A/N: The characters belong to JE. No, let's get this right – their names belong to JE, she never even bothered to give most of the delightful Merry Men a personality. The plot is all mine, not that it isn't that hard to tell. Warning for lots of swearing.

Let Sleeping Tank's Lie – A Cautionary Tale

Chapter 3

The Hercules hit the small, remote runway with a thud and bounced along, hitting ruts and debris every hundred yards or so. Finally, the lumbering plane rolled to a stop, though the pilot didn't cut the four turbo prop engines.

"Come on guys, everybody off," Lester sighed, as he popped the side door open and dropped the steps.

Bobby staggered to the tarmac and dropped to his knees, taking a deep lung full of air in the hope of calming his stomach. He didn't mind flying, but he hated the landing part with a vengeance. Pasty white, hairy legs adorned with pink flip flops came into his field of vision and he looked up at an ill looking Zero. "Don't like the landing part either?" he asked.

"No, that's fine," Zero gritted out, "What concerns me more is that we really are in a third world country - in the middle of nowhere, in a third world country, to be precise. And to make matters worse, I'm wearing a pink sarong and fucking flip flops. I just want to get back to Trenton with my dignity intact."

Lester let lose a bark of laughter. "Dignity? Fuck, man! You left that behind in Trenton. There will have been cameras in the cargo hold and the pilot will no doubt have taken pictures as well. You can bet you last paycheck that Ric and Tank will be laughing their asses off over this later on today."

Zero scrubbed his hands over his face. "But why did we get off the plane, I mean couldn't we just have stayed there?"

Bobby hauled himself to his feet and smiled. "Tried that the first time this happened."

"And?" Zero pressed.

"Got threatened with an AK47 and still got tossed out the back of the plane in Cambodia. Wouldn't have made the slightest bit of difference, man."

"And the plane, where's it going now?" Zero queried.

"Who knows, who cares," Lester chimed in. "And don't give me that look, Zero. We are not storming the plane. All bad, that thought. Trust me."

"How, have you tried that before?"

"Cambodia," Lester and Bobby answered in unison.

"Right," Zero muttered. "Anything else I need to know about Cambodia?"

"Nothing that springs to mind right now," Bobby replied.

Lester looked around the shabby airstrip. A forlorn, orange, tattered wind sock hung limply on a pole about twenty feet away to the left, a handful of faded oil drums stood guard around a rusty refueling tank on the other side of the runway, and a dilapidated shack clung to the side of the tarmac fifty feet to the right.

"Let's hit the shed, see if there is anything of use in it. If nothing else, it will provide some cover from the sun," he suggested.

The Hercules had turned around and was about to hit the runway again to take off, as the three men flip flopped their way towards the ramshackle building. As they drew close a voice made them pause, and Lester and Bobby whipped around to face the plane.

"Have a nice trip, guys!" the pilot yelled from the open cockpit window.

"Mac? What the fuck, man," Lester shouted.

The man laughed. "Manoso and Tank send their regards; they look forward to seeing you all in three weeks."

"Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck," Bobby cursed.

"Damn it, Mac! You're supposed to be on our side. How much to let us back on the plane and take us to somewhere with bars, women and beaches?" Lester hollered.

"Sorry Les, your boss offered to double any amount that you offered. I'm afraid that I won't be saving your ass this time. Best of luck, and all that," Mac grinned as he shut the window and opened the throttle on the engines, letting the plane thunder down the runway and take off into the hot, possibly African sunshine.

"Care to explain?" Zero quizzed once the dust had settled.

Lester ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "That was our ticket out of here. Mac's been the one to pick us up and help us out, but it looks like the boss has bought him off. Shit! That means that Ric must have been on to our plan.

"So, what's the plan now?"

"Plan?" shrieked Bobby, "that was our fucking plan!"

"Oh," Zero whispered as he watched Bobby pace around in small circles and mutter obscenities under his breath. Maybe they were really fucked after all.

"Bobby, knock it off," Lester snapped. "We just need to find another pilot, that's all."

Bobby ignored him and kept pacing around and muttering.

Lester counted to twenty and bitch slapped his partner in the face. "That is not helping, Brown. We have things we need to do. First off, find out where we are, and then work out who to call to get us out of this FUBAR'd situation."

Bobby glared at Les, but nodded and the three of them trooped off to the small building.

It was empty, save a sagging lawn chair and a Playboy calendar displaying June 1997.

Lester eyed the chair with suspicion and settled on leaning against the bare brick wall instead. "So gentlemen, what do we know?"

Bobby rubbed his stubble. "I make it about 9AM Trenton time, so it must be about 2 or 3PM here. I don't think we've gone west, so I suspect that we're in an African country with a western coast."

"Which means that we're in one of around 20 countries, which is not helpful at all," Lester sighed. "Anything else?"

Zero looked at Bobby, who shrugged, and they both looked at Lester. "Great, a lot of help you two are. We got dropped in Sierra Leone last time, so I think we can safely cross that one of the list. Plus no one has shot at us yet, so we can cross a few more off too. I'm down to about 15 countries now, any thoughts?"

Zero and Bobby still looked blank.

"Come on, guys, work with me here," Lester cajoled.

"I think we're lost," Zero offered.

"I think we should start to look for a new job," Bobby muttered.

Lester pulled his Glock and waved it in their direction. "Would you like me to put you both out of your misery?"

"No!" they both yelled.

"Good, that's what I wanted to hear," Lester grinned. "Now, we came in from the west and I didn't see any signs of civilization. I say we head east and see what we find. There must be a town or village somewhere, otherwise this airstrip wouldn't be here. Ramblers, let's ramble."

A/N: Are they in Africa? Can they find civilization? And just how are they going to explain their state of dress to anyone they meet? Stay tuned to find out.