Doc Savage: The Ice Genius (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 12) (28 page)

Doc Savage raced to retrieve Cadwiller Olden from the saddle. This was not the humanitarian gesture it first seemed, however. The bronze man understood that Olden might become a bargaining chip.

But the distance was too great and the flood of barbed shafts forced the bronze giant to seek immediate shelter. He was too large a target to long evade the close-packed fusillade.

Calling to Johnny Littlejohn, Doc directed, “Get Olden to safety.”

Johnny hesitated, then leaped in, presenting a tall target to falling arrows. A bit of humor said at the bone-thin archeologist’s expense was that he was so thin he could take a bath in a shotgun barrel. Conceivably, his elongated thinness had something to do with his reaching the pack pony safely and hastily undoing the lashings holding the midget in place.

Cadwiller Olden was screaming, “We are all going to die!”

Johnny yelled, “Shut up!” and pulled him from the saddle.

By that time the second wave of arrows had quilled the hard earth.

“Is anyone hurt?” asked Ham from concealment.

“I took two,” grunted Monk.

Renny thumped, “I caught one, too.”

“Injured?” asked Doc.

“Naw. Bulletproof vest turned it.”

“Same here,” said Renny.

THEY waited. The night was too dark to see much. But, given the direction the arrows had been launched, it seemed that the Mongol force must be hiding to the southeast.

This was a good guess, but it had its shortcomings.

For a second wave of warriors suddenly erupted from the east. They could hear the relentlessly unnerving twanging of powerful recurved bows. Soon, a splintery cloud of missiles could be seen.

They struck all about. This time no one was harmed, although there were some close shaves.

“A detachment of archers has shifted into a different position,” Doc called out.

“A typical Mongol battle tactic,” added Johnny.

“Then why didn’t you tell us before now?” demanded Renny.

The wordy geologist offered no reply. He was severely rattled.

Everyone commenced checking their superfirers, readying for what they assumed would be a full-on assault.

Johnny declared, “The armies of Tamerlane invariably called for surrender before charging in. That will give us time to strategize a counterattack.”

They waited. No such call came. Instead, the ground commenced shaking and the thunder of horses’ hooves split the Manchurian night.

“Guess Tamerlane forgot his old tactics,” grunted Renny.

The horsemen came from two different directions—the east and the southwest.

Doc and his men took positions to defend both approaches. They knew it was hopeless. Between them, they had a plentiful supply of mercy bullets, but in order to beat back the armies of the Mongol conqueror they would have to make every shot count—an impossibility in the dark. Nor did they dare bring to bear their powerful spring-generator flashlights, for the brilliant beams would make of them perfect targets.

“How do we handle them?” asked Renny.

The question was directed at the bronze man, who suddenly said, “Let me try something.”

The bronze giant streaked for the nearest horse and mounted it. He wheeled his startled steed about and raced off to meet the horde coming from the east.

Whether Doc Savage was lucky or had some inkling of the truth was never revealed. But at the head of the eastern horde stood the iron-masked warrior who might or might not be the Mongol conqueror, Tamerlane. He sat astride a magnificent black stallion, whose ornate wooden saddle was so filigreed with gold and silver it resembled an equestrian throne. Atop his pointed helmet, a horsetail danced with macabre half-life in the breeze.

On either side and behind him rode the main force of his horde, burly men stuffed into the long padded coats favored by Mongol horsemen. They brandished swords, pistols, pikes, lances, the odd battle axe, colorful lacquered shields and other accoutrements of ancient war.

At an imperative gesture from their leader, the archers lowered their bows, and held nocked arrows at the ready.

Doc rode up to meet him and brought his horse to a halt. Placing one hand over his heart, the bronze man shot out an open palm in the universal gesture for friendship and peace.

At first, this had no effect on the hard-charging Mongols. But Doc Savage stood tall in his saddle—taller than any Mongol who ever lived. The unflinching way in which he awaited the oncoming charge impressed the Mongol chieftain.

Abruptly, Timur called for his Mongols to slow their charge. This was instantly obeyed. The hard-riding horsemen slowed to a trot, but continued closing in.

Doc Savage did not flinch. Flake-gold eyes met sulfurous yellow orbs, and locked, unafraid.

Lifting a mailed hand, the chieftain brought his men to a halt. He stood in his saddle regarding the bronze giant with canine yellow eyes peering through the iron mask of an Asiatic ruler. He showed the teeth, fang fashion. Cold hate rode his feral eyes. And all the time he laughed, softly and unmusically. The awful sound had a creaky edge.

Without a word, the Mongol commander dismounted and came ahead on foot, striding with a halting, jack-legged gait and favoring one armored arm.

Doc Savage swung out of the saddle and advanced to meet him.

In Mongolian, Doc Savage called out, “I am Doc Savage.”

The other croaked back, “I am Emir Timur Beg Gurkhani, destined ruler of all humanity. You know of me?”

“I do,” admitted Doc.

They halted only a few paces apart, two imposing men of metal.

Tamerlane grunted, “And I have heard of you. A mercenary who fights for no pay. They call you the Man of Bronze. My name means Iron. Now I ask you, which is superior? A sword of bronze, or a blade of iron?”

Doc Savage replied, “That might depend upon the man wielding the blade, not the metal from which it was forged.”

The self-proclaimed Tamerlane shook a mailed fist in Doc’s impassive face. “I say iron is stronger!”

Doc did not reply to that.

The iron-faced one looked the bronze man up and down. “Where is your sword, brazen one?”

Doc Savage tapped his right temple. “Here. My brain is my sword.”

This seemed to impress the Mongol leader. He grew quiet.

During this pause, Doc said, “We hold the Japanese officer as captive.”

Tamerlane grunted. “What of it?”

“I offer him in exchange for safe passage for myself and my men.”

Pale yellow orbs narrowed. “I will consider this.”

Doc nodded. Folding formidable arms he waited, impassive of countenance.

The consideration did not take long.

“What of the small man?” asked Tamerlane.

“I have him, too,” said Doc, concealing his surprise. “Why do you ask?”

“Why do you ask that I ask?” countered Tamerlane—if it was indeed he. “He amused me.”

Doc looked momentarily puzzled.

Banging his mailed fist against his armored breast, the other barked, “He has a heart like mine.”

Then, Doc Savage understood. The Mongol chieftain had recognized in Cadwiller Olden a rogue as black-hearted as himself.

“Throw him into the bargain,” said Tamerlane, his voice vaguely rusty.

Doc hesitated. The thought of one of the worst Mongol conquerors falling in league with the modern scoundrel, Cadwiller Olden, made his blood run cold.

“Bring them both,” snapped Tamerlane, turning on his heel and striding clumsily back to his stiff-faced horde.

That settled the matter. Doc Savage returned to his horse and rode back to his waiting men.

“Tamerlane has agreed to give us safe passage in return for Captain Kan and Olden.”

“Me?” bleated the midget. “What does he want with me?”

“That is unknown at present.”

“So you’re just going to give me up? Some gold-plated hero you are!”

Doc informed him, “It is our only way out of this predicament.”

Johnny asked tensely, “What about capturing Tamerlane?”

“I did not give any guarantee against further action on our part.”

DOC SAVAGE went to Captain Kensa Kan and administered a stimulant by syringe, which brought the officer’s mind into sharper consciousness despite the lingering effects of the truth serum.

“Tamerlane is willing to ransom you in exchange for our liberty,” said Doc.

The Captain looked baffled. “Liberty? You are in Manchukuo. Where will you go?”

Doc Savage did not answer that. Instead, he instructed, “Come with us.”

Everyone got on their horse. Johnny kept charge of Cadwiller Olden, who was fighting to get out of the former’s saddle, but to no avail. Johnny cuffed him into subsidence, looking like he almost enjoyed it.

They rode up quietly. The cloud cover parted about this time and all around there filtered down shreds of thin moonlight, resembling lunar cobwebs.

This made what followed easier to track.

Again, Doc Savage dismounted. He brought Captain Kan forward, presenting him to the masked Mongol.

“He is yours.”

Johnny lifted Cadwiller Olden by the scruff of his neck and dropped him unceremoniously into the scrubby turf, saying, “You have earned your fate.”

The midget scrambled to his feet and looked all about. There was no safe place to run, nor nook in which to hide. Reluctantly, he went toward the waiting horsemen.

As Olden walked by, Doc Savage said in English, very low, “We can locate you if you keep those clothes on at all times.”

“Thanks for nothing,” said Olden out of the side of his mouth.

Tamerlane climbed out of his saddle and approached the Japanese officer.

In the thready moonlight, Captain Kan looked relieved.

When the two drew near, the Mongol warlord quickly put his fist inside his coat, took it out, and the Captain gave out a hiss of surprise. He turned to run.

Tamerlane hit the Japanese in the back as hard as he could.

There was a long knife in the fist. The point stuck out two inches in front of Kan’s heart.

“Iron beats bronze!” yelled Tamerlane, laughing.

“Double-cross!” howled Olden.

Leaping back into his saddle, Tamerlane vented a sharp command.

Chinua charged up, and speared Cadwiller Olden in one shoulder, lifted him high on his sword like a living joint of mutton. Tiny arms jerking, the midget began squawling horribly.

A phalanx of bowmen fitted fresh arrows to bowstrings and pointed them in the direction of Doc Savage and his men.

From his saddle, Tamerlane croaked, “We have what we want. Do not follow, swordless ones. Otherwise, I will take your heads.”

With that, the Mongol chieftain whirled and, as one unit, his magnificent army turned with him. They parted to permit their leader to ride on ahead, taking the lead.

Together, they rode off into the cold Manchurian night, leaving Doc Savage and his men entirely unharmed.

Chapter XXXIX

RETREAT

DOC SAVAGE WENT immediately to the stricken Captain Kensa Kan.

The Japanese officer lay in the dirt, a wet crimson serpent creeping out from under him. His narrow eyes were wide and staring up at the stars. Out of his pale mouth came a cherry-colored froth.

With his dying breath the man kept repeating, “Do not understand. Do not understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” asked Doc urgently.

“The cursed Mongol,” the officer choked out, “swore fealty—to the—Emperor.”

With that last word, Captain Kan’s spine stiffened reflexively, and all life departed from him. His rigid body collapsed like a deflated balloon.

Doc Savage stood up. Turning to his men, he said, “It is obvious what just happened here. The Japanese thought they could bend Tamerlane to their will, making him an arm of the Imperial Army. They underestimated his ambition.”

Johnny nodded somberly. “The Captain was blind to the reality of Tamerlane’s thinking. The warlord sees himself as fated to rule over all mankind. The Japanese are nothing to him.”

Ham Books offered, “I believe I understand. Now that he has assembled an army, Tamerlane intends to conquer China, not for the Empire of Japan, but for himself.”

Monk brightened. “Heck, that shiverin’ specter oughta give the Japanese a run for their money. Maybe we should let ’em sort it out.”

Doc Savage shook his head slowly. “Whether under Japanese control or not, Tamerlane has become one of the most dangerous menaces in Asia. Now that he has Cadwiller Olden, that makes him doubly dangerous.”

Long Tom commented grimly, “From the way they took Olden away, I don’t think he has very long to live.”

“Long or not,” Doc said grimly, “Tamerlane can pick his brain for many devilish schemes.”

Renny rumbled, “Either way you slice it, we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere without a plane and only enough horses to reach the next town. What do we do now?”

Doc Savage said, “There is a Japanese airbase within a day’s ride of this spot. Where there are Japanese planes, there may be the opportunity to do some damage and acquire the means by which we can return to the sky.”

The prospect of infiltrating a Nipponese airbase in the heart of Manchuria should have made the thoughts of each man somber and uneasy. Quite the contrary. Their faces lit up again, and they looked eager to be on their way.

There remained the matter of the disposal of Kensa Kan’s remains.

“We should bury him,” Doc suggested. “It is the humanitarian thing to do.”

Monk objected straightaway. “If we bury him on humanitarian grounds, don’t it mean we have to bury all those villagers back there, too?”

It was a fair statement. Doc Savage gave the matter some thought.

In the end, the bronze man walked away from the corpse of the dead officer and mounted up. The others followed suit. They followed their leader in the direction of the Japanese airbase, looking like the strangest group of Mongols who ever rode ponies, Monk resembling a costumed circus gorilla while skeletal Johnny towered so high in his saddle that he looked like the living embodiment of the Biblical horseman of the Apocalypse chillingly named Famine.

THEY reached the airbase two hours before dawn, and saw that it was not very large.