Sigma Mercenaries 0001R: Initial Public Offering REVISED

by CSS Stravag

Sigma Mercenaries Mainline story beginning, REVISED EDITION. When an unknown train lands on the vegetable garden of an American Militiaman, and the happenings in the train are revealed to be wildly messed up, four Americans swing into action to save lives and bring order to chaos. Along the way, they will meet a very odd and diverse cast of peeps from all over Existence.. (Rated M)

2. Crazy Train, Crazier Plan

(Sigma Mercenaries Chronicles, Story 0001, Chapter 02: Crazy Train, Crazier Plan)
(Interdimensional Jumper Train 523)

(Reminder: Previous chapter ended on Car 61)

Car 62 (Seats, 1 Level) (0909)
Car 63 (Seats, 1 Level) (0911)
Car 64 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (0913) (evacuated 25 civilians)
Car 65 (Baths, Gender Split) (0916)
Car 66 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (0918)
Car 67 (Baths, Gender Split) (0920)
Car 68 (House, 1 Level) (0922)
Car 69 (Lounge Car) (0924) (evacuated 19 civilians)
Car 70 (Seats, 2 Level) (0927)
Car 71 (Seats, 2 Level) (0929)

Once the second door latched open to allow access to the 71 car, Victoria darted into the room and immediately went right to check the near corner. No threat, no problem. Hess went left, cleared the left corner (again, no threat, no problem), and aimed up the nearby stairs to the second deck while Clarence moved forward to do a seat-by seat check. Clarence made it to the far end of the car, where he stopped and aimed up the far end stairs to the second deck. Scarlet and Andrea moved forward to render assistance to Clarence, since Scarlet still had the SOCOM II rifle and Andrea had recovered a functional Gewehr '43 from the prior lounge car.

After the bottom was cleared, Hess turned to face up the top stairs and ready for it. Clint gave Hess a shoulder squeeze, a signal to move, since Victoria had signaled Clint to move. Hess immediately started up the stairs, bayonet and muzzle leading the way so he could defend himself if needed. At the top, the landing spread out into another two rows of seats; Erich immediately ran across the landing to take his position at the right-hand side. Clint was second up and took the customary left side, with Victoria up the middle to do the seat-by-seat.

The lady made it a whopping two seats down the aisle before a gun discharged, though the shot was something that Hess had only ever heard at the range: a flintlock musket. Belying their notorious inaccuracy, the shot passed between Victoria and Hess, fired from the starboard side of the seat rows, by a lady that was trying to remain covered as much as possible. "VIC! DOWN!" Hess shouted as he caught sight of the shooter and at least two more.

Against the lady with the musket, Hess fired a single shot at the back of the seat where she was covering, and his custom-load .303 British munitions did as designed. The round punched through the back of the cheap metro-liner seat readily, bridged the air gap between seat and tango, and struck her traveling sideways at over 1400 FPS. It did not penetrate more than two inches into the lady, but two inches was more than enough to bust through her sternum and stop inside her trachea. By the time her rifle went vertical and started skidding toward the center aisle, Hess already had the bolt back on his rifle and headed forward to load a new custom-load 180-grain soft point into the chamber (1).

With the return shot, the remaining enemy began moving and bringing weapons to bear. In the port-side seats, Clint took sight on a lady with some kind of double-barreled shotgun and dropped three rounds into her, at the stupidly easy range of thirty feet he had no trouble hitting her three rounds rapid. The first one struck her left arm, the second caught her in the left thigh, and the third was the money shot, dead center in the chest. She was already on the way down to the ground from the leg shot, but the third hit ensured she would not be getting up from the ground for the rest of her life.

A medium-size lady brought a large-frame pistol up to bear against Clint and rattled off a pair of shots, with both shots well above him and one even into the light fixture above the stairs. Hess quickly retargeted, centered, and hammered her slightly low in the chest with a single round. Given the munitions he was using, the entry wound was somewhere between the size of a nickel and a quarter, but the exit wound was more on the order of a baseball and left a bloody mess on the seat behind her.

"SHIT!" Clint shouted as he dove for sanctuary behind the metro-liner seats when the fourth lady targeted him. It was a prescient call, as part of the buckshot pattern clipped the seat where he was standing, the remainder of the shot passed through the airspace he had previously occupied. At the same time she racked the slide on the Mossberg 500 Cruiser shotgun, she tried swinging over to take a shot at Hess, but never made it to target before Victoria shredded her brain with one well-placed shot of 5.56mm M855 penetrator. The slug entered the skull just behind the right temple, partially fragmented on the way through, though the largest chunk of the round exited the left rear of the head. Some detritus went with the slug, but not enough to create the common Hollywood head-shred effect.

"I'm up!" Victoria shouted as she stood and took aim down the length of the remainder of the car.

"Hold there and maintain watch," Hess ordered as he stepped out into the aisle. Once in position, he started walking forward with his rifle aimed forward, ready to sweep left or right and engage further threats. He reached the far side landing for the stairs with no further encounters, a good sign as far as he was concerned. "Top clear! Four tangos down, zero friendly casualties!" He shouted.

"Bottom clear!"

Erich waved Victoria and Clint forward to where the four downed ladies had set their ambush. "Check this shit out, boss," Clint said after he pulled a revolver out of the bodice worn by the first lady shot. "King Cobra, .357 Magnum. Nice hardware, and six live ones in the wheel."

"Probably figured on firing her musket, then switch over to the revolver rather than reload that old war-horse," Victoria said, looking at the flintlock weapon. "Markings are in French, if I don't miss my guess."

"I'm more interested in this monster," Clint lifted the double-barrel shotgun and braced it on one of the seats. "Ever seen any shit like this?"

"Not at all," Hess answered truthfully. "That's some heavy-duty shit."

Clint dropped the magazine out of the rather large shotgun, and pointed the business end of the magazine at Hess. "10-gauge 3 1/2" shells, sir. Way the hell better than the Remington 870s we use for entry."

"So keep it," Hess told him. "The worst the ATF can do is take it away from you, hell, chances are they may let you keep it after you tell them it was recovered from a wench that planned to cap you off. Hell, I say part out all their weapons to the trailers, Let the Slavers try their worst against a group of armed persons led by four Kentucky Militiamen, see how far they get on that."

Car 72 (Seats, 2 Level) (0933)
Car 73 (Seats, 1 Level) (0935)
Car 74 (Seats, 1 Level) (0937)
Car 75 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 Rooms) (0939) (Evacuated 5 Delta Mafia, 4 civilians)
Car 76 (Bathrooms, Individual Rooms) (0941)
Car 77 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (0943) (Evacuated 2 civilians)
Car 78 (Bathrooms, Gender Split) (0945)
Car 79 (House, 2 level) (0946)

Clint signaled a stop partway into the House Car that they were working on clearing. The upstairs team continued their trudge onward, sweeping to clear in the usual fashion but with four persons (Clarence and Victoria plus two others).

"Report," Hess said curtly.

"A piece of hardware worth talking about, sir," Clint said as he lifted the rifle.

"Typical black rifle, point being?" Hess asked.

"Suppressor and full-auto lower," Clint handed it over to Hess.

"Hell yes, a rifle with the pew-pew-pew switch," Erich said with a smile. "The can, well, I could take it or leave it, but this lower…" He kicked the magazine out, pulled the bolt to check for brass, then did a quick field-strip to check the barrel for flaws. Once satisfied, he reassembled the rifle, a process that took him roughly two minutes total.

"Keep it, boss. Not like anyone is claiming it right now," Clint nudged him.

"Nah. I like my one-banger AR-15, and I already have a full arsenal." he turned around to face his 'shadow' as he had begun to think of Toni. "You said you've got some time on rifles. Been behind the trigger on full-autos?"

"It is an education requirement for where I was born, ability to identify and use any common weapon type," Toni said. "I'm nowhere near your level of use and lethality, but I think I can hold my own."

"That's a bitchin' education system, if they teach people how to handle firearms properly," Clint said.

"I'll reserve judgment until after I see the rest of their curriculum," Hess answered. "If you want in, here's your dance," he offered the rifle to Toni.

"I think I'd like that quite a bit, but I do hope there's another dance card available down the line," she said with a smile at the same time she received the rifle. True to her prior claim, she played by the common safety rules: her muzzle never crossed any of her team, her finger was off the trigger, and she verified loaded by pulling back on the bolt to check for brass in the chamber the same way Hess had. With an empty chamber and a full magazine under the bolt, she drew the bolt all the way back and released it to load a cartridge.

"All right, Toni. You're on my ass pretty much solid, now you have a reason for it. Where I go, you go. If I enter an area and go right, you enter and go left. Sweep the corners and walls from your initial direction toward the center. If they have a weapon but are not at present weapon, demand compliance. If they have gun up or are raising it, drill them several times and move on. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Clint, resume search. Toni, make sure you are paying attention to how we search, how we move. You learn by study and practice on these matters."

Car 80 (Dining Car) (0952)
Car 81 (Seats, 1 Level) (0954)
Car 82 (Seats, 2 Level) (0956)
Car 83 (Seats, 2 Level) (0958) (evacuated 1 civilian)
Car 84 (Seats, 2 Level) (1000) (evacuated 1 civilian)
Car 85 (Seats, 1 Level) (1002)

"The fuck is this?" Clint asked after he entered the car and took his customary right-side position. Victoria was second in, with Hess the third, but rather than advance down the center aisle in the usual deliberate search method, he ducked left with Victoria and was quickly followed by his 'shadow' while Quintin and Scarlet went right to augment Clint.

"Mexican standoff?" Victoria asked as her husband began waving the trailers out of the center of the aisle to prevent an easy shot from the enemies. At this point, the 'tail' of the evacuation party extended back some two cars, so effecting getting clear took several seconds.

"Deltas on the far side, Bravos in the center, and us," Clint said.

"You want to try to parley?" Victoria asked Hess.

"They way they are staring daggers at each other, no, not really," Erich answered calmly. Inwardly he was far from calm, given he was staring down a potentially very lethal scenario.

The party started on the far side of the car, with a Delta guy hammering an absolutely massive lady with some kind of magazine-fed Light Machine Gun, five rounds of eight chewed her torso several new holes. The shots were angled to hit the wall somewhere between the Militia lines and the Bravos, so no blow-through double-kill points for the enemy gunner.

Scarlet targeted and fired on the Delta LMG gunner, one chest shot from the far side of the car caused him to go down in a screaming heap. Quintin followed up on the guy standing next to the now-downed LMG gunner, though his aim was a bit low and resulted in a man clutching his intestines that had been violated by a 7.92mm Mauser slug. Quintin had been carrying the Gewehr '43 for a few cars now, the same rifle that had initially been picked up by Andrea, but she turned it over to Quintin since he was purportedly the better rifle shot.

Another of the Deltas fired on the Bravos, this time aiming for the Bravos' own light machine gun. A chest and gut full of buckshot put her down fast, the Minimi-clone LMG went unfired for the battle, and the shooter on the far side of the car racked his slide to do the next target. Hess put an end to the shotgunner with a thigh hit that possibly struck the interior femoral artery on his left leg, but at the minimum crippled the tango. A fast run on the bolt and he came up on the second target, a guy with a pistol in the distance; the 180-grain round hammered into the upper arm of the enemy and caused him to lose the pistol and use of that arm. Another bolt run and he was back up, the last guy trying to sight in on Clint's position, so Hess loosed a round that struck right of center and dropped him hard with a large blood splat on the far wall of the train. His last bolt run and he came back up, this time on the guy he wounded on his second shot, who was poorly trying to fire a Walther P22 with his off-hand at the Bravos. Hess fired again, and this time what his rifle started on the right arm, his second shot finished by shattering the Humerus and knocked the enemy unconscious by pure shock.

The sudden death of the Deltas caused the Bravos to realize they were not alone. Hess ended up facing down a teen with a Karabiner '98 some four seats dead ahead of him, which was likely an easy shot for both rifles and the persons behind the triggers. Thankfully, at least someone on the far side was a little less aggressive about the matter, and she raised her assault rifle above her head in something of a hold / neutral gesture. As the other Bravos stood down, so did Hess and the rest of his team.

"Who fired those shots?" the lady with the assault rifle asked.

"He did," Toni jerked her thumb at Hess.

"Four shots in five seconds, big guy? Where did you learn that?" she asked.

"Home-grown skill," Erich answered curtly. "You Bravo Mafia?"

"Yeah. You trying to get off this train?" she asked in counter.

"Trying, mostly trying to survive and stop the train," Erich admitted the size of the situation.

"You get us somewhere safe, I'll have your kids," she said almost nonchalantly.

Hess gagged on that thought. "Not exactly the kind of repayment I am looking for when rescuing people," he said to try to put an end to that line of thinking. "Still, if you want off the train, fold into the tail. I'll do what I can on the far side," he said as he waved them toward the refugee trail behind the entry group.

"This a good idea, Sarge?" Victoria questioned.

"I don't know for sure," Erich answered as he watched the six surviving ladies pass. "There is so much wrong with this to begin with, and all I can do is wild-ass guess at what is the right thing to do from minute to minute."

"Fucked up environment, fucked up decision tree," Clint put short words to the long train of thought in Hess' mind.

"Exactly. Here's to hoping we get some kind of idea what is right and wrong going forward, sometime between here and the engines."

"I'd drink to that, if we weren't on duty," Clarence said.

"All right, salvage the dead for weapons or ammo," Hess ordered of his short combat group, those persons who were willing to fight for the cause.

Car 86 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1009)
Car 87 (Bathroom, Individual Stalls (20)) (1011)
Car 88 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1013) (evacuated 23 civilians)
Car 89 (Bathroom, Individual Stalls (20)) (1016)
Car 90 (House Car, 2 Level) (1018)
Car 91 (Lounge Car) (1020)
Car 92 (Seats, 2 Level) (1022) (evacuated 1 civilian)
Car 93 (Seats, 1 Level) (1024)
Car 94 (Seats, 2 Level) (1026)
Car 95 (Seats, 2 Level) (1028) (evacuated 5 civilians)
Car 96 (Seats, 2 Level) (1030) (evacuated 13 Bravo Mafia, 8 Charlie Mafia, 14 Delta Mafia)
Car 97 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (1034)
Car 98 (Bathrooms, Individual rooms (14)) (1036)

"The more I see of this train, the more I am convinced someone had a sense of humor when they designed this thing. I mean, five seat cars, sleeper, bathrooms, sleeper, bathrooms, a house car, and either a diner or a lounge — next one should be a diner by the numbers, if I don't miss my guess."

"Not going to take that bet," Clarence answered the monologue from Clint.

"What do you think, Sarge?" Clint tried salvaging his position by consensus.

"I think I was assigned team lead, I don't know who assigned me as a Sergeant," Hess said. "Feels kind of weird, framing it in that fashion, you know?"

"This whole thing feels weird," Clint groused.

"Something is wrong here," Toni said. "It feels like…"

"There's a presence in one of these rooms," Cynthia Williams said from behind Toni. "There," she pointed most of the way down the car.

"The hell? Are we now characters in some supernatural thriller?" Clarence asked.

"I don't know what exactly we are in, but it's not pretty," Hess said. "Is this presence friendly or enemy?" Hess deliberately did not ask 'good or bad', given that one definition of alignment was already skewed on the person he was asking.

"I don't know, I can't tell what it is supposed to be," Cynthia said. "All I know is it is there."

"It feels...massive, but almost neutral," Toni said.

"Two?" Victoria asked, looking between Cynthia and Toni.

"Leave it be, Victoria. Forewarned is initiative. We will discuss special talents at a later time," Hess said, using the old science-fiction lexicon for psionics to defuse the situation. "Advance slow, cover left."

I could use some help, a man's voice echoed in Hess' head. I am the presence the ladies are sensing — they should be able to hear me as well.

"Team hold here," Hess said immediately. A nudge from Toni told the rump Sergeant that she had heard as well. Listening, he thought loudly, hoping that the guy heard the thought.

I am in the third to last bathroom with a lady standing over me. The lady is holding me hostage, on the premise that my superiors will not come for me if they think I could walk away alive. If I open the door suddenly, can you cap the slaver?

Will do, Hess answered immediately but only by thought. "Clint, advance to final bathroom and break out your medkit. I think I could use another round of Excedrin, my right ankle is starting to bugger me."

"It's all that ass you kick from day to day, getting the system users back in line and motivating them to do it right," Clint answered. He did as ordered, moved forward to the last bathroom and stopped.

Hess stopped at an angle he figured he had easy visibility to most of the area where someone would be standing in the bathroom. He did a quick brass-check on his Enfield, shouldered the rifle, and brought it up to aimpoint. "Hit me," he said loud enough that it would be audible inside the room.

After a few seconds, the door latch violently separated from the door as the rest of the portal was flung open. It was clearly unexpected by the lady in the room, who dropped the knife she was holding to the hostage and went for a holstered pistol on her waist. In the battle of reaction speed, Hess won handily with a chest-shot that caused her to collapse onto the toilet, but was clearly not dead yet.

"The hell?" Clarence asked, seeing the lady try to pull her pistol while Hess ran his bolt. Rather than take a gamble on the Sergeant or the hostage, Clarence brought his M1 Garand up and fired two shots center-mass into her. The first didn't stop her, the second one did. "Jesus, is she wearing body armor?"

"Looks like a plate carrier," Hess said.

"Is she dead?"

"Not yet!" the lady half-shouted, though her attempt at returning the favor stalled when her pistol failed to unlatch from her holster properly. Hess figured she was using a Level III retention holster, and one of the retainers was not releasing at the weird angle she was trying to pull the weapon...

"FUCK!" Clarence shouted as he brought his rifle up and emptied the rest of his clip (2) into her chest, even trying to fire several times after the distinct 'ping' sound of the Garand en-bloc clip being ejected from the magazine. Hess joined the effort with another round from his Enfield partway through Clarence's burst. This time, her body went limp and slid off the toilet, where it landed in between the toilet and the bathtub.

"What the fuck! We put ten rounds into her from less than five yards!" Victoria shouted.

"Damn Level IV armor plates (3)," Erich commented. "You alright?" he shouted at the hostage, since the muzzle blast of firing that many rounds would likely deafen him.

"My hearing is intact, no need to shout," the hostage answered. "I covered my ears at the last second." Hess guessed the guy at around 6'2", somewhere near 200 pounds, extremely fit with brown eyes and black hair. Nothing particularly special about the guy, but the Militiaman figured the major point was inside his head, not physical.

"That's not going to be something I forget any time soon," Clarence said, waving a finger at the slaver. "So who's the guy? And why not just throw you in as a sex slave?"

"Me?" the guy said as he exited the room. "If they put me in with the sex slaves, that would be game over for them. They wanted me away from the slaves but alive to deter my comrades."

"To prevent the cavalry coming in to eliminate the threat and rescue the slaves," Hess guessed (not incorrectly). "Okay, if you're here, what's the game? And who are you with?" the Militiaman asked bluntly, as he could identify some brass on his uniform but not what it stood for.

"Name's Nereus. I can give you a full run-down, but I know there is a dining car about four ahead if you want appropriate seating as well. Explanation might take a few," he said.

"Nereus," Erich said, then nodded twice. "All right, but an explanation would be welcomed. Fold in with Toni, won't take long to get to that dining car."

"Got it. And thank you for the rescue, man. I wasn't expecting to survive this train ride."

"Welcomed, but I recommend you hold off thanking me until we actually do survive." The Militiaman looked forward. "Clint, lead off."

"Hai, sensei," Clint said facetiously. "We're getting all manner of weird shit now, kids," he grumped on his way forward to the door.

Car 99 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1040) (evacuated 20 civilians)
Car 100 (Baths, Individual Rooms (14)) (1042) (evacuated 3 Delta Mafia)
Car 101 (House Car, 2 levels) (1044) (evacuated 2 civilians)
Car 102 (Storage Car) (1046)

"Isn't this supposed to be a diner car?" Clint asked as they entered the room. It was mostly empty, except for some equipment against the port-side wall. "This gear looks like those pocket-dimension food dispensers in the dining cars, though."

"Different system, similar purpose," Nereus said. "I must have lost track of my car position in absolute terms. Yes, the cars loop on a 10-car cycle, five seats, sleeper, bath, sleeper, bath, house, then alternating lounge and dining for the eleventh. I keep forgetting every hundred cars should be this, a storage system car. Or maybe they have a different loop logic, I don't remember exactly."

"Sounds like some bureaucracy is involved somewhere in this decision process," Victoria said. The trailers were filing into the car at a pretty good pace, with the Militia and his 'unofficial group' close in to Nereus, while he paced in a small loop in front of the storage machines. "So, which is it? You part of that machine, or you trying to fix that machine?"

"The answer to both of those questions is 'yes'. I am part of the organization that rebuilt and repurposed these trains, but I am part of a rather rebellious chunk of that organization that stood against these Trains to begin with, and now we're trying to clean up the mess."

"Rebellious Star League personnel?" Toni asked for clarification. Nereus nodded confirmation. "Wait — Nereus! Nereus the Paladin of the Deep Blue?" Toni asked in clear shock.

"You know him? Or know of him?" Clint asked the lady with the fire-red hair.

"It is a bunch of puzzle pieces that suddenly fit together," Toni said. "Rebellious Star League Personnel. Railed against the recommissioning of the Trains. Trying to fix the problems. Nereus is a very uncommon name, that matches only one notable person in the Star League. High Executor Nereus of the Dynasty, Paladin of the Deep Blue."

Hess nodded three times. "Gauging by your reaction, that's some horsepower, but if you'll excuse my being an American, never heard the title."

"Yeah, I expect that," Nereus noted. "Not many Americans would allow their government to join the clusterfuck that is the Star League, and I can't say I blame them. One world government sucks dicks, scaling it up to interdimensional levels did not improve the matter."

"Ouch," Clint groused. "That must blow the monkey."

"You said you were here to correct the problem, sir?" Toni asked.

"I was here to gather evidence that a problem does exist. The Star League Grand Council will not admit fault; my commanding officer wants me to document the issues on the train and send them to the head of one of the Member States, who can pressure the Grand Council into un-fucking this problem," Nereus said.

Hess shook his head negative. "You're not convinced this is going to work."

"That obvious?" Nereus asked the Militiaman.

"I am an analyst by trade. Understanding things is my job, and your tone tells me that you think this is going to implode."

Nereus sighed. "I can get the evidence, and I can get it to the necessary party to press the issue, but I doubt the Grand Council will ever admit fault."

Erich nodded twice. "Typical government. Find pooch, screw it, claim results. If they're not going to fix the problem, take them out of the equation."

That declaration caused Nereus to stop in his tracks and stare at Hess. "Suggestions?"

The Militiaman snorted. "Was thinking in terms of operational concepts. I don't know enough to know where to begin."

The Executor resumed his pacing, muttering to himself in the process, but it didn't last long. After four more short loops, he stopped, slapped his forehead with the palm of his right hand, and groaned loudly. "Genius," he said, pointing to Hess. "I think I may have an idea or two, and kill off several problems at once. I'll need to talk this over with some of my bosses, though, it's pretty deep."

"Huh?" Hess groused.

"Mind if I embed myself into your group for now? I still need the evidence, but I think I may know a way to make it work. Are you guys headed for the engines?"

"Yes, we want to get this train back to where we got on, so we can clear it out," Clarence pointed out fairly.

"Ugh, not good," Nereus said.

"Not good? You mean, it can't be done?" Victoria asked.

"It can be done, but not by the Train, not randomly at least," Executor Nereus pointed out. "These machines jump by way of the interdimensional path of least resistance, you have far better odds dancing with lightning than you do getting this train to stop in the same dimension you came from."

"I had that feeling," Clint snapped at Hess. "Much thank you, big guy, we're on a one-way rodeo with dick 'n' doughnuts waiting for us at the finish line. See you on the far side of the tombstone, Sarge."

"Don't get your panties in a wad just yet, scrawny one," Hess snapped back. "I get the feeling the Executor may already know a way out of this problem," the Militiaman prompted the Executor indirectly.

"I can think of a dozen ways to get you home offhand," Nereus said. "The problem is, all of them require capital and personnel that are not available at this time."

Before any of the persons could say something, Clarence started chuckling. It progressed to full-blown laughter after about twenty seconds, but stopped shortly thereafter. "Better and better! Start a quest to save lives and kick asses, told by a random guy that the only way home is to pay our way home, now we go questing for the means to head home! It's like some perverse role-playing game made reality and dropped on us brick-wall-first!"

"Sounds about right, and that would be the rough measure of our luck on these things," Hess said with a smile. "Of course, I did give you guys a couple opportunities to duck out, so we're in this mad quest together. I'm just hoping this doesn't balloon into something unmanageable."

"You all worry too much," Victoria chided them. "Shut up and let the man come up with a clean way to get us back home, while we help him correct the problem here."

"Yes ma'am," Erich, Clint and Clarence replied by rote.

"Okay, you need evidence. We need a way home. They need a safe haven off the Trains," Hess jerked his thumb over his shoulder, referring to the 'tail' he was accumulating. "If I help you prosecute your case, are you willing to help me structure a solution?"

"Mister, you have a deal," Executor Nereus said.

"Yeah," Clint looked back over the tail. "For the record, ladies and gentlemen, the big guy is the one working on the solution. I'll help, but I ain't claiming it, win or lose," he said to distance himself from what he anticipated was going to become a clusterfuck of the highest order. His effort at distance would pay off, much to his detriment.

Car 103 (Seats, 1 Level) (1058)
Car 104 (Seats, 1 Level) (1100)
Car 105 (Seats, 2 Level) (1102)
Car 106 (Seats, 1 Level) (1104)
Car 107 (Seats, 2 Level) (1106)

"So there are slightly less than a hundred more cars to go?" Clint asked Nereus as he entered the next car. "Nice, we may just survive this shit yet."

A pistol came up on the far side of the car. "Sorry, kid, you're luck's run out," the Delta Mafiosi behind the trigger declared. One round from the revolver went high, the second round did not. Clint took the hit in his right forearm, which staggered him but not to the point of slowing down his movement into the car.

Hess checked his corner quickly, thankful that the second deck of seats had the stairs in the center of the car, not on the ends as was normal. With a clear left, he centered forward and began tracking on the major tangos of the enemy group — if one Delta was firing on the team, he had plenty of reason to suspect the whole cluster. The shooter he immediately serviced with a single rifle round, a single strike to the right shoulder dropped her down below the level of the seats quickly enough. Still, the view was grim enough — one down, ten more to go.

Clarence entered the room next, and in the process he rammed Clint down into a corner deliberately to knock him out of the line of fire with a nonfunctional right arm. Once steadied from the ramming hit, he brought the Garand up and rattled off eight rounds in three seconds, with seven hits on three of the Mafiosi. His quick thinking and trigger finger took a shotgun, a Desert Eagle, and a heavy-frame automatic out of the game.

Victoria made the last fast entry, her scoped AR-15 up and on target of another lady Delta with a shotgun before it could be brought to bear on the entry team. Four hits, left leg, center stomach, right chest, and right arm put her down for the count. "HESS! Frag 'em!"

"FUCK!" Clarence shouted as he caught sight of a large teen Delta aiming a large revolver in his direction. The attempted dolphin-dive down below cover was after the shot, but the shot missed by default — it struck the back of one of the metro-liner seats two rows in front of Clint.

Erich loosed the Enfield rifle from his right hand and shoulder so it was only held in his left, pulled the straggler Baseball Grenade he had picked up, and slid the spoon clip off with his right thumb. He reached across, pulled the pin with his left middle finger, and extended the pull motion all the way to the right for a wind-up. Two or three rounds from a Luger P08 hammered into the seat directly in front of him, but none penetrated. "FRAG OUT!" Hess shouted before he loosed the grenade in a massive sidearm toss that caused it to bounce off the port-side wall and roll over to the starboard-side seats.

"GRENADE!" someone in the enemy lines shouted as Hess dropped straight down to cover behind the seats in the hopes that the fragmentation didn't bounce its way back to him.

For a moment, Hess had to wonder if the grenade he had just thrown was a dud, but the impressive pressure wave that shoved through him after the detonation pretty much belied that thought immediately. Another few seconds, and Hess could tell that he wasn't wearing any fragmentation from the blast — a good thing, considering the confines. A quick check of the battlescape showed only one person standing but heavily disoriented, and one person that was still alive but had collapsed onto the bench seat in front.

"Damn good throw! You got four!" Scarlet shouted as she came forward from the prior car with the massive Kuchler LMG. Hess likened said light machine gun to an improved version of the venerable BAR, with improved magazine feed, double rounds per mag over the BAR, polymer and aluminum construction, and the same lovable 30.06 cartridge that could tear chunks out of most anything shot with it. Four rounds downrange, two hits (left arm, left chest), the one standing lady with the Luger was standing no more.

Clarence had the last guy, the teen with the large revolver, with a single round from his Garand to the side of the armed teen's head. One shot, the body slid down the far side of the seat and appeared to be a non-threat any more.

"Sweep it by the numbers, people," Hess ordered. "Clint, talk to me," he continued after a moment.

"My right arm is wildly fucked," Clint said. "Got my radius, through and through. I've stopped the bleeding, but unless I get to a surgeon soon my gunslinging days are over."

"I can do one better, if you're willing to do alternative healing skills," Nereus said as he entered the car.

"Mister Executor, if you had a magic snake that healed broken bones with its bite, I'd take that chance right now," Clint said.

"Well, I do have a magic snake, but it doesn't bite," Nereus said. "Hold your arm up level."

"Ready, do it," Clint said warily.

Clint groaned and clenched his teeth whence the Executor wrapped his hands around the injury, but said nothing nor shouted in pain. "Holy order of the Ocean Sword, channel unseen light and heal these wounds thus laid hands upon,"Nereus chanted calmly. After a moment of pause, the whole arm began glowing aqua blue and Clint yelped once, though the effect did not last long. "Done."

"Holy shit, dude, how the hell did you do that?" Clint said, working his arm around in a couple fashions to test it. "Damn, muscles are still a bit tender."

"That is typical. Freshly regenerated damage like that is not completely and immediately back to normal. You'll want to work it in, slowly," Nereus suggested. "When Toni called me 'Paladin of the Deep Blue', she wasn't joking. I really am a Paladin, only promoted way above just that lofty job title. And that includes being able to use the Laying On Hands skillset to heal minor or moderate wounds."

"Think you're up to re-asuming point?" Hess asked. The other persons had finished clearing the car, and were escorting back some more persons to add to the tail.

"I think I've got it," Clint answered after considering the condition of his arm.

Car 108 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1108)
Car 109 (Bathrooms, Individual Rooms (14)) (1110)
Car 110 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1112)
Car 111 (Bathrooms, Enclosed Stalls (20)) (1114)
Car 112 (House Car, 1 level) (1116)
Car 113 (Dining Car) (1118)
Car 114 (Seats, 2 Level) (1120) (evacuated 14 Bravo Mafia)

"What do you think, Sarge?" Clint asked as Erich took up station next to him on the right side of the car.

"Bit less marshmallow than earlier, but looks legit," Hess said, again as a caution to the rest of the team to be on guard but not look like they were on guard. Of this group of fourteen, Hess figured the average bust size amongst the ladies was somewhere less than the American national average, which homeland average bust size was already below what he was routinely seeing on the Train so far.

"Four American heroes, no? I told you, Meia, they were coming and they are doing the job," an older lady said to what Hess guessed was a late-teens lady.

"Never doubted you." The teen speaker (Hess guessed her in the neighborhood of 19) lowered her M-14 rifle to the same sling-ready position that the Militiamen were using. "I owe you seven hugs, one for each dead slaver so far. Who collects?"

"You can thank me later, after we've finished killing them all and stopped the train," Clint said. "We clear to move up?"

"I'd welcome it," she said with an inviting smile.

"Looks legit," Hess said with a nod, as a reminder warning to his troops.

"Got it," Clarence said as he moved forward with weapons at ready arms.

"Hess, Claiborne County Militia," Erich offered a hand to shake with the late-teens lady.

"Meia, Bravo Mafia," The lady took the shake, and went a step further by pulling the Militiaman in to a significant hug. "Not many will say it, but thank you. You've done a lot to depopulate a scourge in Existence, but where there is one, a thousand still stand."

"Kill one, kill them all," Clint pointed out his opinion on the matter.

"What's your involvement, young one?" Victoria asked.

"Was a high school freshman when I was abducted. I got free, dodged the Slavers, and have been learning how to defend myself since."

"Was," Clint pointed out. "Damn, getting yanked like that," he groused.

"Not yanked, stuffed. Two guys, three guys, four, more, and that before I was supposed to be sold off. I don't know what they did to you, but we consider them terrorists."

"Hell yeah! Kill 'em all!" an early-thirties lady shouted.

"Working on that," Victoria said.

"What do you think? Got some room for some battered women in your entourage?" a separate thirty-something lady asked.

"File in," Hess said as he stepped aside.

After the bulk of the group passed by, Clint pointed out something that was becoming painfully obvious to the Militiamen. "You have some kind of plan, eh?"

"I may be assembling one," Hess said with a smile. "Looks like you may have a bidding war going on for some ladies to be your girlfriend."

"Moi?" Clint said in a mock French accent. "I'm not the one running this party."

"Sure, keep playing innocent," Erich said with a knowing smile. "Let's get moving."

Car 115 (Seats, 2 Level) (1124)
Car 116 (Seats, 2 Level) (1126)
Car 117 (Seats, 2 Level) (1128)
Car 118 (Seats, 1 Level) (1130)
Car 119 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 Rooms) (1132)

"Clarence," Hess prompted after he entered the car and went left after Clint took the right.

"Yeah, boss?" said Militiaman responded.

"Present for you." Hess relayed a rifle back to Clarence that he had found leaning against the toilet at the near-end of the sleeper car..

"Oh yeah, I touched a rifle and I jizzed in my pants," Clarence said. "Springfield 1903A3-pattern Sniper mod. Fucking awesome, this completes my collection of WW2 guns. Best. Christmas. Present. Ever."

"It's only June, dickhead," Clint said with clear humor to voice.

"Pack the woody away, honey, not a good place for that," Victoria said. She had moved past her husband and Hess, to the corner of the sleeper rooms so she could inspect the area. "Hall clear."

"Roger, move it up," Hess ordered. "Okay, Meia, pop quiz time," he said to his new shadow.

"Hit me," she answered as the group advanced slowly down the hall, two primary guns forward, two guns facing left into the sleeper rooms.

"This train is saturated with three groups of Mafioso. Bravos, Charlies, Deltas. What's the gig here?" Hess asked.

"It's a defense mechanism. The Bravos are ladies that escaped the Slavers, or girl children born on the train. We cluster together, because the Slavers won't attack a group of ten or fifteen Mafiosi, they would have to kill us all or chance dying themselves to take a few very resistant slaves."

"Charlies and Deltas?" Hess asked.

"Same thing with the Charlie Mafiosi, but all children or early teens. They may get one or two viable slaves, but they also run a very nasty risk of dying. The Deltas and Alphas are more along the lines of revenge operations, since a self-respecting Slaver would not deliberately try to get just a couple guys for sale. Resale value would be low for how much effort they would need."

"Points for business sense," Hess admitted. "If I can take the Slavers out of the equation, would the Mafias be willing to fold into a normal society?"

"You take the Slavers out of the equation, I'll marry you," Meia said. "I've lost four years and any shred of innocence I thought I had to them. I want to see them dead, fled, or burning."

"Not the first time I've been offered that, today," Erich said. "Not the kind of ride through life I'm looking for, though much obliged for the offer. Clint, do your thang," the Sergeant pointed to the door to the next car.

Car 120 (Bathrooms, Individual Rooms (14)) (1134)
Car 121 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1136) (evacuated 9 civilians, 4 Delta Mafia)
Car 122 (Bathrooms, Individual Stalls (20)) (1138)
Car 123 (House Car, 1 Level) (1140)
Car 124 (Lounge Car) (1142) (evacuated 20 civilians, 17 Bravo Mafia)
Car 125 (Seats, 2 Level) (1144) (evacuated 1 civilian)

"You DAMN SLAVER! WHERE IS MY BROTHER?" Someone shrieked in the next room.

"Move," Hess ordered. Clint, Victoria, Erich, then Clarence entered, with the latter two headed down the aisle for the deliberate search.

Finding the source of the shriek was not difficult. "WHERE IS HE YOU BITCH!" a twenty-something lady shouted at an older lady that she was straddling on one of the metro benches.

"Fuck you," the Slaver said. "You, American, speak English?" she asked as Hess approached.

"Occasionally," he answered calmly.

"I want this bitch arrested for assault, battery, and criminal menacing," the lady on the bottom of the stack said.

"Nice slaver tattoo," Victoria pointed out.

"Your name?" Hess asked the frantic lady that had been bashing the slaver into the Metro seat.

"Alice, why?" she asked in confusion, now that she was surrounded on three sides by heavy firepower and Mafiosi.

"Off the slaver, please." Hess waved her toward the side.

"Thank you," the bloodied and battered Slaver said as she sat up. "Good to see justice still exists somewhere in the universe."

"Indeed. Clint, render compliant," Hess ordered.

Clint released his WASR-10 to hang, speed-drew the TASER C2 that had been given to him by the SRT officers, and dropped a shot into the lady. One barb struck her abdomen, the other barb caught her in the left upper arm, and the resulting voltage spike through her body caused her to tense up and collapse back to lying on the seat.

"Uhhh," she groaned. "What the hell was that for? I'm the one being assaulted!"

"Not going to take the word of a Slaver over a victim in this case," Erich said. "Toni, confirm tango as a Slaver?"

Toni stood on her tip-toes to look past Hess' left shoulder. "See the tattoo on her left upper arm? She's been around the block for that. 200 per heart, with an extra 200 sold off per chain." The heart tattoo had two chains around it, meaning a minimum of 600 sold off in her career so far.

"Nose down to the bench, honey," Hess ordered.

"Fuck you," she spat back at him.

"Clint," Hess ordered. Two seconds of tasing later, she rolled off the bench and onto the floor.

Erich handed off his rifle to Toni, drew his pistol, and drove the muzzle into the side of her face and by extension slammed her head into the floor of the seat car. "Not going to interrogate her, big guy?" Toni asked.

"No need. The radio that is smashed to bits on the floor here tells me she was a sentry. She'll know plenty, but her mere presence here tells me enough." Hess slapped a cuff on her exposed right arm. "Bring your arms back to the small of your back slowly and cross your palms facing out."

Apparently, her fearlessness on the tasing did not translate to fearlessness with a .45 barrel mashed into her cheekbone. She slowly brought her hands back and placed them as ordered. "Quintin, finish up."

"Yes sir," the young scrapper said. "Can't we just execute her?"

"Not our call to make," Hess said. "That belongs to the courts. And the courts take a dim view on human trafficking."

"Done," he said after the cuffs were secure.

Hess holstered his pistol and rolled her to the side so he could extract the taser barbs. Once they were out, he stood up, bent down, bunched the back of her shirt and bra in his right fist, and hauled her to standing with one arm. "OW! You bastard! Do you know how much that hurts, being hauled up by my bra?"

"Ask me if I care," Hess said adroitly.

"You're dead for this, fat boy. You, your family, your buddies, all of you!" she raged.

"Sit down," Hess said as he pushed her back down to the metro seat she was being pummeled on prior to his arrival. The Militiaman flexed his right arm at her, which pointed his armpatches at her face. "You already know the American Flag. 300 million pissed-off Americans can and routinely do shake the whole world, honey. But, see the rocker? Regular Guy? That means just exactly what it says, honey. I am a regular Joe Nobody American, and I've killed two of your Slaver buddies on my own, with partial credit on three more. Think about it. Four Joe Nobodies are going to wipe out the Slavers on this train, those we don't capture. If your order really wants to start a war with American Militiamen, most of whom are a helluva lot more lethal than I am, good fucking luck to you all." Hess patted her cheek over where his gun muzzle had given her a hickie.

"Fucking awesome," Quintin said. "Does America allow immigration? I need to study the ways of Joe Nobody Badassitude," he asked.

"Might be able to talk the Sheriff to letting you in," Clarence guessed.

"Quintin, this dumb bitch prisoner is your ward. Fold her in at the back of the line, make sure she doesn't do anything stupid or subversive. Follow?"

"Will do, sir!"

"Alice, grab a spot in line, but no beating on the prisoner. The courts will hammer her flat soon enough."

"Understood," she answered in mild frustration at being denied her petty vengeance.

"Militia, form up. We have likely contact in the next five cars with hostile parties. Steel and brass check, people. Let's make 'em scream."

Car 126 (Seat Car, 1 Level) (1150)
Car 127 (Seat Car, 2 Levels) (1152) (extracted 4 civilians and [REDACTED])

Hess had deliberately left the trail back in the 125 car, to prevent any kind of accidental casualties in the 'civilian' train behind him (most of which was Mafiosi, armed but untrained). The remainder of the tail (including Alice, oddly enough) had all lined up to the sides of the doors, which took them out of the line of fire when the door opened.

"What do you think, boss? Hard and fast, or slow and low?"

"Hard and fast sounds right." Hess looked over his shoulder to his original tail. "You think six?" he asked Toni.

"That is what I can feel in there or just outside the train," Toni confirmed. "And… someone else in there, royally pissed off, ready to kill. Watch it."

"We shall." He looked back to the rest of the twenty-person 'team' he had assembled out of the dregs of the Train and four Militiamen. "Game faces, people. We go in ten seconds."

A couple slings were adjusted behind him, but for the most part, everyone was already ready. Hess had switched from his Enfield to the AR-15 with a bayonet and holographic sight, which gave him faster firepower. A quick swipe of the bolt to verify brass, then a couple taps on the forward assist and he was good to go.

"Breaching," Clint declared after the ten seconds elapsed.

Clint entered first and went strong-side immediately. Erich went in second and pivoted left, though unexpectedly he actually did find a Slaver in the corner with a shotgun. Her tank-top went a good way to revealing her Slaver Guild tattoos, but that status symbol was only a temporary worry. Rather than take chances on bullet fragments bouncing around the car, Hess hammered the Slaver in the chest with the bayonet, which caused her to reflexively discharge the shotgun into the floor under the nearby seat.

Clarence was the fast third into the room, his Garand and bayonet pointed downrange as soon as he began crossing the threshold between cars. As Hess yanked the bayonet out of the corner-camper sentry, Clarence fired four rounds into the chest of a large guy wearing some heavy body armor. One round struck outside the vest in the left upper arm, but the three chest hits all landed inside a fist-sized group and the third round penetrated into the chest cavity.

Victoria entered last of the Militia, and bounded left at the same time Hess had reset for a finishing stab at the lady. The lady with the scoped AR-15 had immediately sighted on the wench with the shirt that declared her a slaver, though she held fire — a non-combatant had got in behind the lady, making for a dirty shot at best. Instead of that shot, she traversed left and dropped several shots into a guy with some kind of weird shoulder-carried cannon? Two rounds in his upper chest caused the tango to drop the gun and stumble backwards into a seat.

Rather than struggle drawing the bayonet out again, Hess simply released the bayonet and pulled the rifle clear to bring it up on target — the only one of the enemy still standing was a twenty-something slaver lady that was wrapped up by an unidentified guy. She had four rifles aimed at her, but nobody needed to take the shot — the guy used an old combat knife of some kind and drove it into her left rear quarter, not quite straight on into the kidney, but easily close enough to be debilitating. As the lady dropped forward, the unidentified guy yanked the knife, reversed it, and drove the blade all the way to the hilt down through her left shoulder and brachial plexus, ultimately down into the top of her left lung.

"KID, GET DOWN!" Clint shouted at the knife-wielder after he caught sight of one of the remaining tangos aiming in his direction. The guy was fast enough to clear most of the rounds, but not fast enough to avoid them all; a yelp from the distant teen or twenty-something told enough of what went wrong, at least one of the AK rounds fired at him had contacted.

Hess had a clear shot at the second of the remaining enemies, and he took six shots. Two body hits were stopped cold by the tactical armor the guy was wearing, two hits to the right arm and one to the right foot were not blocked by armor. The sixth shot entered the top of the tango's head at an angle and came out the right side of his skull just behind the ear, and with it a goodly portion of his brain mass was shredded and redistributed across a metro seat.

Clint took the last shots as he began moving toward the killing zone, two shots, a pause, then two more as the enemy continued trying to move. The first two were in the body, stopped by some kind of not before seen body armor, then two in the head when Clint was closer to take the shot properly.

"Clear Left!" Clint shouted.

"Hostages right, eight marks!" Clarence shouted.

"Victoria, signal the tail, move 'em up," Erich ordered before he extracted his bayonet from the very-much-dead sentry slaver. "Secondaries, secure and untie those captives!" He was pointing to the ten or so that had been staged near an open window.

"Yes, sir!" Toni said as she led several more forward to cut the zip-ties that had been used to restrain the captives.

"That's how we do it in Claiborne County! Whooo!" Clint shouted.

"Fuck yes, kicking ass, saving lives, gettin' shit done." As Clarence approached Clint, the two raised their right fists and backhanded each other's fist.

"Nereus! Got wounded up here!" Victoria waved the Executor forward.

"That sounded pretty fast and furious. Who took the hits? Clint or Hess?" Nereus guessed.

"Actually, guy on the far side of the seats over there," Hess pointed as Toni helped the twenty-something guy up onto one of the bench seats.

"Kalash '74 hits, nasty stuff," Clint said as he surveyed the back of the knife-wielder's arm and shoulder. "Think you can help him?"

"Certainly," Nereus said as he moved around the seat. Can you hear me, kid? Nod if you can't speak.

"I hear you," The guy answered, though rather loudly due to the intense aural abuse his ears had suffered inside a metal pipe with a lot of gunfire in it.

I can take care of your wounds, if you're willing to allow me to use a semi-magic skill to do so. Otherwise, I can't guarantee anything — surgeons are hard to come by on this train, Nereus explained telepathically.

The guy flinched slightly at the mention of semi-magic, but simply gave the Executor a droll look in response. "And if I waited for a surgeon, I'd probably end up with either an arm that wouldn't recover fully, or a prosthetic. I look like I care if it's anything short of black magic?" He asked in a significantly sarcastic tone.

"Points for attitude," Victoria said with a smile.

Just checking, kid. Some people will go to their grave to avoid magic, something about demonic taint or somesuch. Hold still, and this will hurt more than the hits, but only briefly. Nereus placed one hand on the kid's right shoulder, and the other on his left forearm below the first GSW of the series. "Holy order of the Ocean Sword, channel unseen light and heal these wounds thus laid hands upon,"he chanted audibly.

Again, nothing happened immediately, but after a few seconds the regions of his body between the Executor's hands began glowing aqua blue. With the coming of the glow the guy began clenching his teeth and fists in serious pain, but Clint expected that kind of reaction for more severe trauma than he had suffered. The glow lasted about ten seconds at full luminescence, then began fading to nothing after Nereus removed his hands.

"You should be good to go now, kid." Nereus stepped back and headed for the center of the trailing group, where some others had congregated to discuss something in Japanese. Hess mentally kicked himself for not moving on learning Japanese when he was younger, but did not dwell on it long.

"Your knife, man," Clarence had pulled the blade from the deceased's shoulder and cleaned it thoroughly. "What's your name?"

"Jeff Evans. You?"

"Clarence Williams. Nice handiwork on the slaver wench, by the way. Why stick your neck out, though?"

"I've been trying to get an angle on them for an hour, that's the same bitch that kidnapped my girlfriend. Thanks, by the way, now I don't know if she's on the train or not."

"Don't go apeshit yet, amigo," Clint said. "We've got a lot of train still to clear, and once we have it secured, you can try to find your squeeze as the Sheriffs clear it out one car at a time."

"What about you? Those are Sheriffs badges?" he waved at Clarence's vest and the badge on it.

"We're Unorganized Militia," Hess said. "Now, don't freak out and taze me or anything, I'm not a subversive. We work with the Sheriffs, but aren't officially Deputies. We're just doing a temporary run here."

Jeff quirked an eyebrow and gestured with his hand at around a normal girl's height, "Brunette chick about yay-tall, wearing a blue V-neck with a long orange skirt, Hazel eyes? 'Cause that certainly sounds like something she'd do if she freaked."

"10-4, amigo, even have the taser marks in my right ass-cheek to prove it," Clint said. "She's in the stack behind us, trying to get off this train like the rest." Clint ducked down behind the seat next to where the last two Slavers had been killed, then popped up with two assault rifles, one in each hand. "Okay, you've got a choice here, amigo," Clint said. "You've got the '74 that was used to shoot you, 100-round drum mag and iron sights, or you have the G36 with an underslung Masterkey shotgun."

"Wait, what?" Jeff asked. "You're just going to give me a gun?"

"Well, if you want off this ass in one piece, your train is going to contribute to the escape," Clint said, then frowned. "That totally didn't come out right. I might be approaching stupid."

"Shut up and eat a Snickers bar," Victoria said to Clint, then looked back to Jeff. "At the minimum, you can help protect the tail if something happens. If you know how to move and shoot, we can always use the help."

"Nowhere near like what you guys did," Jeff admitted before he grabbed up the G36 from Clint. He figured himself decent with rifle, pistol, and shotgun, but he had to silently admit that the four Militia troops were something else entirely. "I'll slip in with the tail, help keep things organized. What kind of pay do you want for getting us home?"

"If it is doable, no guarantees there," Hess hesitated. "I don't know. I don't know enough right now to say one way or another. Worry about the dinero later, I say."

"Got it. And thanks, both for saving Cynthia, and for helping with the Slavers."

Hess nodded twice. "All right, Clint, time to move."

"On it," the pointman handed off the AK-74 to one of the other 'secondaries' and jumped the seat. He moved forward of the other militia troops, then turned to face Hess. "Kinda wondering, boss. If we make it home alive, can we form up a PMC group and — "

"JEFF!" A lady shouted from somewhere behind Hess. Since he was looking away, he did not see Cynthia jump-tackle Jeff. The impact from the tackle slammed Jeff into Toni, who was hanging behind Hess. Toni, significantly smaller than the combined boyfriend / girlfriend, was piled into the back of the massive Militiaman. Erich, caught unawares from the strike from behind, tried to stop the fall by grabbing at the seats to his sides, but wasn't fast enough. Only Clint avoided the dogpile, on dint of being physically faster than Hess by a significant degree. Jeff and Cynthia piled on top of Toni, who ended up mashed face-first into Erich's water bladder on the back of his vest, with Hess face-first into the floor.

"Balls," Hess grumped after the pile settled to the floor. "Didn't see that one coming."

"JEFF! I was so worried! I thought — "

"It's a hallmark moment," Victoria said. Erich easily recognized the flash of a phone camera from behind him.

"While you're at it, take a picture with mine, please," Hess said after he raised his phone up. "I want evidence of this, in case rumors crop up."

"Got it," Victoria grabbed up the phone and snapped two shots.

"Is it safe to come down now?" A voice asked from the stairs.

"Dylan!" Cynthia half-screeched. "Get down here!"

"Little sister wins by default," Clarence said after he saw the guy's reaction to the order from Cynthia.

"Alright, everyone pile off the fat boy militiaman," Hess requested in a bored fashion. "Reunions can continue while we're on the move."

"Gonna need a hand, boss?" Clint asked.

"No, should be good." Hess levered himself up by way of one of the nearby seats, then took a moment to haul Toni to standing after she was veritably crushed between the lovers at her rear and the militiaman in front of her.

"Everything flashed white for a moment there, is that a bad thing?" Toni asked.

"Yeah, generally bad," Erich answered. He studiously didn't comment about where her chest had noticeably landed during the dogpile, given her face was roughly halfway up his back on landing. "Cynthia, after you're done scolding your brother and strangling your boyfriend, can you help Toni along until she recovers from her possible concussion?'

Car 128 (Seat Car, 2 levels) (1204)
Car 129 (Seat Car, 1 level) (1206)
Car 130 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1208)

The team was halfway into the car before Hess called a stop. "Clarence, move it up," Hess requested.

"Here, chief… whoafuck," the old-school weapons aficionado said. "Am I seeing shit?"

"Doesn't appear so," Clint said for the Sergeant.

"Looks like the cap is still intact. Grab that piece of door frame and move it; if it isn't trapped, it's yours."

Clarence grabbed up a split door frame chunk and hooked it in between his bayonet and the barrel of the M1 Garand, using leverage to keep it under control. With a little finagling, he was able to poke the device from a distance, and in fact shoved it down the hallway by a distance of three doors to confirm no traps whatsoever.

"Didn't do anything. Nice. I'm going to consider it an honor to blow some shitheads up with that."

"Gosh, Clarence, is that a woody?" Hess reversed the standing joke back onto the other members of the team.

"You're damn straight it is," he said as he dropped aside the door frame chunk and started advancing on the grenade.

Clarence advanced in front of Hess and Clint, though he stopped at an open door, staring into it with a quizzical expression. "Something up?" Clint asked.

"Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (4)," Clarence asked nobody in particular.

"Huh?" Clint asked.

Clarence stepped toward the room, reached into the room, and pulled the door closed. "After that, I've seen it all."

"Okay then Charlie," Clint groused. "Onward to the 'Nade!"

"Hell yes, much more sane thoughts," Clarence commented.

The group advanced to where the German Stick Grenade was resting on the floor, which put Hess roughly parallel to the door that Clarence had closed. While the WW2 gun bunny was fondling his new wooden-handle stick grenade, Hess kept a wary eye on the door with the mystery occupant, so when it did open he was ready.

The door was flung open wildly, which gave perfect indication to Hess and Toni as to the presence of a tango. Both Enfield with Bayonet and M4 with Suppressor were on target before the person could take a full step toward.

"EEEPPP! I surrender! Don't shoot!" Immediately, the lady in question threw her hands up into the air, which caused her bare chest to flail around momentarily.

Hess looked past her for a moment. "Okay, Clarence, message received," he said after he saw the hanging bar and the various exercise equipment in the room, likely what Clarence had seen her doing in her present state of partial dress.

"She was hanging upside down with only jogging pants and hanging boots on," Clarence explained. "That's something I don't think I'll forget, but I don't think I want to remember, either."

"Ever try doing it upside down, sniper guy?" the lady asked, though was still standing in the doorway with her hands in the air. She was referring to his carried rifle, the Springfield 1903 with original scope.

"Married, honey, not playing that game," Clarence said quickly.

"Dunno, sounds different," Victoria mused.

"God help me," Clarence groused.

Erich lowered his rifle, though did not look away from her completely. "No tango. You done fondling the grenade yet, Clarence?"

"Yes, boss, frickin' killjoy."

"Happiness may be a live grenade to toss at your enemies in a firefight, but daylight's wasting right now." Hess moved forward to rejoin the rest of the Militia for the next entry action.

The red-haired lady lowered her rifle with silencer. "Pack the twins away and file in, honey."

Car 131 (Baths, Individual Rooms (14)) (1212) (evacuated 5 civilians)
Car 132 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1214)
Car 133 (Baths, Individual Rooms (14)) (1216)
Car 134 (House Car, 1 Level) (1218)
Car 135 (Dining Car) (1220)

As soon as Clint tripped the second door, he immediately threw up his right fist as a warning to stop. After a moment, he latched the door closed again and juked back into the house car, his back against the wall next to the train car door.

"That bad?" Erich asked.

"Yeah, this could end in disaster," Clint said. "You gave me a series to watch some time ago, tall blond goofy guy, wears a red trenchcoat, slings a nasty six-shooter in .45 Long Colt. Ringing some bells?"

"10-4, amigo. You're reasonably sure of ID?"

"Close enough for government work. The two ladies working in the kitchen weren't unfamiliar, either."

"Shit gets weirder by the minute. I'm starting to like this job, and that worries me," Hess said. "Okay, here's the scoop. Officially, we don't know this guy. We don't know shit about him. We don't think we know shit about him. We play this like we usually do, but weapons down unless we have a real threat, follow?"

"10-4, big guy."

"Breach and make entry." Hess formed up on Clint, ready to make the necessary moves into the car.

This time, when Clint tripped the door, he did the entry in the usual fashion, enter and go right, followed quickly by Hess going left. Toni and Quintin were next, followed by Clarence and Andrea.

"No tango," Clint said as he uncoiled from his hunched ready position. As soon as he said it, the three persons in the room were looking at him, and by extension the other entry personnel.

Clarence decided an icebreaker was in order, given the short and cryptic conversation between Hess and Jamison. "Sarge, how about we grab a box of rations or two? Half the tail hasn't had any eats recently."

"Sounds like a winner," Hess said as he slung his rifle back over his shoulder, making it visibly obvious he wasn't about to be a threat. "You three object if I take over the galley briefly?" he asked.

"Certainly, go ahead," the taller of the two ladies said.

"Clint, Clarence, on me. Time to toss some boxes." The two ladies had scurried out from behind the counter to make room for the Militiamen. At the end of the counter, Hess took a moment to stack his rifles in the corner, which both freed him up for easier box-throwing and further de-escalated the tension in the room. Clint and Clarence did the same, Clint with his WASR-10 and MDBS-04 double-barrel shotgun, Clarence with his M1 Garand and Springfield 1903A3 Sniper, and the three were down to pistols and shotguns if needed.

"Oh my, if I may ask, who are you guys?" the tall one asked as Clint passed by her.

"Kentucky Militia," Clarence stopped to answer the question, which put him standing right in front of the guy with the red trenchcoat. "We're on the Train to stop the sex-slave trade and rescue people."

"Sex-slave trade? So that's what was going on, dirty bastards," the shorter lady said. "Urggghhh! Why didn't I realize that?"

"If you weren't actively looking for it, you'd be hard pressed to notice unless you were in the wrong place at the wrong time," Clint said. "What's up with you three? Don't look like the usual fare on this train."

"We thought this was an express train to October City," the short one said. "Boy were we wrong."

"It's been a rough march up here, dodging hostile groups, but at least the food and drink is good," the guy in the red coat said. "Name's Vash. You?" he asked Clarence.

"Clarence. Victoria, my wife, is over there against the wall," he pointed. "The scrawny one is Clint. Don't let his puffed-up chest fool you, the big guy has been known to bench-press him in full gear." Clarence shifted his pointing. "The guy on the control panel is Erich. This train landed in his backyard, and we ended up in a gunfight with the Slavers to try to save lives of the refugees coming out of the train. It was his idea to climb on and try to save lives."

"You bounty hunters or something?" the short one asked. "Oh, sorry, should introduce myself. I'm Meryl Strife, and this is Millie Thompson. We're Loss Prevention Agents of the Bernar-Dailey Insurance Society."

"That's gotta be a thankless job," Clint said.

"To answer your question, no, we are Militia, not bounty hunters," Hess said as he stepped back from the control panel. "Order placed, we should have the first in a moment." Hess looked up the the crowd of 'secondaries' that had filed in. "Quintin, Carl, Spencer, up here!"

"Yes sir!" the three troopers approached.

Hess hauled open the temporal storage unit after it clicked to unlatch. "Set your rifles aside, guys. You three are going to be the food and water buffalo for the trailing mass." Hess hauled one box of MREs out and slammed it on the counter, then pulled his utility knife from a draw-down sheath and slapped it down on the top of the box. "Cut it open, stage it." Hess pulled a second box, dropped it on the counter, and this time dropped his AR-15 bayonet on top of it. "Spencer, cut it open, stage it." A third box came out, and this time Erich deployed his 10" United Cutlery Bushmaster survival knife on the box. "Carl, same gig. Cut it open, stage it. And keep the knives until we're done."

"On it, sir!" Quintin replied with gusto.

Hess and Jamison took mere seconds to offload all the boxes of MREs, then closed up the deploy hatch for the transfer system. As soon as it closed, it locked up, and Hess took a few moments to pull his hydration hose forward to draw out a drink of water. Which action promptly caught the attention of Clint. "Damn, Hess, do you suck management titty like that at work?"

Hess gagged on his water, which caused him to sputter and blow some of it out of his nose — right onto Clint's pants. "Oh my God, I can't believe you just did that! I thought it was a myth!" Clarence half-shouted, referring to the ability to blow water out of his nose. He segued into a fit of laughter at Clint's trying to pat-dry his pants.

"Are you freaking kidding me, Clint? I wouldn't be caught dead trying to mack the Director." Hess gasped out between coughing fits.

"Are you alright?" Millie asked Hess.

"I'll live, I'll live," he said. "Damn pointman, does it to me every time I try drinking more than a mouthful."

"Could I borrow one of your rifles?" Meryl asked Clarence.

"Uh, why?" said WW2 gun-bunny asked.

"I need a good stout stick to beat some sense into the scrawny one. Seriously, asking a question like that," she harumphed at the end of her sentence, staring lethally at Clint.

"Use this," Hess slid a light frypan down the counter to where Meryl was standing. "No headshots, I need him functional for the rest of the train. A good frypan spanking would be warranted, though."

"Ohshit," Clint groused.

"Carl, on me while Clint tries to dodge the lady scorned," Hess waved the 'secondary' over the counter, who readily obliged.

With two box-throwers, the MREs only took twenty seconds to come out of storage, and it was closed back up for the next round. "Think we should try to stop her, sir?" Quintin said, looking at where Meryl was trying to swing around a couple ladies to hit Clint.

"Hell no, this is good family entertainment," Hess said, then noticed something about the guy eating the pancakes. "From that look, you're thinking something, Vash. Might I inquire?"

"You're not normal soldiers, or even normal law enforcement," Vash commented. "What is Militia?"

"Reserve soldiers," Hess answered. "We get together on weekends and drill for combat, but our day-to-day lives are boring. I fix computers, Clarence here is a business analyst, Victoria is a Human Resource Clerk, Clint works house construction." Hess paused to open the delivery box, which was loaded with four cases MREs and four cases bottled water. "We're just here to stop the slavers and try to bring order to chaos."

"Do you need help?" Millie asked.

"Ma'am, I could use any help willing," Hess answered between box throws. "If you're willing to follow a crazy American into the heart of this train, you would be much welcomed." After the last package of water bottles was out, he closed it up again for the last round.

"Can we at least get room and board out of it, if we do?" Vash asked spontaneously. "And doughnuts, if available?"

"No guarantees on anything, but I can certainly try," Hess answered before he pulled the door open for the last round of water bottles (8 cases, 32 bottles per case). "Hell, if we have to ditch and go to ground, I could probably use all hands on deck where we land."

Car 136 (Seats, 1 Level) (1232)
Car 137 (Seats, 2 Level) (1234)
Car 138 (Seats, 2 Level) (1236)
Car 139 (Seats, 2 Level) (1238)
Car 140 (Seats, 2 Level) (1240)
Car 141 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (1242) (Evacuated 7 Delta Mafia)
Car 142 (Baths, Individual Stalls (20)) (1244)
Car 143 (Baths, Individual Stalls (20)) (1246)
Car 144 (Baths, Individual Stalls (20)) (1248)
Car 145 (House Car, 1 Level) (1250)
Car 146 (Lounge Car) (1252) (evacuated 12 Bravo Mafia)

The breaching and entering action into the car went as normal. Clint, Victoria, Clarence, Hess, each entered within a half second of the last, total four seconds from door open to last person in the room.

After entry, it only took Hess about three seconds to realize he had walked into a shitstorm-in-potentia.

"What do you think, boss? Eight full autos?" Clint asked.

"Seven, and at least two sniper rifles," Hess lowered his Enfield and raised his left hand after a laser sight passed over him. Victoria, Clint, and Clarence were quick to follow suit.

"Put your hands down, Americans. It's embarrassing. Girls, no threat, back to your game," one of the ladies said. After a few moments, the rest of the occupants of the room lowered their weapons and resumed either watching television or shooting pool. "The way you entered, we thought you might be a Slaver tactical team. Come over here, Sergeant Hess," Hess dwelled in on the speaker, a mid-thirties lady that was roughly his height, blond and blue, and armed with what appeared to be an H&K Mark 23 / SOCOM with the laser sight that had been all over him.

"Looks legit, guys," Hess said, again as warning for his troops to be wary but not overt about it. "Take ten, engine cars ain't going nowhere. Victoria, pass the word back through the ranks, take ten, hit the bathrooms in the shower cars we just passed if needed.."

"Will do," she said. "After that, I think I need a can myself."

Hess transitioned to a left-hand-only grip on his Enfield as he approached the bar in the lounge car. Two ladies were sitting at the bar, the thirty-something blondie and a slightly physically larger twenty-year-old black-hair lady, with a third behind the bar (21, brown and brown, physically small) running the bar. When he took his seat, the Militiaman set aside his bolt-action and brushed aside his AR-15.

"What'll it be, soldier?" the bartender asked.

"You have two small bottles of Doctor Pepper in the cold cab. I'll do them, if you will?" Hess requested.

"That's unusual," she said, then handed them over to Hess. "No alcohol?"

"Not when on duty." Hess used the cutting hook on the back of his survival knife to pop the caps, a feature which also doubled over as a bottle opener. "Much obliged for not ventilating the team or myself, by the way. Erich Hess, Claiborne County Kentucky. You?"

"Megan Christenson, Reagan County Texas," she saluted Hess with a martini glass. "Don't worry about an explanation, we've been keeping up with your progress and results," the Bravo Mafiosi waved a hand held CB at him. "You've got the Slavers scared shitless. My girls report there are two journeymen and two apprentices in car 182. They're actively talking about hiding from you, by concealment or disguise. One of the girls from that unit will meet you early to give you a brief."

"You do realize, if I get the drop on them, I will have to take them prisoner?" Hess noted.

"Definitely, but better captured than free-roaming." She sighed. "I've been in a couple gunfights with the Slavers. Uneven skills, but driven. Being a Texan, I know enough about firearms, but except for rumors of the Magi entering and clearing trains, I've never seen any systematic attempt at killing or capturing the Slavers."

"Texas," Hess nodded twice. "Texas. I always told myself that if shit really hit the fan, Texas was my bug-out location. What got you on the train?"

"A couple of my cousins were grabbed. When I saw what happened, I grabbed up my revolver and rifle, and tried chasing them down. Never did find them. Been on the Train for five years now, working my way back and forth, trying to free the captives or bushwack the slavers. Your turn," she said.

"Train landed in my backyard, so my neighbor and I kept an eye on it. Some captives ran out and were shot in the back by a Slaver, then he shot up my house. We returned fire, wounded him, and I geared up for combat. The team assembled and we cleared the wounded, then got in a gunfight with five of 'em. We won, and the Sheriff allowed us to enter and try to bring order to chaos." Hess drained one of the bottles he had been provided during his explanation.

"You're out to rescue people, basically," she said. "Militiamen. That's not something I expected to ever see, an old-school militiaman."

"Militia are a rare breed in 2015 America. The Media has so thoroughly pissed on the name, that most people think a Militia is some kind of fascist, anti-semitic and disestablishment organization."

"Wait, 2015? As is, the year of our Lord 2015?" she asked. Hess nodded affirmative. "Wow! How wild it would be to live in that kind of world! Tell me, are there flying cars in 2015?"

"If you're asking that question, you were living before the 1980s," Hess said.

"Nineteen and fifty-six, to be exact," she said. "I was a bit worried when I saw your front-man come in with a Soviet rifle."

"Clint? He carries the Kalash because he has a screw or two loose," Hess said with a glance over his shoulder to the pointman shooting some billiards with the ladies. "Clarence carries a Garand because he is a WW2 gun nut. Victoria carries an AR-15 with a heavy barrel because she likes reaching out and touching people from a distance. I carry the Enfield because it is a family weapon that capped off Fascists in the past, and I figured I might have to use it for that purpose again."

"Fascists? I thought they died out in World War 2," Megan commented.

"Not quite, milady. Marxism, and its cousin fascism, are alive and well in 2015 America. Fascism is total control by the State, with partnership of the businesses. The United States government of my era alternates between semi-fascist and corporatocracy depending on how heavily influenced the State is by the corporations. Our existing president is a hard Socialist, his supposed successor on the Democrat side is all but Communist, and the three prior Presidents were either Global Statists or Socialists." Hess sighed, then tipped up the last of his Dr. Pepper. "Ah, that look, the desire to wade in, knife in each hand, and begin solving the problem."

"Not how I was planning it, I was thinking two fists and hard-toed boots," Megan answered.

"I advise against, and I wholeheartedly suggest you return to the past and enjoy it while it lasts. The future is definitely not what it used to be," Erich suggested.

"Can't get home. The Train Engineer said it's impossible to jump back to where I was unless I knew the exact location in terms of worlds."

"Ah," Hess grumped. "Well, I have a guy in the team that thinks he might know a way to get people home. If you want a shot at it, you may want to fold in with the team."

"And the rest?" the bartender asked.

"Hey, I'm magnanimous about these things. You want a way home, and I can find the means, you're welcome to join. I'll provide the technical method, but you may have to finance the operation to get home," Hess said. With one sentence, he had made the mental leap of faith that Nereus had circumscribed, that the road home would have to be paved with hard effort from everyone involved.

"We're in, but I'm in it to avenge my cousins," Megan said. "I owe the Slavers two lives. You put me in a position where I can kill them, you'll have my loyalty. I'll dedicate the rest to getting the rest of the Bravos homes or homeward bound."

"You have a deal, Megan," Hess said.

Car 147 (Seats, 2 level) (1304)
Car 148 (Seats, 2 level) (1306)
Car 149 (Seats, 2 level) (1308)
Car 150 (Seats, 1 level) (1310)
Car 151 (Seats, 2 level) (1312)
Car 152 (Seats, 2 level) (1314) (evacuated 1 civilian)
Car 153 (Bathrooms, Gender-split) (1316) (evacuated 8 civilians)
Car 154 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1318)
Car 155 (Bathrooms, Individual Stalls (20)) (1320) (evacuated 4 civilians)
Car 156 (House, 2 level) (1322) (evacuated 9 Bravo Mafia)
Car 157 (Storage) (1324)
Car 158 (Seats, 1 level) (1326) (evacuated 12 Charlie Mafia)
Car 159 (Seats, 1 level) (1328)
Car 160 (Seats, 1 level) (1330)
Car 161 (Seats, 2 level) (1332) (evacuated 13 Charlie Mafia, 15 Delta Mafia)
Car 162 (Seats, 1 level) (1335)
Car 163 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1337)
Car 164 (Bathrooms, Individual Stalls (20)) (1339)
Car 165 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1341)
Car 166 (Bathrooms, Individual Rooms (14)) (1343)
Car 167 (House Car, 1 Level) (1345)
Car 168 (Dining Car) (1347)

Clint opened the second door, which immediately assailed the group with the smell of some badass cooking. Why he immediately called a halt, then backed off and closed the door again, Hess wasn't entirely sure.

"What do you think? Same scenario?" Erich asked after a moment.

"Same scenario, different actors. Foxtrot Foxtrot niner," Clint reported.

"Ah, the value of a wildly wasted youth, trying to save the world in virtual scenario," Hess said with a smile. "Lemme guess, the big goofy one with the massive tongue is behind the grill, and a couple others are in the dining area?"

"10-4," Clint answered.

"Well, breach and make entry, same ROE (5) as last. If we get nothing, we move on toward the next car."

"Not going to try to pick them up, chief?" Clint asked, shocked.

"Naw, I think I'm developing an operational concept here, that obviates having to 'catch 'em all' on the first pass."

Clint scrunched his forehead and pursed his lips, thinking hard about what such an operational concept would be. "Not seeing it, big guy."

"It's well outside the box, scrawny one," Hess answered. "I'm not going to say a thing about it for now, though, until I have had some skull time with Nereus and a couple others to verify a few details. For now, we breach and make entry."

"On it, sir!" Clint turned around to face the door, tripped the latch, and made the first entry. Clarence, then Quintin, followed by Toni, Victoria, with Hess as the last man in.

After Quintin entered, most of the conversation in the room ended abruptly. By the time Hess entered, it was almost silent except for the sounds of cooking foods. "No tango, trailers move it up!" Hess ordered, gesturing for the rescues to head toward the far door. "Clint, lead it off."

"As always, big guy," the pointman led the way, his massive double-barrel magazine-fed shotgun resting at combat slung just in case.

Hess considered it rather surreal to walk within a yard of two of his favorite Final Fantasy characters (Zidane, Dagger/Garnet), and even more surreal to know they were likely 100 percent legit given the interdimensional nature of the trains. Of course, he gave their whole table a quick once-over as he passed, since they were all very well armed with melee weapons, but nothing overt was happening so he didn't dwell on the diners.

"Looks legit, eh?" Clint said.

"10-4," Erich answered.

A lady at the counter turned around with a hoisted beer bottle. "Give 'em hell, Americans!" she shouted.

"YEAH!" the guy next to her shouted.

"We're working on sending the Slavers to Hell, stand by for further," Clarence answered.

"Stacked and ready, boss," Clint said at the far door.

"Make it happen."

Car 169 (Seats, 2 level) (1350)
Car 170 (Seats, 2 level) (1352)
Car 171 (Seats, 2 level) (1354)
Car 172 (Seats, 2 level) (1356)
Car 173 (Seats, 1 level) (1358)
Car 174 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1400)
Car 175 (Bathrooms, Gender-split) (1402) (evacuated 5 civilians)
Car 176 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (1404)
Car 177 (Bathrooms, Gender-split) (1406) (evacuated 2 civilians)
Car 178 (House Car, 1 level) (1408) (evacuated 9 civilians) (recovered 1 BAR w/ Scope, 25x 10-gauge SG shells)
Car 179 (Lounge Car) (1410)
Car 180 (Seats, 2 level) (1412)
Car 181 (Seats, 2 level) (1414)

"Bravo-17, Bravo command, we're at car 181, where are you?"

"Bravo Command, we're coming down stairs now," a voice said over the CB radio. Victoria had reprogrammed her set to cover the Bravo Mafia frequencies, so Hess would have a good cut to their traffic.

"Clint, make entry, keep it tight," Erich ordered.

Clint didn't respond verbally, he simply tripped the door latch and bolted inside, followed quickly by Clarence. Hess and Toni, followed quickly by the Elven riflewoman Sandra and the Bravo Mafia lead Megan. Hess had the rest of the tail hold back at the 180 car and farther back, to prevent any chance of crossfire taking out a noncombatant.

Partway down the deliberate search of the car, Hess noticed movement on the far staircase, two ladies with shotguns. Both guns were down and their left hands were up, to make sure they were not shot by the Militia troops. "Bravo-17, here with the info, sir!" the lead lady said as Hess approached.

"What you got?" Victoria asked.

"Four Slavers ahead, dressed like old-school punk rockers. Bottom floor, port side. They ditched their guns to make it more plausible, but they're all wearing long sleeves to cover the tats."

"Punk rockers, long clothes, roger that. Fold into the tail after we clear the next car."

"Yes, sir," the ladies answered.

"Clint, breach it like we always do."

Car 182 (Seats, 2 level) (1416) (Evacuated 4 Bravo Mafia, 1 Charlie Mafia, 6 Delta Mafia) (Captured 4 slavers)

Victoria and Clarence were the first two through the door, since they had the best ranged firepower of the team, and Clarence deliberately took the port-side guard with his new Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR) with scope. Hess and Clint were next, deliberately inverting the marching order to put firepower over speed in this case.

"Bravo-18, Bravo Command, we're in 182. Come on down," Megan ordered as Toni and she took up position behind Clint.

"On the way," Bravo-18 answered.

Hess advanced past the obvious attempted punk-rockers, then half a seat past them, he signaled a stop with his left fist. A small cadre of Deltas had stood up just short of the door and were approaching, but with lowered weapons. "Delta Mafia?" He asked for clarification.

"Yes sir, Markon, Delta Lead on this train. You're the infamous Hess, Kentucky Militia?"

"Roger that," Erich answered. "What's the word?"

"You're standing next to four goth rockers."

Hess gave them a sideways glance. "Actually, well, can't determine if they're supposed to be punks or goths, they're kinda treading the line between and not quite making either work, follow?"

"They are neither," Markon answered. "The four of them came in, ditched their guns two seats behind me, and changed clothes. At that time, the Bravos on the stairs and my troops saw all four of their tattoos. Slavers, all four of them."

"Confirmed, Militiman," one of the Bravos on the stairs said.

"Well, isn't that cute," Clint said as he looked over the four Slavers, three guys and a lady. "Yeah, definitely not rockin' those Punk duds right."

"Your call, kids," Hess said, since two of them were late teens, and the other two were early twenties. "You can either do the handcuffs the easy way, or I can make it hurt to any degree you want. And before you ask, no, there is no third option."

"We're going to take this to the Star League General Council, Militia fatboy," the lady said. "We will make your lives a living hell!"

"Not the first time I've heard that or similar today," Erich said in a thoroughly unimpressed fashion. "You first, blondie. Stand up, hands up." She complied. "Face the wall, walk backwards towards my voice. Walk back, walk back, stop. Down to your knees."

"On my knees! That's disgusting! I'd never give you a blow — "

"Shut up," Hess ordered bluntly. With her on her knees, it was a simple affair to slap the steel bracelets on. "Toni, check her for blades or guns."

"Anarchy dude, stand up, hands up, face the wall," Clint ordered.

"Man, I don't have to put up with this shit," he said without moving.

"Oi, fuckwagon, look over your right shoulder," Clint said. Once he did, he saw Clarence at the far end of the car, staring through a scope on top of a BAR at the Slavers. "See the serious dude down the way with the scoped BAR? I say so, he cuts loose and you're dead. Anything goes wrong, your fault, my fault, nobody's fault, he cuts loose and you're dead. You try doing stupid shit, he cuts loose and you're dead. Are you getting the message here? Am I going too fast for your limited brainpower?"

"All right, all right," the anarchy guy stood up and put his hands in the air.

"Good answer, assplugger, you can learn! I think we'll work on shapes and colors next week. Now, take two steps backwards and down to your knees."

"Yes, sir," the guy did as instructed.

Clint let the shotgun hang and cuffed him quickly, then locked the cuffs to prevent them from overtightening. "Megan, check this gutter trash fuckwad, blades, guns, contraband, then send him toward the back."

"Definitely," Megan pulled him aside into a different seat area to check.

"Upside-down Rosary, stand up, hands up, face the rear," Hess ordered. "Take two steps back, down to your knees."

"I usually ask for dinner and a movie before blowing a guy," the slaver said.

"You'll get no such luxury out of the court system," Hess threw the attempted insult back at him. "If you're lucky, Bubba will give your bum-hole a flexing on the inside, keep you amused for the twenty-to-life ," Hess said while he cuffed the guy. "Megan, you're on," he passed the punk back toward the trailing troops.

"Last mohawk-ian, up and at 'em, you know the drill," Clint ordered. The guy stood up, hands up, turned around and took the two steps slowly.

"Concealed gun, right waistband," Hess declared, his rifle aimed almost directly at it. "Looks like a Jimenez product."

"Punk guns, why am I not surprised?" Clint said.

As the Slaver went down to knees, his right hand went for the gun that Hess had identified. Clint barreled him to the ground to disrupt his attempted draw, while Hess stepped forward and slammed his boot down on the guy's wrist. "AAAAGGGHHH! What the fuck! My hand! You broke my hand!"

Hess ground more of his significant mass down on the hand, which elicited another screech, before he cut the bridge of the punk-slaver's nose with the tip of the Enfield bayonet. "At least your three buddies are smart enough to take their chances with the courts, dumbfuck. Are you trying to get yourself killed before I hand you over to the Sheriff?"

"Nobody disrupts the Slavers' Guild, fat boy. NOBODY! You all will burn and bleed for this! We protect our own, we avenge our own!"

"Cute, asshole, real cute," Eric retorted in a matter-of-fact tone.

"We don't fear those 'thousands' of Militia troops you think you have. We don't fear you! We don't fear America! We will have vengeance for this!"

"It's a good thing you have the biggest balls in the Guild, then, because Bubba will have so much fun playing with them," Erich said with a fake-cheery voice. "Clint, got it?"

"Yeah, got it," the pointman said. The Jimenez JA25 went up onto the bench seat next to them, out of reach of the slaver. Hess picked it up, disarmed it, and dropped it in his drop pouch along with the Smith Sigma pistol from the first slaver he had shot.

"Finish cuffing this shitburger and search him. We're almost to the end of the Train."

"Hell yes sir!"

Car 183 (Seats, 2 level) (1423)
Car 184 (Seats, 2 level) () ()
Car 185 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (1427)
Car 186 (Bathrooms, gender-split) (1429)
Car 187 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (1431) (evacuated 6 Bravo Mafia)
Car 188 (Bathrooms, gender-split) (1433)
Car 189 (House car, 1 level) (1435)
Car 190 (Dining Car) (1437) (Evacuated 27 civilians, 6 Bravo Mafia, 3 Delta Mafia)

"Hess! Hess! Hold up, big guy!" Someone behind the entry team shouted after they had entered halfway into the dining car.

"Hold here, guys," Hess said. "Executor? What gives?"

Nereus halted just behind the entry team, a look of despair on his face. "We've got a problem, big guy. I've lost my security breaker box. Without it, we can't force our way into the control engine without causing massive damage to the engines."

"Fits the exterior doors on the trains?" Hess said, pointing to a closed and locked outside door for the dining car.

"Yeah, yeah! You haven't seen one? I may have dropped it during an evasion action toward the end of the luggage cars," Nereus explained.

"Huh. Clint, pull that breaker box you found," Hess said.

"Oh, this thing?" Clint drew out the SL Breaker Box from his dump pouch. "This it, Executor?"

"Holy shit, how did you even recognize this thing as useful?" Nereus asked.

"I am an electronics analyst, figuring these things out is my job," Hess said. "That thing will get us access to the train engines?"

"Definitely, we get in, we take over the control system, we land the train in a location we can reorganize and prepare for further steps, and after that we work on getting the expertise in to get people home."

Hess snorted loudly. "You have a location in mind," he said, which was decidedly not a question.

"Yeah. Recently abandoned planet, Terra 232. Former Star League junket, the local administration was neutered by the Grand Council, which forced the SLDF to pull out. Rest of planet has gone down the toilet, those who weren't in a position to bail out at the end."

"Pulling out early, that's bad business," Clint said, which comment drew laughs from several of the tables nearby.

"Yeah, most girls don't like that," Nereus agreed. "The SLDF jumped ship about three months ago, so most of the infrastructure is reasonably intact. Terra 232 is an alternate-geography planet, three continents instead of seven, but more land mass overall than classic Terra. I figure, we park the train in one of the nine Railhead bases on planet, set up shop, and work on getting a cash flow so you can fulfill your wish to get these people home."

"Nice," Hess groused. "You are proposing we take a chaotic scenario and drop it into a big goddamn pisspot full of extra chaos, and serve it with a side of anarchy, is my readback correct?"

"Exactly," Nereus said. "Think about it. Terra 232 is effectively in a state of anarchy or city-state mentality. The bases are unusable to anyone not Star League. We park under one of the bases, filter up and take it over, we can operate out of the facilities almost completely undetected and unassailable. And, keep in mind that with the breakdown of regular commerce, those people out and about aren't going to give two shits about the new kids on the block. They're busting ass to save their own, they won't have time or effort to waste on us."

"Phrased that way, doesn't sound too bad," Clarence said.

"Yeah, that almost sounds manageable," Hess suggested. "Almost. Okay, say we do land there. We take over one of these bases. What's the process after that?"

"We fortify in place, then we work on some kind of method to secure the services of the Temporal Psionics Guild, who can provide personnel necessary to find ways home for the tail," Nereus said. "Due to agreements with the Guilds, we Executors are not allowed to execute their job functions, even though roughly a third of Executors could easily do so."

"You?" Victoria asked.

"Nope, my psionic skills extend only to telepathy, telekinesis, and aquakinesis," Nereus explained.

"Okay, let's prove some Liberals wrong, let's talk and walk at the same time," Hess waved the group toward the door. As soon as he did so, the entire content of the room stood up to join him, as well as his team.

Car 191 (Seats, 2 level) (1444) (evacuated 6 Bravo Mafia)

"Here's the trick. Before the world went to hell, my boss sent me in to take survey of the Star League infrastructure, since the SLDF has not been keeping up with its reports — the thinking at the time was we were going to set 232 up as a direct fief of the Executors, and use contractors to keep order on planet under direct command of the Executors."

Hess waved a small gaggle of six Bravo Mafia toward him. "You Bravos?"

"Yes, sir. Can we follow you out?" their team lead asked.

"Fall into the tail, we'll get you somewhere reasonably safe." After they brushed past Hess and Nereus, The two resumed their walk behind a wall of personnel. The rest of the 'secondary' troops had moved forward, and even Vash had taken up the entry team work. "So, what stopped you?"

"Logistics. The bosses couldn't free up enough personnel to make it happen before the government collapsed, so we had to scrap the plan. And we Executors are specifically denied the right to claim territory; if we take land, it has to go either to the Star League or to one of the Member States."

"Ah," Hess grumped. "So, you have an idea what the planet looks like. You've also said we have options for where to land, one of these so-called Railhead bases. What are we talking here?"

"Terra 232 has a total of nine bases that are rail-network terminus stations. Four on the Western Continent, but I advise against taking residence there. Even when there was a semblance of authority on planet, that area was a hellhole. Two Railheads on the Northern Continent, including one of the two functional Hyper Pulse Generator communication systems on planet. Three Railheads on the Southern Continent, and even some of the best facilities for interplanetary commerce, since the central Railhead is under Starport Base Killan."

"The other HPG, somewhere on the Western Continent? That is the right acronym, correct?" Clint asked.

"Exactly accurate," Nereus commented. "You are correct, the other HPG is at Base Erlanger, which is in a temperate band on the northern reaches of the Western Continent. The other HPG is Base Boarhound, the eastern reaches heavy fortress on the Northern Continent. We will definitely need access to the HPGs for our purposes, communication is essential going forward."

"So, it is Erlanger or Boarhound, then. What are the Pros and Cons of each?" Hess asked.

"Erlanger is a single-wall railhead base, HPG, light aerospace, extensive infantry facilities, some armor facilities, plenty of room for expansion. Static defenses were under construction when the SLDF jumped ship; when I did my survey, they only had the foundations of three turrets in place. Erlanger was intended to be a Boot Camp facility for the planet."

"Not bad, we'll want that if we go big," Clarence said offhand.

"You thinking something, Clarence?" Hess asked with a smile.

"I might be," Clarence countered.

"And Boarhound?"

"Oldest base on planet, but still reasonably fresh. They had just done a facilities and equipment overhaul and refresh when I did my inspection."

Car 192 (Seats, 2 level) (1448) (evacuated 5 civilians, 6 Bravo Mafia, 7 Charlie Mafia)

"Heh. Still walking, still talking, guess we may be a little bit smarter than the Lib-wads think we are," Clint said as they crossed the threshold into the next car.

"Allow them their illusions, Clint," Victoria cautioned. "Geniuses come and go. Stupid is eternal, which is why the hard left just never seem to naturally select themselves out of Existence."

"Back on Base Boarhound, and stop ragging on the llamas that aren't here to defend themselves with hypersensitive emotional responses," Erich ordered.

"Boarhound, double-walled mixed Army Group base. Completely built, some room for expansion. Light Aerospace facilities, and the Starport is exterior to the walls, but the rest of the facility is top-notch. You have infantry, armor, specialists, training, administrative, underground and above-ground facilities, a full array of defenses, watchtowers, the whole nine meters. Even has docks for four Atmospheric Assault Ships, like the old Pegasus-class ships."

"Sounds like a workable facility," Clarence said. "Take a fuck-ton of people to staff it, though."

"We don't have to staff it all, just the parts necessary to hold it while we get people home," Hess pointed out fairly. "Bravos, Charlies, fall in with the trailing teams for evacuation," Hess ordered as the ladies and children stood up when they recognized the Militiamen.

"Good point, chief," Clint said.

"That's not in congruence with my concept, but I agree," Clarence said.

"I'm going to want to hear this concept before the day is up," Erich said to Clarence. "Anyway, would we be so lucky as to have any of the old SLDF gear left over on their way out? Or did they take it all with them?"

Nereus shrugged famously at the question. "They will have left the facility control and sustainment systems in place, but as to weapon systems or mechanized units, fat chance. The stingy bastards in the Ordinance Department would have gone through with a broom and dustpan to pick up any brass filings on the way out, never mind anything useful like a battlemech or mobile suit."

Behind the conversation, Hess could hear someone gag. A quick glance in that direction told Hess that it had been Jeff Evans.

"Eh, whatever, the big stuff is advertisement, and the advertisement is something we don't want to do while we're trying to stay hidden," Clint opined.

"Well, not every part of a collosal fuckup OWG can be a failure. Someone has to do something right," Victoria said. "Just so happens, Murphy's Law being in full effect here, the one group that does their job right will actually make our job harder in so doing."

"Murphy's Law," Clint, Clarence and Erich all chant drolly in unison.

"Okay, sounds like the real-estate to beat in this case," Hess said. "So, when we land, we are going to want to take over the main control facilities and ensure the base is locked out. CIC building?"

"All that is controlled from the main Star League Headquarters Building. Boarhound's command building is a double-size Admin building, because it is also the full command center for the Northern Continent."

"Nice," Hess declared. "We'll set up shop inside, funnel the tail into barracks, and start working on cash flow. All opposed?" Nobody in the group said a word. "All for?"

"Aye," the Executor and the three Militiamen said before they began filing through to the next car.

Car 193 (Seat Car, 2 level) (1451) (evacuated 7 Bravo Mafia, 13 Delta Mafia)

"The Ayes have it, Boarhound it is," Hess said. "Now, let's harken back to a bit of basic human needs. We just solved the shelter issue. The three other problems are food, water, and heat. I take it, with the facilities support equipment, we should have no problem getting heat?"

"Yeah, I think the ten Industrial Fusion Reactors in the bottom of the Administration Building will give enough heat, and enough juice to keep things going," Nereus said. "The smaller facilities only have four reactors, which is why I was nudging towards Boarhound. Even if two of the reactors are tits up when we arrive, we'll have plenty of juice to go around."

"So, next is water," Victoria said.

"Every Star League base is built with a water tap that goes either to a nearby river or to an underground aquifer. Prevents a besieging force from being able to completely cut off the water supply to the base. The filtration equipment is loaded with local filter media, sand and carbon filters usually, so you should be able to simply flush the system and resume use," Nereus said. "Of course, plan bravo would be a wizard uses his mad magic skills to fill a tank of water if needed."

"Nice plan," Hess said. "And that leaves food."

"We just walked past an easy source of food," Clint said.

"Bingo," Nereus acknowledged the point. "We shuck the supplies out of the dining car, use them in the base galleys."

"Is defrauding the food network like that going to be a good long-term plan?" Victoria asked.

"I'll get the boss to sign off on it. I figure, we Executors have already ordered the Grand Council to shut the trains down, they refuse, they can pay us in supplies and salvage to do their dirty work for them," High Executor Nereus said offhand.

"Bingo! Fucking bingo!" Clarence said. "Is there an easy way to sell off salvage? Material or equipment?" he asked in series.

"Well, yeah, ScrapNet. It's an interdimensional consignment network that corporations big and small use to buy material, raw, recycled, or finished, and they use the same network to move their goods out wholesale. Civilians can even use it for retail purchases of stuff that isn't produced on their planet. Why?" Nereus asked, a little bit befuddled by Clarence's immediate and strong reaction.

"Look around you, amigo. What do you see?" Clarence asked, waving his arms wide at the train car around him.

"A double decker train car, why?" Nereus asked, even more thoroughly confused.

"Wrong scale. You're seeing the finished product. I see several dozen metro-liner benches. I see several hundred square feet of rubber flooring. I see two dozen electroluminescent light fixtures. Several dozen windows. Steel walls. Steel frame. Low-load rail bogeys. Miles of wiring. You may see the finished product, I see industrial material in bulk, the kind of scrap material that businesses would want to buy at a cut rate to get their own processes in gear. I see funding in potent — " Clarence was interrupted by walking backwards into the end of the train car.

"Less grandstanding, husband of mine, more walking," Victoria redirected him through the door to the next car.

Car 194 (Seats, 1 Level) (1454) (evacuated 1 civilian)

"Okay, wow, that's a hard plan," Nereus said. "Rock fucking solid, actually. I could see some swinging wanks get behind that plan, easily. Clear the train, strip it down, disassemble it, sell the complete cars or disassemble the cars for component materials. That might actually work, but I would definitely need to have my bosses sign off on it."

"How so?" Erich asked.

"These trains are commissioned by the Grand Council. They declared them 'Heritage of Existence', which is why they are still free-roaming and supplied. My bosses would be in a position to cover your asses for doing the disassembly, prevent any manner of high-level reprisal from the Star League Grand Council. And, it becomes a long-term source of revenue for you guys, if you want to play the game for the scoreboard."

"Listening," Hess said succinctly.

"You are standing on train number 523. There are roughly 150,000 trains in the Commission, a small fraction of what was shanghaied from the Dynasty Star Empire. There have been losses, the Magi tend to cripple, enter and clear these Trains whenever they land in Magi territory, but that only amounts to 900 or so. Everyone else leaves them be."

"And then these fucking wagons drop in on unsuspecting planets for the purpose of butt-raping the citizens," Clint completed the thought. "Hence why we are here."

"You got it, Toyota," Clarence said, invoking the tagline of an old Toyota commercial for emphasis. "Oh wow, I just dated myself. That was from a Toyota commercial in the 90s."

"In short, hai, Clint-san," Nereus said in a close-to-Japanese accent. "We told the Grand Council this shit would happen, they refused to listen. They refused to put security on these Trains. Now we want the mess cleaned up, and you have a damn good plan for making it feasible. Rather than parking 150,000 trains on a planet somewhere to eat space and rust to pieces, you are one of the first to have seriously made a case for disassembling the damn things. And you also have a ready plan for dealing with the refugee situation."

"Well, fuck, amigo, guess being a Business Analyst pays off in the most fucked-up scenario possible," the pointman said. Clint and Clarence both raised their fists and slammed forearms together in a show of victory. "And me being in construction, I know how to assemble and disassemble stuff at this scale."

"How fast can you arrange this high-level protection?" Victoria asked. "I want some warm and fuzzy feeling guarding my ass before we even begin in on this."

Nereus shrugged again. "If the HPG is functional ready to go, I call in to the Executor router, talk to the watch officer, and get the paperwork rolling. Since my direct CO would have to sign off on it, the matter comes down to how fast Lord Tenchi can be tracked down, since my assignment was a high-priority mission to begin with."

"Sweet, very sweet," Clint said.

"What about you, chief?" Victoria asked.

"Think hard about what we are conspiring to do," Erich instructed as they approached the next transition.

Car 195 (Seats, 1 level) (1457)

"Listening," Victoria said after the five cleared into the next seat car.

"We have several plans going right here. One, get the people off the trains. That will require teams to enter and clear, and salvage teams for anything not bolted down. Two, we are disassembling the trains. That is going to require a shit-ton of personnel all on its own, equipment, tools, and the resources to store and transport the salvage when done. Three, we need to get the refugees back home, or if no dice there, we need to get them safe homes somewhere. Four, we have an explicit mission as per Sheriff Hearter, we need to stop the Slavers and end the human trafficking bullshit. That is going to require effectively our own military force to do it right."

"Oh fuck," Clint groused. "I never thought about that in that scale. God Damn am I glad your brain generates 1000 strategic horsepower on idle," he said.

"Oh hell no, scrawny one, it gets better," Erich said with a savage smile to effect. "We have a fifth, implicit and explicit order from Sheriff Hearter: bring order to chaos. This entire conspiracy revolves around location, location, location, and what is that location?"

"Base Boarhound, a silent bastion in the middle of a butt-scrogged anarchistic wasteland," Victoria completed the thought.

"You got it, Toyota," Hess borrowed her husband's tagline from a few minutes prior.

"And when he revs that strategic brainpower, he gets 3500 horsepower out of it without burying the needle," Clint said with a light punch to Hess' left bicep. "That is why I absolutely refuse to play any kind of strategic game or simulation against this guy. When I think I have a good plan, he's already defeated me and is working on my funeral arrangements."

"Damn straight," Victoria acknowledged.

"Sir, door's locked and sealed, we can't exit to the 196 car," Quintin said as he approached the training Militia troops.

"Hostile environment outside," Nereus gauged, then checked his watch. "Take fifteen, we'll need to wait until the train jumps again before we can take the engines."

"Take fifteen, guys!" Quintin relayed the order to the rest of the Secondary team.

"And that right there is going to require another, entirely separate military force to un-pooch that screw," Hess concluded the line of thinking. "Ladies and gentlemen, by my best estimate of numbers behind this conspiracy, the only way this is workable is if we go full-fucking-horsepower at the whole clusterfuck, with the intention of effectively cleaning up a whole planet, the trains, the refugee situation, the Slaver situation, and do so in a way that effectively we bring complete order to chaos. And, to make it even better, we are going to have our asses rode long and hard by a bureaucratic fuckup of interdimensional proportions, multiple hostile parties, a Guild that swears death and toasted marshmallows on us, and probably our own consciences along the way. Am I leaving anything out?" Hess asked the High Executor.

"Not that I'm seeing, not on the hostile side at least," Nereus acknowledged. "Now, that said, I think I can get you some serious horsepower from the Member States. For damn sure, you'll have the backing, direct and by law, of the Executors. We write the laws that Existence lives by, and you'll have that color of Law to back you on your goals, that I can gold-plated guarantee you right now. The big thing is to get you some financial and sovereignty to make it happen. I have some options, and if I can pull the right strings, I think I can make it happen."

"What are you thinking, mister Paladin?" Clint asked.

"You four are American hardasses of the supreme order. You know what it takes to make a continent-spanning nation run and run… well… reasonably well, I would say, at least until the Commies wrecked it."

"God's honest truth, spoken right here," Victoria pointed to Nereus.

"You four think you could kick it up a notch or two? Not just continent-spanning, but continental? Or Planetary?"

Car 196 (Engine) (1514)

"Well, we're… outside, I guess," Clint said.

"Damn good to be smelling fresh air," Clarence said.

"Wait, why are our surroundings all blurred?" Clint asked after he noticed what the view wasn't looking like (any kind of logical terrain).

"Visual dilation of the area due to the pocket-space the train cars exist in," High Executor Nereus explained. "Only if a car is visible space, do you get a clear view of it and are able to pass between cars without passing through the connection arches."

"And if I was to try jumping this rail?" Clint asked, tapping on the rail to his right as they walked for the engine control cab.

"You would land down on the ground around the train. Not advised to leap before you look, though. No telling what is outside these rails until you can see it."

"Got it," Clint said. "At the door, it's locked."

"Coming up," Nereus said. He moved to the door, inserted his breaker box into the security panel, and pressed in a code on the breaker to override the security. "Done. Just tap the green button to breach."

"Let's make 'em scream," Clint said. "Breaching."

As soon as the door slid past halfway, Clint was on the move with Clarence on his six. They entered and diverged, doing their usual sweep routine, but quickly came to one conclusion. "Clear!"

"Entering," Nereus said. As soon as he entered, he turned right to the control systems for the engine. "Damn, but this says enough. The control engine is the front locomotive. We take it, we break the control systems, we're on our way as soon as the engines are charged."

Car 197 (Engine) (1516)
Car 198 (Engine) (1518)
Car 199 (Engine) (1520)
Car 200 (Engine) (1522)

"Breaching!" Clint shouted as he crossed the threshold of the 'connection arch', which sound filtered to the crowd around the train.

Hess was second through the arch, and took his customary left turn. As soon as he began moving left, his sights crossed — "Hot damn! We've got an audience!"

"Big friggin' crowd here," Clarence said as he joined Clint.

"Stacked," Victoria said as some of the crowd started taking notice of the newcomers. A few shrieks came up from the ladies in the crowd, followed by some shouts, but nothing spectacular so far.

"Moving!" Hess shouted, which brought the crowd's focus onto him.

The walkway around the engines looped completely around, front to back and both sides, so for proper clearing the engine had to be taken by two teams, one up each side. As Erich and Victoria moved down the left side, Hess covered forward with an eye up toward the roof of the vehicle — no doubt, Clint would be doing the same, in case someone had climbed up to investigate. With their sudden and very hostile movement, the crowd went wild with shouts and some screeches, but calmed down after it became obvious that that two persons in very weird clothing were not hostile toward the crowd.

There were some gasps towards the front end of the engine, though, as Hess approached the front of the cab windows. The thick glass in the windows gave him a slight hint of movement out the front, but what that movement was did not come obvious until Hess turned the corner and came face to muzzle with a gun. "Tango!" Erich shouted as he ducked immediately under the line of the muzzle, then sprung up with a shoulder-ram into the unknown party with the revolver. The significant mass of the Militiaman to begin with, combined with the weight of his gear and arms, made the impact completely inexorable to the subject. The guy in the trenchcoat, his partner in a trenchcoat, and some guy in blue clothes behind both were bowled down to the ground in a chain reaction, with two of three revolvers dropped. "Tango! Drop that weapon!" Hess shouted as his rifle came down to aimpoint against the unidentified assailants..

Clint racked the slide on his MDBS double-barrel shotgun from the other side, aiming around the right corner of the engine cab at the downed tangos. "Drop it, street beater! This isn't how — wait, what?" Clint stopped himself in mid-sentence. "Police?"

"Aww, shit," Clarence said. "Deputized Militia versus the fuzz, wonderful," Clarence said. He aimed outward and whistled loudly. "Don't do it, buddy. This isn't your game," he said to someone on the far side of the car.

"Oh man, now I know what it feels like to get hit by a Mack truck," the lead of the three in the stack said. "Who're you, big guy?"

"Erich Hess, Claiborne County Militia, on assignment from the county Sheriff on this train," Hess explained. He reached across his vest with left hand, pulled the badge off his pocket organizer MOLLE pouch, and flipped it to the guy on the ground. "Your turn, trenchcoat."

"Detective Sam Yonts, New York City Police Department," he said, then pulled his own badge portfolio. "Satisfied?"

"Reasonably so," Hess said. "Stand down, Clint. LEOs on deck."

"Yes sir," Clint said from the far side of the car.

Hess dropped the rifle from his shoulder and let it go slack in his left hand, then offered his right hand to the detective. "Hand up, Detective?"

The Detective hesitated for a moment, then took the offered hand. Hess had no trouble hauling the guy to standing, which surprised the detective as well as caused a chorus of clapping from the assembled onlookers. "No hard feelings, big guy. You fight nasty."

"Nature of the job and the day," Hess explained sympathetically.

"Looks legit from over here, boss," Clarence said.

"10-4," Hess answered. "Get the breaker box up here and make entry into the control cab," Hess shouted past the detectives. "Daylight's wasting, and I don't think New York City wants this hellwagon on rails hanging around."

"What are you men doing?" the Detective asked.

"My orders are to take control of this train and bring order to chaos." Hess pointed into the control cab with his right hand. "This engine is the control locomotive. We take it, we break security on the systems, we can clear the train out of here and drop it somewhere safe, well away from major urban centers."

"Pretty good goal, Militiaman," Detective Yonts said.

"Breaching!" Clint shouted as he moved through the door. Hess could see the blurred figures of Clarence and Clint as they moved into the control cab and swept back toward the rear. "Clear!" Clint shouted.

"High Executor, your turn," Hess shouted.

"Way ahead of you, big guy!" Nereus answered as he ducked into the train.

"Hess, report from the rear," Toni said as she approached behind Victoria. "The trailers are seated down in the prior seat cars, I have security at the back of the line for both the Slavers and anything that wants to crawl up our six. We're good to go when the train jumps."

"Toni, pull Victoria's CB radio and set the channel to 22."

"Got it," she said after she had the radio loose from the radio pouch.

Hess reached up to his lapel microphone and clicked it on. "Radio test, channel 22."

"Radio test, this is Charlie-1-3, reading you loud and clear, sir!"'

"Chalie-1-3, relay to the trailers, Militia team has taken the engines and are now breaking the control systems. We will have command over the jumping shortly."

"It's ours!" Nereus shouted.

"Charlie-1-3, revise report, we have control. Destination plan 232 is a go."

"46 minutes to jump power, Hess!" Nereus said.

"Booya, big guy!" Clint shouted. "That is game, set and match for this one!"

"All right, Detective, if you want, please step in," Hess gestured to the control cab for the train engine. "Toni, head back to the trailers, hold the front. When we have landed, I will call you to begin egress."

"Will do, sir!" Toni answered immediately.

"Now that wasn't Militia, even your definition of militia," the Detective said as they moved to the door into the cab.

"Correct. She was a stray that I picked up in the cars, and kinda latched on to me for the run. She knows her way around rifles, and learns fast. She's a keeper as far as I'm concerned." Hess rested his Enfield against the port-side wall. "What's the word, High Executor?"

"Coordinates are set, railhead undercroft, Base Boarhound, Terra 232. We'll easily have enough charge for it in 45 minutes."

"Roger that, sir, and much obliged," Hess said with a smile.

"I'll be thanking you soon enough, big guy. You make this work, you'll be sucking the starch right out of the pinheads on the Grand Council," Nereus said.

"Well, certain duties may be distasteful," Hess groused as he removed and braced his AR-15 against the port-side wall, next to his Enfield. "Oh man, my back is going to hate me after this."

"I know where there's a bed with your name on it," Nereus said. He reached over to the AR-15 and lifted it. "Holy hell, big guy, this thing weighs more than the Enfield! And you've been carrying this thing all bloody day?"

"And enough ammo to take over a small Caribbean Island nation," Hess said matter-of-factly. "It's the price of making sure it is done right."

"Wow, your back must really be sor — "

"And there we are," Erich interrupted the Executor as he reached up to a lever on one of the control panels. Hess hesitated to flip it until he read the warning placards, though one of them held the necessary answer: 'changes on this panel will take effect after the next train jump.' Not afraid to take a warning label at face value, Hess dropped the lever.

"The car access controls?" Nereus asked.

"Think about it. We land the train, it's not going anywhere ever again. The only way to disassemble it completely is to have the whole thing visible," Hess explained.

"Good point," the Executor conceded.

"So, we have 43 minutes to kill. Detective, you going to restrict me from stepping off the train?"

"Don't see why I should," Detective Yonts said. "What're you thinking?"

"Saw a deli and ice cream bar across the road, figured I could trade a salvaged pistol I picked up for a bite to eat, if the owner is willing to deal." While he was talking, he had pulled his work cell phone out and set a timer on it for 40 minutes so as to not miss the train.

"I'm game for that," Clint said.

"Long arms against the wall," Hess ordered.

"I'll hang here," Victoria said. "It looks legit, 1930s New York City," she said by way of warning.

"Got it. Before we go, though, you want first crack at it?" Erich asked the detective.

"Let's see it," he requested.

Hess propped his leg up to reach the bottom of his drop pouch, and was easily able to find the Jimenez JA-25. "Mouse gun, but the perfect size for an ankle conceal, backup pistol," Erich offered it to the detective.

"Not bad. Don't recognize the manufacturer, but the caliber I know. 25 Auto, half the department carries something in this size as a backup. Five bucks sound good?"

"Works for me," Hess answered.

"Whoa, boss," Clint said.

"Hold, Clint, remember we're dealing with exchange rates here. If you had ten bucks local, you could take it to a hardware store and pick up a classic 1911."

"Ah, oh, yeah," Clint answered.

"Here you go, big guy," the Detective gave him five singles.

"Let's grab ourselves a quick bite to eat, Clint, Clarence. I suspect once we hit the ground under Base Boarhound, we'll be busy as pissed-on wolverines." Hess led the entourage out, though the Detectives were first down the ladder onto the 1930s New York City roadway.

"By the way, what kind of sidearm are you carrying?" the detective asked as the crowd parted ways for the Militiamen. "Military sidearm?"

"Actually, a step up from military issue. I'll show you once we're seated," Hess answered.

"I've got this, I eat here all the time," the younger and as-yet-not-introduced detective said. "Enrique! Got some guests from the future off this weird train! You willing to do business with 'em?"

"Yeah!" a voice responded.

"Come in," he held the door for the group.

"Oh, wow," the cook behind the bar said. "That is… different. Grab a table wherever you like, guys. Menus should be handy."

"Almost like a different world from our time," Clint said.

"82 years into the past," Clarence said, pointing at a calendar on the wall. "Might as well be a different world. The only part of it that is hip-deep in Commies is Russia, if I don't miss my guess."

"That makes a hellish difference," Erich said. Once he was seated and settled, Hess pulled his sidearm, ejected the magazine, and kicked out the live round in the chamber. "The US Army uses the 1911 in the here and now. This is the Springfield Armory XD Tactical. Half the weight unloaded, double the ammo when counting one in the chamber." Hess handed the pistol to the Detective.

"My my, this is different," he said. "Feel that, Jimmy," he passed it to the other detective at the table.

"What's with the light, though?" Detective Jimmy asked.

"Target identification, enhanced night or dark environment shooting," Hess said. "Also can be used to briefly disorient someone by shining this in their face. It's bright."

"Menu, big guy," Clint passed it over to him.

"Simple enough," Hess said.

The detective picked the magazine up. "This weighs just about the same as a magazine pouch for the 1911. How many mags do you carry?"

"Five on my vest," Hess lifted the 5-in-line magazine pouch to show them. "Two on my left leg platform behind the drop pouch. Total of 105 rounds, counting the mag in the pistol and the round in the chamber."

"Drinks, gentlemen?" the waitress asked.

"Coke," the younger detective said.

"Coffee, black, two sugars" the elder detective said.

"Lemonade," Hess said.

"Coke," Clint answered.

"Coffee, dash of milk and two sugars," Clarence finished up.

"Are you really American Infantry from the future?" the waitress asked next.

"No, American Militiamen. The Infantry are even scarier than we are," Clarence said.

"Are you ready to order, or do you need a minute?" she asked next.

"I stand ready," Hess said.

"Ditto," Clint said.

"I'm go," Clarence. "You guys?" he asked the detectives.

"Yeah, I'm ready," Detective Yonts said. "Give me the Reuben and chips."

"Burger and chips," the younger one said.

"Burger and chips, hold the onions," Clint said.

"Philly Cheese Steak and chips," Clarence said.

"Burger and chips," Hess declared.

"Be about fifteen minutes," she said.

"Different world indeed," Hess said as he looked out the window. "Aww, shit, press."

"Smile for the camera, boss," Clint said sarcastically.

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Author's Chapter Afterword:

Second verse, a bit nastier than the first!

You'll notice in this go around, the actual amount of shooting matches not against the Slavers is far lower than the first go-through. Part of that is the four-man team and the encounter psychology involved in their entry tactics. The predication of the original version is that one trooper could possibly be dropped if the Mafiosi got lucky. Four heavy-armed and heavy-outfitted troops would be a bit much for the Mafiosi to expect luck in such an encounter. Against the Slavers, though, the combat went hard and fast given their automatic assumption of superiority over any denizen of the Trains (oops). The last four Slavers on the train were the exception, they knew the coming group was hard and lethal, and they tried passing themselves off as weird transients. Didn't work, though, the Mafiosi ratted them out.

The Mafiosi situation, though, it has really changed since the first revision. Now, Mafia groups are selected from a random listing by the procedural generation from original Mafiosi and new groups. Further train work will include new groups and new dynamics as well — I swore that I was going to get down to the hard parts completely in this run, time to up the ante. Included in that selection is going to be a rare entry for the Slavers — rather than being off-and-on tangos, there is a chance that a train could be captured butthole-to-bore loaded with Slavers, which would make things exceedingly messy on cleaning that out.

Now for the fun shit!

First, Executor Nereus is going to be a little more into the shadows than Executor Cyrene was. With things moving at a faster and more thorough pace than the first round, Executor 'oversight' (read: overkill) is less needed to achieve the objectives. That said, throughout the coming stories, there will be Executors in and out of the affairs of Sigma for multiple reasons, and you'll get a taste of the native power of the Executors and other Divine beings. That reminds me, once the divinities realize that Sigma is open for resettling, you'll have some of the old-school Gods and Goddesses swinging by for a piece of the action.

Second, VASH THE STAMPEDE! I got that comment more than a couple times from my Betas Readers, and you can expect hijinks in good order with Vash, Millie and Meryl in the future. I won't throw any spoilers as to what or why, but I will say that they make an appearance in the next chapter with a comping plot point.

Third, a brief mention-and-move-by for Final Fantasy 9 characters. Hess deliberately didn't force the issue with them, given that the quarters were already loaded with noncombatants and at that point in the train he knew that he would be revisiting the train in short order to fully clear it. Again, all of that will be explained through in further chapters, but for now, you can look forward to the cast of FF9 dropping in on the story in the near future.

This also brings to a point: some of the spell effects from FF9 are a bit quirky, and by effect on target are a little more than just single point target attacks. For my money, some of the summons like Bahamut or Odin could be used for serious area denial or property clearing work — to say nothing about the individual spellcraft used. I think I will need to investigate this further.

Lastly, the walking / talking / engine sections will be indicative of things to come, but not in all particulars. I was aiming for a more organic, more evolving scenario movement this time around, rather than the halt-jump-halt-jump schema that became of the first round. I think I got things arranged a little better, and a little more logical, but no guarantees. What seems logical and connected to me may read as slapdash to others, so if you have a comment, I want to hear it.

The antics are far from over, as well as the battles. Stay tuned for more. NEXT UP: The Militia moves toward executing their plan, and find out that some very high level parties are willing to back them...with certain conditions.

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Review Replies: Five reviews for the initial round! Damn good start and much thanks to everyone involved!

Knives91: If you have kit designs, bring it on! I can always use the ideas, and the teams can always use the variability.

You are right, I could have resisted. Now I have to work on an appropriate scenario to do an actual tank rush or a Tiger rush.

HolyDragoon: As things progress, you'll see more of the team dynamic in action, and how things start working themselves out into what will be a sprawling and very diverse unit.

KPhoenix: You are right, there is quite a bit more to Hess than he shows, and some of the coming chapters will start delving into that.

The original version is dead and will likely be pulled here shortly. When I do a revision, the old version goes.

Winblades: Enough shots at improvement, I'll get it right. Perfection is impossible to chase or catch, and the journey is always a rough one, but it doesn't stop me from trying.

Obfuscated: There will be some corrections to the RNG's results, I learned that lesson back in JW1-12, but this scenario is built on the interaction between the RNG and my warped storyline. Expect some weird crap to happen, it is the nature of the narrative.

As to the actual ambush, that was an attempted turf fight that was sunk in a hurry by the Rangers. The incident with Tyee was Alpha Mafia that came across two of Sigma's troops, and they reacted before they realized who they were shooting at. It wasn't a deliberate assassination attempt against Tyee or incorrect aimed attempt at Hess.

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE REVIEWS! The more, the merrier! And I like it merry with a big smile and big guns!

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The Gripe Sheet:

No gripes so far, which tells me this is mondo improved from the first shot. Thanks to One-Village-Idiot, Necroblade, Takeshi Yamato, and Sieben Nightwing for the beta work!

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Footnotes:

(1): Yes, I am aware that Soft point / expanding ammunition is against the Hague Convention, and so is Hess aware of it in the story. That said, since this is a Sheriffs operation, not a military operation against a signatory of the Hague Convention, the use of expanding and high-wound / high-lethality munitions is expected to end a threat in the most expedient fashion possible.

(2): This is the PROPER use of the term 'clip', as it denotes a metal CLIP that holds rounds that FITS INTO A MAGAZINE. Clips are mostly rare outside of older weapons, such as the Enfield and Garand rifles seen here. MAGAZINE is the proper term for a fixed or detachable munitions storage box that feeds the chamber of the weapon at use time. Easy way to remember: a CLIP feeds a MAGAZINE, a magazine feeds the chamber, the chamber feeds the barrel, the barrel force-feeds the enemy.

(3): This is true to IRL armor effects. Level IV hardened armor plates will withstand multiple rounds of 7.62 or similar munitions, which goes to show you why it took ten rounds from two rifles to end the threat.

(4): NATO Phonetic code again, this time for WTF. Translates to What The Fuck. Favored in places where using the proper phrase of WTF is not acceptable or detrimental.

(5): ROE is short for Rules of Engagement, the standards and practices by which a properly-trained combat team will apply force to threats or hold fire.

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Included Works:

—Real Life Armaments — too many to name, that is most of the arsenal shown.
—Real Life Combat Gear — the vests and gear carried by the Militia troops are easily constructible from stuff you can buy on Amazon or Cheaper Than Dirt. No, Seriously, Look it up. Do a search for "UTG Modular 10-Piece Complete Kit", and you have a good look at a starter kit for any serious gearhound.
—Real Life Concepts

—Personal Works: The Star Empires are mentioned briefly here. Additionally, the Magi Empire is named specifically.
—Personal Works: The Star League is a derivation of the Star League from Battletech, but founded by Queen Sora Serenity (Executor-Queen Sora Takenouchi).
—Personal Works: The Executors are specialized Mages who have transcended a minimum of twice (Gods and Goddesses are a minimum Transcendance of once) and are specially commissioned to defend life and honor amongst the Star League territories or member states.
—Personal Works: The 10mm Kurz cartridge is a shortened / lower velocity / lower weight version of the 10mm BG round, developed by the Magi for 'crowd pleasing' against large masses of Negaverse troops, most of which were unarmored during the Star Empire Wars. It quickly became a favored heavy machine gun round for multiple purposes after the fact. (Shown in Chapter 1)

—Anime General: the oddball hair colors
—Anime General and D&D: the nonspecific concept of Elves, Nymphs, and Sylphs.
—Anime Trigun: Vash The Stampede, Millie Thompson, and Meryl Strife took the wrong train, ended up hanging out, and now are tagging along with the Militiamen.

—Game: Final Fantasy IX: The player cast of the game (Zidane, Dagger, Steiner, Freya, Vivi, Eiko, Red, and Quina) are residing in one of the dining cars, but do not have a role as of yet. That will change in a few chapters.
—Game: Infantry Online (Sony Online Entertainment): The CAW from the early section, and named in the stinger, is a different-manufacturer version of the Kuchler A6 CAW. (Shown in Chapter 1)