"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."
"Your tribe. By what name does it go?"
"You never heard of them," Roam said evasively. "So what are we going to do with the children? They sure won't fit into our little jeep. Or this thing either," he added, smacking the APC's flank with his meaty hand.
"Perhaps they are safer here," Chiun said slowly, as he saw Sheryl drive up. She honked her horn repeatedly. "Uh-oh, I don't like the sound of that," Roam said ominously.
Sheryl leaned her head out the jeep's window, calling, "Look!" She pointed at the sky.
There, five airplanes were finishing writing a message in puffs of white vapor: RESISTANCE WILL END OR YOUR CHILDREN WILL DIE!
Roam grunted deep in his throat. "Empty threat now. "
"No," Chiun replied. "For if they have this school, they have the others."
"Damn! What are we going to do?"
"I know the Japanese mind," Chiun said levelly. "They ruled my homeland for many bitter years. They will instigate reprisals for what we have done."
"We gotta get those kids to safety. How about we make a dash for the reservation? The Japs might not have bothered with my people. The kids would be as safe there as anywhere."
"No," Chiun said. "There is a better way. We will send them back to their own homes."
"I get it. It's harder to bring down one pigeon than a flock of them, right?"
"Exactly. Come."
Moving rapidly, they emptied the school. The children were sent off in groups, older ones paired with the younger. It took most of the afternoon, but by the time they were done, every child had escaped into the city.
"Some of them might not make it," Sheryl said as she watched the last of them go.
"Some of them will not," Chiun said flatly.
"Then why send them? Wasn't there a better way?"
"The only other way was the desert. None of them would have survived the desert. Come."
They got into the jeep in silence.
Sheryl put the key into the ignition. "Look. If it's as bad as we think, we won't get through the city unchallenged. Not in broad daylight. My house isn't far from here. What do you say?"
"The little gal makes sense," Roam said.
"Agreed," Chiun said. "For if we are to deal with this situation, I must devise a plan."
"Deal?" Sheryl said as she spun the car around and ran in toward the city. "I vote we just wait until the Marines or the Rangers or whatever land."
"That is the problem with you people," Chiun sniffed. He was watching the puffy skywriting spread and thin.
"What people?" Sheryl wanted to know as she took an off ramp.
"Americans," Chiun returned. "You are such creatures of your technology. Do you remember the time those whales were trapped in an ice hole?"
"Sure thing. It was in all the papers. What about it?"
"The Eskimo wanted to begin cutting a channel to the sea to release them," Chiun went on, "but the Americans refused to allow this. They said that when their ice-crushing ships arrived, they would do the job faster."
"And they came."
"After many delays in which the animals suffered. The ships could not break the ice fast enough. Finally the Americans relented and the Eskimo were allowed to begin cutting a channel by hand."
"As I recall, between them they got the job done."
"One animal died. Had the Americans not insisted on waiting for their mighty technology, no animals would have died, and the others would not have suffered."
"Am I missing something here? What does that have to do with our situation?"
"Americans always act helpless while waiting for their technology to arrive. It does not always arrive in time, nor does it always work when it does."
"What he's saying, Sheryl," Bill Roam cut in, "is that we can't afford to wait for the Marines."
"But they're coming, aren't they? I mean, the U.S. government isn't exactly going to sit on their duffs while Yuma is terrorized."
"You don't know the military," Roam said tightly. "The first thing they're going to be looking at is their posteriors. "
"That's crazy talk, Sunny Joe," Sheryl retorted. "This is America, not some banana republic where anyone can just waltz in and take over."
"Got news for you, kid. They already have."