"Why do you call me that?" Chiun asked.
"Because you look like a chief. Ready? Let's go." The two men left the car in silence. They worked their way toward the building. Chiun seemed to drift like so much silent smoke. Bill Roam walked low, so his tall lanky frame was not so obvious. Sheryl thought he moved like a stealthy Indian brave; then she remembered that Sunny Joe Roam was an Indian.
She watched anxiously through her rear window. The Master of Sinanju took a position behind a cactus that afforded a commanding view of the school, front and rear. It was as tall as a man and shaped like a barrel. He touched one of the long needles and found it quite sharp. With one fingernail he razored the needles off, collecting them in his hand like so much straw. Chiun peered around the side of the cactus and looked for Sunny Joe Roam. He frowned. There was no sign of him. Could he have been captured already? Even for a white, that would have been inordinately clumsy. Taking care not to be seen, Chiun moved to the other side of the cactus. He spotted Sunny Joe Roam sneaking up on a Japanese guard loitering near the back of the school, out of sight of the others. The Japanese was half-turned from Sunny Joe Roam. As Chiun watched, the soldier pulled a cigarette pack from his uniform blouse pocket and shook out a cigarette. He struck a match. The wind blew it out.
Moving on cat feet, Sunny Joe quickened his approach. Chiun, knowing the reason why, felt a tingle of admiration for the Indian. He realized that the guard would have to turn out of the wind to light his cigarette. And Sunny Joe was walking into the wind.
Chiun lifted a handful of needles, preparing to throw them.
He never had to. The Japanese turned; Sunny Joe shifted to one side and froze beside a lantana shrub. The guard was looking directly at the bush as he lit the stubborn cigarette. The bush shook slightly from a desert breeze. The Japanese seemed not to notice. Chiun's parchment face relaxed in mild surprise. He had never seen a white move so stealthily. Not since Remo. He lowered the needles and watched.
The guard reached for his fly, turned to the schoolhouse wall, and Sunny Joe came out from behind the bush like a ghost, one fist up.
Chiun turned away. Roam would not need his help.
He directed his attention to the guards surrounding the hostage children. Chiun shook his arms free of his sleeves and prepared to hurl the twin handfuls into the air. Above his head, he heard the drone of planes flying in unison. The wind was strong, but steady. He could compensate for it.
The Master of Sinanju brought his hands up in an underarm throw. The needles left his splayed fingers like splinters of pure light.
The first fusillade went the furthest. The needles arced high. Dropping their points as if programmed by a computer, they began to fall. The other needles reached the apex of their flight almost at the same time.
The Master of Sinanju jumped out from behind the sheltering cactus. If he was seen now, it would not matter. Arms pumping, he ran toward the children.
Then Sunny Joe came out from behind the schoolhouse. He carried an AK-47. Chiun hoped he had restraint enough not to use it.
The needles fell in two focused groups. They struck the soldiers wherever they stood, but none fell within the circle of guards to hit the children.
Seeing needles seemingly sprouting from their arms and shoulders, the guards had a perfectly sensible reaction. They gave the Japanese equivalent of "Ouch!" and looked up. They also raised their weapons defensively.
They were still looking up when the Master of Sinanju began to explode their internal organs within their bodies. Chiun's bony fists found abdomens and backs. He struck only once at each man, but his splindly arms struck like steam-driven pistons. No soldier made a sound after he fell. And all of them fell.
Instantly Chiun was in the midst of the children. "Make haste!" he scolded. "On your feet, little ones. You must flee. Return to your families. Go!"
The children reacted slowly. Not so the Japanese in the APC. They boiled out of the back like cockroaches from a lighted oven.
Bill Roam picked them off as they came with cool single shots from his AK-47. The first two out went down without firing a shot. Others ducked behind the machine and tried to return fire from under the eight-wheeled undercarriage.
Roam dropped to his stomach and lined up. He hit a tire, corrected his aim, and erased the face of a Japanese who was sighting down the barrel of his rifle. Roam's next shot took out the front tire. The APC listed suddenly; and the driver started the engine in an effort to escape. He didn't get far. There was still one sharpshooter under the chassis. The good rear tires ran over him, splintering his rib cage with a sickeningly loud sound. The Japanese must have been packing grenades, because his body exploded when the tires ran over it.
The APC jumped four feet into the air, then fell back, blowing the remaining tires.
Bill Roam peppered it with single shots, taking his time to aim, but giving the occupants of the APC no time to organize a response.
By that time, prodded by the Master of Sinanju, the students had all taken shelter inside the school building. Chiun shut the door after the last one.
He hurried to Bill Roam's position.
"Cease your firing," he told Roam. "The children are safe. I will deal with these vermin now."
"Mind if I join the festivities?" Roam said, standing up.
"Only if you do two things for me."
"What's that?" Roam wondered.
"Leave the weapon and do not get yourself killed."
"You got 'em both," Roam said, letting his AK-47 fall onto the grass. "It was about out of bullets anyhow." They moved on the APC from two directions. Chiun took the back. Roam went for the driver. He slipped up under the driver's angle of vision and took the door handle. He yanked it open so fast the driver, huddled under the steering wheel, only realized he was in trouble when an unexpected breeze touched his face. He opened his eyes. He saw Bill Roam's fist. Then he saw nothing. In the rear, three Japanese were crouched, their rifles aimed at the open doors. Smoke came up through the damaged floor, but no shrapnel had penetrated the APC's hard steel flooring.
The Master of Sinanju appeared framed in the opening like some wrathful spirit. One clawlike hand swept out, batting aside a rifle muzzle before its owner could pull the trigger. Another was sucked from its owner's clutch so fast that skin came off his fingers.
Chiun's fingernails found both men's throats at once. They sank in and then slipped out in a flash. Blood followed them out, in bright arterial streams. He hurled the dying soldiers from the vehicle with careless yanks.
One soldier remained. He fired a burst that would have gone through the old Korean's head had it not been for the unfortunate fact that between the time the trigger was pulled and the first bullet emerged from the muzzle, the rifle inexplicably swapped ends.
Instead, the bullets destroyed the soldier's intestinal tract. He looked down at his stomach. It was a ruin of camouflage cloth, now suitable only for blending in with hospital wastes. He noticed that he was holding his rifle the wrong way. How had that happened?
Then the old Korean set his palm against the butt end of the stock and pushed. Too late, the soldier realized that his bayonet was affixed to the muzzle. His eyes rolled up into his head. He was still clutching his weapon when he collapsed to the floor.
Chiun emerged from the APC with hard visage. A hulking shadow came around the side. Chiun whirled suddenly, taken by surprise. It was Bill Roam.
"You are very silent on your feet for a white," he said with a hint of respect in his dry voice.
"I'm an injun, remember?" Roam laughed. "And I told you I knew some powerful medicine."