Silently, efficiently, they struck.

  Rikki arced his katana into the abdomen of the nearest falling form, the ancient blade cutting deep into the man’s stomach, slicing fabric and flesh. The man grunted and doubled over as he landed, clutching at the blood and organs spewing forth. Rikki put him out of his misery with a neck slash, crimson spurting everywhere as the man toppled to the grass.

  The rest closed on the martial artist.

  In the first fleeting seconds of the fight, Rikki realized his antagonists weren’t even trying to use their holstered or shouldered firearms.

  They wanted him alive!

  A man charged from the left, and Rikki whipped his katana across the figure’s chest. Strong hands clasped his right arm before he could strike a second time, and he slammed his right elbow into the face of the beefy form restraining him.

  Three others piled on the Warrior.

  Rikki felt hands on both of his arms, and a sturdy head-lock was being applied from the rear. He drove his head backwards and was rewarded by the crunch of his cranium against nostrils or teeth. The headlock was relinquished, leaving the two on his arms. He suddenly dropped to his right knee and twisted to the left, causing the black-garbed opponent on his right to stumble forward, momentarily off balance. The man’s hold on Rikki’s forearm slackened, and the martial artist drove his right hand up and in, using a Tegatana blow, a handsword strike, the outer edge of his calloused hand connecting with his adversary’s ribs. There was a sharp crack and the man staggered off.

  The one on the left was clinging to the Warrior’s sword arm for dear life.

  His right hand rigid, his thumb tucked tightly against the inner edge, his fingers slightly apart and curving, Rikki twisted, delivering a Tegatana-sakotsu-uchi, a handsword collarbone chop, to the man’s right side. Again there was a pronounced snap. The man grimaced and stepped away.

  He was free!

  Rikki turned, intending to race to the field and warn Blade and Hickok.

  There might be more of these commandos nearby, and they were obviously disciplined and well-trained. No one had cried out.

  “Going somewhere?” demanded a gruff voice behind him. “The fun is just beginning.”

  Rikki whirled, his sword at the ready.

  “I’m impressed, pip-squeak, and it takes a lot to impress me,” said the newcomer. He was tall, almost as tall as Blade, but much leaner. On the shoulders of his black shirt was a pair of small gold insignia. His face was pear-shaped, his forehead wide and sloping. A chipped upper tooth was revealed when he smiled. “The King will be pleased with you. Very pleased.” He hefted an unusual object in his left hand.

  Rikki tensed as more forms materialized from hiding, dropping from nearby trees. He glanced at the object in the tall man’s hand, a black, oblong affair with a pair of pointed tips projecting from the front end.

  One of the others walked over to the tall man and saluted. “Sir, the girl and the two men haven’t moved.”

  “We’ll take them in a minute, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir. General.”

  The General grinned at the Warrior. “This will be quite a haul. The girl will be a special treat.”

  Rikki had heard enough. Warning his companions was imperative. He started to spin, his eyes on the tall man.

  There was a distinct click as the General pressed a button on the object in his left hand. One of the small tips, trailing a slim, thread-like wire, shot from the oblong affair.

  Reacting instinctively, Rikki attempted to dodge to the right. His lightning reflexes, in this instance, failed him. The tiny dart speared into his left shoulder, causing a fleeting, stinging sensation, and he wondered why the General had employed such a ineffectual weapon.

  The answer came with shocking intensity.

  Rikki’s entire body was racked by an inexplicable jolt of incredible magnitude. He lost all ability to control his muscles and fell to the ground, his arms and legs quivering in torment, his features twitching. The katana slipped from his limp fingers. Vertigo engulfed him.

  “Bind him,” the General ordered with a snap of his fingers.

  A trio of men in black promptly complied, using handcuffs to secure the Warrior’s wrists. One of them produced another set, which was applied to Rikki’s ankles. He then removed the brown pouch, letting the scabbard drop, and refastened the Warrior’s belt.

  “Stand aside,” the General commanded, moving closer and smirking triumphantly. “How do you feel, pip-squeak?”

  Rikki tried to reply, but his mouth refused to cooperate. The trembling in his limbs, though, was slowly subsiding.

  “This stun gun does the trick every time,” the General remarked as he leaned over and extracted the dart from the Warrior’s shoulder. “You’ll be as good as new in five minutes.” He straightened and pressed a different button. The thin line began to retract into the oblong object. “We ambushed a Technic trade convoy about two years ago between Chicago and St. Louis. There was a crate of these on one of the trucks.”

  The one who had saluted came nearer. “Your orders for the girl and the two others, General Thayer?”

  “Send the half-track and a squad out after them,” General Thayer directed. “The half-track should scare them shitless. They’ll be easy to take. Lead the squad yourself.”

  “Yes, sir,” the captain said. He saluted and hurried away.

  Rikki saw the general insert the tiny dart into a hole in the stun gun as the line fully rewound. The officer slid the weapon into a custom-made holster on his left hip.

  “What kind of sword is this?” General Thayer inquired, retrieving the katana. He studied the blade, admiring the craftsmanship. “It looks old.

  Real old. I think I’ll add this one to my collection.” So saying, he leaned down and scooped up the scabbard from the ground. “You won’t be needing this anymore either.”

  Rikki watched helplessly as his cherished possession was confiscated.

  He endeavored to strain against the handcuffs binding his wrists in front of him, but the effort was wasted. Just then, from somewhere beyond his range of vision, a motor sputtered and died. The noise was repeated, and on the third try there was a great crashing and rumbling.

  “Your friends will be my prisoners within minutes,” General Thayer gloated. He motioned at one of the men.

  “Yes, sir,” the man said, coming over, an HK-33 over his left arm.

  “Carry this one to my jeep,” General Thayer instructed. “Stand guard over him while I tend to his friends.”

  The man in black saluted. “Yes. sir. Right away.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Boynton.” With a curt nod, the general walked in the direction of the field.

  “You, you, and you,” Sergeant Boynton said, pointing at three others.

  “Carry this scumbag to the general’s jeep.”

  Rikki was lifted and borne to the northwest. He heard a machine gun cut loose, and he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, furious at himself.

  Blade, Hickok, and Chastity were endangered because of his blunder. He should have perceived the trap. His lack of rest, his overtaxed vitality, was no excuse.

  Sergeant Boynton, gazing at the Warrior’s face, laughed. “Don’t feel so bad, scumbag. The Hounds of Hades are invincible.”

  With a supreme effort of sheer willpower, Rikki managed to speak.

  “The Hounds of Hades?” he croaked.

  “Nifty name, isn’t it?” Sergeant Boynton said. “The King came up with it. He wanted us to have a name that would strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. Those were his own words.” He chuckled. “The Hounds of Hades has a real ring.”

  Rikki listened to the machine gun chatter, wishing the firing would stop. It did, and a few seconds later resumed.

  “Where are you from?” Boynton asked.

  The Warrior refused to respond.

  “Suit yourself, turkey,” Sergeant Boynton stated with a shrug. “The King will get the info out of you. But you must not be from this area, or you’d know all about us. We have a heavy rep. Hell, we’ve even beaten Technic goons and Leather Knights a few times. We’re one hundred and twenty strong and growing.”

  Rikki, perplexed by the sergeant’s comments, heard the machine gun abruptly cease. What had happened? Surely Blade, Hickok, and Chastity were alive? After all, the general had indicated he wanted them as prisoners. “Are you a professional mercenary?” he queried absently.

  “No way, man,” Sergeant Boynton answered. “I was drifting from town to town, barely staying alive like everybody else, when I waltzed into Memphis and met the King. That was about three years ago. I was there at the beginning. Thayer—sorry—General Thayer trained us. He made us what we are today.”

  “Kidnappers.”

  “No, butt-head. An army.”

  “An army of kidnappers,” Rikki said, relieved his vocal chords were functioning normally again.

  “Are you pushing for a fat lip?” Sergeant Boynton demanded. “You’re the one who violated our territorial boundary. We’ll take you to the King and he’ll decide what to do with you. Thank your lucky stars you’re not a Technic or a Leather Knight. They’re usually executed immediately.”

  Rikki knew about the Technics and the Leather Knights. The former were a society of autocratic technocrats in Chicago. The Leather Knights were a biker gang controlling St. Louis. Both had fought the Warriors. He opened his mouth to speak, but the booming of revolvers from the direction of the field arrested his attention. Hickok?

  “Here we are,” Sergeant Boynton announced as they arrived at a clearing containing two parked jeeps.

  The trio bearing the Warrior moved toward the nearest vehicle. One Hound held Rikki around the knees, the second around the waist, and the third supported his shoulders. They conveyed him to the rear of the topless jeep and unceremoniously dumped him in the back.

  Rikki thudded against a spare tire and a gas can, landing on his back.

  Sergeant Boynton leaned on the jeep. “It sounds like one of your pals is putting up a fight. Pretty stupid, if you ask me. Our half-track will make mincemeat out of him.”

  “You don’t know my friend,” Rikki said.

  “Get real. A handgun can’t stop a half-track,” Boynton declared, and laughed.

  As if in confirmation of the noncom’s statement, from the southeast arose a ghastly shriek.

  A child in anguish.

  Chapter Three

  With its .50-caliber machine gun blasting, the green halftrack clanked toward the two Warriors and the girl.

  Hickok scooped Chastity into his arms and raced on Blade’s heels, heading for the cover of the woods at the opposite end of the field. He expected to be outdistanced easily by his friend; Blade’s stride was twice the average. Instead, the head Warrior intentionally slowed. “Keep going, pard!” Hickok shouted. “You can make it!”

  “I’m not leaving you,” Blade said.

  The gunman glanced over his right shoulder. For an antiquated armored vehicle with caterpillar treads on its rear wheels, the half-track was barreling toward them at a rapid clip. There was no way they could outrun the contraption. If any of them were to escape, then one had to make a sacrifice, take a risk. “Here!” he yelled, and shoved Chastity into Blade’s arms.

  Taken unawares. Blade reflexively grabbed the girl. “What—!”

  Hickok spun and sprinted at the half-track.

  “Daddy!” Chastity wailed.

  Blade halted. “Hickok!”

  Ignoring them, the gunman was going all out, his arms and legs pumping.

  Blade glanced at the half-track and saw the trooper or soldier in black manning the machine gun swivel the piece to cover the gunfighter. The initial bursts from the .50 had fallen short of the Warriors, and the first rounds aimed in Hickok’s direction also fell short by several yards stitching the earth and sending clumps of turf flying. Blade recognized the machine gunner had given Hickok a warning burst. Incredibly, the gunman paid it no heed.

  “Daddy! No!” Chastity cried.

  What the hell was Hickok doing? Blade dashed for the trees. Once Chastity was out of harm’s way, he could lend assistance to the gunfighter.

  He looked over his left shoulder as he ran and watched the tableau unfold.

  The machine gunner, apparently surprised by the gunman’s failure to stop, fired a hasty burst at the Warrior’s feet.

  His eyes widening in horror, Blade inadvertently halted as Hickok went down. The gunman clutched at his chest and pitched onto his stomach.

  “No!” Chastity screamed at the top of her lungs, the word coming out as a strangled screech.

  The half-track swerved to bypass the prone Warrior, revealing eleven men in black following the vehicle with rifles and machine guns in their hands. Two of the squad jogged to Hickok and hoisted him by the arms.

  The gunfighter’s head slumped on his chest.

  “They killed my new daddy!” Chastity exclaimed.

  Blade sped for the woods.

  “Halt!” one of the men in black ordered.

  Well-aimed rounds from the .50 were sent zinging over the giant’s head as additional incentive.

  Blade drew up short.

  “Go!” Chastity urged, kicking her legs.

  “We can’t outrun a bullet,” Blade said.

  The squad of men in black hastened nearer as the halftrack executed a wide U-turn, the driver positioning the vehicle between the giant and the woods, cutting off Blade’s retreat.

  “My daddy,” Chastity stated sadly, sniffling.

  “Don’t touch those knives,” the leader of the squad barked when he was ten feet off.

  “Don’t harm the girl,” Blade said.

  “Worry about your own hide, stranger,” the leader responded. “I’m Captain Ludvin of the Hounds of Hades. You are under arrest for trespassing in our territory.”

  “I didn’t see any signs telling us to keep out,” Blade mentioned.

  “Ignorance is no excuse,” Captain Ludvin snapped. His men ringed the giant, their rifles and machine guns trained on his chest. “You will come with us.”

  “I don’t have any choice,” Blade commented.

  “No, you don’t,” Captain Ludwin confirmed. He motioned with the Valmet M-76 he was holding. “Let’s go.”

  On the far side of the field over a dozen forms in black were waiting, with an exceptionally tall figure standing in the center. Halfway across were the pair with Hickok, at the spot where he fell, likewise awaiting the squad and the half-track.

  One of the Hounds took the giant’s knives.

  “Don’t lose them,” Blade said. “I may want them back soon.”

  Captain Ludvin snorted. “Fat chance. Now move your ass.”

  Blade walked between Ludvin and the man carrying the Bowies. He gazed at Hickok, his mouth turned down.

  Chastity weeped softly on his left shoulder.

  “The one in the buckskins was a moron,” Captain Ludwin remarked.

  “What was he trying to prove?”

  “Don’t talk that way about my daddy!” Chastity said.

  “Shut your mouth, brat,” Captain Ludvin responded.

  Tears streaming down her cheeks. Chastity bunched her fists and glared at the officer. “If I was bigger, I’d show you! You’re a mean man!”

  Ludvin raised his right arm, about to smack the girl, but a glance at the giant’s expression deterred him. “You’re not worth the bother,” he muttered angrily, and lowered his arm.

  “You—you—” Chastity said, apparently unable to find the word she wanted. “You cow chip!”

  Captain Ludvin laughed.

  “Where’s my other friend?” Blade inquired, restraining his temper with a monumental effort.

  “You mean the one in the fancy pajamas?” Captain Ludvin replied.

  “Those clothes were tailor-made by our Weavers,” Blade remarked.

  “The style is patterned after the type of uniform worn by Chinese martial artists before the Big Blast.”

  “Before World War Three?” Ludvin queried. “How would you know what the clothes back then were like?”

  “From photographs in books in our library.”

  Captain Ludvin paused and his men halted. “Your people have a library?”

  Blade nodded.

  “The King will be very interested in this,” Ludvin said. “He’s a real book nut.”

  “Who is this King?” Blade asked.

  “You’ll meet him soon enough. Keep moving,” Ludvin directed, and walked forward.

  “You still haven’t told me what happened to my other friend,” Blade noted.

  “He’s in our custody,” Captain Ludvin disclosed. “Just like you.”

  “Do the Hounds of Hades capture everyone who enters their so-called territory?” Blade probed.

  “Everyone entering our territory is taken to the King for interrogation,” the officer said. “And for your information, anything within fifty miles of Memphis is ours.” He grinned. “One day we’ll have much more.”

  “Big plans, huh?” Blade quipped sarcastically.

  “If you only knew.”

  They were within 20 feet of the duo supporting Hickok.

  “We’ll leave the moron for the vultures and the mutants,” Captain Ludvin mentioned. He stared at the revolvers in the gunman’s holsters.

  “And I think I’ll ask the general if I can have one of those. Colts, are they?”

  “Yes,” Blade answered softly.

  Chastity was sniffling again.

  The squad stopped five feet away. Behind them, the halftrack braked.

  The machine gunner was resting his elbows on the .50-caliber in the open rear bed.

  “Is he dead?” Captain Ludvin inquired of the duo.

  They looked at one another.

  “We didn’t check him, sir,” replied the Hound on the right.

  “Didn’t check him?” Ludvin declared. “You didn’t even feel his pulse?”

 

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