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Date Posted: 13:09:27 07/07/99 Wed
Author: Wing'
Subject: Ok, got the lead up here...
In reply to: Pike 's message, "Reposting..." on 12:26:48 07/07/99 Wed

This comes before what you wrote, after what I sent to Bish(don't have a copy of that now, or I'd append this to it).

There's still tons more to be written, but I'm on a roll here!


MoFo Funk stuggled with himself inside the bright orange Bushmaster. Let Wing'
be killed, or blow his and Wing's cover and inform the others not to fire?
Moments seemed to turn into eternity as the black streaking aircraft approached
and Lydia announced she had a radar lock and would fire. Everything slowed as
MoFo looked at what would possibly be the last he would see of an old friend
before being obliterated in a fireball and shower of aircraft parts.

Time suddenly popped back into full motion when the CB squealed loudly and a
tired voice broke through.

"Reservation forces, hold fire. Aircraft is friendly and attempting to land.
Dark Horse out."

MoFo released a huge pent up breath as Johnny and Lydia cursed the pilot of the
raven black fighter for keeping silent so long. MoFo silently did the same.
Wing' could have been killed or had his cover blown.

The darting Mustang skimmed quickly over the six cars and raised a huge cloud of
dust as it churned the dry ground with prop wash and its own motion. Tires
kissed desert floor in a perfect three-point landing. Almost immediately the
aircraft stopped, slowed by rough ground and loose dirt. The six cars had
reversed course, Johnny and Lydia in the lead, both seething at the intrusion.
The vehicles slid to a dusty halt as a grizzled figure extracted itself from the
cockpit, pulling hoses and cords off from various places of its body. Johnny
jumped from his car as if his pants were on fire.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!? You could have got yourself killed!
No radio contact until you were almost on the ground, no warning you were
coming, nothing! Just who the hell are you!?"

The pilot jumped down off of the wing of the plane and straighted himself. A
day's growth was on his face and he smelled horrible from ten feet away.

"Name's Stu Dukane. Heard somethin' about a little mess up here and decided to
have a look-see." A heavy Texas drawl accented nearly every word. The man was
short, slim and slight. The gear he wore seemed to weigh heavily upon him. An
oxygen mask hung by an elasticized cord around his neck, a broad brimmed felt
hat was balled up underneath a set of heavy headphones, cord dangling, large
leather gauntlets that went halfway up the forearms...all this combined with a
loud checked shirt, dusty worn jeans, cowboy boots and an eyepatch over the
man's left eye. He looked for all the world like a rancher that had taken a
joyride on a whim at an airshow.

Johnny reeled back and looked as if he was about to punch the man into next
week. Instead, he yelled.

"Have a goddamn look-see!? We're in the middle of what looks like a war and you
wanted to have a LOOK-SEE!?"

Bishop took a few step forward and put his hand on Johnny's shoulder.

"Johnny, look at the guy's plane. That thing's a flying Courcheval Manta. We
could use his help..." Bishop's voice trailed off. He stood transfixed, staring
at the pilot's midsection. A silver eagle's head glittered in the early morning
sunlight, holding the man's belt together. Bishop looked the pilot square in the
face, jaw slightly open from surprise. "That is...of course...if he wants to
help?"

"Stu" grinned and winked.

"That's pretty much the idea, pard. Remember the Alamo, y'know?"

"Yeah."

Johnny groaned and turned to Bishop.

"I'm not gonna let every stinking rancher turned fighter pilot screw up my
operation, Bish. You want this guy to hang around, you're on your own. I can't
afford to have some sort of loose cannon wandering around goofing things up.
You want his help, take it, but get out of here." Johnny had put a particular
emphasis on the word stinking.

"Now hold on just a minute, I got some assets to offer that go father than just
some big toothy bird." Stu drawled. He walked over to the fuselage of the
black machine and pointed at an access panel.

"Now, bee-hind that little door there is a great big camera. I used that to
shoot some purty pictures last night. Seems down south in Meh-heeco some word's
makin' the go-round that these doggone crazy folks are sittin' pretty up in some
fort on a mountain with a big ole army gettin' ready to stomp its way 'cross the
U.S. border and put a big hurt on us. Well, I wouldn't have none ah that, so I
fired up Dark Horse here and took sum pho-toes for the fine folks at the A - Vee
- A to look at. Unfortunatly, I done run plumb outta gas on my little way to
Phoenix and had to set down somewheres afore I made a pretty-looking crater in
the ground." Stu gave the plane a hearty thump as the spoke.

Johnny gave the man a sideways look.

"You've got photos of a mountaintop fortress that is holding an invasion force?"

"You bet your sweet ass ah do!"

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