It was a slaughter.
General Shagdoof Aboona heard the ringing of the direct line from the Palace of Sorrows as if through deep water.
Sunken-eyed, he picked up his Kalashnikov, plunked himself down on the side of his bunk, and, with the insistent ringing faint in his ears, put the cold bitter muzzle into his mouth and fumbled for the trigger with a nerveless thumb.
The hollow-point lifted the top of his head like the lid off a crockery cookie jar.
He was the final casualty of the Battle of the Maddas Line-elapsed time: eighty-six minutes and twelve seconds.
Chapter 26
Praetor Winfield Scott Hornworks burst into the war room of the UN central command base.
"It worked! The Ninth Hispana Legion ground them into sand stew. And the Vermont Victrix ambushed the rest. Changing the order of battle was the smartest thing we could've done!"
The Master of Sinanju looked up from the tortoiseshell that lay at his feet. Sheik Fareem and Prince Imperator Bazzaz had repaired to the safety of a bunker.
"Show me," Chiun directed, no joy on his face.
"Sure thing." Hornworks strode over to the rug and sat himself down happily. Using his finger, he indicated several points on the spotted shell. They were exactly where the opposing cracks crossed.
"We stopped them here, here, and there. Just like on this road-kill thing here." He looked on, cocking an eye at the old Korean, who had earned his respect as had no other military officer since his father, George Armstrong "Buster" Hornworks, had paddled his behind for smoking cornsilk. "How'd you work these tactics out in advance? Astrology?"
"No," said Chiun absently. "I simply heated the shell in a brazier until it cracked."
Hornworks batted his eyes. "You mean that's all?"
"Of course not," spat the Master of Sinanju. "I first prayed to the gods for guidance. This form of divination has been the way of my people since before the sun source was revealed to Wang the Great."
"Well, however it works, it beats computers any day of the durn week." The praetor grinned expansively. "So what's next? Tea leaves? Palm reading? You say it and we'll do it."
Chiun shook his aged head, saying, "The enemy has been discouraged. But he is not beaten. I have been charting the stars and they tell me that a new personality is about to enter the lists."
"Yeah? Who? And if it's Gorbachev, we're in deep dogfood."
"I do not know this one's name. But her moon is in Aquarius."
"Is that bad?"
"For us, no. For our foes, possibly. For Taurus and Aquarius are in conflict, signifying delay and frustration."
"So we wait for his next move, is that it?" Hornworks grunted.
"No. We must move swiftly to stage the grand plan I have devised to win the day."
"This may not be the best time to bring this up, but there's an old general's saying: No battle plan ever survived contact with the enemy."
"And there is a saying in my village: No enemy ever survived contact with the House of Sinanju," Chiun retorted.
"Since your notion got us through the night, my faith's in you," Praetor Hornworks said quickly.
"Have the LEM's arrived?" Chiun asked.
"LME's. On their way. I scrounged up as many of 'em as I could. Just give the word, and I'll assign special teams to take 'em into the field. I suggest good old Army Rangers. Marines would probably lose every blamed one before they even got to the target sites."
The Master of Sinanju gathered his kimono skirts about his pipestem legs. "No. You will give them to me."
"All of them?"
"Exactly. Then you will arrange to convey me into beleaguered Kuran. I will pass out these devices to the forces I have selected."
"What forces? Beyond the neutral zone, there's nothing but unfriendlies."
"Yes. But the question is, who is unfriendly to whom?"
Praetor Hornworks took off his service cap and scratched his bristled skull.
"Listen, I can't let you go into Kuran. You're the best blasted field officer in this man's legion."
"I must. For my son is in that cruel land."
"Didn't you hear? All the hostages are out."
"Not all," Chiun said firmly. "And I am going. You are a soldier. Obey your imperator."
Praetor Hornworks struggled to his feet. He was getting too old for all this squatting and kneeling, but if it brought results, it was better than being up on the line.
"I'm on it," he said. He started for the phone, then turned, his eyebrows lifting quizzically.
"You say this new person is a gal?" he asked Chiun.
"So the stars foretell."
"What kind of gal could help out of Maddas?"
"The wrong kind."
"Good point. You know, even if this highfalutin plan of yours comes off, this fracas ain't gonna be over until someone up and nails that son of a camel."
Chiun's eyes glinted with a sudden cold light.
"Someone will," he said.
"We generals got another saying: In times of crisis, a leader's assassin is already at his side, but neither man knows it."
"The one who will dispatch the Mad Arab is not yet at his side," the Master of Sinanju intoned. "But soon, soon . . . ."