Completed and brused up lead-up/meeting... -- - - - V O X -

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Date Posted: 20:32:26 08/06/99 Fri
Author: Wing'
Subject: Completed and brused up lead-up/meeting...

Left a little at the beginning for placement in the story.

"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."

*******

Dawn broke as the room in the small house on the Apache reservation bustled with people talking. Maps, charts, inventories and stacks of weapons were discussed and even argued over. Johnny broke from a group of men arguing over how many rifles and how much ammunition would be donated to the cause and walked outside for some fresh air. A few yards distant, Bishop sat in his Hermes listening intenly to the AVA broadcast.

Johnny called to Bishop.

"Tear yourself away from that thing and come get some breakfast. It's 6 a.m. and that recording's not going to change."

Bishop dropped the cigarette he was smoking to the ground and switched off the radio.

"Like waiting for the pot to boil, I suppose...won't happen until I turn my back." Bishop exited the Hermes and walked toward the house, feeling bone tired.

As if on cue, a man came running up to Johnny, gasping for air.

"Johnny, we got big trouble. There's a war plane coming in..."

Johnny straightened, and stepped down off of the porch.

"A what? Where? You sure?"

The man put his hands on his knees, bent over and gasped for more air, telling Johhny between breaths.

"A black bird...like a giant raven. Bristling...with guns. To the south. Be here any second."

Bishop swore, turned on his heel and ran to the Hermes.

Johhny sprinted inside the house, yelling something Bishop couldn't take the time to listen to.

Moments later, as Bishop had the Hemes spitting dirt from its rear tires while scrambling toward a flashing blip on his radar, Johnny ran from the house with Joe, MoFo, Pike and Lydia in tow. Bishop caught a glimpse of the group in his mirror. Good...they were heading for thier cars.

Bishop scanned the purple eastern horizon for movement...how had they spotted the thing? The sky was still quite dark, and the sun hadn't even risen above the desert's edge. A speck slightly east of where he was looking caught his eye. There it was. A small black cross in the air...moving very quickly. The watchman had been right, the cross fairly bristled with little splinters. Bishop hit the Hermes' targeting button and listened to the roof mounted turret whine as it locked on to the ignition signature of the aircraft. It wouldn't be much, but it would certainly be a deterrent to coming close and low to do heavy damage.

Behind Bishop, Pike glared at the quickly enlarging bird of prey...if only he'd equipped his Palimino with some sort of guided weapon. He grabbed his mike.

"Somebody had better have some sort of guided weapon to bring that thing down, or we're all toast."

Lydia's young voice responded.

"I've got a Doc Radar. As in one. I'll have to boresight him and hope it hits."

The aircraft turned toward the six hurtling vehicles, pointing a shap nose directly at them. Bishop watched the thin slits of the aircraft's wings, waiting for flashes to telegraph its weapons being fired. He recognized the make of the aircraft with a jolt. It was the same type of aircraft his father had flown in in the war. The P-51 rapidly closed on the group, headed straight for them. Bishop lit up the minigun. Rounds passed below the plane, then quickly above as the tracking system tried to compensate for the extreme closing rate and distance. Bishop gritted his teeth, willing the minigun to score a hit.

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." The plane suddenly dropped its landing gear.

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!"

Johnny raised his eyebrows. This was unexpected. These kind of photos would
give a hefty advantage to the AVA and the defensive bands that had cropped up.
Johnny made a decision.

"We just happen to have a photo lab that one of our braves set up here on the
reservation. If you're willing to allow us to develop and use them, you can
stay on."

Stu grinned broadly.

"Great! lemme grab mah stuff and I'll get y'all that film just as soon as it's
rewound." He jumped up onto the wing of the plane and reached into the cockpit.
One leg went up into the air as the pilot leaned way over to grab something.
Grunting and groaning echoed through the now-silent aluminum bird. Stu yelled
and yanked a huge duffle bag out of the cockpit and let it fall onto the wing
next to him.

"Well, that's all ah need 'ceptin' for that film." He grabbed the bag and
dragged it after him off of the wing. As he walked, he fumbled in his pocket
and withdrew a small odd-looking tool. He stopped next to the access panel in
the fuselage and stuck one end of the tool into the slot of what appeared to be
one of several very large flat-topped screws holding the panel in place. A
quick twist made a popping sound, and the panel pulled away a bit from the rest
of the aircraft's sheet metal. Several pops later, the panel swung downward on a
hinge and Stu stuck the upper portion of his body into the hole. Bangs and
clicks sounded, then a metallic whirr started. Stu pulled himself out and
turned to face six very curious looking individuals.

"It's rewinding. Give it some time." He grinned.

Johnny pointed at the bag on the ground.

"What's in there that's so important?"

Stu looked surprised.

"Jus' some extra clothes and such..."

"Mind if I have a look?"

"Well, hell, yes, I mind! I don't want some stranger rootin' his way through
mah personal belongin's!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dukane..."

"Please, call me Stu."

"Stu, I just want to make sure there's nothing dangerous in that bag. For all
we know you're here to sabotage things."

"Well, ah'm sorry, mister, but a man's privacy is a man's privacy. Ah don't want
you lookin' in there."

MoFo spoke up.

"Let him go, Johnny, he could have blown the hell out of the whole reservation
if he was here to do any damage."

Johnny nodded.

"All right. I'm sorry, Stu, but I have to be careful..."

"No problem. Whoops, film's done. Pard'n me." Stu stuck himself back into the
hole. Bishop couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous his friend looked.
Johnny snickered despite the whole situation.

"I'm going back to the ranch house...I need some sleep." Pike spoke as he
walked back to his Palomino, obviously losing interest. Joe turned and walked
back to his truck. "Same here, wake me up when that stuff gets deveoped."

Johhny turned to Lydia.

"They could use your help back at the house more than we need you here."

Lydia would normally have bristled at such a statement, but Johnny was right.
She nodded and turned toward her car without a word, but raised an eyebrow
toward the character banging around inside the fuslage of the plane as she
walked away. Johnny wordlessly acknowledged her.

Stu yelled, "Got it!" from inside the plane, then yanked himself out bodily and
brandished a small metallic container. "Right there."

Johnny held his hand out. "Let's get that to Reed." Stu handed over the
container. "Who's Reed?"

"Blowing Reed is our resident genius. Young kid about 20 years old...into
photography, electronics, so forth. Lots of help when it comes to tracking
systems, fixing our cars, many other things that we'd otherwise still be behind
in along with other tribes on reservations. Reed opened us up to using outside
technology to better ourselves. He's indispensible. You'll like him. He'll
have a lot of questions, though, especially about your plane and your camera.
Don't let him talk too much. You'll never get him stopped." Johnny spoke as he
walked toward Bishop's Hermes. Bishop, MoFo and 'Stu' followed him.

"Bishop, Stu will ride in your car. You'll follow me. I'm going to Reed's
shack, and we'll leave MoFo there to keep an eye on Stu. Just a precaution, of
course."

Stu nodded. MoFo seemed strangely at peace with this, as did Bishop.

Bishop opened the door for Stu. As Stu shoved the bag into the Hermes' back
seat, Bishop whispered clenched through teeth.

"Reed's a nice ten minute drive away. That's plenty of time to tell me what the
hell is going on."

Wing' looked surprised...and worried.

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