“All right,” said Blick. “Let’s get moving!” He walked behind the desk and plumped into the colonel’s chair. Hoisting his feet on the desk he gave his first command.
“Take him away!”
There was a sudden roar from the far corner of the room. “No you don’t!” shouted Kurt. His battle-ax leaped into his hand as he jumped in front of Colonel Harris, his muscular body taut and his gray eyes flashing defiance.
Blick jumped to his feet. “Disarm that man!” he commanded. There was a certain amount of scuffling as the officers in the front of the group by the door tried to move to the rear and those behind them resolutely defended their more protected positions.
Blick’s face grew so purple that he seemed on the verge of apoplexy. “Major Kane,” he demanded, “place that man under restraint!”
Kane advanced toward Kurt with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. Keeping a cautious eye on the glittering ax head, he said in what he obviously hoped to be a placating voice, “Come now, old man. Can’t have this sort of thing, you know.” He stretched out his hand hesitantly toward Kurt. “Why don’t you give me your ax and we’ll forget that the incident ever occurred.”
Kurt’s ax suddenly leaped toward the major’s head. Kane stood petrified as death whizzed toward him. At the last split second Kurt gave a practiced twist to his wrist and the ax jumped up, cutting the air over the major’s head with a vicious whistle. The top half of his silver staff plume drifted slowly to the floor.
“You want it,” roared Kurt, his ax flicking back and forth like a snake’s tongue, “you come get it. That goes for the rest of you, too!”
The litde knot of officers retreated still farther. Colonel Harris was having the time of his life.
“Give it to ’em, son!” he whooped.