I had thought this newest batch of chapters would zip right along, nice and neatly packed up, due to getting all that pesky 'foundation and world-building' out of the way; at least I think it's done. Hoooo-boy, was I wrong. It's now a new year: 2019. A new year by not fully 24-hours, but still. But holidays, bachelor parties, weddings, hunting season, and a heavy-handed dose of procrastination thanks to RDRII (this game will steal your soul) all conspired to keep me busy. But now you can get your new year started off the right way: with fresh chapters of FLCL: TPW! Happy 2019 everyone!
. . .
It was apparent to Naota he'd slept soundly. He'd woken up in the exact same position he'd lain down in. Facing a new day after a night of drug-induced sleep seemed a sight easier than his scant five shaky hours on Saturday. If only Rig hadn't woken him up by prodding his cheek with one of his crutches, it might've been close to perfect. Not exactly perfect, but at least close.
"Yooooo-hoooo...Naota...wakey-wakey."
"Quit pokin' me with that goddamn thing, will you?" He pushed Rig's crutch aside and rolled to sitting on the edge of his bed. With the amount of sun pouring in the window, it was at least nine o'clock.
"That's what she said."
"I'm going back to sleep..."
"Oh, no yah don't!" Rig leaned on the bunk bed and began violently shaking it with one arm, jabbing Naota's back with the crutch under the other arm. "Do that and you won't get to meet the Bosses, or be part of the Super-Secret Squirrel Club Meeting!"
"The fuck're you talking about?" Rig's shaking was going to rattle the bunkbed into pieces. "Super-Secret Squirrel? Bosses?"
"The Seven Bosses of the Seven Companies! They're the guys in charge of the major mines and gas sites around here, and their employees are the guys we've been training, and you were building guns for."
"Oh...so, this's kind of a big deal, is it?"
"It's a very kind of a big fucking deal. But, I mean, if you wanna be that way and just stay home, fine; see if I care. But if you want to start being included in things and know what's going on, you've gotta get your ass outta bed and get moving. So get up you Lush, get the curlers outta your hair or you'll be late!" Rig ordered, backed up by more pokes from his crutch.
"Alright, alright! Where are my...ooof!" While searching for his clothes, Rig had located them first. He was using the end of one of his crutches to flip the clothes directly at Naota's face. Naota hadn't been awake for five minutes, and knew with every fiber of his being he was going to be stealing Rig's crutches at least once.
. . .
"I thought you said we were going to be late?" A large plywood table had been built and placed in the shop's first bay. On it, a series of three foot by five foot map sections had been pinned in place to form an eighteen by twenty foot map of Centre and Clearfield counties; Philipsburg and Osceola Mills centrally located. Off to the side was a smaller table. This one had no maps, but an enormous coffee pot and a platter of sandwiches from the Country (In)Convenience deli. Rig, Tommy, Shifty, Johnny, Josh, and Mike had descended upon the table like a pack of ravenous wolves.
"Yeah, late for breakfast!" Rig said as he inhaled a sandwich. "Get one 'fore the Bosses do; and some coffee too."
"I'll pass on the coffee, thanks." Since working at G&R Naota had taken up coffee. However, his choice was the lightest, brightest, blonde roast he could find and sweetened up with double whatever Rig put in his. Naota suspected the reason Rig added so much milk and sugar to his brand of darkest night roast was because it would kill him otherwise. This pot of coffee could be smelled from outside the shop, and Rig had probably made it. He wasn't willing to risk the heart arrhythmia, nor the certain bitterness.
"Oh, try it just once. It shouldn't kill you."
"Famous last words...but, it would help me wake up…" Naota poured himself a cup, and when no one was looking, added four shakes of creamer and sugar. To his dismay, the coffee didn't change color. Rig definitely had made it. It was still too hot to drink, so he watched everyone outside. Some miners from Voyze and King were guarding the property, either on roving patrols or behind hastily built barricades. One subtlety stuck at Naota that signified an invisible Rubicon had been crossed: everyone now carried a gun at all times. At bare minimum they had a pistol hanging on their belt; mostly Ruger P90's. Rig, swinging around on his crutches, had two: his Ruger P90 on his right leg, and Ruger GP100 at the small of his back. Having no such tool on his belt made Naota feel oddly out of place, like he'd gotten on the wrong bus and been dropped off in some strange land. But now his coffee had cooled and it was time to give it a try. One small sip and his tongue rolled back down his throat, his lips puckered, and Uppercut! Dark Roast Blend claimed another victim. He dumped it down the sink, deciding Miller Lite was as far as he could tolerate in ways of bitterness. Turning around, he was confronted with several new faces.
"Good morning gentlemen, it is a relief to see you all here, and in good health." Tommy started things off. As he talked, Naota noticed Tommy was rolling his tin of Copenhagen round and around his hand. At least Naota wasn't the only feeling anxious.
"Same to you and yours, Tom." The one man Naota recognized, Mr. King, gave Tommy and Rig both hearty handshakes. "We've all lost some near to us yesterday. So let's pay it back ten times over."
"Wouldn't have it any other way. But first, an introduction." Tommy gestured to Naota. "We have a new member of our little council today. This's Naota Nandaba, from Mabase, Japan. He's been living with his Dad and Grandad in George's old house and working for G&R since June. He's had past dealings with Medical Mechanica, and has fought off several of their Assassin Robots; including that Scorpion sum'bitch over there. He'll be sitting in as an expert consultant." Expert consultant? Rig had said they were cutting him into the loop, not putting him on the spot, front and center, right away. Had he unwittingly agreed to something just by showing up?
"Expert consultant, eh?" The Boss nearest to him puffed a pipe and fixed him with a scrutinizing eye. "Your Horns look a little Green yet…but if Tommy says you've got the sand, that's good 'nough. Name's Welshman."
"Naota." Mr. Welshman shook his hand, and the rest quickly introduced themselves. Swarthy and reserved Solomon. Familiar and friendly King. Scarred yet unyielding Dahl. Stoic and serious Pike. Salty and hard-bitten Voyze. Charming and proud Chartier. "A pleasure."
"All ours, young man." Solomon said, then all turned to the table. "You appear to be concealing a great secret, Jeff."
"And then some, Mister Solomon." Rig tossed a silver disk onto the table and pulled on a pair of metallic gloves. Their palms and fingers shimmered with golden wires. Rig clapped his hands twice and several small flags were displayed across the maps; shone as holographic lights from the silver disk.
"As of this moment, this is how things stand." Tommy was using a crowbar as a pointer. As he tapped various map points, Naota saw 'Attitude Adjuster' etched into the crowbar's metal. "We are standing here, your companies are in this circle…" With each addition, Rig threw out appropriate symbols with his gloves. "And all four police departments have congregated here; with token defensive forces still occupying the stations in town, and the county jail."
"Right, right…but we plans for this; correct?" Chartier paced around the table to view the maps from all angles. "Or are all those out the window now?"
"Not at all." Tommy hung the crowbar across his shoulders and rested his wrists on it. "But we've only got one chance to respond, no do-overs, so we have to pick the correct plan."
"So ziss meeting's point ist to guess vat zee police are going to do?" Dahl stood closest to the flags projected on Port Matilda. He was looking at the maps from the police point of view. "Our best estimation of their attack, and vitch plan best to counter it?"
"Exactly."
"I know what I'd do…" Pike was staring at the maps fiercely enough to burn holes in them. "But, then again, I'm not a cop."
"Let's play it out for sake of discussion." Shifty requested. "Rig, adjust the symbols for Pike as he calls them." Off Pike went, supplemented by Voyze. Together they wove a masterful symphony of possible police strategy. Probing attacks, feints, ruses, encirclement's, flanking and wheeling, and a dozen other maneuvers Naota couldn't name. It was a flawless plan, elegant. Heads around the table nodded along, coming to general consensus. It seemed Pike had war-gamed the police side of this battle with a supercomputer; every move and countermove in advance. Finished, Pike and Voyze ceded the table; now cluttered with unit markers, arrows, hatches, patches and crisscrossing lines. Yes, it was a masterstroke that, if enacted, would finish them off. And it all felt so completely wrong.
"'S'up Canti?" The robot had been watching the proceedings and happened a glance at Naota. He'd seen a face with a troubled look and was compelled to say something. Naota felt a hand on his shoulder.
"You have something you need to say; don't you?" The text on Canti's screen typed. "It's been bothering you for the past ten minutes. I've been watching you."
"Nah, it's nothing. Don't worry about it." Canti tapped his shoulder again. "What now?"
"No, it isn't nothing. I'm a medical technician. I'm supposed to be able to tell when someone isn't feeling right; about anything."
"Okay…yeah. But they're not gonna want to hear my opinion. This's military strategy; I don't know front or back about it. Pike and Voyze were both in the Marines with combat experience. How much's my opinion going to matter over theirs?"
"It matters plenty. If they didn't value you opinion…" Canti's emotionless screen had never looked so annoyed. "Or didn't give it any weight, they would have left you to sleep and had this meeting without you. If they didn't want you to speak up if you felt it necessary, then why would they bring you here at all?"
"Alright, don't…type…" Naota waved at Canti's screen. "My ear off, I get it."
"You're makin' some noise over there, Mister Nandaba." Voyze had heard him. "There something you'd like to say, add, contribute?"
"Uh, well, actually I…" Everyone turned his way. It was too late now, he'd put his foot in and couldn't back out. "Yes. Yes, Mister Voyze. There is something that needs said." He really shouldn't care about G&R or O.W., he was in his right not to. But he still walked up to the table. "This possible police strategy you and Mister Pike have made is wonderful…and completely wrong."
. . .
Pike just stared. Voyze looked like Naota had smacked his across the face. Sunova bitch Nao', warn me next time you're gonna do something crazy, so I can make sure I've got popcorn on hand! This was gonna be good. All I had to do was keep from laughing. Man, the nerve of this dude…never fails to surprise…
. . .
"Is it now?" Voyze set his jaw and now looked awfully bull-dog-ish. "And what exactly…"
"Voyze…" Pike cut the older man's tirade short. "You heard Tommy. Naota's fought Medical Mechanica before, and he survived all by himself in a Black Moshannon crawling with cops. If he thinks we're wrong, I at least want to know why."
"Table's yours." Tommy stepped aside so Naota could step up.
"Welcome to Casino G.R., sir. Name's Rig, I'll be your dealer tonight." Rig was positively giddy and barely containing himself. "What can I get you?"
"First off…" The idea made perfect sense in his head. Putting it into words and onto the maps, was proving a challenge. "Everything here, except these flags, has to go."
"Y'all-right." Rig snapped a finger. All the lights projected, save for the original flags, swarmed together into a baseball sized orb suspended over Rig's hand. He tossed it onto the silver disk and the orb disappeared. "All gone. Now what?"
"I'll need a line here…oh, thanks Tommy." With Tommy's crowbar loaned, this would be much easier. "Arrows here…here, and one more line here. One've those reserve boxes here…here…annnnnd….good."
"I'm not getting it…" Voyze frowned at the simplified layout.
"Misters Pike and Voyze, I mean this with no disrespect. But you're doing what Rig calls 'thinking too hard.' What you had was impressive, and unrealistic. Earlier, you said you're not a cop. The vice-versa applies to the cops, in that they're not soldiers; just cops. They're…what'd you say Rig?"
"Deck Jockeys of The Doughnut Derby."
"Jackass, the other thing."
"Limited in scope."
"Thank you. Police do several things very well. Like, raiding houses, for example. Even on a large scale like Saturday is doable for them, because they've done it before, and practiced, and practiced, and practiced. But conducting a, what's it called, maneuver war, like what you had, is frankly over their heads. They've never done it before, or haven't at this size or scale. Maybe a few patrol cars, but never their entire department; let alone coordinating across two city precincts, a sheriff's office, and state patrol. Now they are very good at communication too, but something of such complexity may be beyond them to orchestrate; and maybe us too. Neither of us have enough trained people, even just enough, uh, core…I'm blanking. Rig, what's the English word I'm looking for?"
"…Cadre?"
"Yes. Enough cadre to direct those without military experience in such a plan." Once warmed up and no one stopping him, the words flowed naturally. "They'll opt for something simpler. Look here." He pointed up and down the map. "Romans is here, the next is Black Moshannon. It is common knowledge the police hate going through those woods. Then there's Philipsburg, us, then Osceola Mills. If what Rig has told me is true, and Irons work how he describes, all the police have to do is take the towns and block the roads leading into Black Moshannon."
"But we aren't going to try taking on the cops street-to-street, house-to-house." Chartier informed. "We aren't going to try to hold the towns…at least we weren't?"
"I didn't know that. But, it makes sense. It should be said though, do you think we should just allow the police to just have the towns; uncontested?"
"He has a valid point." Solomon agreed. "I cannot imagine how any of our men could stomach allowing the police to occupy their hometowns without a fight. That would be asking too much. And…" He gestured along a line Naota had dictated. "If this is correct, blunting any attempt would be simple; not easy, but simple in a straightforward manner."
"Just because it looks easy doesn't mean they'll go for it." Pike wasn't sold. "Do you have any means of backing up this version of what they'll do?"
"I do, in one word: Pride." Naota pointed outside at the smashed and shot-up police vehicles. "Imagine how you'd feel if you came to work and found your trucks smashed up? The other guy got the permits and access rights, and you didn't. That Honey Hole you were one hundred percent sure would be a blowout, is bone dry. A quarter of your workforce outright quits and walks off. How are you feeling about that?"
"…Furious."
"And that's how the police in Port Matilda feels right now. Despite all their planning, armored vehicles, communications, training and unit cohesion, years of experience…what they see as a gaggle of toothless hicks not only got the drop on them, but had the gall to put up a good fight. They have to be plenty pissed about how things actually played out. In their mind, they're looking weak, disorganized, and ineffective. And they're afraid of us now. Why else would they, in effect, abandon their precincts in town? It all adds up to a bruised ego, one that was riding high right up 'till four AM yesterday morning when reality gave them a heavy kick in the nuts."
"You're thinking they'll double-down."
"They have to. Their morale is hit, they withdrew from the field, and Medical Mechanica Marines are at their back, who I have no doubts they're desperately trying to impress, and to put The Fear of God back into us Rubes...DEMANDS, that they double-down. If they stay in Port Matilda and refuse to come out, they've lost. I'd give them a week or two to get reorganized, take a breather, and then they'll be back with a vengeance." His mouth now bone-dry, Naota stopped. With everyone staring at him, he opted for some water while waiting for a response. An unbearably long five seconds crawled by.
"…All cops I've dealt with have been arrogant assholes; as a general trend." Welshman said. "Trying to reassert control by escalating the situation is standard procedure for them. They won't be able to resist cracking down."
"I still think my idea is the better one. But yours is more likely." Voyze acknowledged. "Tommy, we've got a plan if they hit us with everything they've got along Route Three Twenty-two; right?"
"Alpha…Bravo…Charlie…Delta…Echo…Foxtrot. F. Plan F." Tommy counted in his head. "Yes, yes we do. Does anyone think a better plan would apply?" No one did. "Okay then. Plan F it is. Rig, wipe the maps and we'll get reacquainted with Plan Foxtrot. Naota, my crowbar, if you would. Thank you. Now, first off…"
. . .
"I refuse to believe this!" Mayor Andrew groused and crossed his arms. "A bunch of doomsday preppers and trailer trash pulled one over on you? What all did we funnel that money to your departments for?"
"Mayor, we did not know our enemies were expecting us." Chief Warburg's voice seethed with acid. "Executing successful raids on a dark house is much harder when the occupants aren't even there; or are dug in and shooting back!"
"Wasn't that why you wanted all these MRAP trucks, the Bearcats, and that new-fangled body armor?" Mayor Aldritch couldn't quite square the circle. "We bought you everything you wanted, and gave you the money you needed."
"Next you'll be saying you expected a better rate of return on your investment." Sheriff Sarabyn gave the Mayors an icy glare of contempt. "We're human beings, not mutual funds."
"We're just wondering if it's really a question of guns and money…" Andrew was using all the subtlety of a chainsaw. "Or if it's perhaps a personnel issue?"
"Listen here, you goddamn politicking hack…" Strong's temper was getting away from him. "You take that back, or I'm gonna…"
"ENOUGH!" Captain Chojnacki slammed the map table and spilled everyone's coffee. "One setback, and everyone's pride decides to go home and suck its thumb while crying to mommy. Have you idiots forgotten we're in the middle of a final exam, that we're being watched and graded at every step? And if we flunk out, at best, the teacher just shoots us? I don't know about the rest of you, but I plan on passing." Now everyone was interested in only staring at their shoes. None could look the other in the eye.
"Thank you, Captain, for the reality check." Aldrich said. "I believe those were words that needed to be said, especially now."
"That's right, Aldrich." Mayor Andrew added. "That's what's needed in these tumultuous times: straight-forward talk, and direct action!"
"Direct action?" Sarabyn unknowingly fueled the fire. "What're you talking about?"
"Direct, charging forward, bold and brave, action!" Aldritch thumped the table, attempting to imitate Chojnacki. Instead of a rattling bang, he managed an effeminate slap. "We can't take this insult to our authority, this defiance is not better than being spat in the face! We must act!"
"Who's this 'we' you're going on about?" Chojnacki mumbled, and was conveniently ignored.
"What's really needed is a unanimous show of strength." Andrew sucked in his gut and threw out his chest. "I'll bet these backwoodsmen think they're awful clever; getting lucky once with dirty tactics. We couldn't expect them to fight a fair and up-front battle, no sir. They lack our power, so they think they'll outsmart us."
"They do?" Strong wasn't so sure. "I think they just got lucky is all…"
"We need to show these…terrorists, we won't be trifled with! One grand sweep, with all hands on deck, will be just the ticket. And, it will assure a panicked public that the legitimate authorities are in charge and have a steady handle on things."
"Would that really convince the people?" Warburg was daydreaming of an armed victory parade up and down the main streets.
"Of course!" Aldritch declared. "We know what the people need, we're their mayors, aren't we?"
"If anyone knows the citizens best, it's us." Andrew backed his contemporary. "What say you, Chojnacki?"
"…We don't have the capacity to organize any sort of complex maneuvers…" Chojnacki was keeping their casualty numbers in mind, so mentally added: 'Nor the manpower.' There were 80 dead State Patrol, another 20 wounded, and they were down to 300. Of the Sheriff's office, 24 dead and 8 wounded, they were down to 268. Philipsburg had lost 15 dead and 15 wounded, dropping to 120. Finally, Osceola Mills had lost 30 and another 15 wounded, whittled to 105. Outside the station, rank and file officers were beyond wounded pride. Chojnacki, the Chiefs, Sheriff and Mayors, could feel the miasma of the force's furious anger; and the chill of hearing their vengeful baying for blood. "But if we don't do something soon, we'll have another mutiny on our hands. In one week, we attack with everything we have, and no quarter is to be given."
. . .
Two tedious hours later had everyone fully versed on Plan Foxtrot. Pike insisted his men be put up front, as they were the most experienced and disciplined. His request was granted, so Papa (P for Pike) Company would be the immovable object the police's unstoppable force would crash into. Companies Victor (V for Voyze) and Kilo (K for King) were to be held in reserve and on stand-by. The rest would continue fortifying their worksites, training, and tending to their wounded. Naota and Rig watched the Bosses and their escorts blaze down the driveway like a flock of bats out of Hell, and head back to their companies. It was then that Naota felt the nervous attack set in, realizing what had just happened and his part in it.
"You okay buddy?" Rig stood by, leaning heavily on his crutches. Blood in Naota's ears sang, his heart pounded, and his head felt consciously empty as he panicked. "Yah went a little pale just now."
"Holy shit, what have I done?!" His hands clasped either side of his head to steady himself. "Oh God, did everyone seriously take what I just bullshitted as rote? I don't know what I'm doing, I was just going off the top of my head. I may've just gotten everyone killed because I had to say something. Call them back, call them back now, we have to redo this!"
"Hey, hey, hey, HEY! Relax!" Rig hobbled over to tightly throw an arm over him. "Breathe…it's okay, breathe in…breathe out…"
"Huhhh…whoooo…shit…" The panic drained away as quickly as it had come. "Is it really though; is it really okay?"
"We're on a full combat footing now. Tommy, being next in command after George, has total authority over ALL Overwatch and allied forces in the area. He asked for everyone's, and your, advice because he deems the input valuable. Ultimately though, it is his call to make alone. If he thought your idea sucked, he'd have said so, and we wouldn't be planning on it."
"That makes me feel a little better. Still, hard to believe this's all happening. I was promised this place was laid back and easygoing? What happened?"
"Life happened. I feel for you, wanting to be normal and have only normal shit happen. Your dream, right?"
"Right."
"Well, dreams are earned, Kemosabe!" Rig smiled sadly and slowly sang. "No! You don't get something for nothing, you can't have freedom for free! You won't get wise, with the sleep still in your eyes, no matter what your dreams might be!"
"Again with Rush lyrics? This early in the morning?"
"Never too early for Rush. But seriously, you want normal; in this universe? In this alternative timeline? You're gonna have to fight for it."
"Just my luck. Oh, while I have you here. I've had a good night's sleep and a chance to let my head clear a little. I was wondering…"
"Holy Jesus." Rig spotted an attraction coming up the hill, far off between the trees. "What is that?! What, the fuck, is that? What is that, Naota?!" Rig swung himself to the driveway, Naota following half a step behind. Leading a caravan of trucks, campers and trailers packed with people, was Mr. Shantz in his company truck; his store's info plastered on the side made confusion with anyone else impossible.
"Hey there Rig, Naota!" Shantz pulled to the side so the convoy could pass. "How's it hangin'?"
"Little to the left, don't distract me." Rig leaned on Shantz's passenger windowsill. "Look, we of G&R and the Carson Family are always eager to entertain a, paragon of the community, such's yourself; be it business or pleasure. But ah…" A dual-axle truck passed with a dump trailer in tow, both overflowing with men in dozens of camouflage patterns; all toting rifles and shotguns. A parade of similarly loaded vehicles followed. "…This's, this's kinda 'out there' for you. Care to tell us what's going on, and who the hell these guys are?"
"They're volunteers. I thought they were with you?"
"We didn't send out any emails. At least, I don't think so. Naota, did we do anything of the sort?"
"Not that I recall. No emails, flyers, pamphlets, nothing; 'least I didn't."
"Thought so. And furthermore, how'd you get elected to lead 'em, and why here?"
"Lots of 'em heard the noise Saturday morning, and with everything else that's happened this summer, they knew something was wrong. Sorry to say, but word's gotten 'round about what, and guesses as to who, is up at Roman's. These guys are from all over. Kylertown, Karthus, Orviston, Kato, Sandy Ridge, Gearhartville, Clearfield, Snow Shoe, Windburne, Bigler, West Decatur, Houtzdale, Grassflat, Hawk Run, Munson…"
"Jee-Buss! How many?" Rig asked as Naota tried to count.
"About four, five hundred."
"God Damn, did you say five hundred?"
"At least. They started trickling into town this morning, and I must've been the only place with lights on; town's emptied out. So they came like moths to a flame, wondering where the fight was."
"Yah don't say…" They watched vehicle after vehicle trundle by in an endless single file line. "I rec'gnize some've these trucks and cars. Yep, we worked on that one…that one, put a transmission in that one, body realignment and some welding on that one…worked a few projects for that guy…that P.O.S. is still running? We've got so, so many parts in it…worked for him once too, dug the foundation for his house…used a crane to set that one's barn trusses, pulled that truck outta the ditch one winter…"
"That's one thing they all agreed on. They couldn't come to consensus on the who, what, or why everything sounded like a shooting gallery on Saturday, why the cops were running scared, or everyone else had bunkered down; they'd still be talking in the parking lot if that was their only concern. But they all did agree that they'd find answers up here. 'Those Carson's up on top of their mountain, between Philipsburg and Osceola Mills, they'll either know what's going on, or be right in the thick of it.' And so, here we are."
"Mister Shantz, I must respectfully say I think you made all that up, just so I'll feel all warm and fuzzy. They didn't really say that, did they?"
"Yes they did! Sure's I'm sitting here and talking to you." Shantz sought out Naota's take. "What 'bout you, Naota? Think I'm trying to pull one over on Rig? He doesn't believe all these people came here after a night of gunfire, 'cause Carson was the first name they thought of."
"Uh, well, I'm not really…"
"Ah, here comes Tommy. Yo, Tommy!" Shantz waved his hat as Tommy walked over, Shifty a step behind. "And Shifty too, what a treat. How's it feel to be back in good ole P.A.?"
"Mmmm…no place like home." Shifty took a deep sniff of morning air. "Sulfur-stained rivers, aliens, shitty roads, gunfire, death by taxes and all…it's good to be back."
"And trouble's followed, as usual, I see."
"Wasn't my fault, this time. And hey, Philipsburg High School's got no sway over me anymore, I did all my time for them."
"What did you do? Which one are you talking about?" Tommy couldn't remember which event Shifty was talking about.
"The third time he got suspended from school. He put fox urine attractant in the school's radiators." Shantz explained. "I think you had a math exam you hadn't studied for?"
"That's right. Functions, statistics, and trigonometry. Hadn't studied, I'm in a panic; gotta get out of this exam somehow 'cause I'm screwed. But, I remembered I had a bottle of fox urine attractant left over from trapping season in the truck. I popped out, grabbed it, dumped it into the water reservoir and sat down. Ten minutes later, they had to empty the school; it stunk so bad." Shifty looked off into the distance, reminiscent while one-handed opening his cigarette pack. "Worth the suspension. Want one?"
"Nah, I quit." Shantz declined between laughs. "Thanks though."
"Anyway…what's up with your fan club?" Tommy decided they'd had enough fraternizing. Shantz retold what he'd said to Rig and Naota, adding: "And if you guys need anything from the store or yard, let me know. I'll use it as a tax write-off to charity; truly, a worthwhile cause."
"A worthy one indeed. You did the right thing, bringing them here. Thank you for not letting anyone just wander off. God knows what they might run into. Oh, I haven't told you. We're turning G&R into our F.O.B. The cops cratered Midstate's runways."
"Motherfuckers…" Shantz quietly swore. "Taero, Gordon, Chuck, they make it?"
"Flew over with the cops shooting at them. They're refitting the runway out back to Taero's standards."
"He's always been very particular about his airfield."
"And bless him for it. Hey, can you do me a favor?"
"To the best of my ability."
"All these guys are going to need somewhere to sleep; at least until we get them sorted into companies to replace casualties. Some we'll keep here to guard the place; without it and the runway, we're screwed. Could you take a few guys and start bringing up materials to build some barracks? Nothing fancy, of course. Four walls, a floor, and a roof. Borrow whatever you need from us; loader, tractor trailer, crane, whatever. But, if you're just dropping these guys off and are ready to get the hell outta Dodge, I won't blame you in the least…"
"Only if I get to drive the Peterbilt. That Freightliner you've got is a hunk of junk."
"Keys are in the office. Just bring it back with a full tank." Mr. Shantz needed no further direction and merged into the line of vehicles to search for volunteers to assist him. "Naota…where is your grandfather?"
"Usually this time of day he's just getting back from the Legion and…there he is now. At least, I think?" At the tail end of the civilian vehicles, a company sized troop of surplus U.S. Army trucks and jeeps followed up the driveway. His grandfather was sitting in the shotgun seat of the lead jeep. Naota recognized the rest of the passengers and drivers as members of the Legion.
"Mornin' G&R! Which way's the war?!" The jeep's driver, wearing his G.I. pattern helmet, demanded.
"Hey, Old-Timers! What's with the parade?" Shifty put a foot on the jeep's bumper as the column halted. "Bingo get cancelled or something? The store's outta prune juice so now you're in revolt?"
"Well, we were on our way to see your sister, Shifty..." The jeep's driver started.
"But the line was too long, and we're too old to be doing that kind of waiting!" Shigekuni finished, much to everyone's humor; even Shifty's.
"Okay...I walked right into that one."
"Sergeant Nandaba, you are just in time." Tommy appeared relieved. "I have an immense favor to ask."
"Just as long as it isn't reconnaissance. Most've us don't see too good."
"We just took in four to five...hundred volunteers, right...over...there." Tommy pointed at the mass of vehicles and aimless bodies milling about in the grassy field next to the Boneyard. "And most are civilians, with no leaders or anything to do. Now, Mister Shantz is getting materials for barracks, but in the meantime, they'll need organized and squared away."
"Are you tempting us with a good time?"
"Indeed I am. Help me out here?"
"Well...I suppose..." Shigekuni slyly smiled.
"Oh boy, F.N.G.'s" One of the Legionnaires in the backseat laughed. "This'll be like M.C.R.D. San Diego all over again! Oorah!" With no further orders needed, the veterans peeled out, headed for the unsuspecting and haplessly unaware group in the field.
"Okay...anything else I'm forgetting?" Tommy reviewed his growing mental checklist.
"Your meds?" Rig reminded.
"Already took 'em. Good reminder though."
"Getting ahold of Agent Griggs?" Shifty, now the station's X.O., jogged his C.O.'s memory. "Letting him know about Midstate and that G&R is now the F.O.B.?"
"Yes, that's it!" Tommy began walking to the office. "Rig, Naota, sorry but I gotta make this call. Shifty, let's get a list of supply requests drawn up for when we get Griggs on the phone. We'll need..."
"C'mon Nao', you're with me." Rig hooked his crutches under his shoulders and started for his house. "I'm combat ineffective wounded, and about to take a whole bunch of mind altering painkillers and medications, so I can't be useful. Run up and get your Flying-V, and we'll see about getting it up and running. Meet me downstairs."
Naota's head hurt as he ran up the hill to his house. He was trying to hold two simultaneous ideas at the same time, and they didn't mesh. One was his indignation towards the Carsons and G&R, and how he'd been lied to; no matter how they dressed it up. The other was his own eyes. When guns were going off, when sirens blared and the county was in crisis, people came by the truckload to ONE spot: G&R Fabrication and Cranes. The duality of it made his mind reel. And with the estimated police regroup and attack a week away, he had nowhere near enough time.
. . .
If her paralysis were any indicator, her body was still processing the pills she'd given it, and the damage it had taken. Haruko knew she'd slept without movement, still exactly as she'd lain down. While nothing obvious pained her, she feared moving lest she agitate something sore. A creaking turn of her head brought into view Craig's alarm clock radio. It was 1800 HRS on AUG 23RD; Tuesday. She'd been asleep half of Saturday, all day Sunday and Monday, and eighteen hours of Tuesday. No wonder she couldn't move. Every muscle in her body had gone dead fish limp.
'Gotta get moving soon...or I'm gonna...piss the bed...' Even her thinking slurred. 'Come on...let's at least...get to...the bathroom...' Groaning and grumbling, the pink-furred bear emerged from its hibernation. Leaning heavily on the walls, doors, and then her head on her knees when she'd sat down, she made it without falling.
"Of course there'd be blood...fuckin' figures..." She snarled as the toilet flushed and water disappeared down the drain. "There wasn't too much, guess that's good. Time for a status check." Undoing the wraps, then peeling back the bandages, Haruko saw in the mirror a face that was half road-killed raw hamburger. Scabs, clots, dead and dying skin made up the flecks of asphalt and tire treads. But the wound wasn't screaming painful, wasn't oozing puss, wasn't inflamed, and best of all, it didn't smell. "'Least it doesn't seem infected. And my eye's still there, and still works. All smiles...goddamn OW!" Her right ear was seared from red-hot muzzle flash, swollen twice its normal size and thinking about it hurt. Then, her stomach started rumbling.
Craig obviously didn't cook. His fridge had plenty of beer, junk snacks, cheese, and not much else. Cupboards were sparse, but there was some canned tuna. Retching, her battered stomach couldn't handle the fish and sent it back, spattered into the sink. She didn't want to imagine trying the can of beans, or what the cheese would do. Another pass found a case of Jell-O mix. It wasn't ideal, not really food even, but she could keep it down. Craig's supply of base material for vodka Jell-O shooters would do.
With a mixing bowl filled with the stuff, she propped herself in Craig's recliner and turned on the massive TV. No news of what had happened Saturday was being reported. A complete media blackout was in effect, no word getting in or out. Of course the big names wouldn't bother covering a po-dunk Coal County between the I-5 and I-95 corridors...but not even the local stations; not even Penn State. There they were, live from the traffic chopper, like any other day.
"Unreal...and unsurprising. Nobody outside here gives a shit about this place...perfect for an Iron; gotta hand it to M-M. Wonder what else is on?" She flipped channels and ended up on VH1. An old clip of The Beatles was playing, one from their first American tour. The video panned back and the narrator explained they were running a special on the British Invasion. Today's feature was The Beatles, and they would be right back after these messages. Pain was setting in again, so she got up and took two more pills from the box, and some water. Then, with an opiate high coming on, Haruko settled back, tuned in and dropped out while The Beatles sang about Strawberry Fields, and had herself another spoonful of Jell-O.
. . .
"That last test sounded good to me." Rig said after a set of scales on Naota's Flying-V. "No more truly authentic sounding Spirit in The Sky...but I don't think that really breaks your heart?"
"Not at all." It was Wednesday evening and after several days effort from him and Rig, HIS own Flying-V was restored, repaired, and ready for action. "I'll be all Stumble-Fingers, haven't had to deal with six strings, instead of four, for quite a while."
"Is that what the ladies call you, Stumble-Fingers?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Oh, have you heard about Naota 'Stumble-Fingers' Nandaba?"
"Fuckin' hell..."
"You let him Stumble his Fingers with you, and you'll walk funny for a week..."
"Haruko either hit you on the head too hard, or not hard enough."
"Oh, I can't live without getting Stumble-Fingered at least once a day!"
"I'm gonna straight-up murder you, with your own crutches; I frickin' swear on my guitar."
"Alright, alright. Heh-hem. Let's start off with something easy, and slower..." Rig pulled two of his boxes of sheet music out, slid one to Naota, and both started flipping pages. "Somethin' easier...just a little pickin', maybe even some grinnin'...hmmm...maybe not even a rock song at all? Here, try this'n on for size."
"This really isn't an electric guitar part. It says here it's for a Dobro."
"We'll just see about that!" Rig stumped over to the stereo and made some adjustments. "Plug in and try it." Naota strummed and few chords, and the stereo played back the output as a Dobro; perfectly.
"That...that'll work. You wanna do the backup, I know you'll sing this one for sure."
"I'll give the backup a go, don't think I can make the stereo take a guitar and put out a fiddle; it's not that good. Backup'll be fine."
"Alright, ready? 'kay...Naota's first Flying-V song, take one. And a one...two...three..." He started off, reading from the sheet music. In the first line he struck a series of horrible off notes and the song derailed before it could even build up steam. "Shit, shit, shit. Take two. Naota's first Flying-V song, take two. And a one...two...three..." The intro now went smoothly and the Flying-V seemed to have been waiting for this moment. Then Rig carried them away.
*Well, Ah've been awake for eight days straight...Well, it must've bin them pills Ah took...
Ah've bin twitchin' an' turnin', an' seein' visions... It must've bin them pills Ah took...
Well, Ah don' knooowww what they were, an' Ah don' knooowww where Ah got 'emmm... But they sure did make me feel good...
They kept mah heart from feelin' blue...They kept mah thoughts away from yoooouuuu...
Well, there's blood on the carpet, an' holes in the walls... Well, it must've bin them pills Ah took...
Yeah, tha mirror's all busted an' someone's cryin'... It must've bin them pills Ah took...
A few moments it was touch-and-go for him, but a familiar feeling was creeping into his fingers. As it was an instrument pulled from within himself, it only made sense Naota picked up on the guitar quickly. It wasn't the same as the bass he'd spent four years at, but it felt just as natural.
Ah've lied, an' Ah've stole'd, an' Ah ain't fuckin' jokin'... It must've bin them pills Ah took...
Yeah, tha mirror's all busted, an' someone's cryin'... It must've bin them pills Ah took...
Ah still don' knooowww what they were, an' Ah don' knooowww where Ah got 'emmm... But they sure did make me feel good...
They kept mah heart from feelin' blue... They kept mah thoughts away from yooouuuu...
Almost as soon as it started, the short little song was over. Rig finished them off by switching to a bored female nurse's voice, paging on the intercom:
Doctor Forrest, dial One-Eighteen, please.
He's in a ward...
Doctor Forrest, dial One-Eighteen...*
"And that, is how it's done!" Naota announced with the last lines now a memory. "Do I know what I'm doing...or do I know what I'm doing? Man, that felt just, it just felt right, you know? I might have a knack for this."
"Mmm...maybe."
"May...mayb-what? Excuse me? No, excuse you?"
"I, I dunno man." Rig was giving him a One-Eye. "I'm just sayin', I dunno is all; I'm just sayin'."
"You're...you're trying to wind me up, aren't you?"
"W'no, it's just, it's just one song is all, and now that you didn't fuck it up, you're startin' to think like you're, like Guitar Jesus; or something."
"Oh. I see." Both tried to appear as aloof and disconnected as possible. The first one to actually acknowledge they were only messing with the other's head would be the loser. "It's all very clear to me now."
"Is it? Is it now?"
"Yes, indeed. You think I'm not challenging myself, so I can pretend I'm a self-discovered prodigy."
"It's possible I'm entertaining the thought."
"I'll humor your little game. Pick a song, any one out of that box. Name your challenge, and we will play it."
"...Okay..." Rig slowly blinked once, and smiled even slower. "If you insist..." He must have had a song already in mind. Sheets of paper were placed note side down on Naota's stand. "Sight unseen, no stopping, no do-overs, no givesies-backsies, one play-through. Can you do it?"
"Just try and stop me."
"On three then." Rig made quick stereo adjustments, then pressed a button and readied his own guitar. "And a one...two...three..." Rig started right away, laying down a heavy running line. Already Naota could tell there was something, different, about this song. A prickly-crawly wriggled up his spine and over his back, the usual sign a shift in the musical ether was in motion. Rig kept his line on repeat while clearing his throat and stepping up to the mic.
**Our first stop is in Bogata... to check Colombian fields...
The natives smile, and pass along, a sample of their yield!
Sweet Jamaican pipe dreams! Golden Acapulco nights!
Then Morocco, and The East! Fly by morning light!
Right on que, the second line of lyrics, Naota broke in. High, slow and wavering notes first, an announcement he'd joined the fray. Then he matched Rig's rhythm line for a time, before they split off; Rig providing rhythm, and Naota sewed it all together. It was a hard driving song, so far challenging enough to keep him on his toes, but not so that he wasn't enjoying the pooling of sound filling up the basement. It seeped up around his toes, then ankles, knees, all the way past his ears so it poured into his lungs and filled his head, until he was fully immersed and lost the world in the flood of song and sound.
We're on the train to Bangkok!
Aboard the Thailand Express!
We'll, hit, the stops along the way...
We only stop, for the best!
. . .
Down the mountain, up through Chester Hill, then across town to the mall, and finally on the hill overlooking the Philipsburg Mall, was a cluster of wind lashed houses. The one of our interest was at the termination of the dead end road. Modified and illegal power hookups had cables strung like clotheslines through the yard. Half the windows were cracked or boarded over with plywood, the house sagged on its foundation, and dry rot was setting in on the siding. Still, there were signs of life. The TV satellite dish on the roof. A thin tendril of smoke from the chimney. A growing mound of broken jugs, beakers, tubes, glasses, and failed experiments in the garbage heap out back. All showed that someone, or something, was alive in there.
. . .
Wreathed in smoke in Lebanon, we burn the Midnight Oil...
The Fragrance of Afghanistan, rewards a long day's toil...
Pulling into Katmandu, smoke rings fill the air!
Perfumed by, a Nepal Night, the Express gets you there!
We're on the train to Bangkok!
Aboard the Thailand Express!
We'll, hit, the stops along the way...
We only stop, for the best!
. . .
Down in the depths of the house, a nest of blankets and pillows built on a bean-bag foundation, stirred with signs of life. From within this rank pile, a cell phone whimsically rang. For five chimes it chirped, then the owner's lethargic fingers finally found the ANSWER button.
"...Yeash? S'who'sh thish?"
"Good afternoon, Mister Kauffman. It's time for you to earn your keep, and your place where your brothers have failed. I will be visiting in two hours; and I will have guests. Do make yourself presentable."
"You...you got it. Two hours, you, guests, presentable. No...no problem." His head on fire, body uncoordinated and reeking after a five day bender, Caleb Kauffman emerged from his blanket cocoon to face reality in the worst way he knew how: sober.
. . .
We're on the train to Bangkok!
Aboard the Thailand Express!
We'll, hit, the stops along the way...
We only stop, for the best!
Yes! We're on the train to Bangkok!
Aboard the Thailand Express!
We'll, hit, the stops along the way!
We only stop, for the BEST!**
. . .
"Wow." Naota couldn't believe they'd played it perfectly in one take. His head, for the first time since Saturday's raid, finally felt screwed on right, and his focus was razor sharp. "That was pretty damn cool. Let's see if we can do that again, and prove it wasn't a fluke."
. . .
*Pills I Took - Hank Williams III
**Passage to Bangkok - RUSH
In my ongoing bid to keep chapters reasonable, this one feels more of a stage-setting than anything else. But we did introduce the next on our rogues roster: Caleb Kauffman. Since I've had so much time to think about this (ahem, ahem...I know, I know...) Caleb ought to be just as interesting and terrible as his brethren. I'll keep things light here, top and bottom, since I've made you all wait so long already. Thank you for your enduring patience, and actually remembering this story still exists; who could blame your memory slipping after four months? So run, don't walk, to the next chapter! Onward!