“Whatever you want,” the man promised.
“Thought you’d see it my way. Listen up. I’d like you to go back to that bench and sit down. Stay there. After we leave, some soldiers are going to show up and ask everybody a lot of questions. I want you to give them a message for me. Will you do that?”
“What is it?” the woman asked.
Lynx winked at Yama. “I want you to tell them this. Say to them: Lynx and Yama send their love. Got that?”
“Lynx and Yama send their love,” the man repeated verbatim. “I’ll remember it,” he pledged.
“Fine, Citizen. Thanks. Now go sit on that bench and watch the fireworks.”
“Oh! There’s going to be fireworks?” the woman said excitedly.
“The loudest and the brightest you’ve ever seen,” Lynx confirmed. “Now go and sit down.”
“Anyone ever inform you that you have a warped sense of humor?”
Yama commented as the elderly couple departed.
Lynx laughed. “Let’s get crackin’!” He knelt and began assembling the tactical unit.
Yama looked to the southeast. The Biological Center was clearly visible, rising above most of the surrounding structures.
Lynx worked quickly, his task facilitated by the light from a nearby street lamp. First, he unfolded a collapsible tripod from underneath the rectangular metal box and elevated the unit to a standing position. He swiveled the box, aligning it in the general direction of the Biological Center. The top of the metal box housed a retractable tube, or barrel, and Lynx extended this tube to its full three-foot length. The side panels on the metal box flipped outward, revealing vents on both sides of the unit. Lynx unhinged a panel covering the bottom third of the unit, displaying a miniaturized control board complete with colored lights, meters, silver switches, and buttons.
“Looks complicated,” Yama remarked.
“Keep your fingers crossed, chuckles.” Lynx twisted a button and the meters lit up and a loud hum emanated from the unit.
“You’ve done it,” Yama congratulated him.
“Not yet,” Lynx corrected. He picked up the wooden crate, his claws digging into the wood along one edge, and strained. With a resounding crack, one side of the wooden crate split open. Lynx placed the crate on the grass, removed the remnants of the splintered side, and extracted a gleaming missile. The thermo was two feet long and six inches in diameter. Four fins extended several inches from the base of the missile.
“This is it!” Lynx stated. “We only get one chance.”
“What’s next?”
“We lock it on target.” Lynx handed the thermo to the Warrior. “Place it in the tube with the pointed end up. Those fins fit into special grooves at the bottom of the tube.”
Yama held the thermo aloft and peered down the tube on the tactical unit. He could barely distinguish the grooves at the bottom. Slowly, he eased the missile into the tube and aligned the fins with the slots. “Done,” he announced.
Lynx was bent over the control board. “Let me see. This digital display here will give us the range if I flick this switch.” He did, and the indicated display began showing a series of numbers. “We’re just over a mile and a half from the Biological Center,” Lynx disclosed. He punched several of the buttons and threw another switch. A row of six red lights brightened.
“Good,” he stated, and glanced at Yama. His right index finger hovered near a yellow button. “Once I press this button, there’s no turning back. I’ve set the automatic timer for ten minutes. In ten minutes, this unit will automatically fire the thermo at the preset target.”
“What about them?” Yama indicated the people in the park.
“Don’t worry about them, chuckles. They won’t touch this thing. Are you ready?”
“Do it.”
Lynx pressed the yellow button and smiled mischievously. “I just hope the Doc is in when our surprise package is delivered.”
“Speaking of surprises,” Yama remarked, “we have company.”
Lynx straightened and turned.
A black and white patrol car had turned into the cul-de-sac and was heading their way.
“Cops!” Lynx hissed. “Not now! We’ve got to get out of here!”
The patrol car stopped next to the jeep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The blast of Bertha’s M-16 within inches of his left ear caused Hickok to wince, even as he spun, raising the Henry to his shoulder, knowing she was too skilled a fighter to fire without justification.
This time she had it.
A soldier had been standing not more than ten feet behind them, prepared to fire, when her shot caught him in the chest and knocked him to the ground. Behind him, other troopers were advancing across the field toward the troop transports.
Hickok sighted and the Henry boomed. He heard a soldier scream as he was struck.
Bertha was firing indiscriminately.
Hickok grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down to the grass. “Stay low!” he warned her. “They can see you better if you’re standing up.”
The troopers had opened up, most of them directing their shots at the crowd near the tent.
“I’m gonna flank ’em,” Bertha declared, and proceeded to crawl off.
Up on the highway, the ten volunteers had just reached the road when the first gunshots erupted.
Hickok, observing from his prone position, saw headlights abruptly come on, three sets of them, not more than twenty yards from his men.
The ten were exposed in the glare of the headlamps as three fifty-caliber machine guns let loose.
“Get out of there!” Hickok shouted at the top of his lungs.
Too late.
The ten were unable to flee before being cut to ribbons by the big fifties.
With a roar, the three jeeps gunned their engines, leaving the highway and making for the stockade.
Hickok found himself directly in their path. He aimed the Henry at the spot where he assumed the driver of the first jeep would be sitting and squeezed the trigger.
The result was better than he could have anticipated.
The first jeep suddenly slewed to the left, apparently out of control, and slammed into the second jeep. There was a tremendous crash and the second jeep was knocked over by the force of the impact, flipped onto one side. The third and final jeep swerved sharply to avoid colliding with the other two.
Hickok rose to his knees, sighted, and fired, hoping to repeat his performance and nail the driver of the third jeep.
Evidently, he missed.
The last jeep bore down on the Warrior, its machine gun belching lead and flame.
The slugs were kicking dirt into the air all around him as Hickok dropped the Henry and stood, his Pythons streaking from their holsters.
The Colts bucked in twin precision as he fired off the rounds, one revolver right after the other, eight, nine, ten rounds in rapid succession, and only ten because he seldom kept a round in the chamber under the firing pin.
The jeep was only six feet from the gunman, its fifty-caliber strangely silent, but still moving at a high rate of speed.
Hickok felt someone plow into his right side and he was yanked to the ground as the jeep hurtled past. He twisted and found his face next to Bertha’s.
“Watch yourself, White Meat!” she exclaimed. “We want you in one piece when we get you home to the missus!” She pecked him on the cheek, grinned, and was gone.
Hickok rose to his feet, smiling. The focus of the battle had shifted nearer the stockade as the remaining soldiers conducted a futile assault on the defenders of the troop transports. Were the Army troopers attempting to knock the transports out of commission? They were plainly outnumbered and outgunned and it was only a matter of time before they were mopped up.