Broken Arrow

That is where you should be!

The Tsar kicked him in the side, rolling him over. As Hood clutched at the shoulder wound, The Tsar spotted blood staining the leg of his combats. He trod on this second wound and again. Hood let out a wail.

'So, you can be hurt. Not as invincible as you would have people believe, eh?' Hood lay there on the ground, with The Tsar above — sword at his throat. 'All this will have been worth it just to kill you, comrade. Tanek was right, one day it would have come to this. Better that it should be settled here and now.'

Hood didn't move, apparently helpless, The Tsar victorious over him. He finally felt like that warrior again. He, who had defeated Hood after the Frenchman failed; when his own tanks, guns and men had failed.

Then Hood grabbed the blade with his good hand. Though it must have been agony to do so, he levered it back — the sharp edges cutting into his skin, slipping slightly and causing even The Tsar to cringe.

'I agree,' said the man, wrenching his head to the side and letting go of the sword. It dug into the soil behind, holding it there fast. But, as Hood slid from beneath The Tsar, he kicked the legs out from under him at the same time.

There was nothing he could do. He was falling, knowing what was going to happen but powerless to prevent it. The metal hilt of the shashka, as smooth as it was, still went into him — helped by his own bodyweight and forward impetus. The Tsar grunted as he dropped down over the hilt, and onto the blade itself. Impaled.

He was still alive, just, when Hood picked up his own sword and walked round in front.

'You should have stayed where you were, comrade,' he told The Tsar, spitting out the final word.

Then there was a final swish and The Tsar had to concede, in the end, that The Hooded Man had a point.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Heat. Fire. Pain.

It was all he could remember of the torture session. But, naturally, Tanek had left Jack a few reminders. Scalding burns, and several nails still digging into his body that hurt whenever he twitched. Though not even they hurt as much as the thought he'd let down Mark, Tate and the others. Not to mention Robbie. He'd given them up — granted, because they were threatening Mary's life, but she would have been the first to tell Tanek and Adele to take a hike. Mark probably lasted longer when faced with the olive-skinned psycho's attentions. Jack had also fallen for Adele, just how stupid was he? The daughter of their greatest enemy. Greatest till now, anyway. Not even De Falaise could have pulled off the stunts this Tsar character was responsible for.

Jack had passed out again a couple of times since the pair left, and night had fallen in the meantime. He'd also been left unguarded. They probably thought he didn't warrant watching any more. That he'd be going nowhere considering what Tanek had put him through.

They obviously didn't know Jack very well. He'd screwed up, big time, and he aimed to put things right. How, he didn't know, but he'd start with getting free of this fucking chair! Easier said than done when you were tied to the arms and legs.

He should have been freezing, stripped to his underwear. But they'd also been making use of Faraday's furnace. Jack recalled seeing the body of their blacksmith in the corner. How many more would be counted amongst his number by the time the day was out?

During the torture the furnace had been an instrument of terror; now, even though it had died down, it was probably keeping him alive. And might just be the answer to freeing him.

Mustering what little energy he could, Jack stretched his toes — the rope tying his ankles to the chair legs preventing him from placing his feet properly on the floor. As he strained, the cords in his neck tightened, and the nails that had been banged so methodically into his torso, arms and legs, sent more ripples of torment through him. Never, not even after all those rounds in the wrestling ring, had his body felt so battered and abused.

His toes brushed the cold floor, but he was going to have to do better than that. He stretched again, and this time they connected. He pushed down, enough to raise the chair slightly. Breathing heavily, Jack did it again, only this time he tried his best to lean to the side as well, angling towards the furnace. Just when he thought it wasn't going to go, the chair tipped, pitching him on his side. It knocked the square furnace over, sending a slew of coals and ash across the floor. The nail in his shoulder was driven even further in by the fall, and he bit back a cry of anguish.

Ignore the pain. You're not done yet, and someone might have heard all the racket you've just made!

Jack looked down and found that a handful of coals had rolled near to his bound wrists. They were no longer as hot as they had been when Tanek made use of them, but they might be hot enough for his purposes. Now, if he could just inch a little closer…

Jack wrenched his body sideways, lifting the chair off the floor, then threw his weight in the other direction. The chair moved a fraction across the floor. Dismissing the pain as best he could, Jack lifted the chair again, bringing it down closer to the coals. He was centimetres away, so he did it again. This time he landed virtually on the coals, and he yelped, but kept still because the rope was also on them. Slowly, they were burning through it. It took a few minutes, but he at last began to smell the smoke, as the heat left in the coals bit at the hemp. Jack held on a little longer, then couldn't take it anymore. The ropes were now loose enough for him to break free.

Making a fist, he tugged on the bonds, and was surprised when they gave first time. Quickly, he reached over, untying his other hand — then he did the same with the ropes holding his ankles. Jack collapsed on the floor, and crawled away from the sea of coals and ash.

Before he had a chance to pull out the nails still sticking in him, a Russian soldier appeared at the arched entranceway, barking something in his native tongue. He raised his machinegun. Part of Jack just wanted to lay there, let him shoot and get it over with. But people were relying on him. 'T-Take it easy, buddy,' he said, his voice hoarse. 'We can work this out.'

Just when Jack thought he was going to open fire, the soldier shouted something else, motioning with his rifle for Jack to come out. Jack held up a hand, rising slowly and wincing. 'All right, all right. I'm coming.' The man shouted again, and it was now that Jack revealed his other hand — flinging coals at the soldier, hitting him in the centre of his forehead. Before the soldier could fire, Jack had reached him and followed through with a punch in the face, knocking him spark out.

'Yeah, you sleep it off, pal,' Jack muttered as the man slid to the floor. He dragged him inside, and began pulling off the soldier's uniform, tugging at the jacket and trousers. Jack braced himself as he pulled out the nails, so he could slip on the clothes: biting on his bottom lip to keep from screaming again. There were half a dozen or so, positioned like acupuncture needles all over his body. When he eased them out, they didn't bleed as much as he'd thought they would, but even after they were gone it still felt like the nails were there.

The jacket was a tight fit, but at least it was long, and though the trouser legs didn't go all the way down anything was better than freezing his butt off. Grabbing the rifle, Jack poked his head out of the stables. He couldn't see any more soldiers, so he ventured out. But just as he did, a squadron of men came up through the sloping tunnel, where the horses usually made their way to the nearby stables. He ducked back inside, opting to hide until they'd gone past.

Too late he realised he'd left the bare foot of the Russian soldier sticking out near the entranceway. All it would take would be for one of them to look sideways and they'd see it. Jack listened as boots stomped by, and breathed a huge sigh of relief when he couldn't hear them anymore.

He stepped out from behind the wall where he was hiding…

Only to see several more rifles trained in his direction, another smattering of Russian coming from the soldier in charge.

'Hi fellas,' said Jack. 'Don't suppose we could talk about this, could we?'

They'd entered the city under cover of darkness.

It was obvious when they found the dead men at the look-out points that The Tsar's army had arrived ahead