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Date Posted: 15:00:43 06/29/99 Tue
Author: Bishop, Mofofunk, Pike, Wing & Paladin
Subject: Blood Under The Sun, Chapter Four: Allies and Enemies

30 minutes later, The group huddled around the two men, appling torture in everyway they could think of. Joe topped of the choppers fuel tank, viewing the spectacle before him, the indians were huddled around Don. Sunlight shimmered off of the knife Johnny thrust into the air then back down towards the mans scalp....The other three, Mofo, Bishop, and...Pike were gathered around Glen. Pike was probing the wounded mans gunshot wounds.....with a tire iron, the look of pure enjoyment shone on Pikes face as the man screamed. After about 30 minutes of non-stop torment the group stopped and consulted.

' This isn't working..'Mary said, dissapointment showing on her face.

' These men have been trained to deal with this type of torture..' Bishop replied, Johnny nodding in agreement.

'Lets just kill them...' Pike muttered, a cold expression on his face.

'you could always cut of there units and shove them do....' Mofo replied, Pike stopping him in mid-sentence with just his glare...

'You guys are going about the the wrong way..' Joe said walking towards the group. I know a way to make them talk..

The two men were hancuffed to the tiedowns on the tips of the Chopper's Rotors.

'Jezuus Christ' Bishop exclaimed outloud...

The group stared in disbelif as Paladin began the Engine start-up procedure. The Men screamed as the Blades slowly began to rotate, their legs hitting the tail of the chopper with each rotation. Paladin kept the Tail rotor off, as to not chew the two to bits. The Blades began to increase in speed...

'We'll TALK!!!, WE'LLL TALLLKK!!!!' the two men screamed in unison as their legs began to elevate horizonally. Joe Powerd down the Chopper and hopped out. The group began with Don.

'We were sent to kill you Bishop...' Don cried, blood covering his face from where the Indians had been slowly scalping him. 'And....to secure the Helicoptor that we are currently hanging from.' he continued.
'until your Friend here took it..' he said pointing a bloody finger at Paladin. ' this was to be His escape ...'
'who's escape?' Bishop said in a low growl..' Simon Thane's' Bishop, and Pike's blood ran cold as the words crossed Don's lips. ' where is Thane?' Pike commanded growling like a rabid dog. ' He's in Miller, he has 19....err..17 vehicles supporting him..you don't have a chance Singer..' The man finished with a cold dead stare.' You can't stop the Invasion.....'. 'Invasion....' the entire group mumbled in shock. 'Who's invading?' Singer demanded in a cold tone. 'A bunch of Hombres from down Mexico Way...Some Dude called 'The General'..Simons Spearheading the operation, their breaking through at Miller..the border is weakly guarded.there..'. ' Shit, I knew Thane was a real Shithead..But to sellout on your entire country?, What about his Goverment ties?....you've got to know more!' Bishop exclaimed, yelling at the man. ' thats all i know...i Swear to God..ask Glen..He's the Government agent..I'm just a Creeper, the hired help....'

The group went around to where Glen was handcuffed, a pool of blood lay below him on the ground....
' You Can't stop Them.... Americans.....Slaves....Fortress..' This was the incoherint Babbling of a man on his last leg of life..' Presidio Lago.....' Glen looked up into Singer's eyes, a defeated man...with his last breath he said...' The whole thing was planned by......' Glen's body fell limp..his eyes closed.

'Oh SON OF A..........FUCK!!!'Bishop yelled 'the answer was right THERE!!, right there' he said gesturing towards the corpse with both hands.

'Take it easy man...' Joe said ' I found this in the trunk of his car...' Joe said throwing a briefcase to the sand..it spilled open, revealing several manila envelopes, a wad of cash, and a disassembled Sniper rifle...'holy......' Joe exclamed looking at the piece of high tech weaponry. Bishop picked up one of the envelopes and opened it, a look of shock shot across his face, within the envelope was his life story, pictures, a single bullet, and his death warrent with three simple letters stamped across it 'SSS'........

*******



It was nearing the end of the day, and as the sun sunk low over the construction site, the 'Crew' left their regular construction jobs and started their rounds. It was such a gruesome aspect of the construction of the fort that it was given a name that had nothing to do with the reality. It was a gang of 10 men and women, equipped with pitchforks and wheelbarrows. They scoured the grounds for those who had fallen to the ground, dead from the sun and the work. They'd spear the dead, bloated bodies into wheelbarrows and transport them, in loads of 3 and 4, over to an old pickup. When they were done, they'd slink back to the slave barracks and collapse into bed, physically and emotionally exhausted. The first day on the job, Allison had thrown up the tiny portion of the thin gruel they had been served that morning she'd been able to lay her hands on. Now, she could keep the horror and the disgust at bay. Thrust the pitchfork, lift the thin, emaciated body, and put it in the barrow. Walk slowly, feet dragging, over to the pickup. Transfer the body from one container to another. Watch, without thinking, without caring, as the pickup drove away, a cloud of dust behind it. She assumed they dumped the bodies ten or fifteen miles away in an open grave, or maybe just on the open sands. Let the vultures and coyotes get fat on their monstrosities. Covered in dust and sweat and grime, she turned around and walked to the barracks.

As she opened up the door, a foul reek assailed her nostrils. Somewhere in the back of the barracks, a man and a woman uselessly expended energy by fucking. 'Idiots…' she muttered under her breath. They probably hadn't even considered what would happen if they conceived a child. She hoped for their sake they didn't. She trudged the short distance to the lower bunk she had staked out as her own. Dinner was only every other day here, and today was not one of those days, so she simply collapsed onto the straw-filled bag that masqueraded as a mattress. She curled up into a little ball and prepared to go to sleep. Then a thought flashed across her mind. She reviewed the conversation with the 'foreman' earlier that day. She hadn't been able to see his eyes beneath the sunglasses, but… The way he talked. That slight bulge in his crotch. Word was that he hadn't used a single one of the prisoner women the entire time he'd worked there. Some said he was gay. Some said he just couldn't get the old soldier to salute. None of those were it. He wanted her, and he wanted her badly. Maybe there * was * a way to get into that communications center.

She poked her head out of the door to the barracks and looked around. Sure enough, there he was, about a hundred yards away, standing, back to her, smoking a cigarette. The shotgun was laid against his shoulder, where he could hold it with minimum effort. Making up her mind, she slowly walked towards him. About ten feet away from him, she stopped and considered. If she made a slight sound here, he would turn around, gun at the ready, but he probably wouldn't shoot her. If she touched him before she made her presence known, he very likely might kill her. She made up her mind and kept walking, as silently as she could. She stopped right behind him, breathing softly onto his neck. She had been right, he'd known about her presence behind him several minutes ago. His body was tense, nervous. She slid one hand around his waist, down to his crotch, and took a firm but not painful grip. She leaned in real close to his ear and whispered: 'take me to dinner?' He remained silent for a second, then turned slowly around. He took off her sunglasses. 'Christ, the little shit is infatuated with me. He must think I'm doing this for something besides personal gain..' she thought to herself. He leaned in for a kiss, and she forced herself to pretend she was enjoying it as he clumsily forced his hand underneath her pants and between her legs. He pulled his mouth back and said: 'You'll have to wait in my room, I'll get enough for two…'

She waited inside the foreman's small room. It was tiny, no larger than 10 by 12 feet. A cot was in one corner, and a small, cheap chest of drawers was opposite, right next to a small, rickety chair. He was actually located in an addition to the hacienda, a three room structure attached to the back. She had actually seen the door to the communications center, marked 'RADIO' in Spanish, as she had been escorted to his room. She waited impatiently. Eventually, the door creaked open and he walked in, carrying a large tray full of steaming food. In spite of herself, her mouth watered. Smiling, he set the plate on the chest. He handed her a fork, then pulled up the cot next to he chest to sit down. She was already using the chair. She didn't know how often this opportunity would come, so she dug in unashamedly. She got a full half of the huge steak and most of the surrounding potatoes and green beans. For the first time in over a month, she felt sated. She still didn't forget her mission though. She got up, walked over to the foreman, and pushed him down to the bed. Using what she hoped was a seductive grace, she undid his jeans and shirt. His member stood, fully ready, putting any rumors that he was impotent to rest. She slid off her shorts and mounted him. Then, as she began to rock back and forth on top of him, she started the part of her plan that everything hinged upon. She locked her strong hands around his throat and began to squeeze. At first his eyes widened in alarm and his hands came up to grip her arms painfully. However, between gasps of her own, she said: 'don't worry. It makes it better…' A confused look came across his face, then he smiled a little, as he felt his own pleasure increase as she cut off his air. She kept squeezing and rocking, until his whole body arched and shuddered underneath her. His orgasm was so intense that they fell off the cot and onto the floor with a thud, his dead weight suddenly on top of her.
She clamped her hands all the way shut, and already oxygen-starved, he passed out nearly immediately. Once she was sure he was deeply asleep, but not dead, she pushed him off in disgust. Muscles straining, she lifted him back onto the cot. She resisted the urge to clean herself, instead sliding on his jeans, her own worn hiking boots, and one of his shirts. It was probably around twelve at night. She poked her head out of the door and looked both ways down the hallway. She made her way to the door, and just as her hand was about to close on the knob, it turned on its own and the door opened. Streaming light silhouetted a standing figure. 'Who are you!?' said the man in front of her, an alarmed tone to his Spanish.

Scrambling to keep her panic under control, she spit out a hasty reply in Spanish. 'Uh, I'm just here for a couple days, I'm usually up in the states doing recon as a creeper. I've gotta radio my commander and tell him the new orders we just received.' He eyed her well-muscled frame, clothed like one of the foremen. 'Well, alright. You know how to use the radio?' he asked, still a little doubtful. 'Of course!' she responded. He shrugged, then walked past. She entered the radio room and shut the door behind her, finally letting the breath she'd been holding out. She didn't know how many times she could escape death like that. Luckily, there was no on else in the room. She glanced around and found a chart. 'Thank God…' She found the symbols for Miller, Presidio Lago, and the fortress she was in right now. She picked up the radio's mouthpiece, and selected the Vigilante frequency. Just one more thing her father had shown her. She would make three repetitions of the message. 'Attention, to all vigilantes who may be listening. This is a slave, working to build a fortress at these map coordinates…'

When she was finished, she snuck back to the foreman's room, slid out of his clothes, and got into the cot. He was beginning to wake from passing out, and opened his eyes a little. She smiled at him and put a finger to her lips. He smiled and went back to sleep.

*****

Tesla listened, in shock, to the recording of the radio message. Willis was with her, gaping at the twin-spools of the recorder. The radio operator looked at her. She worked her jaw a couple times, to get feeling back into her mouth. 'Well, I guess we found out where all those women have gone.'

**********

After disposing of Glens body, there was some debate over what to do with the badly wounded Don. Pike, Bishop, and Johnny argued for killing him; Mofo and Paladin were for letting him go in the desert with no supplies, but it was the cooler heads of Mary and Lydia who finally prevailed, bundling him into the back of Mary's car and taking him to the stockade in Mescalero township. The others returned to Johnny's house, where he busied himself with making the group a late breakfast.

They ate in stony silence, each consumed with his own thoughts. Bishop finished his food and went out onto the porch, the smell of cigarette smoke wafting in a few moments later. The others looked at each other. Pike broke the silence.

'Well, shit, this has turned into a big old horse-apple, now hasn't it?' The others all nodded in return.

'Hey, uh, Johnny? These Department guys, or the SSS or whatever...if they've got a price on Bishops head, what are his chances of surviving?' Mofofunks question hung in the air. Johnny took a long time to respond.

'If he's lucky-and Bishop's made it out of more scrapes then most men I know-maybe 6 months, on the outside. Its like he said last night-these guys are trained to look like anyone, anything, anywhere. A Department M assassin could just as easily be up on the hillside right now training a rifle on his head, or it could be the pretty blonde with car trouble outside of Las Vegas 5 months from now. Much as I hate to say it, he's on borrowed time.' Mofo nodded soberly.

'What are you guys talking about?' Paladin was looking around in confusion. Johnny sighed.

'Its a long story....' and he proceeded to tell him the basics of Department M. At the end, Paladin narrowed his eyes in concentration, then looked up at Johnny again.

'but if you guys were both in, don't you still have contacts inside the organization? Couldn't you try to get this hit called off, or something?' Johnny shook his head.

'The last person I knew who was still in was Bishop, and I'm pretty sure he burned all of his bridges when he left...' Silence once again descended on the room.

'Well, we'd better come up with something...' Pike mused, sipping his coffee.

'We take him down.' Bishops voice startled all of them, and Mofo looked at him in confusion.

'Uh, take who down? The leader, who we don't know, of an organization, that doesn't exist, with assassins, who we can't see? It seems like a long shot to me, longer then Dorothy just humping the Scarecrow to get home to Kansas...' Everyone glanced in bafflement at Mofo for a moment, then back at Bishop.

'No. Thane. We find this town called Miller, we head down there, do some recon, then we hit 'em with everything we've got. We muster up whatever and whoever we can, as many cars and guns and people as we can find, and then we take that mother out. From there, we'll figure out our next move.' There was a pause, and then Pike spoke, steel in his voice.

'Let's do it.' And the room was a swarm of activity as they started getting out maps, paper, graphs, charts. The daylight was rapidly consumed as phone calls were made, supplies brought in and out, old maps and pictures pored over, diagrams drawn. In addition to this, after a single call made by Johnny, a steady stream of people began visiting the house, speaking with Johnny for a few minutes, and then leaving. The buzz traveled rapidly around the Reservation, and as night fell, the plan was made.

*******
The sun was well below the horizon when the meeting finally began. There were almost 60 Apaches, men and women, who were crammed into every corner of Johnny's house. Surprisingly enough, the conversations were low, almost silent, as they waited for Johnny to appear, which would signal the beginning of the meeting. Bishop leaned against the far wall, smoking a cigarette.

Johnny walked out of the bedroom and took his place at the front of the room. Instantly silence fell, and more then 60 pairs of eyes waited expectantly.

'Hello. You've all heard by now that there is something in the works, but you don't know what that is. Well, I'm going to tell you now. Somewhere south of here, in a border town called Miller, a group of men are planning the invasion of New Mexico, with the intent of returning it to the sovereign control of Mexico. These men here,' he indicated Pike, Paladin, Mofo, and Bishop with asweep of his hand, 'have vowed to stop it. I owe one of these men a life boon, and so I have volunteered to go with him as well. I am asking now, that all warriors who choose to ride metal steeds, join us in this fight.' There was much rumbling amongst the group, and it was a young man named Wolf who stood first.

'What is the point of getting involved in a white mans fight? They have hunted and killed us in the past, and it is only the pact of nations and guarding of our borders that has saved us now. Why should we care what happens to those who already surround us? The army's will advance to our borders, if what you say is true, and then we will fight them off. In the meantime, let the whites die-they did the same to us many years past.' There were mumbles of agreement. A middle aged man stood next.

'Wolf speaks the truth. If there is a war coming, I welcome it, and maybe we will be able to get more of our land back from the 'enemies' after they have taken over, if we play our cards right.' There was more agreement, and scattered applause. One of the young women who had come with Lydia the night before now stood.

'There is a saying, amongst all wise people-those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it. Our ancestors greeted the whites with friendliness, and the suffered. They were then greeted with hostility, and they suffered. If we do not attempt to stop this invasion, we will be worse off.' She was met with silence. A few people shifted in their seats, and were it not bad manners, many would have gotten up and left right then.

This is not going well at all, thought Pike. A few of the men and women were now glaring at him in open hostility, and he was suddenly painfully aware of the 16 foot gulf that sperated him from his sidearm. This crowd could turn real ugly real fast. I sure hop Johnny knows what he's doing. He started casually scoping an escape route, in case he needed to jam. He locked eyes with Bishop, who seemed to read his thoughts. He looked at the doorway, then glancxed at Pikes gun, nodding slowly. Well, if it goes sour, at least I won't be alone, Pike mused. I hope Mofo and Paladin will be okay....

An old man stood, and the mutterings which had been growing louder ceased. This was Albert, who, as far as everyone knew, was older then dirt. He looked around, then began speaking slowly.

'I feel it is time for me to speak. I sit here, and listen to the braves talk about how they are not responsible for this white mans war that is coming. I hear others say that this fight is a righteous one.' He shook his head. 'I remember a time when no apache would walk away from a fight, and when there was no one else to fight, they would fight each other. I remember when we were forced from our homes, and made to live on the white mans reservations. I remember when the fire water had poisoned our people, and it seemed as if we would die because of it. I remember when we were called to the great war against the demon Hitler, and we crossed the great ocean and fought the warriors of the east. And I remember how proud I was when we purged the fire water poison from our people, and made them strong again. I remember all of these things. But now, when instead of going to fight a righteous war, we sit and discuss things like old men, it saddens me. Letting old wounds grow diseased by opening them again gets us nowhere. Maybe the white men did bad things in the past, but do you hold the actions of the ancestors against their childrens children? Do you sit and watch while the young are slaughtered, the innocence cast from their eyes forever as their blood runs into the ground? This is bad for the Apache people, and it loses favor with the spirits. These are things you should discuss. I have ntohing more to say now.' And he sat down.

There was thoughtful silence for a few moments, and then Wolf stood up again, and it was maybe Pikes imagination, but he stood a little straighter, a little taller. 'Tell us what you want us to do, Johnny.' And with a smile, Johnny launched into his plan. Around the room, Pike, Bishop, Mofo, and Paldin breathed a sigh of relief.

******
Pike stole a glance at his watch and stifled a yawn. It was nearly 3 AM and they were no closer to a resolution. The plan had been gone over several times, and he was already bored with it. It seemed like every aspect had to be gone over with a fine toothed tomahawk, and he was ready for bed. Bishop had stood a few moments earlier and stepped onto the porch for his vice, and so Pike got to his feet with a stretch and went to join him.

Outside, he saw that Bishop had walked over to his car and sat in the front seat, feet up on the open door. Pike ambled over.

'Care for some company?' Bsihop nodded tiredly.

'Sure, as long as you promise not to talk about the plan.' Pike nodded and opened the door, sliding into the passenger seat. 'So, where'd you get this car, anyway?' Bishop shrugged.

'My dad had one when I was a kid, I always promised myself that when I settled down I'd pick one up. So, when I got back to the states, I found it on a used car lot in New Orleans. The guy who sold it to me gave me the address of an outfitter, so I got the works.' He flipped on the CB, scanning through the channels. He stopped when he found a lively conversation going on between a pair of truckers somewhere on highway 70, east of Roswell. The two men sat in silence, listening to the bawdy jokes and tales of conquest. The two men laughed at the obviously tall tales. Then, the conversation changed.

'Hey, DeuceGoose, hold on a moment 'bo, I'm gonna see if that crap is still on there.' There was silence for maybe 10 seconds, and then he was back. 'Yeah, that craps still playing. God forbid I need some help from one of them lazy sumbitches.' Pike and Bishop looked at each other in puzzlement. What was he talking about?

'Roger that, Taco Bill. Damned vigilantes always gotta play their pranks. Its a cryin' shame.' Bishop picked up the mike.

'Hey, uh, Taco Bill, Deucegoose, this is The Bishop, whats this about the vigilantes?' There was a seocnd long pause, and then Taco Bill responded.

'Hey there, Bishop. Go down to the Vigilantes channel, they got some damned recording playing over and over. Someones idea of a joke...'

'Uh, thanks, Taco Bill.' Bishop scanned down the channels to the one in question. A womans voice was speaking.

'...please report in to your nearest AVA office for a code 5 alert. All Vigilantes, repeat, all Vigilantes in the Arizona/New Mexico/Texas, please report in to your nearest AVA office for a code 5 alert.' Bishop turned off the CB and looked at Pike.

'Whats a code 5 alert?' Pike looked back at him, fear in his eyes.

'Bishop...we don't HAVE a code 5 alert. We have a code 4 alert, which means major organized creeper activity; you know, like when they plan to take over or raze a town. Code 5 can only mean....' Bishop finished the sentence.

'Invasion.' Both men scrambled out of the car and sprinted for the house.

*******

The last of the tanks rolled off the flat-car. Thane looked around; the population of the town had swollen from 5000 to nearly 20,000 in 12 hours. He turned to the commander, a short man who habitually carried a riding crop. He looked up at Thane.

'We begin in the morning.'

********


A casual observer would have seen naught but chaos swirling around the reservation, wild shadows being thrown on an earth cast in red by light from the rising sun. People running here and there, some carrying guns one way, others running cans of gas, ammunition the other way. However, the farther back you stood, you'd begin to see a kind of order… If you had some way to monitor stocks of supplies in their various locations, it would all snap together into a wondrous harmony.

'Wow.'

Pike was simply leaning against the hood of his Pally, the thick folds of the duster laying heavily against his skin. Bishop, standing next to him, replied with nothing but a nod and a low: 'Yeah…'

As they stared slack-jawed at the bustling activity around them, they didn't even notice the soft footsteps of Lydia as she approached them in the early dawn light. None of them had gotten more than a couple hours of sleep, stolen in snatches throughout the night. Thankfully, she bore three steaming cups of coffee with her. 'A little something to wake you boys up?'

Pike, turning around, reached thankfully for one of the mugs. 'Whew! Thanks Lydia! Gad, I wish I could help out… I don't have the slightest clue as to what's going on here…'

Lydia simply laughed as Pike drank deeply from the cup. 'Don't worry about it, this is a system that's been worked on for over a hundred years now. Tossing in a random person would just slow everything down.'

Pike and Bishop grinned, but Bishop was the first to respond. 'God, I wander what they're gonna say at the local AVA station when an entire fucking Rez shows up. We better tell 'em we're coming, that way they won't think Thane's little-' ( -big?- Pike wondered to himself) '-army, arriving early…'

'We're a step ahead of you, Bish. I don't think they believed us, but they will. A few hundred Indians packing knives and rifles tend to prod people into leaps of faith. Hey look who's up…'

The small group looked across the small clearing they were standing in, through the purposeful crowds and saw Mofo emerging from one of guest houses, wearing a fuzzy pink bathrobe. Lydia stifled a giggle. 'Where the hell did he get that from? I thought I'd locked the chest it was in!'

By the time Mofo had shuffled up to him, he was nearly done rubbing all the sleep from his eyes. He stared at the group and they stared back. 'What? What!?' No one said anything for a few minutes. Finally, Pike said: 'You're uh … You're not planning on wearing that are you? To the fight I mean.'

Mofo looked down and plucked at the bathrobe. Small pink pieces of fuzz came off. 'What, this? What's wrong with it?' He stared at everyone, then turned around, muttering in a disgusted voice: 'Fine! Jee-zus, fuckin' weird taste in clothes these people have…'

* * *

'Come on you fuckers! I want everything ready in a half of a fucking hour! Jesus you retards are slow!' The commander of the base was striding around the camp, lashing at any whom he saw as lagging behind. Since his entire slave population was working off of two or three hours of sleep and a thin gruel, this was pretty much everyone. He spotted one broad-shouldered woman set down the cases of 7.62mm ammunition she was carrying to check another slave that had fallen to the ground. He drew back his crop - and another hand caught his wrist! He swung around furiously, ready to sentence whoever it was to death. Then his eyes widened. It was one of his foremen, shotgun and all. The fire faded, to be replaced by a leering grin. 'Heh heh heh. Got a soft spot for that one, eh? Alright then, we'll keep her nice and smooth… Enjoy your bitch!'

The foreman clenched the barrels of his shotgun to the point where his hands turned a pale, stark white from the tension. -It isn't like that…- he said to himself. -Its love…- Behind him, the Allison squeezed out a single salty tear for the fallen, dead, unkown man. She lifted his load and carried on. Around her, thousands of people stood, walked, and milled around. The camp was like an anthill. The invasion would be started in just a few hours. Their first target was an AVA station, the one closest to the Texas/Mexico border. She'd been able to find out that much from her 'friend.' -God, what a fucking pervert- She dropped off her load of ammo, and as the soldiers sent her a few distracted catcalls, she began to trudge back to the depot she'd been told to haul from. But, when she got there, she found that it was empty, so she walked up to the person administering her station.

'What do I do now?'

He looked at her in a funny way, then pointed down a path that she now saw her fellow slaves trudging down. Suddenly her heart went icy with fear. -If they're ready for invasion… What the hell do they need slaves for?- Sure that the path lead to death, but with nothing else to do, she turned away and began to walk…

'STOP!'

She slowly turned around, only to be possessively grabbed by the foreman. 'This one is mine! She will go with me! The Commandante, he has said it is ok!'

The ammo dump manager's only response was a slight shrug, and a muttered: 'fine.'

Two hours later, Allison watched dejectedly from a tiny window of a bouncing trailer being hauled behind a tracked APC in the command group of one of the two battlegroups that had been formed. She couldn't even count the number of tanks… Had to be at least a hundred and fifty in both battlegroups combined, though… -My God… I wonder if my message will have meant a damn thing?-

* * *


A Hermes, a beat up Pally, a rickety Bushmaster, and an old, jury-rigged Clydesdale drove along at the head of the convoy, Pike in the lead. The hope was that the AVA guys would recognize his car. There was some chatter over the CB.

'So, Holy Knight 1 … how's the ride?'

There was a pause, a little static.

'Itt-t-t-t-'s ju-u-s-t-t-t grr-ea-t! Tha-n-n-kkkk-s fo-r the looo-a-n-n!'


*****

An Impact wrench wailed as A.J. removed the nut holding the big Curtiss Commando's tailwheel on.

The wrench suddenly fell away from the wheel assembly, and Hunt let go of the trigger. A quick glance into the socket's open end showed the large nut had come off. Hunt let go of the wrench, letting the air hose slide through his fingers, slowing the fall. The air tool set down, he concentrated on removing the 60-pound tailwheel. About halfway though getting it off, the phone rang.

'Argh! Never fails!' Hunt pushed the tailwheel back onto its axle, being as careful as he could to not score the bearings, and grabbed a rag off of the floor with a grunt as the phone rang for the third time. Bounding across the open space in the hangar, he caught the receiver on the fourth ring.

'Hunt's Air Service, A.J. speaking.'

'Jake here.'

A.J. shot his free hand under the phone as the handset suddenly squealed with static and what sounded like interference. He located the switch, and the noise disappeared.

'Ok, Bandit, what've you got?'

'It just came off of the fascimile machine...still smells like toner. Here we go, this morning at 1:53 mountain time, a call from...crap, you weren't kidding. Mexico...Zacatecas routing station...then from there, it says the number's undisclosed. What do you make of that?

'I don't know, but you're in the position to find out.' Wing' held the phone between his head and his shoulder and wiped the grease from his hands.

'Yeah, I'll do some digging. Got a few contacts in Mexico City, I'll call you back in fifteen minutes.'

'Fifteen!? Wow...your connection must be pretty good.' Hunt peered at his fingers, then tossed the rag halfwy back to the tail of the huge Curtiss.

'Hey, don't ask, all right? This is going to cost me a lot of dough...'

'Don't tell, then...'

'Hmmph. Hang up, would you?'

'Sure...oh, try to catch me at a good time, would you? This time around you got me with a huge tailwheel halfway off of its axle.'

'Ugh, Wing', I'm not a psy...forget it.'

The line went dead. Hunt made a face at the receiver.

Fifteen minutes and a lot of grunting and pulling later, the tailwheel was off and the large roller bearings were out, ready to be repacked. Hunt dipped his hand into a large can of Lubri-Plate as the phone began to ring again.

'Gnarrrrrr! Perfect timing, Bandit!' Hunt yelled in the direction of the phone. He pulled his hand out of the can and wiped the grease on its rim, removing most of slippery substance. A grab of the rag and a quick dash toward the phone put him there on the thrid ring.

'Jake?'

'Yeah.'

A click sounded on the other end, and A.J. flipped the phone over with the rag and threw the switch with some difficulty through layers of old terry cloth.

'Nice...cought me with my hand in the grease jar this time.'

'Always an excuse. The informant says the source is from somewhere between Zacatecas and Torreon. From what it looks like, it's an illegal splice into lines that the rail system uses...he says there are tracks that run right through that region, and a lot of older track running into areas where they used to run tin mines and ore refineries. Your caller could be hiding in a mine shaft somewhere, for all he knows. The nature of the railroad's commo lines are bad enough to track stuff, splices make it almost impossible. The guy can pin it down to a 50 mile square area, though. I've got the full details coming through on your fascimile.'

Wing' glanced at his desk, and the machine next to the phone started humming.

'Getting it now.'

'Wing'?'

'Hm?'

'Be careful, man...this stuff looks pretty nasty from what you've told me.'

'Oh, come on, Bandit...you know what a cautious fellow I am.' Wing grinned broadly as he spoke.

'Yeah, you and that little 150+ mph hot rod.'

'Don't forget the 450+ mph fighter.'

'I rest my case.'

Hunt glanced at the fax machine again. The sheet of paper curled on
itself, myriad wavy lines on thermal paper transforming into a log of
black and white woodgrain. Hunt grabbged the paper and uncurled it, peering at the lines.

'Whoa...topographic map? Nice.'

'Yeah, you're going to need it. Lots of dead end canyons in there.'

'I suppose you know what I'm thinking then.'

'You just bring yourself and that hot chunk of machinery back in one piece, okay?'

'Plan to.'

'Oh, there's some WEIRD stuff going down in some little hellhole called Miller over here. Some huge vig get-together, and the AVA's been broadcasting something about a Code 5, whatever the hell that is.'

'You say Miller?'

'Yeah, why?'

'I think Mofo mentioned that to me the last time we talked on shortwave. I don't think it's any coincidence that I'll be talking to him again in a few hours.'

'Watch yourself, Wing'. Something really big is brewing here.'

'Always do...and whatever it is, can't be anywhere near as bad as that mess back in '76.'

'I gotta run.'

'Nee you sext time, I mean, see you next time. Nyuk.'

'Cute.' The line went dead.

The fax machine spooled down and its built in cutter sliced the rolled paper. A.J. grabbed the rolled up sheaf and pulled his chair out. Sitting down, he examined the map, looking for flat areas. One in particular caught his eye, a mountaintop with a broad expanse of spaced out topographic rings.

'Bingo. Hello, photo-recce target.'

Hunt had people to talk to, one person in particular...

And he had a mission to fly.

****

'Wing'?... Wing'?! Come in Wingnut..'

Mofo fiddled with a small knob on the side of the shortwave device Wingnut had installed in the Bushmaster's dash, makeshiftly of course.

There was some sharp static for a few seconds. Mofo ran his hand across the face of the shortwave radio, watching the little dust particles float up in front of him, then become invisible again.

'...I copy you Mofo...' Wing' paused, 'I just talked to Bandit and I was hoping to hear from you, as long as share som-'

Wingnut was cut of, 'Oh yeah, how is Jake? Is he holding everything down at the fort?'

'Yeah, yeah, but that isn't really what's important right now ok?' Wing' let out, with a slight exasperated tone.

'Ok, sorry bud, go ahead... Over'

'Alright... Bandit just recently faxed me over some info and a map regarding an area where that call might have came from, its in this area with some spliced tracks and old mines... you know, a perfect place for some dirty work to be going down... .. ...'

Static cut in as Wing' began his next sentence, he tapped a knob with his left hand... clearing the air once again.

'...I just know that all thats been happenin' ties into each other somehow, and that eventually, we'll all be involved in some serious shit...'

There was a brief moment of silence.

Mofo broke in, 'Yeah...' He paused, 'Man, there is a lot of camotion around here at the Apache reservation, everyone is getting stuff together... I don't really know what going on... gimme a second...'

'Ok...' Wingnut made a mental note, placing a X where the reservation was located on a old tattered but much wider map he had beside him.

'Wing' you still there?' Mofo gave the shortwave radio a hard slap with his hand. 'Wing' you copy?'

'Yeah Im here... talk to me Mofo,' Wing' replied.

'Ok, it looks like we are getting a plan together here, something big, has something to do with Miller and that Code 5 the AVA has been putting out on the vig CB frequency.'

Wing' gave a short agreeing grunt, began to speak but was cut off again.

'Hold on Wing'... it looks like Bishop Singer is waving me over to the Chief's house... I'll have to get in touch with you asap, or vice versa...'

Wing' quickly answered, 'Yeah, and it looks like I'm going for a little trip. I'll contact you as soon as I can... IF I can.'

'Wing'?'

'Yeah?'

'Good luck, and don't get yourself killed.'

'I won't Mofo... don't worry...'

Wing' was about to flip the shortwave radio switch to off when Mofo started again.

'Hey Wing'...'

'Yes?'

'...Do you have that... er, you know, where... that... man... I don't know... you know?' Mofo sighed.

There was a dead-still silence then Wingnut replied slowly, 'Yeah........ I know.'

******

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