"Looks to me kinda like a traffic light," muttered Captain Page.
"Traffic lights are red, green and yellow. That thing has only yellow lights."
Just then, the lights flared into life, warming to a mellow yellow.
"Yellow naturally indicates caution, does it not?" asked Captain Page.
"On a traffic light, yeah," said Remo. "But that isn't a traffic light, so I don't know what it means."
"It is a bomb," repeated Chiun, stroking his wispy beard uneasily.
"Bombs don't light up," Remo said. "They detonate."
The yellow-lit sphere continued to hang off the hovering helicopter, swinging less and less as the seconds ticked by.
"Do they not also fall?" wondered Chiun.
"Sure. Old-fashioned aerial bombs. But that's not a bomb. Looks more like an Easter egg, or maybe a Christmas-tree ornament."
Then, with the sharp snap of a parting cable, the stainless-steel object dropped free.
Captain Page shouted, "Take cover, men! We are under attack! Take cover!" And he threw himself flat.
Remo grabbed him up and tucked him under one arm, then followed the Master of Sinanju as he ran with ungainly speed as far away from ground zero as possible in the few seconds left before impact.
Behind them everything turned as yellow as an exploding sun.
Chapter 6
There was no explosion. That is, no sound accompanied the powerful detonation. The sky turned sunflower yellow as far as the eye could see. The green grass turned momentarily blue. Trees changed color, too. But not a leaf shook. There was no shock wave, no screaming chunks of superheated shrapnel, no shrieks of wounded or dying men.
Except for the overwhelming sunburst of yellow, nothing much happened.
Until men began pouring out of the Crater.
They were running for their lives, faces twisted and full of horror. Unarmed, they wore the Union blue of the captive First Massachusetts Interpretive Cavalry. Clearly the object that had fallen in the grassy pit among them had spooked them so much they all but trampled their erstwhile captors in their mad rush to escape.
It didn't exactly hurt their chances that the Confederate troops were flat on their stomachs, heads cradled in their hands, awaiting an explosion that had already taken place. They had no reaction time. Their prisoners were well on their way to freedom by the time the Rebels lifted their faces with expressions that could only be interpreted as asking, "When's the explosion coming?"
Remo paused to drop Captain Page to the greensward and called ahead to Chiun, "Looks like a dud, Little Father."
"We do not know this," Chiun shot back. "Do not stop!"
A ragged line of bluecoats surged in Remo's direction, eyes wide as saucers, faces ghost white.
Remo stepped in their path. "What's the rush? It didn't go off."
Like frightened Boy Scouts, the men in blue charged past. They wore the expressions of men chased by angry wasps.
Casually Remo reached out and snared one by the arm. He lifted him over so quickly the man ran on air until his feet scuffed grass again.
"Talk to me," said Remo.
"I-I'm scared."
"Take it easy. It's over. They can't hurt you. They're still crouched down."
"It's not the Johnnys I fear," the man said in a feardistorted voice. "It's that damn thing that fell into the pit."
"What about it?"
"It turned yellow."
"Yeah?"
"It was the most yellow thing I ever saw in my life. It scared the living bejesus out of me."
"Anyone in the pit hurt?" asked Remo.
"No. I-I think we all got out."
"So what's the problem?"
"I tell you, it was yellow. It was the most hideous yellow I ever saw. It was an unearthly yellow. Nothing should be that yellow. Nothing sane."
"I take it yellow isn't exactly your favorite color."
The bluecoat wiped his sweaty brow. "I always liked yellow. Until today. I don't ever wanna see anything so yellow for the rest of my life." The soldier cast fearful eyes back toward the Crater and started struggling.
"I think you've been sitting in the sun too long," said Remo, not relinquishing his grip.
"Don't mention the sun to me. It's yellow, too."
The soldier continued struggling to break Remo's grip. He might as well have been trying to break the clutch of a steam shovel, but seeing the abject fear in his face, Remo decided to let him go. The Union reenactor ran off like a scared rabbit.
Another bluecoat came close enough for Remo to snare him without too much trouble, so he did.
"Calm down," Remo told him. "It's all over. You've been liberated."
"It was yellow," the man quavered.
"So I hear."
"It was an awful yellow. An evil, twisted yellow. It was so yellow I don't think it was really yellow."
"Yellow's a nice color," Remo suggested. "Buttercups are yellow. And daisies."