This wasn't my first idea for the next chapter, but it seemed unavoidable. We'll be back to the regular crew (at least 3 of 4) next. Long-time followers may notice that I "unkill" another person here. I would like to mention, lest anyone take this as pure farce, that I know a veteran who was actually involved in an incident like this. I consider this individual's full story to be strictly in confidence. It will suffice to say, nobody won.

Week 46

The pair had been known as Cop-Killer and Auto among their peers, but dubbed Helmet and Cash by the little band of survivors that had bested them on the way to Vegas, and to their chagrin the new titles were catching on. They had been trusted lieutenants of middle manager-turned-biker warlord Branson Missouri, along with Enid Oklahoma and a hulk known as Nails, even after their ignominious defeat seven months earlier. But then Helmet and Cash had had the poor judgment to help Nails in his attempt at revenge on a 13-year-old girl who had given him his nickname by defeating him with a nail gun. Nails had been banished, Helmet had been shot in the shoulder as an object lesson, and then he and Cash had been severely demoted, to little more than errand boys for the military personnel who maintained Branson's force of armored vehicles. Enid had kept them under relatively good graces, instructing them to prepare for the "contingency" of taking control of the armor. Then, twelve hours ago, he had told them to put the first phase of their plan into effect, before going out into the desert with Branson. They were to await his signal before actually seizing the vehicles, but that was to have happened by nightfall, whereas by now it was fast approaching 10:00 at night.

"With what we've got, we can take three bricks or a brick and a spig," said their closest confidant, a mechanic who would answer to Milo. "I found guys who can get us more, including the Tank and a centipede, but they'll only do it if Branson is out of the picture first." By the coalition's vernacular, a "brick" was an M113 APC, a "spig" was a 155 mm self-propelled gun, the "centipedes" were sixteen-axle giant tractor-trailers used to transport armored vehicles, "Arv" was Camp Swampy's single M88 Armor Recovery Vehicle, and the Tank was an M60, by far the most formidable vehicle in Branson's possession.

Helmet shook his head. "If it was going to be that easy, Enid would have given us the signal already."

"But Branson hasn't called back either," Cash said. "Something happened to him, and if we take the tank now, it won't matter what."

"And what would we do with it?" Milo said. "I'm barely qualified to drive it, but it takes two more people to run the main gun, another if we're going to man the .50 cal, and two more to pull it with the centipede, never mind maintenance..."

"But all we really need to do," Helmet said, rubbing his chin, "is get it out of here..."

"Hey, Milo," said a sergeant, shining a flashlight into the cab of an M746 8X8 truck, "what are you doing?"

"We're taking the centipede back for maintenance," said Milo as he started the engine.

The sergeant reached pointedly for his pistol. "With the trailer. And the Tank."

"Well..." Helmet leaned around Milo and shot the sergeant in the face.

"Holy *," said Milo. Helmet shrugged.

A mixed group of bikers and soldiers arriving at a barbed-wire fence heard a very loud beeping. Then the centipede backed right over the fence, and several vehicles. The tractor and trailer had a total length of about sixty feet, and with the fully-loaded and majorly upgraded tank on board had a combined mass of100 tons. Amazingly, a dozen of the interception party held their ground, clustering in front and behind with weapons including a .50 Barrett anti-materiel rifle and a 7.62 mm machine gun, and a hundred feet to the side of the centipede an APC armed with a missile launcher pulled up. "Get out of the truck, and we can sort this out," a soldier called out from a humvee turret.

"Or what?" shouted Helmet.

"Or, we can blow up the tank," the soldier said.

"I don't think Branson would be very happy with that," Helmet said. "And I think you would have a lot of collateral damage."

"Or," the soldier said, rather pleasantly, "I can just shoot the * out of the cab of that tractor."

"Yeah?" said Helmet. Suddenly, a second APC pulled up behind the encirclement, aiming the cannon of a transplanted Bradley turret at the first and disgorging bikers and a few soldiers. "Loyalist" weapons were promptly turned on the new arrival, and several .50 rounds inflicted non-trivial damage to the turret.

"Fine, so that evens the odds," the soldier said, "but we still have a missile on the Tank, and if we have to shoot, then nobody wins."

"Yeah, I suppose that does sum it up," said Helmet. "Except, there's one thing I just remembered..."

Suddenly, the turret whirred to life. Pointed in a backward "traveling" position, it had to wrench free of a brace that held the main gun in place, but after that, the turret swiveled smoothly, and every head swiveled to follow the 105 mm muzzle. Loyalists broke and ran. The APC crew bailed right out of their vehicle.

"Okay," Helmet said as Milo put the tractor in gear, "we'll be going now." They ducked the soldier's last-ditch spray of machine gun fire, and then the valiant warrior made a very quick strategic withdrawal before the centipede smashed his humvee to pieces.