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Viking left to laugh at it was Wulf himself.
    Wulf was on his own and he owed his life to Johnny Alpha. Johnny was counting on him, and from the sound of things, trouble was approaching.
    Wulf couldn't see anything from behind the rocks. He knew it would be unwise to poke his great big Viking head up and see. But he could hear the Gronk squealing and struggling. Jävlar, sneck it, damn and skit , thought Wulf. That was all he needed. He cursed himself for not starting earlier in the day. Just half an hour longer and he could have been in position. But now the voices were raised and the Gronk was struggling and there was sure to be trouble.
    "It's only a Gronk," he heard Johnny saying. "I'll get another one."
    That was the phrase they had agreed. Wulf had just run out of time and the sniper rifle was still wrapped up on his back like the world's worst Christmas present. It was time to improvise.
    Wulf grabbed the first thing that was handy, which turned out to be the Day-series RPG bazooka. With only the most cursory glance to ensure it was pointing the right way, Wulf edged up against a flat piece of rock and instantly regretted it.
    Baked in the Vaara sun for several hours, the slab was a veritable hot plate. Wulf said another rude word in Old Norse and elbowed his way swiftly up into sight. He manhandled the bazooka into position and squinted down the sight at the five gunmen. There was a big enough rock behind them and it would have to do.
    Even as Wulf pulled the trigger, he saw Johnny going for his gun.
    The bazooka kicked hard against Wulf's shoulder, a jet of hot exhaust flaming across his back and legs. The projectile screamed towards the gunmen as the sound of gunshots erupted in the air. Wulf was already clambering to his feet, spitting and cursing at the excess heat and dust.
    Wulf wasn't looking when the grenade struck home. Instead, he was fumbling for the sniper rifle, shucking it off his back and tearing off the warm oiled paper in which it had been slowly cooking all morning. Not caring any more that he presented a large Viking-shaped target, he snapped back the old-fashioned bolt and lifted the gun to his shoulder.
    The gunshots had fallen silent, replaced by the muffled, dying echoes of the explosion, and an intermittent hail of pebbles and dust reached Wulf where he stood. He looked up, not trusting the gunsight, preferring instead to squint into the distance with his own eyes. Nobody was standing at all by Black Rock.
    Black Rock itself was looking distinctly smaller than before.
    Wulf sensed something in the air. It was a whining noise; an approaching, loudening keen of ear splitting proportions. The single, high-pitched shriek several octaves above high C was getting nearer by the second.
    Wulf looked up and saw a quivering white-furred shape hurtling towards him. It was quite definitely the source of the terrible " Eeeeeee" noise, an unending " eek" that had somehow lost its " k" in transit.
    "Gronk?" said Wulf.
    Instinctively, he dropped the rifle and held out his arms. The furball tumbled into him with the crushing mass of a medicine ball. But Wulf was a big man and he could take it. It was the Gronk, warm to the touch, slightly singed, and shaking uncontrollably.
    "Gronk?" said Wulf with a smile. "I am glad to be seeing you!"
    The Gronk just kept shivering, its eyes darting wildly in their sockets.
    "My," it stammered after a while, "poor... heartses..."
    The Gronk, Wulf observed, was busy having some sort of epileptic fit, but at least it was safe. He tucked the thrashing alien under his arm, bent to pick up the falling rifle, and ran as best he could across the sharp field of rocks. The terrain was precarious but there was no time to lose. Wulf was worried about Johnny.
    Back on the road, Johnny was getting slowly to his feet. Bits of melted tar clung to his hair and armour from the sun-warmed asphalt. His ears still rang from the sudden exchange of gunfire. Clutching his Westinghouse ready to