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Date Posted: 14:58:06 06/29/99 Tue
Author: Bishop, Mofofunk, Pike, Wing & Paladin
Subject: Blood Under The Sun, Chapter Three Continued
In reply to: Bishop, Mofofunk, Pike, Wing & Paladin 's message, "Blood Under The Sun, Chapter Three: Predators and Prey" on 14:56:21 06/29/99 Tue

* * * * *

Joe was hunkered down behind a rock that was slowly being whittled away by .50 caliber bullets, the machinegun he had cradled in his arms starting to feel more and more useless.

'This is no good….' He craned his neck around and popped up quickly to get a fix on the situation. Both cars were stopped about 50 yards away, trying to aim at the rock and not having much success. He could just make out the two black men through the windshields, and it appeared they were conversing on the CB as they fired. The stream of bullets soon stopped, and Joe got a sudden sinking feeling. 'This could be bad, if they decide to co-ordinate an attack I'm screwed…' just as this thought passed through his brain, he heard the low 'WHUMP' of a mortar shell firing. 'OH, SON OF A-' Without making a conscious decision, he rolled away and made a bee-line for a low ditch 20 feet further away. As he did, the .50 cals started firing anew. Joe felt the teeth in his head rattle as the first mortar round impacted just the other side of the rock. The point of impact saved his life, the boulder shielding him from the fragments. The concussion lifted him off of his feet and threw him forward….into the safety of the shallow indentation he had run for. He was momentarily dizzy, and when he heard the second mortar, he began scrambling away to the left towards a large rock formation. The second mortar landed long, 15 yards beyond the ditch. He knew they couldn't see him as he crawled forward, and it was only as he reached the first of several big rocks did he realize that he had left the heavy machinegun in the dirt 30 feet behind him. 'Oh, good one, Joe. Now what?' He groused to himself as they began peppering the area with mortar fire, raining dirt and gravel and the occasional cactus down around him. This was beginning to look really bad….

* * * * * *

The 5 cars rocketed through the checkpoint, zipping past a line of 2 or 3 cars waiting to gain entrance to the Reservation. As they did, a '78 Palomino pulled out from the side of the road and fell into formation behind them. As it did, a familiar voice spoke to them over the radio.

'Red lead 7, this is Red watch 4, mind if I join the party? Over,' said a female voice immediately identified as Lydia's. Bishop found himself grimacing. This was going to be nothing that someone like Lydia would want to be involved in, that was for sure.

'Roger that, Red Watch 4, just play by the rules and don't die, over,' came Johnny's response. Mofo's voice soon came over the radio.

'Red lead 7, this is White Visitor 1, what rules are you talking about? Did I miss the briefing? Over.'

'Ah, White Visitor 1, those would be the 'don't shoot any of your friends' rules, over,' came Johnny's somewhat sardonic reply. As he laughed, Bishop could almost hear Pike chuckling as sure as Johnny, Mary, Lydia and anyone listening were shaking their heads. Mofo was a card, but after a while you just started to understand where he was coming from. He was lifting up his mic to reply when Pikes voice echoed from the speaker.

'Red lead 7, this is, uh, White Visitor 2. You get used to him after a while, over.' His laughter was evident as he spoke. As they cruised along, Bishop noticed the Mortar fire had fallen silent. He wondered whether they were too late….

As the group crested a hill, they could see in the distance a pair of cars and a grounded Helicopter. The cars looked familiar, but he wasn't sure where he had seen them before. As he was pondering it, Johnny's voice gave a command over the radio. 'Okay, all cars, shut down and prepare to cruise in, over.' Bishop shut down the engine, arming the twin 7.62's he had under the hood. It was about to get real…he debated lighting a smoke to help calm him down, and then had a vision of fumbling around for a dropped cigarette as a swarm of people were trying to kill him. He decided to wait until after the battle to smoke. If he survived, that is. He took a deep breath and hoped that he'd make it.

* * * * * *

Joe was creeping amongst the rocks, trying to find a decent vantage point. The two cars had stopped peppering the area with mortar fire, perhaps realizing that he was either already dead or hiding somewhere. He finally reached a flat rock that had a view of the area and shimmied up its surface, until he could cock his head and get just his right eye up over the ledge and scope the bad guys. They were sitting in their cars, with the windows partially down to combat the already rising summer heat. Some of their words, which seemed flat and dry in the desert air, drifted to him as he eyed them.

'…think we should just say fuck the basta….ake the chopper….' said one.

'…t's a good point, but if we ha…to te….ane that we left a possi….itness alive the…he'll have our asses….' said the other.

'Goo….oint, but I don't wanna waste ammo…an't even see the mother fu….aybe we should get out…ut a .44 in the base of his sku….' The first one replied.

'..Uck you, man! Did you see the size of that…chinegun he had?' The second one whined plaintively. 'That thing'll put holes….hat a truck cou…ive through!'

'You mean THAT machinegun on the ground right there?' The first ones voice carried to him clearly. Uh oh, thought Joe.

'Oh, well, then…' the door to the second car opened and the man stepped out. He was a tall, well built man, with his curly hair cut in a military flat-top and a big hog-leg of a pistol hanging under his arm, which he drew and held in front of him one handed. He started whistling as he strolled toward the rock formation Joe was hiding behind. As he did, Joe scooted back and started thinking furiously. It was only about 3 miles to the Reservation entrance; maybe he could get down and make a run for it. Maybe he could circle back around to the helicopter and get on the radio for some help….as he was thinking, the walking man called out to him. 'Hey there, white boy, I hate to be the bearer of bad news and all, but you're fucked. Me and Don, we've got your number. Why don't you make it easy on all of us and just come out quietly, take it like a man. I promise it will be painless. Course, if you make me come look for your ass, I'll be sure to draw it out as long as possible. Either way, you'll get it, so save us all the trouble and end it right now….' The voice was getting closer. Joe knew he wasn't giving up to these guys that easily, and made his way deeper into the rocks. As he did, the voice of the first man gave him pause.

'Shit! Glen! Get back to the car! Now man! Now, goddamnit!' Joe could hear running, and turned to go back and see what had happened. He got into a decent vantage point just as 6 cars appeared from nowhere and stopped behind the two parked vehicles.

* * * * *

As they all stopped behind the two cars, Pike was eyeing the man on foot between the cars and a rock formation 30 yards or so ahead of them. The tall black man looked familiar…It hit him like a ton of bricks, and he leapt for the CB. 'White Visitor 1, uh…Brown Visitor 1, that guy is one of the guys who we saw in front of that Waco bar, over.' In his car, Bishop gasped in realization, but before he could respond Johnny spoke into the CB, puzzlement evident in his voice.

'Don Davies and Glen Washington?…..Hey, Brown Visitor 1, I know those guys! They were with the Department over in Africa. What are they doing here? Uh, over.'

'I have a bad feeling I know exactly what. Hold on, and I'll find out, over.' Bishop started to get out of the car.

'Jesus Christ, no!' Pike picked up his radio. 'Bishop, stay in the car! Don't get out of the…shit!' Pike saw he was too late as Bishop exited and started towards the man, who looked at him and attempted to hide the obvious nervousness he felt.

In the Sovereign, Johnny muttered a quiet curse and reached for the weapon on the seat next to him.

When Bishop got closer to the waiting man, who smiled and reached into his back jeans pocket, he made a mental note of where everything was around him.

'Bishop Singer, right? Glen Washington, Special Agent rating A-5, with Department M. I was told to contact you concerning some trouble you had in the mid-east a few months ago. My partner and I were on our way to meet you when the pilot of that chopper started firing on us and we forced him down. He's hiding somewhere in the rocks over there; we're trying to flush him out.' He pointed at the rocks, and Bishop, unconsciously, looked in their direction.

Glen couldn't believe his luck; here was one of his prime targets, standing right in front of him. He mentally calculated the distance to his car, and where the group of would-be heroes were arrayed. He decided it was worth the risk. As Bishop turned to look at the rocks, Glen raised the pistol to Bishops temple and squeezed the trigger.

Pike saw the gun go up in horrible slow motion, a sudden horrible sense of unreality settling on his shoulders as he realized that he couldn’t fire his cars weapons for fear of hitting Bishop, and reached for his pistol, knowing he would be too late.

Mofo was caught unawares by Glens action, and only as the pistol was completing its upward arc did he realize that things were about to take a horrible turn.

When Joe saw the man start to raise the pistol, he turned and sprinted for the machinegun. He was already counting the stupid son of a bitch who had left his car as dead, but knew he could help extract revenge on him and his buddy once the new arrivals realized the deal.

Lydia’s mouth formed an O as she saw the man she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since the night before about to be murdered in cold blood, and reached to start her car to deal with the pair of scum.

Mary made a silent prayer that Bishop’s soul would be guided to its final destination by the spirit warriors who she had always known were watching over him.

Johnny exhaled softly and squeezed the trigger of his weapon.

Bishop was aware of the sudden presence of cold steel against his forehead and realized he had made a dreadful mistake by getting out of the car. There was a sudden jerk as the barrel scraped against his skull and then a thunder filled the world, and he was falling, falling…..

Everything exploded into action. As Bishop fell to the ground, Lydia’s car started and jumped forward. The sound of pistol fire exploded from Pikes beat-up Palomino. Mofo’s car started a moment later. Dons car suddenly spun around, throwing up a fishtail of dirt. Glen, who was turning for his car, was suddenly hit 3 or four times, blooms of crimson forming on his chest, his abdomen, his hand. Amazingly, he was able to leap into his car and close the door.

The 5 remaining vigilantes poured fire at the two cars. Don completed his turn and drove right at Pikes Palomino, letting loose with a mortar. Pike ducked below the dashboard, hearing the mortar impact behind him. He started his car and shot forward, arming his forward weapons. Another friend killed because of Thane. These bastards were going to PAY.

Joe made it to the machinegun, sprinting across the open area and scooping it up in his arms. He was cycling the gun and priming it as he took in the scene, glancing briefly at the man who lay motionless on the ground. He started to look back up when a faint movement caught his eye. Looking back down, he saw the man’s hand flexing. With a sudden boldness, he dashed forward to the fallen man.

Don was putting the pedal to the metal, intent on smashing into Pike’s car and possibly unloading his weapons pointblank into the Palomino. The two cars impacted head-on, the rear of the Pally lifting a good 2 or 3 feet off the ground. The impact jarred both men. Don smashed his face into the windshield. Pike felt the straps of his harness bite into his chest. While his car was still balanced on its front, Lydia’s newer Palomino caught the tail end of the Courchelle, spinning it around and stopping it with its front end now harmlessly pointed towards a stand of cactus. As it stopped it fired off its weapons, turning the cactus into a fine green mist. Pike’s car came down behind it, the Courchelles tail end resting against his door. Before it could move, Mary’s Royale crunched against it on the right. Within seconds, Lydias car had done the same on the left. Effectively boxed in, both women started sending machinegun rounds into the car, destroying the tires, engine and front weapons in a matter of seconds. At the same time, Pikes pistol was creating a growing spider-web of cracks in the rear window. Johnny and Mofo both moved around towards the front, their weapons trained on the front windshield. Suddenly, all firing stopped, and a deafening silence fell on the desert.

Joe reached the fallen man, crouching down over him and rolling him over. As he did, a sudden gush of blood appeared in the heavy crease that lined his skull. He couldn’t believe it: somehow the bastard had only grazed the guy instead of putting a hole the size of Jupiter in his head. He shook the guy, who opened his eyes and looked at him dazedly. “Hey. Hey, man, you alright?” He sat up, groaning, then spit dirt and gravel out of his mouth.

“Jesus, did someone get the license plate of that freight train?” He looked up at Joe. “Let me guess….you’re the chopper pilot, right?” Joe was about to reply when from the Sovereign that Glen had jumped into came the unmistakable sound of a chaingun spooling up. Both men glanced fearfully at one another, then Joe helped the other man to his feet and they took off for a dead run at the rocks ahead. The gun went off a few seconds later, drawing a line of bullets towards the two men. As they neared the rocks, both dived behind them, the injured man knocking his still bleeding head into a fist-sized rock as they did so. “OWW! Son-of-a-BITCH!” He pressed his hand against the wound, leaning against the boulder he was hiding behind as the bullet impacted behind them.

“You know, I’m really starting to hate these rocks,” Joe lamented as he hefted the Machinegun. The other man gave a crazy half-grin.

“Hey man, if they keep saving your life, I wouldn’t complain too much.” Joe nodded.

“Okay, good point. But the simple fact is, Mr…?”

“Call me Bishop.” Joe nodded.

“Bishop. Right. I’m Joe. Anyway, if it wasn’t for the fact that these guys were so goddamn single minded in killing me-and, apparently, you-off, then I would never have even known that these rocks existed. Anyway, we need a plan.” Bishop was nodding, taking a dark blue handkerchief from his pocket and wrapping it tightly around his head. Once it was in place, he pulled his pistol and cocked it.

“Yeah. The nice thing about being on foot is that those guns can’t target us. They need a heat signature, and we’re too small. So unless he’s got a manual control on that turret, he can’t target us if we move away from the front of the car. The sound of firing echoed from the rocks, but there were no bullets hitting the boulder that was their shield. Joe popped up and looked real fast. He ducked back down.

“Okay. He’s targeting your friend in the beat up Palomino. If we move fast, maybe one of us could get close to his car and get him out of it, while the other one moves laterally that way-“he pointed to their right-“and fires at him with the Machinegun. What do you think?” Bishop nodded.

“Sounds like it might work. I’ll get the son of a bitch. You cover me with the gun. We go on three.” Joe nodded. “One…two….three!”

Both popped up. Joe started moving off to the side, firing the machinegun. Bishop sprinted towards the car. The turret suddenly spun around and was pointed right at Bishop. He skidded to a stop as he was able to see right down the suddenly huge barrel of the gun and turned around, zig-zagging back and forth to the rocks. The gun fired at him a few moments, bullets whizzing past his head. As he dove behind the rocks, the gun spun to the right and started to fill the air where Joe was. With a shout and a curse, he dove back towards Bishop. Both came to a stop next to each other. Bishop looked at Joe.

“Well, I guess he has a manual aim turret. This is no good.” Joe nodded.

“Yeah, I’m starting to worry that one of his bullets might have my name on it.” Bishop shook his head.

“It’s not the one with my name on it that I’m worried about, it’s all the others marked ‘occupant’ that bother me.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, we need a plan B. Did you get a look at the others?”

“Yeah. It looks like they’ve got the other guy boxed in. But if twinkle toes here keeps his shit up, there’s no way we’ll be able to get to them.” Bishop nodded again.

“Yep. Okay, time for plan B. I was hoping to take this guy alive, but…” he shrugged. Then reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out a small pineapple shaped object. “Okay, here’s the plan….

* * * * * * *

Glen was looking at the rocks, waiting for the two men to pop up again. No matter what happened now, he was going to make sure that Bishop Singer died before he did. Every once in a while he was turning and firing at the people behind him, forcing them to keep their heads down. The wounds in his chest and hand throbbed. He wondered briefly who had fired the round into his hand that had spoiled his aim on Singer. He knew he’d hit the guy, but his right hand was ruined. That guy was like a cat, enough lives to make it hard for someone like Glen to do his job…his thoughts were cut off by the reappearance of the pilot again ahead and to the right, firing at the passenger side of the windshield. He swung the turret back towards him, using his right elbow to trigger the weapon as he lined up the man in his sights. The man started moving to the right, still firing, until there was a basketball sized hole in the windshield. The poor bastard couldn’t even aim! He smiled to himself as the bullets inched closer to the doomed man.

He barely caught the movement to his left: Bishop popped up briefly and then disappeared again. He spun the weapon back towards Bishop just in time to see him drop back behind the rocks. As he started to aim once again at the pilot, there was a –CLANK!- and something dropped through the hole, bounced off the passenger seat and rolled below the dashboard. He looked down at the pineapple shaped object disappeared from sight and registered what it was. ½ a second later, he was scrambling out the door and sprinting with what little strength was left in his body.

The grenade went off with a dull “WHUMPF”, blowing the glass out of the windows, twisting the roof up and disintegrating the two front doors. Glen was knocked on his face, and momentarily lacked the strength to stand, just glad to realize he was still alive. After a moment, he struggled to stand.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Glen,” a voice said above him, the feeling of a gun being pressed into his neck. “You’re already hurt real bad, but if you’re lucky, and you’re smart, you might just live a little while. If not, well…You DID try to kill me.” Glen slowly sank back to the ground. Joe walked up from where he had been shooting. He was obviously feeling a bit cocky.

“Well, I guess that plan worked after all. Nice one, Bishop. I wasn’t sure you could make that throw.” Bishop nodded.

“Yeah, me neither. I’ve always been horrible at stuff like basketball. But hey, it was worth a shot, right?” Either ignoring or not registering Joe’s look of astonishment, he indicated the fallen assassin with his pistol. “Keep an eye on our friend here. If he moves…kill him.” He turned and walked towards the others.

They had dragged Don out of the car and were busy trussing him up. Johnny gave an appraising eye to Bishop. “That’s TWO you owe me, Singer.” Bishop nodded wryly.

“Yeah, Johnny, you got that right. Thanks again.” Johnny nodded once, his unsmiling eyes looking levelly at Bishop.

“You’re just lucky I don’t have an ugly sister that I need to marry off, Bish. Jesus! Never get out of the car, man! Ever! You put everyone in jeopardy, because you interfere with their fields of fire, and then it’s easy for the bad guys to get the drop on you. Goddamn, I should shoot you myself for doing something that damned foolhardy! Don’t ever do that again, got it?” Bishop, suddenly cowed, nodded. As he did, Lydia came up to him. “Now, let Lydia take a look at your wound.” Quietly, Lydia led him away to her car. As she did, he reached into his jacket and lit a cigarette.

Pike leaned against his car, suddenly drained of energy. He noticed Mofo walking towards the stranger that had helped Bishop, and saw the two men greet each other like old friends. They got the injured man off the ground and the three of them walked over to the group.

“Hey, Pike, you won’t believe it, but this guy here is Paladin, one of the best damned chopper pilots I’ve ever seen. He’s a genuine Mozart with a flight stick, man, sweeter than a 18 year old Tokyo hooker….” Pike nodded.

“How you doing, Paladin?” He shrugged.

“I’m still alive. And just call me Joe. I only go by Paladin on the air, now really. A lots changed since I sold you that chopper, Mofo.” Pike was nodding along, then his head snapped around at Joe and Mofo in quick succession.

“Chopper? What chopper? Mofo? You can fly a helicopter?” Mofo smiled weakly.

“What? No no no no no no no no no no no no no no….young Joe here was just talking slang for a new type of drug that’s been on the market. They call it Chopper, cos, you know, it makes your vision go all choppy, like this, you know?” And he started vibrating and making noises like a robot. “Yeah, I sold some a while back to make ends meet. You know how it is….” Pike was looking back and forth between the two, then shook his head in disgust.

“I fuckin’ give up…” he muttered to himself. Johnny walked over at this point, providing a welcome distraction. He bent down and started working on the injured Glen. “So, hey, Johnny, now what?”
Johnny gave him a grim smile.

“Now we get some information.” The injured man looked up at Johnny, who returned a fierce gaze. “By any means necessary.”

*****


cont'd

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