part0042

“ A h, it looks like I have your attention.” He moved his horse out of the tank gun’s aim. “Listen up, Big Apple. This isn’t going to end well for you. I have a secret weapon. A really, really, big one.”

“We have a secret weapon?” Horace said as he cast his glance all over. “Where? I don’t see it.”

“Shhh. I’m bluffing,” he said under his breath. “He resumed his count. “Five! Six! Seven! Eight!”

The hatch door of the center tank opened. Big Apple’s horned head popped out. He pointed at his ear and said, “I can hear everything that you are saying, you fool. You don’t have a secret weapon.”

Abraham patted his sword handle. “Of course I do. Would you like to see it?”

“Huh huh. If that were a true threat, you would have used it by now. Besides, you can take out all the tanks that you want, but more will be coming.” He pointed his stubby fingers at the Shield of Steel. “And once we have those doors down, we’ll have enough steel to keep the Time Tunnel forever. It’s over, Abraham Jenkins.” He took out a new cigar and lit it with a fancy three-flame butane lighter. He puffed up a hot ring of smoke. “All of this fighting now is nothing more than window dressing.”

“Don’t get cocky, buckling.”

Big Apple blew out a smoke ring and said, “Yeah, whatever. Do you have anything else that you wish to say before I destroy you?”

“Yeah, I do.” Abraham tossed his head back, opened up his full voice and shouted. “How many Yankees?”

“Ten thousand!” the Henchmen cheered back.

“How many corn-fed, Southern-bred, never-dead re-e-ebels?” he bellowed at the top of his voice.

“What the hell you gonna do?” he finished.

The Henchmen yelled back with throaty voices, “Charge!”

Abraham kicked his horse into a full gallop, and the Henchmen followed. The group of riders raced around the tanks in a wide circle, waving their torches and screaming wildly.

On the Wall, the Kingsland soldiers gaped and exchanged dumbfounded looks with one another.

Solomon leaned against the Wall with his arms crossed, chuckling.

Abraham chanted loud chants of “Yip! Yip! Yip!”

The Henchmen did the same or worse.

Big Apple followed their every move, turning inside the hatch and glaring.

Abraham knew he looked like a fool. He hammed it up like a bad remake of The Three Amigos . He yelled out to his men, “Sew, Henchmen! Sew like the wind! Eee-yah!”

They rode long enough for Sticks and the others to snake through the grass and load the shells into the front of the tank barrels. The daring group finished the job and slunk back off.

If Big Apple caught on to what they were doing, he didn’t show it. He continued to laugh and chuckle. He yelled at Abraham as he passed. “Hey, idiot, I’ve seen Gunsmoke before. Are you seriously trying to scare us?”

Abraham gave him a wild-eyed look and squalled, “You may take our gates, but you will never take our freeedom !”

Big Apple rolled his eyes. He knocked on the tank and shouted down the hatch, “Ready the machine guns. It’s time to waste them.” He saluted Abraham, dropped into the tank, and slapped the hatch lid over top of him.

The Henchmen were riding down the grasses, making a clear track in an oval circle. The rat-a-tat of machine guns started from the outmost tanks. Horace, Prospero, and Zann were shot out of their saddles. All three of them tumbled into the grass, and their horses crashed into the ground.

Abraham pulled back the reins of his horse. He charged through the field of machine-gun fire. He grabbed Horace’s outstretched hands.

Apollo picked up Prospero, and Skitts snatched up Zann. They thundered back toward the tunnel with a hail of bullets ripping up the ground behind them.

“Yah! Yah!” Abraham galloped his horse into the tunnel.

All the rest of the Henchmen made the Wall’s interior safety. The roar of machine-gun fire died down.

“Horace, are you okay?”

“What in Titanuus’s Crotch did I get hit with?” The bearded bald man slid off the saddle and back onto the ground. He fell down, holding his thigh. “It burns like fire. Put it out!”

Iris rushed over to her man and said, “Be still, and let me have a look at it.”

Horace had a bloody wound showing through his trousers. “What is it? It feels like an entire spear is inside my leg.”

“It’s a bullet. A big one,” Abraham said. “Everyone get out of the tunnel. Treat the wounded.” He couldn’t see everyone with the tank wedged inside the tunnel. “Sticks!”

“Over here,” she called back from the interior side of the Wall. She’d gathered with Shades, Dominga and Tark. “We did as you said. All of the shells were loaded into the noses of the iron beasts.”

“It was a good plan,” Shades said. He plucked grass out of his clothing. “I don’t think that even ol’ Ruger could have come up with a better one. But his plans always worked. Let’s see if yours does.”

Zann lay on the ground, writhing and spitting blood out of his mouth. The young man’s face was ghostly white. His brother fought to hold him still.

“It hurts!” Zann said as he spat more blood. “It bloody hurts!”

“Where?” Skitts asked.

Zann pointed to the side of his red tunic. A bullet had ripped through him from one side to the other. He collapsed on the ground, clutching the wound. “I’m dying, brother. My time has come. I go to kiss the Elders.”

“Nooo!” Skitts said. Tears streamed down his face. “Twila, Twila, help him!”

“I’m coming. I’m coming.” Twila hustled over with her robes hiked up over her ankles.

Abraham kneeled down beside Zann and grabbed his hand. “Zanex, hang on. Hang on. Don’t let that little bullet get the best of you.”

Zann stared blankly into the sky. “I can’t see nothin’. It’s been an honor, Captain. Finish them bastards.” He stretched out his bloody fingers and touched Skitts’s face. “I’ll miss you, brother.” He died in his brother’s arms.