Chip 'n Dale Rescue Rangers

Due South: A Novella

Welcome again to the world of Chip 'n Dale and the Rescue Rangers. This story is a sequel to the previous works 'Meeting with Destiny' 'A Christmas to Remember' and 'Generations'. In this fourth installment of 'The Continuing Adventures of the Rescue Rangers', Chip, Dale and company are called south to Tennessee to investigate a string of accidents on the small animal racing circuit…the only problem is, they may not be accidents. Can the Rangers crack the case before time runs out?

Prologue: Race to the Finish

March 28, 1991. Newport, Tennessee.

"And the Twenty-Third Annual Small Animal Racing Season is hereby declared…open!" the announcer declared, his homemade megaphone booming across the clearing. Below, on a carefully cut out dirt road, a line of hand-built vehicles roared to life, their various kinds of engines filling the air with mechanical noise. Electric motors vied against fuel engines that ran on everything from gasoline to waste oil. Some of the finest mechanical minds in the Southern small animal community sat behind the wheels of their individual creations, waiting for the chance to prove their mettle. A tall, slim mouse in a colorful referee's uniform stood between the two rows of vehicles. Holding a green flag in one hand, and a checkered one in the other, she raised them into the air. After pausing for just a moment, she smiled widely, and dropped the flags to knee level.

Engines roared, and the drivers sped away down the track, tires and wheels kicking up dirt in their wake.

"And the number five car is flying into the lead!" the announcer shouted. "They're coming into lap number two of the qualifying heat, ladies and gentlemen!"

Tires screamed as the contestants rounded the bend. Drivers were either praising their cars or cursing their luck. The number five, affectionately known on the circuit as 'Greased Lightning', was looking like a sure winner. The driver, a dark-furred squirrel named Billy, was ecstatic.

"Looks like another first row spot for Lightning, boys!" he called to his crew over the miniature CB radio.

The group of mechanics and electronics specialists cheered, passing around handshakes. The watched in elation as the number five came around the final lap.

And exploded.

In the crowd, children screamed as the vehicle's burning wreckage skidded across the finish line and smashed into the retaining wall. On the track, the crew raced out behind a team of hamster medics. Billy's friends watched in silence as a small version of what humans called the 'jaws of life' were employed, prying the frame of the burning dune-buggy apart. As they dragged the unconscious driver away from his car, the rest of the fuel in his patented engine caught fire, turning the chassis into a raging inferno.

"How is he?" the crew chief asked, in a fearful voice.

One of the medics shook his head in amazement.

"This boy's got one hard head, I'll tell ya that. He'll make it."

All those present sighed in relief.

"I tell you, fellows, I thought it was the end for 'ol Billy. Somethin's got to be done about these accidents! If that's what they really are."

"What're you sayin', Robert?" one of the others asked the head mechanic.

"I'm sayin' I think we got some foul play goin' on here. And I don't mean by no birds, neither. We need some help. 'Cause if somebody don't find out what's goin' on pretty soon, they're gonna cancel the races. I can feel it."

"But where we gonna find somebody that can do anythin' about it?"

"Well, it had to happen sometime, guys, but I think for this one, we gotta go north."

March 31, 1991. New York City, Central Park.

Moonlight streamed through the small window, and into Chip and Gadget Maplewood's bedroom. The light momentarily silhouetted the two sleeping figures there, and a sense of peace and tranquility impressed itself onto the entire scene.

That is, until a piercing cry split the air, immediately digging into Chip's ears. He rolled over, and gently shook Gadget.

"Gadge? Sweetheart, it's your turn."

Groaning, she pried her eyes open, looking at the watch that hung on the wall.

"Oh for crying out…it's four in the morning, Mariel!" she muttered. Throwing back the covers, she eased out of bed, trying to ignore the soreness in her back.

"I swear, parenting and casework combined are going to kill me."

Holding onto the wall with one hand, and rubbing the sleep from her eyes with the other, Gadget made her way to the room next door, where the sound was coming from. The small, lavender trimmed crib that resided there was the obvious source of the racket. She reached into it, and lifted out Mariel, she and Chip's daughter. The eight-month-old had grown like a sunflower, height-wise and weight-wise. Gadget hefted her little girl up to her shoulder, speaking in a soothing voice.

"There, there, now. What's the matter, little one? Hungry again?"

As the cries continued, she closed the door behind her, and walked out to the kitchen. She was glad it was situated on the ground floor of Rescue Ranger Headquarters, because there was no way she could have climbed stairs at the moment. Working with one hand, as she held Mariel with the other, she started warming a bottle.

"Wot's this then, the little dodger at it again?" Monterey Jack asked, walking into the room in his nightshirt. Gadget sighed, nodding.

"Yeah. She's been up five times tonight. I don't know what to do."

"Well now, you just leave it to 'ol Monterey Jack. C'mere, luv," he said, taking the wailing infant from Gadget's grasp. Instantly, the child fell silent, gurgling and mumbling happily. Her mother was amazed. Something in the big Australian mouse's rough and tumble touch always seemed to soothe the beast in Mariel. Chip laughingly blamed it on their being kindred spirits: always making too much noise about something or other. Monty took the bottle from a visibly grateful Gadget, who began to shuffle back to bed.

Well, she was about to, had somebody not started pounding on the front door.

"What? Who…at this hour?" she wondered, walking back into the living room.

"Coming!" she yelled as the fierce knocking continued. She turned the latches, and threw the door open. Out on the hangar branch stood a massively built opossum, hat in hand.

"Beg pardon about th' ungodly hour, ma'am, but is this here Rescue Ranger Headquarters?"

"Yes…yes, it is," she answered, noting the thick accent. Kentucky…maybe Tennessee? She shook off the questions flitting about inside her brain.

"Can we help you?"
"Well, if you'uns want ta stop somebody from getting killed for us, then I reckon you can."

The sleep instantly cleared from the mouse's brain, and she snapped alert.

"What's your name?" she asked, slipping a robe on over her nightgown. The opossum politely averted his eyes, looking back up a moment later, after she had tied the garment's belt.

"Name's Robert Daniels. I'm the crew chief fer Billy Moss's racin' team, outta Newport, Tennessee. Th' season just started, y'know…well, naturally you know, I'm guessin' yer a fan."

"Umm…how did you know that?" she asked, impressed. The big 'possum grinned.

"Well ma'am, seein' as how you've got this week's copy of 'Rally Driver' tucked inta yer robe pocket, I just assumed."

Gadget colored slightly, embarrassed that someone had openly seen her little obsession. Besides planes, there was one other thing that she and every other mechanic loved…a race between two or more cars.

"Well I am a fan. Billy Moss is the guy with the methane powered stock car, right?"
"If'n you mean it runs on cow manure, then yessum, he is. Only Billy ain't goin' ta be able to run the main races in a couple weeks."
"Oh? What happened?"
"He had a purty bad crash up a couple days ago. Car's ruined. Only thing is…don't none of us on the crew think it was no accident."

Her mind kicked into high gear, already calculating the amount of fuel and travel time for the Rangers' vehicles.

"You suspect foul play?"
"Yessum, I do. Been suspectin' it since the start. But we got nobody down there that's good at solvin' this sort of thing. Local sheriff's about as useful as…"

He curbed his tongue, seeing Gadget's curious expression.

"Sorry, ma'am, forgot I was talkin' to lady for a minute, there. Anyways, we need some help with this, or it's gonna ruin all of us!"

"Well, I can't speak for the Rangers, or not all of them, anyway, but I think this is something we definitely should look into."
Ringing a mounted bell next to the door, she shouted at the top of her lungs.

"Red alert, everybody! We've got a case!"