geronimo. “You with me?”
“You’ll require someone to cover your butt,” Geronimo replied.
“Don’t forget me,” Joan told them.
“I want you to stay with the SEAL,” Hickok directed.
“Not on your life.”
“Why not?”
“You know why. I’m a Warrior too, and you’re not going to pamper me just because…”
“You’ll be safer here,” Hickok said, interrupting.
“There is nothing you can say or do,” Joan gravely informed him, “to prevent me from coming along. I owe those women in there.”
“I don’t know…” Hickok hesitated.
“She has a point,” Geronimo said, siding with Joan, “and you know it.”
Hickok sighed, resigned to the prospect. “Okay. But I can’t understand what I see in such a contrary female!”
“What about us?” Clyde inquired.
“You three stay inside until we get back,” Hickok said.
“Why can’t we come?” Cindy implored.
“Too dangerous,” Hickok explained. “Besides, we don’t have enough guns to go around.”
“I have my own gun.” Clyde hefted his rifle, a Sako Classic Sportier in 30-06 caliber. “And I’m going along too. I’ve hated the Trolls for more years than I can remember. I won’t pass up this chance to get even!”
“How many rounds you have, old-timer?” Hickok asked.
Clyde lifted a small leather pouch from the floor. “About forty. Don’t use the rifle much anymore, except for emergencies. We kill our game with the bow and the spear.” Those two weapons, along with their other meager possessions, were piled in the rear section of the transport.
“You can come,” Hickok told Clyde.
“What about us?” Cindy inquired.
“You two stay here with the SEAL,” Hickok directed.
“That’s not fair!” Tyson protested, pouting.
“Get your spear,” Hickok said, glancing at Tyson, then at Cindy, “and your bow, and prepare for the worst, just in case. If the Trolls manage to get by us, they’ll attack the SEAL.”
“And you want us to defend it?” Tyson questioned hopefully.
“As long as you can,” Hickok said. “But if too many Trolls attack, if you see it’s hopeless, both of you hightail it out of here. Understood?”
Only Cindy nodded.
“Understood?” Hickok repeated, looking at Tyson.
“I don’t like running,” Tyson grumbled. “But I won’t let the Trolls get Cindy either!”
“There’s hope for you yet, boy,” Hickok stated.
“Let’s get to it,” Joan urged, holding the Commando in her lap. Four extra clips were thrust in her pockets.
“All set,” Geronimo announced, clutching the Browning. He had strapped a bandoleer across his left shoulder.
“You’ll need this.” Cindy retrieved the Henry from the storage area and passed the gun to Hickok.
“Do you see that ammo belt back there, to your right?” Hickok guided her.
“Here it is!” Cindy swung the Henry’s ammo belt around, almost clipping Tyson.
“Hey! Watch it, stupid!” Tyson groused as he ducked aside.
“Sorry.” Cindy giggled.
“Thanks.” Hickok leaned forward and secured the ammo belt directly above his cartridge belt for the Pythons.
“You look like you’re going to a war,” Cindy joked.
“We are,” Hickok reminded her. “Let’s do it.” He opened his door and slid out, Geronimo doing likewise on his side.
Joan followed Hickok, pausing at the door, waiting for Clyde.
“You two kids take real good care of yourselves,” Clyde said to his children.
“We will, papa,” Cindy promised.
“You protect your sister,” Clyde ordered Tyson.
“Tyson and I will be fine,” Cindy stated. “Just watch out for your own self.”
“If something should happen to me…” Clyde began.
“Don’t talk like that!” Cindy didn’t want to hear it.
“Okay.”
Joan watched as Clyde kissed Cindy on her cheek. He went to exit the vehicle, paused, then quickly kissed Tyson.
“Don’t worry,” Joan assured the anxious teens. “I’ll take care of your father.”
“Sometime this year!” Hickok announced.
Hickok locked the doors, pocketed the keys, and smiled at Tyson and Cindy. “You use this lever to close the windows,” he demonstrated as he spoke, reaching in the open driver’s window, “and this latch to open the door—”
“We’ve seen you do it a bunch of times,” Cindy informed him.
“Good. I’ve locked the doors, so if you roll the windows up and someone tries to get it, winter will get here before they get inside.”
“We’ll do fine,” Tyson said, his eyes on his father.
“Be seeing you, pard,” Hickok stated. He joined Joan, Geronimo, and Clyde, crouched in the full grass ten feet in front of the vehicle. Behind him, Cindy and Tyson clambered into the bucket seats, Cindy on the driver’s side, Tyson on the other, and stuck their heads out the windows.