. . .

Canti once thought he had figured Kamon Nandaba out. This proposal proved him wrong. "Are you sure of this plan? Or this action at all? It is not like you. It sounds terribly risky; you would be beyond our ability to help you if the plan went awry."

"I'm allowed to be as spontaneous, crazy and unpredictable as I like." Kamon retorted. Canti didn't look up from the lathe he labored over and sent a spray of steel shavings into Kamon's jacket. He brushed these off and pressed Canti again. "If I must, I can do this myself. But I want you to come along. Obviously, you can stay here, if that's what you really want."

'What I really want?' Canti thought and stopped the lathe. The Something rose and made itself known.

'We have promised to finish this project, then report back for more work.' The Something reminded. 'This is no time to be traipsing through the woods on this foolish scheme. And what a scheme indeed! Our survival hinges on staying out of such things. Remember how we were almost taken over by The Man in Black? I am trying to keep us alive despite your best efforts to the contrary. This is no time to put ourselves at even greater, unnecessary risk!'

'Oh, it isn't time you say?' Canti now looked at Kamon. The man cocked an eyebrow, adjusted his tie and cleared his throat.

"Your screen doesn't show it, but I'd say you're having an internal debate with your own mind... if that is a thing you can do; can you? I've seen the inside of your head and to me it was just clockwork." Kamon tapped his temple. "But I get the feeling there's something else in there; so that you can make your own choices outside of programming. That's why I ask for your help, not order it."

"Asking for my help, like I was Human; rather than ordering me like a robot? You're not the only one. That's how everyone around here treats me. I can't figure it out. Why give me the opportunity to refuse?"

"Because it's the decent thing to do, and the best things about being decent..." Kamon shifty-eyed left and right, then leaned close to whisper. "Are that it costs me nothing, and it's quite easy. And besides, isn't that what we're all about, what Tommy said at his speech? That we're fighting for the right to make our own decisions, good or bad? The right to make up our own minds, correct or wrong?"

'As good of a point as that is...' The Something reluctantly allowed. 'I must advise against this. We have plenty of valuable work ahead of us that will be a better use of our time.' Ignoring this, Canti asked:

"Will whomever it was that shut off my access to the traffic camera feed be there?" He ignored The Something screaming how irresponsible this was.

"I can't promise you, but I can guarantee that if we do find him..." Kamon put out a hand. "We'll drag him back and he'll be all yours."

'For the last time, do not do this.' The Something tried to gain control of Canti's functions. 'I am in here with you, and if you go offline, I go with you! Why do you not seem to understand this?! Wait. Stop. Why am I unable to take control? I should have control, how am I locked out? Are you listening to me? This is a suicidal endeavor!'

'Which is why we cannot allow Kamon to go alone. Staying here is the correct decision, but it is not the right one.' Canti enveloped Kamon's hand in his and shook in agreement. "Deal. When do we leave?"

"Ten minutes. Meet me by the trailers, look for the bread truck." As Kamon sauntered out, The Something cursed Canti.

'May rust seize your joints and dust cloud your circuits for treating us, me with such recklessness. Does longevity mean nothing to you?'

'You know that curse will need quite some time to take effect.' Canti shut off the lathe, put up his tools and cleaned off the beds. 'If you really feel that way, you had best concentrate on keeping me alive long enough to see it come true.'

'You have yet to give me a satisfactory answer to why you have agreed to help. At the least answer me that!'

'Because...' Canti's screen lit up with a cheerful glow. 'I feel like it. And because I can. Those are all the reasons I need. Now stop haranguing me and make yourself useful.' The Something impotently sputtered, then gave up and searched Canti's memory for relevant data. Canti marched outside and made left turn to the rows of trailers and low-boys obscuring the bread truck. Kamon was waiting with the engine warming up. Canti put his hand on the door and was almost in when a dirt bike engine announced itself.

"One moment, one moment, hold on!" Naota bade them wait and put down his metal steed's kickstand.

"Coming along for some shenanigans with your old man?" Kamon saw the pair of rifles on Naota's back. "You're certainly dressed for it."

"Not exactly." Naota unfolded a map, laid it on the bread truck's hood and motioned for Kamon and Canti to gather around. "Okay, now pay attention..."

. . .

"What in the world possessed you to volunteer for saboteur duty?" Rig rummaged through the office desks drawers. "Not that I'm going to stop you, mind. Just thought you were, y'know, more of a 'play it safe' type. Map, map, map...where's that bloody map?"

"Oh I am." Naota cycled between watching Rig up to his elbows in paper and the rifle case on the other end of the couch. "But with us surrounded and Shifty still down, playing it safe isn't really doing much to get this war over with and things back to boring and normal. I joined up so I wouldn't spend my time sitting around and waiting. And since we're surrounded, guess what I've done for the past week? Sat around and waited for something to happen. Not my idea of a good use of my time."

"Aye, 's fair. There it is!" Rig extracted a dusty map and slapped it with a billowing cloud on the desk. "Now. You know I'd never ask you to do something I wouldn't, and I'd go with you in a heartbeat... if not for the..." Rig tapped his cast with his pencil. "Y'know, ball and chain I've got here."

"Didn't doubt you for a second. So, what've you got for me?" He watched Rig drawing on the map. "Spiking the Guns of Navarone? Poisoning the wells? Blowing up bridges?"

"Nothing quite so extreme, not on your first night out." Rig finished with his markings. "We have to get a new lay of the land, since our camera feeds are shut off and everyone is penned up in their own little holes. I'm putting The Dogs out tonight too, so you may see Gus, Bolt, Black Sam, and Piddles: The Wonder Dog while you're out. They're pretty slick, so I doubt it, but you might. Any-who..." Rig traced the lines. "First, you're going to be lead scout for your dad, and Canti too I guess, to Port Matilda. This is the route here, here, and here. It's all logging and gas well access roads, so do not expect them to be in any kind of respectable shape. But it'll keep you off the main roads. A few of them aren't on any maps, so you'll at least be harder to track."

"If they're not on any maps, how do you know they're there?"

Rig gave a sly grin. "Because I bulldozed them myself."

"Cool, cool. Okay, then I lead him back later?"

"Nope. Once you drop him off, he's on his own."

"I'm just supposed to leave him? In the dark? Right next to the State Police station?"

"Kamon's cleared this with Tommy. I'm trustin' he knows what he's doing, and he's a grown man. He can make his own plans, his own decisions, and accept the consequences thereof. Now, once you've done that, you're cutting towards Midstate Airport. We know it was damaged, but need a better idea of how badly, and if they're making any repairs to it. Once you've done that, head to this intersection. It's where Black Moshannon Road and Sixmile Run Road cross, and there's the bridge over Sixmile Run crik itself. I need you to fuck up this intersection in any way, shape or how you can think of."

"Do I get any explosives?!" Naota felt his eyes widen at the thought. Rig frowned and sucked air through his teeth.

"No... I tried to get that authorized, but Tommy's not sure you're ready to play with Serious Putty quite yet. Next time, next time. But the hills here are steep, and the valley narrow. So cut and drop some trees, start a rockslide, steal a truck, and crash it on the bridge, I don't care. Be creative, artistic, express yourself. Once that's done, head straight back home. Easy as Calculus Two, right?"

"I can manage this. Radios?"

"Keep off them as much as you can. If you must, limit to ten seconds and only in emergency. I'll be on Channel Five."

"How long should this take?"

"You should be back by dawn."

"What are my ROE?"

"Your discretion. Just know, you're going to be behind enemy lines. It will take many, many hours for us to get to you if you fuck around and find out. Do not try to eat things bigger than your head, y'hear?"

"I hear. Any idea what I'm going to see out there?"

Rig scratched his attempt at a five o'clock shadow, spat tobacco into the trash with a solid Puh-Thuh...Per-Plunk and thought. "Hard to tell, but I can make a reasonable guess. The cops, deputies, and troopers, they don't like the woods. They don't understand them, they don't know them, they can't control or intimidate them, and so they fear them. You'll see them on the good roads and no further. The Mercenaries now, bit more fire in them. They'll probably chase you into the darkness, but not too far. Most of them are not local and don't know the ground. The Man in Black is in Roman's probably, licking his wounds. Shifty did lop his hand off, but Men in Black are built of sturdier stuff than that. He will be back in some form, but at least not tonight. Your real worry is going to be Red Star Marines, because those fuckers ain't 'fraid of shit. They will run you down if they can. But that's assuming they're venturing this far away from Roman's at all. They have an Iron to defend and wading into a fight between the locals doesn't help that. So, expect roadblocks and checkpoints, but those wild green wastes between the roads? Ought to be your own kingdom."

"Okay, okay...good..." Naota studied the map, burning it into his mind in case he lost it or couldn't risk a light. Meanwhile, Rig stumped over to the rifle case. "A going away gift?"

"Not a gift, a loan." Rig set the case on the desk. "You will bring this back to me." Rig opened the case to reveal his Remington 760 rifle. "Not that there's anything wrong with your AK or guitar, but if you're going to be trespassing in Miss Black Moshannon's forest, you need a proper rifle. It's zeroed for 200 yards, and you get three mags worth of ammo. Handloaded by yours truly, of course. Fifteen rounds of Sierras, 155 grain, boat tailed, Tipped MatchKing bullets. Federal cases. CCI 200 primers. 55 grains of IMR4350 powder. They sing along at 2,700 feet per second..." Rig took one of the ballistically tipped bullets, the business end of the bullet itself a deep blue and inspected it. Rig turned the cartridge over, inspecting for defects with eyes lit by a strange gleam. Still locked in, Rig finally concluded his description. "...And will make your enemy's head explode like a ripe watermelon hitting a brick wall. They should do yah fine."

"Hopefully it won't come to that." Naota had no more questions. He was dismissed to gather his gear and begin immediately. Rig meanwhile sat outside the office with a copy of the 'Lyman Reloading Manual' across his knees and a scowl on his face.

"Don't look like that, or your face'll stick." Naota passed by Rig for final inspection. "Anything else? What's got you sour-faced?"

"I'm just pissed I can't go." Rig nodded at his cast. "I can sit in the tank, sure. But crawling over rocks, climbing hills? Not for another month 'till I get this damned boat anchor off my leg. This should be my job, or at the very least I should be going with you. And now you're probably gonna go out and somehow win the war tonight all by yourself and get all the glory, and all the Hero Pussy too."

"Glory... well, I don't really know about that, not my thing. But uh... you, uh, Hero Pussy? Is... is that really a thing?"

Rig's scowl reluctantly cracked into a smile. "Are you serious?! Fuck no. There's no gaggle of girls on the other side of this traffic accident we're in. Consider yourself lucky Overwatch pays us." Laughing now, Rig pointed to a dirt bike leaned against the shop. "Your chariot awaits."

"Gassed up? Alright, many thanks."

"Keys are in the toolbox!" Naota inspected his issued wheels for the night: a Honda CRF250X that had been ridden hard many a mile. But it started up and idled without any indication to its mileage. Lashed to it were several tools: an ax, saw, short pick, and a folding shovel.

"See you in the morning!"

"Good luck, Speed be with you!"

. . .

While Didion was being summoned to Captain Chojnacki's office, Kamon was following his son down a ratline of a road through the Red Moshannon's overflow swamps. Naota had said Rig had cut these off-the-record roads with nothing but a bulldozer, crazed determination, and idle time, and Kamon readily agreed. Weaving through the trees these roads were as straight as a dog's hind leg and unpredictable. It was better than sinking into sulfurous muck and being at the mercy of who, or what, stalked these swamps at night. Autumn had arrived and with the falling leaves came the first nightly frosts. The freezing ground crunched, and brittle leaves crackled under bread truck tires as they navigated the thin, winding ribbon of solid ground. Several times Kamon felt his nerves creeping on him and heart rising into his throat, his willpower threatening to leave him. Each time he'd shake his head and find the pin sized marker light of Naota's dirt bike. Two hundred yards ahead, this little spark in the dark was all he needed to keep going. If Naota could do it, then there was no way Kamon could let his son down by turning back. The light then pulsed three times, the signal to stop.

"What do you think, T.V. Boy?" With their lights off and driving by moonlight, Kamon couldn't see more than fifty yards.

"It could be a patrol." Canti suggested. "If my math is right, we should have passed the main enemy line."

"I do remember Jeff saying something about patrolling conquered territory. What was it? 'If you can't patrol it, you don't really own it.' Or something like that."

"That is wise advice, though I do not think you or I will need it. At least we should not."

"If you and I are out conducting patrols, I would think something's gone very wrong. Oh, we're moving again." Three long glows of the light pulsed, and Kamon eased on the gas. Several minutes that felt like hours later the light pulsed three times again. Kamon dutifully stopped, eyes and ears straining. Soon there came soft footfalls, delicately picking their way through the clumps of leaves and potholes. Naota's form slowly materialized out of the dark and he motioned for Kamon to drop his window.

"What's going on?" Kamon rolled the window as quickly as he dared, the glass squeaking as it went. "Trouble ahead?"

"We're almost to proper roads, but there's a squad of Philipsburg P.D. at the intersection. There's too many to risk a fight... what all you got in here? Is that a road flare?"

"It is." Kamon picked up the bag with several of the red and white sticks in it. "What're you thinking?"

"I'll take this..." Naota took a flare and tucked it into his belt. "And go west up the road. I'll light it off, that should draw their attention. Then I'll double back, give you an all clear, and we'll move out. Be right back."

"Should one of us go with you?" Kamon started to open his door, but Naota held up his hand.

"There won't be time. Move up to my bike and wait there." Kamon drove at snail's pace to Naota's dirt bike and stopped. Naota started his engine and dropped off the road into the woods. All Kamon could do now was wait and have faith.

. . .

For a few minutes, Naota felt himself to be quite clever. Parallel to the road he slunk, then just out of eyesight of the intersection he stopped. The flare he lit and shielded his eyes to avoid losing any precious natural night vision. With a tremendous heave he tossed it in a long arc, up into the treetops. Down it came, bouncing from limb to limb with bright red sparks flying at every impact. There came the sound of a squad car's engine starting, and a pair of headlights appeared. Naota raced back to the intersection, knowing time was short. He also knew his luck was never that good, there would of course be at least one cop left behind. Sure enough, with much silent cursing, Naota saw they had left an officer with the second car.

'They'll be back in a minute, on high alert, and I'll never get them to leave...' He shut off the dirt bike and maneuvered on foot through the rhododendron. 'Gotta get rid of this guy somehow... Gun? Too loud. Knife? Could do that... but...' On his belt hung the AK's bayonet, sharpened to a razor's edge. Could he really do that though? Spotting targets for Rig was one thing. Shooting at distant blurry shapes in Osceola Mills was another. But doing his best Sam Fisher impression was completely different. Maybe there was another way... one less messy.

'I could knock him out.' Naota recalled their incursion into Roman's Mine and how Rig had subdued the Marine guarding the Bronco. Realizing that would be useful to have in his repertoire, Naota had Rig teach him months back. Although, a friendly sparring partner and an adrenaline filled, twitchy trigger finger policeman was not a case of six of one, half dozen of another. But there was no time to manufacture something else and his one good idea hadn't worked as well as hoped. 'Well, you volunteered for saboteur duty. Time to do saboteur shit. Okay, okay, okay... find your nerve, let's do this.'

The cop was leaned on the hood of his car, facing up the road where his comrades had gone. An M16 pattern rifle was propped next to him, the usual gear and pistol on his belt. He seemed tired and bored, yawning heavily as Naota scuttled nearly on his stomach across the road and then behind the man. He intended to climb up the road shoulder then lunge over the car hood, snaring the officer around the neck and drag him backwards, down into the ditch. Complete and total surprise, plus the feeling of falling and the impact should make him less likely to put up an effective fight. Slowly, slowly Naota crept, hardly daring to breathe. Then a patch of gravel shifted underfoot. Crrnch.

"The fuck...?" The cop's head tilted up; ears pricked for sound. He turned, reaching for his flashlight. Naota knew he was so, so screwed. Down on all fours, he was in no position to draw his knife or pistol. Time seemed to standstill as his mind raced for what to do and the officer's hand reached for his flashlight.

'Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic... you're not done yet, there's still options. But what?! What options?!' His thoughts flew and adrenaline surged, every nerve singing at full alert. He was so pumped it was hard to rationalize his way out of this mess. 'Calm down, calm down, calm down! No good losing your mind, just empty your head. You can do this... empty your head, empty... your...head...empty...your...head...' He concentrated solely on letting go of his fears, the situation, and focused on a quiet calm. From his palm's connection with the ground sprouted a line: thin, blue and bright. Another joined it, then dozens more in rapid succession. All branched out to connect to the squad car, the bushes and trees, the water flowing under the road in the buried culvert, and soon the forest was strung with this display of N.O.'s ever present flow. A solid, steady line ran right from him to the policeman, a policeman with his flashlight now drawn. His thumb began to press the ON button, while the other hand went for his pistol. With no other options making themselves known, Naota threw himself along the line between him and the cop.

The officer never saw what hit him. A force launched itself at him, appearing from thin air, and struck him in the belt line. The force of the impact carried him across the road, lifting him off his feet. Down into the rhododendron he and Naota crashed, the cop landing on his back and Naota on his face. Pinned in by the twisting, dense rhododendron, the shock began to wear off and the officer began struggling, endeavoring to stand. Naota latched onto the officer's uniform, trying to get his arms around the man's neck. As suspected, an actual fight was a lot harder than sparring. It was taking everything he had just to keep the man on the ground, never mind knocking him out. The officer got a foot planted and tried to force his way up through the rhododendron, not a simple task on a good day. Naota clung fast and got one arm over the shoulder, but not quite the neck. Seeing the cop trying to stand, he kicked the back of his knee, and both dropped to the ground again. Now the officer lay atop Naota's right arm. Down in the sticks, leaves and mud they squirmed and rolled. The cop was trying to stand and get his wind back while Naota stubbornly refused to relinquish his grip. Slowly Naota got his arm around the man's neck and his Adam's apple in the crook of his elbow. Recognizing what Naota was trying to do, the officer began slamming his head back into Naota's face while pulling at his arms. Fear became the dominating factor in Naota's mind, and this clenched his arms tighter. Already having his wind knocked out of him, the policeman's stamina dropped off quick. Naota finally began gaining the upper hand. Wheezing and sputtering, the headbutts stopped and the officer's escape attempts slowed. At last Naota got his left arm in position and he clenched his arms and shoulders as tight as he could, heaving backwards to put as much force as he could into the move. After what must have been an hour, in reality only a few seconds, the officer's struggles ceased, and his body went limp.

Now exhausted and heaving breath misting in the night's cool, Naota managed to stand on quivering legs. Deep lungsful of mountain air soothed his nerves some and he jogged away. The officer was left as he lay. The man would start to wake up soon, so seconds were precious. Fingers trembling, he fumbled for the electric start, then used his palm to mash the button. The dirt bike started, and he pumped the brake handle a heavy three times. Trusting his father to follow, he set off without looking back. He briefly slowed to check the intersection and saw the patrol car lights swinging through the trees. The rest of the checkpoint had turned around and were headed back. With moments to spare Naota and the bread truck passed through the intersection, headed on towards Port Matilda. A blink later and the squad car crested the hill, bathing the intersection in light. Nothing was revealed but the other squad car and a busy crisscross of tire tracks. Jumping out of their car, they saw the officer's M16 on the ground. Not a good sign. Then moaning and groaning, swaying with a pounding head, the knocked-out officer emerged from the bushes.

"Vinny? The hell're you doin' down there? Why're you all covered in sticks 'n' shit? The hell happened here?"

"Fuck if I know! I was just standing here, heard this noise, then got hit by a fuckin' train. Everything goes blurry for a few seconds, then I'm waking up in the ditch." Vinny sat wearily on the car's hood. "What the hell was that?!"

. . .

"Time to go separate ways." Where the narrowness of the mountain valley opened up lay Port Matilda. Just shy of it was the State Police Barracks: Kamon's target. Naota had led him and Canti through wood and over river without further incident, taking their time to avoid detection by car patrols.

"Think you can manage alright?" Even an hour later, Naota still felt his heart racing. 'Probably won't sleep for a week after this.' He squinted down the mountain at the lights and flickering campfires around the barracks. "It looks awfully crowded down there."

"Kamon has devised a most cunning plan." At least Canti seemed eager. "Now that I have had time to think on it, the idea is quite sound."

"If you say so. Well..." Naota put his idling dirt bike into gear. "I've got places to be, and you've got things to do. Get home safe!"

"You'd better not let T.V. Boy and I beat you back to base." Kamon's eyes flashed in the night. "Stay safe as well and give them a show!" Naota promised he would and disappeared into the dark. Kamon maneuvered the bread truck off the road into an empty gas well; just the well cap and gauges were left in this otherwise cleared and empty circle. "Alright Canti, let's have the map and a little light."

Canti spread their map on the dash and turned up the glow of his screen enough to bathe the paper in a blue glow. Kamon had drawn markings that surrounded the barracks, a mark to show their current location, arrows that showed their approach and withdrawal route, and a list of calculations along the empty spaces of the map edges. Also with the map were several notebook pages with additional drawings and sketches, and some computer image printouts. There was also a copy of architect plans and layouts of the police station. Kamon began reviewing the plan so there was no confusion.

"We set up the rifles at these locations, starting in a sweep with us going all the way 'round." Their path was a long loop, encircling the barracks and ending at the bread truck. "It is coming up on...eleven o'clock, or I should say twenty-three hundred hours. This should take us between two and three hours to complete. When the last rifle is in place, our plan sets in motion half an hour from that. I have calculated each rifle so that we will have covering fire for half an hour. This is a raid after all, so any longer is overstaying our welcome."

"It would be terribly rude of us to impose like that." Canti remarked.

"Wholly agreed. We will use this rift along here to get close, then blanket their perimeter with smoke and frag grenades. That gets us to the building. Then we will force our way in, through either a door or window. Inside, start your timer for ten minutes. We must be in and out quickly. Then...yes?"

Canti noticed something missing from this itinerary. "You have not yet specified what it is we are looking for?"

Kamon looked up from the map and down at the barracks with wolfish, hungry eyes. "That's going to be half the fun my dear friend! We have no idea what's in there, just waiting to be scooped up and taken to its new home! I am trusting you to use your best judgement on what should be taken as your, hehe... war booty."

"Very well. Carry on."

"Once our ten minutes are up, we exit here, cross the road into this gully and follow it along the cliff. That gets us to right off the edge of the hill, at the edge of this gas well pad. Then we're back in the truck and back the way we came. Any questions?"

"What if we are spotted setting up?"

Kamon shook his head. "We will have to take this as a loss and retreat back here, then back home."

"What if we cannot break their line, or get into the building?"

"Same as before. Anything else?"

"If we are stopped along the road?"

"Fight our way through if we can. If not, or if the truck is disabled, we ditch the truck, torching it and the supplies if possible, and hike back on foot. What about you, can you assemble this contraption?" Kamon held up one of the printouts, showing what they were going to be building.

"Yes, I can put that together. I am impressed. You have really thought this through."

"I may be crazy and chaotic sometimes, but even madness can have a method to it. If there's no more questions, let's get going."

"Lead on."

Carrying the rifles, rope, water, and cans as quietly as they could, Kamon and Canti hiked around the barracks. It was slow going, but they had to take their time in the dead of night. At each location Kamon an NH-47C rifle was lashed tight to a tree, trained on the State Police barracks or the encampment around it. Two of the soup cans were arranged as well, one above the other. The top can would have at least one, some several more, hole punched in it. The second, lower, can was also linked the rifle's trigger by more paracord. Halfway around their hike, a spotlight from a squad car blinked on. It scanned the mountainsides in a meandering pattern. Kamon and Canti immediately flattened themselves, Canti face down in the dirt and Kamon taking off his eyeglasses, so that the spotlight's glare wouldn't reflect off their respective screen or glasses. Finding nothing of interest the light was turned off. They waited a minute to be sure, then rose from the dirt to continue with haste. Through the trees were several deer trails and paths. This made the going easier and they made up the lost time. Looking down at the ground to make sure they didn't stumble in the dark, no human tracks were seen. The police and mercenaries seemed content to stay behind their barbed wire and were not patrolling the area. They had counted on being several miles removed from Philipsburg and Osceola Mills and believed none of their enemies would be foolish enough to attack this stronghold. And if they did, it would be so obvious that the attack would be seen coming from miles away. Finally, the last rifle was lashed to its tree and aimed. Kamon and Canti doubled back along the line of rifles. Kamon carried a bag of loaded magazines, readying up the rifles with ammunition. Canti followed with the water bucket, filling the top of the two soup cans to the predetermined level: a Sharpie marker line drawn on the side and inside of the can by Kamon. Through the pre-punched hole or holes, water began slowly dripping from the top cans into the bottom ones. Fully committed to this plan and on the clock, the pair raced back to the truck. Once there, Kamon made sure his jacket was on just right, tie was properly adjusted, his Walther P38 and back up Ruger P90 were loaded and snug in their holsters, his camera charged, all his peripheral goodies were secure in his various pockets, and the drawstring sack on his back. Last was the M40 gas mask, hanging from his belt.

"I'm ready." He announced to Canti. He looked the robot from head to toe, then back up again. "Just the blue jacket; that the one from Japan? That's all you're taking? Do you need, want, something else? A knife, at least? I'm just givin' you options, is all."

"All I have, and all I will need, is the strength in my body, and my wits in here." Canti tapped his head. "Worry about yourself. I will be fine."

"Up to you on how you want to boo-gah-loo. Alright now..." He checked the faintly glowing hands of his watch. "Should be any second now...any second now..."

. . .

While Kamon and Canti staged their surprise, Naota was putting miles on the clock. This leg of his journey was uneventful using the twisting, turning gas well access, logging, and abandoned mining roads. Some were in such terrible shape it would be impossible to cross by car and invited breakdowns using a truck. But to his dirt bike, this was another leisurely walk around the block. Finally, the hills began to climb sharply until they formed the plateau Midstate Airport's designers had perched it on. Naota motored through the open front gates, rolling slowly with his hand ready to crank the throttle. No humans were to be found here. The only residents were a nursery of raccoons rummaging in the dumpster and a mother opossum scurrying from bush to bush; her little ones clinging fast to her back. He passed the twisted remains of the transmitter and the crumbled ruins of the control tower; both with weeds and grasses growing up from below their piles of rubble. The runways were in terrible shape, covered in dirt and pebbles, the grasses growing unchecked, cracks unaddressed, and thirteen craters blasted into the concrete. The holes were several feet deep and several wider with major cracks extending from the crater rims to the edge of the concrete. Each crater had a foot of standing water and gunk in it. No efforts were being made to fix the airfield, nor use it in a makeshift fashion. Naota counted it as a blessing and moved on. At the edge of the fence, he found a patch that had been neatly cut so it could be rolled up and out of the way; perfectly sized for a man on a dirt bike.

'Rig must have been here.' He let the fence section fall, then tucked it back into place. Down the hill he idled, going slow to avoid an uncontrolled crash. One hundred yards shy of the road he shut off the dirt bike, hid it behind a boulder and meekly made his way closer. The moon was fully risen and illuminated the asphalt. Not a soul was in sight. The only sounds were Naota's nervous blood pumping in his ears and the soft bubbling of Sixmile Run. At another time, another set of circumstances, this could be a great place to camp and stargaze. And while he was dreaming, with some lovely girl's soft body next to his to keep them warm…

"It's so pretty out here. Let's see how I can ugly it up." The bridge over Sixmile Run was of solid concrete and steel. Nothing to be done there, not easily at least. A survey of the surrounding hills and trees did not show any obvious landslides or rockfalls waiting to happen if given proper motivation. Frustrated he sat on a log across from where his dirt bike was hidden. Trying a new viewpoint, there might be something he had missed from the other side. Unless given access to explosives or a backhoe, nothing obvious jumped out at him. He looked at the moon and stars again, seeing many more than usual since he was farther from the light pollution of town. Then Naota spotted a thin strip of something across the sky. Following it with his gaze it ran to a creosote painted wooden pole.

"Power line..." A revolver's cylinder in his head rotated and brought a round to battery. The power line generally followed the road but crossed over it several times as the road had to twist and turn to climb the mountain while the line could maintain a straight course. "Ah-ha... Yes... yes, that could work." Inspired he crossed the road again. He took the ax from the dirt bike, crossed the road a third time and made for the power line pole between the road and the edge of the woods. Spitting on his hands he took up the ax and began chopping at the pole's base. This cut was made so the pole would fall towards the woods and away from the road. Each whack made quite the noise and he paused often to see if anyone was approaching; forgetting in his paranoia he was miles from the nearest house. He kept at it and the wood began to creak and crack under the stress. Then the pole began to lean towards the trees. Naota sprang back as fast and far as he could, expecting the pole to collapse to the ground. It leaned heavily but was still in the air, held up by the cables.

'Not quite there yet. Need to do some more cutting...' He crossed the road a fourth time, then the bridge to the next pole along the line. This one he started cutting so it would fall both towards the first pole and into the river. Halfway through headlights flashed in the corner of his eye. He flattened and crawled backwards into the rhododendron and mountain laurel. A pickup truck passed by, not a police or mercenary vehicle. Just some average citizen out for a terribly risky night drive to who knew where.

'If this had worked the first time, they would have hit the lines.' Naota thought as he began chopping again. 'And then what would I have done? How do I explain myself to someone caught in the middle of all this? Hey, sorry about dropping a power line in the road that got tangled in your wheels and potentially electrocuting you. Nothing personal, really, I mean it; honestly. I know how terrible this looks, how terrible I look, and how you probably really hate me right now. But there's a war on, you see... oh you don't care? Well, I don't quite know what else to say except sorry, I guess...' The power pole groaned as the ax knocked a large chunk away. A few more hits and it would go over. Naota maneuvered around and began the backside cut, removing the wood holding the rest of the pole upright. Only a few hits to this weak point and the pole began to lose its fight with gravity. With a final bounce against the rest of the cables both poles stopped just shy of the ground with the lines between them tight. These lines, instead of safely overhead were now staggered between a foot off the pavement and just over his head. Any vehicle that drove through would hit the triple wired tangle.

'Or will they?' Naota returned the ax and sat on his dirt bike to rest. 'They'd see the lines, probably at least. I do have some time to burn. I am ahead of schedule.' He took Rig's 760 rifle and found a vantage point on the hillside where he could see both lane's approach to the bridge. A massive boulder jutting out of the hill made a perfect perch. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing up here, sat cross-legged in the dark dozens of feet above the narrow valley floor, rifle across his lap. Maybe it was morbid curiosity to see if his power line trap would work and snare a careless vehicle. He buttoned up his uniform's collar against the oncoming fall chill and settled to wait.

. . .

On the first NH-47C rifle the bottom soup can had filled with sufficient water to pull the rifle's trigger. The NH-47C let off a 20-round burst into the mercenary camp around the state police barracks. These rounds did not hit anyone but did put several holes in tents and canopies. Most importantly it scared the ever-lovin' Beh-Jeez-Us out of everyone downrange. One sharp eyed mercenary saw the muzzle flash and threw out his own burst in retaliation. Several others shot back once they'd tracked where his shots were landing. No more shots came from that group of trees, and everyone considered the threat subdued. Then the second rifle's soup cans hit their trigger-pull-point and it lit off. Barking orders, scrambling for cover, returning fire, flying out of bed, throwing on gear, and shaking off sleep, mercenary and policeman alike were caught off-balance by this middle of the night attack. Distracted with multiple guns firing from the hillsides, none of them saw Kamon and Canti sprinting downhill through a narrow cleft in the ground.

"Okay Canti, now!" Pulling pins and throwing grenades as fast as they could, the pair blasted a path through the outer perimeter. Canti lobbed smoke grenades in a wide arc with his powerful throws, filling an already dark and confused scene with billowing clouds of smoke; reds, pinks, yellows and greens, purple hazes... Kamon threw his mix of distraction and real grenades, the distraction ones bursting with sharp, ear-splitting cracks that set off waves of tinnitus all around, while the Mark II's sprayed their deadly shrapnel inflicting casualties and further complicating the chaotic scene. Over sandbags and under fences this duo slipped and made it to the brick walls of the barracks. Kamon tried the door and was unsurprised to find it locked.

"Always be prepared. Keep watch, eh?" Kamon drew his crowbar and began forcing the door. Canti threw several more grenades, smoke, distraction and real, then checked Kamon's progress. He had gotten one end of the bar into the door jamb and was working the door open. If he had more time, he would eventually gain entry. But this was too slow, even as another burst of rifle shots rang out. As Kamon worked on forcing the crowbar to bite deeper, Canti formed a fist and rapped hard on the hook end of the crowbar. This with Kamon's throwing his weight on it snapped the deadbolt back into the door, which now swung open.

"Are we in yet?"

"Ye-yeah!" Kamon took a breath and stowed the crowbar. "Didn't know my own strength! Let's move!" He donned his gas mask, drew his P38 and moved in, urging Canti to follow. The robot followed and pulled the door tight behind them. He pulled the push bar lock off, then bent and jammed it into the door's handle. Now opening the door required a torch or pulling with a truck.

"Splitting up?" Canti asked as they arrived at an intersection of hallways. Kamon dug into his canvas bag and handed a bundle of USB sticks and portable hard drives to Canti. He stuffed these into his jacket pockets while Kamon gave further directions.

"Correct." Kamon pointed down the hallway before Canti. "You take that one for ten minutes. When that's up, meet back here."

Another burst of gunfire lit off and some shots hit the building and a nearby window, littering the hallway with glass. "I will see you back here in ten minutes, understood."

The pair split not knowing what they were looking for, but secure in the knowledge that they would know it when they saw it. Kamon found his first: the Armory. The door was a steel security model that only kept out the honest and lazy. The door's molding was peeled back with the crowbar and a crack between the door and wall near the floor was laid bare. Kamon worked the crowbar in and leaned on it, bending the steel little by little. To preserve his progress, he stuck in one of the steel wedges he'd brought in his bag of tricks. Up the door towards the lock he worked, levering the door away from the wall. Another burst of gunfire echoed outside and now there was the sound of heavy engines starting.

'Must be mercenary armor...' Kamon checked the hall to make sure he still had the place to himself. 'A bit overkill maybe... but then again, I'd sure hate to be woken up by getting shot at too... okay, okay, almost done, keep calm, don't want to lose progress... almost done...' On his last wedge, he placed that one's tip into the narrow gap just above the lock. With the hooked end of the crowbar, he hammered on it until the gap was wide enough for the bar. He threw his entire weight on it, the deadbolt popped free, and the door swung in. Ready for anything Kamon entered. No one was home. He swung his drawstring bag off his shoulders and rummaged around inside. During the pitch of his idea, Tommy and Jeff had given him a little side job to perform.

"Just leave them in the armory..." Kamon pulled several boxes of 5.56x45mm ammunition from his bag. "Jeff and Tommy said that was all I had to do with them, nothing special. Alright, simple enough." Opening a box and inspecting a round, Kamon couldn't see anything different about it. He shrugged, trusting the Pennsylvanians knew what they were doing. He placed the boxes on shelves with similar looking ones with the same markings. That task checked off the list, he began pilfering whatever wasn't nailed down.

Canti completed his first assignment easily. He found the marked utility door and was surprised it was unlocked. Inside and behind the spare trash bags, columns of toilet paper rolls, and the mop station was a floor to ceiling pipe painted bright red. Canti rotated the handle to move the valve to the closed position, then ripped the handle off. He lifted one of the dropped ceiling tiles and threw the handle end somewhere into the ceiling. Canti then replaced the tile and turned to leave. The fire sprinkler water supply now cut off, Canti closed the door and continued. He felt drawn naturally towards the server room. As he peeked around the corner, a burst of gunfire impacted on the other side of the wall from the hall in front of the server room. The guards outside it braced for impact but the brick seemed to have stopped the bullets, this time. Their radios crackled and they moved around the corner, out of sight. Canti advanced to the door, finding it secured with a brace bar. On the other side he could hear a scurrying and dragging of a filing cabinet across the floor. This door was a steel security model as well, but Canti needn't bother with prying it open. A solid punch with outspread fingers gained him the grip needed to rip the door off the wall, pulling its hinges out of the brick with their screws dangling. Two of the guards had turned back and found themselves facing a seven-foot-tall robot holding the torn-off server room door. Both went for their guns out of instinct, knowing whatever was before them was hostile. With no gun of his own, Canti threw the door. Its impact bowled both officers over and smashed both into the far wall. One felt an arm and shoulder break, the other his elbow bend too far the wrong way. With both officers under the door and screaming on the floor, Canti entered the room. A desk chair came swinging at him from a dark corner and his hand shot out to catch it.

"AHHHHGGHHHHH! You won't take me ali...ve..." The holder of the chair gazed up at the room's newest occupant. "Who, what are you?! Chojnacki sent you to kill me, didn't he?!"

"I'm not here to kill you." Canti effortlessly wrenched the chair from Didion's grasp and set it gently down. "If anything, I may be able to help you, since you were locked in here. Who are you?"

"I, I asked first! Who and what are you?" Sweat poured down Didion's face as this robot, who had ripped a steel door weighing several hundred pounds off its hinges, loomed over him.

"My name is Canti. I am..." Canti wondered for a moment what exactly he was. He certainly wasn't a Medical Mechanica assistant anymore. "A Seeker of Knowledge, and a friend."

"Really? Seeker of Knowledge..." Didion put out a trembling hand. "W-well, Canti, I'm Didion. The IT Lead here at Port Matilda State Police Barracks... or rather, I was until a few hours ago. Is all that gunfire outside your doing?"

"In part." Canti shook Didion's hand. Looking around he saw the bank of servers and their status lights blinking in the darkened room. As Kamon had said, he didn't know what he was looking for, but would know it when he saw it. "Didion, you said you were the IT Lead here, yes?"

"Yes, I did." His hand still in Canti's, Didion felt the handshake tighten into an inescapable grasp. "Wh-whoa, hey! Easy on the hand!"

"That means you are the one who managed the remote and traffic camera system, yes?"

"What? What's this about... Chojnacki did send you, didn't he? OWW!" The robot's hand steadily increased pressure. "Alright, alright! Yes, I am! Was! Whatever!"

"Good." Canti released Didion from his grasp. "Then you are the perfect man to help me."

"What's in it for me? I'm in enough trouble already as is."

"I will get you out of here and somewhere safe." With no options besides 'stay and surely be executed' or 'trust the giant, door-ripping robot and maybe get executed' Didion took his chances with Canti.

"Better than being melted like Cole Kauffman. So, what do you want, what do you need?"

Kamon was working on another door, this one to the Evidence Room. His canvas drawstring bag now rattled and clanked when shifted. It contained the Armorer's barrel wrenches, head-spacing gauges, punch set, tap and die set, measuring tools, reloading dies, and record book. It detailed every gun in the police arsenal, what maintenance had to be done and when for every gun to continue functioning properly, what ammunition loading it used for best performance, and which gun was going to need specific parts replaced at specific times. It was the Armorer's Bible and now it was in the bottom of Kamon's drawstring bag. While in there, Kamon had dumped on the floor every cleaning solution, powder canister, and pack of primers he could find. Before leaving, thinking on his feet, he upended as many ammo crates as he could to create a carpet of cartridges. To this he threw and mixed in the rounds given to him by Jeff and Tommy; for whatever purpose this may serve. Finally, he gathered a handful of rags, ripped t-shirts and cleaning patches and put the wad in a trashcan placed next to a powder storage locker. On this wad of cloth, he poured a good measure of the linseed oil he'd brought along. Satisfied he'd made a true mess of the place, he'd moved on.

The Evidence Room door was not as stout as the Armory and yielded without much fight. Evidence bags and boxes made narrow canyon walls that rose to the ceiling. File cabinets ringed the room three high and along the back wall was a row of computer stations. Again, searching for what he knew was there but couldn't articulate what it was, Kamon began rummaging through boxes while worrying at his watch.

'Three minutes left... not enough time, should have come here first...' Nothing was of interest so far. The usual suspects came flying out of boxes as he searched: fraud and larceny, burglary, drunk and impaired driving, vandalism, public indecency, boring, routine, nonsense. Now the floor was awash in a sea of papers and half empty boxes. Kamon felt his time running out. He pulled another file cabinet drawer out, the out-of-balance storage unit tipped over with a metallic groan and crashed to the floor. Kamon sprang back to avoid having his toes crushed. As the dust settled, Kamon found a cabinet he would have otherwise missed, tucked around and behind the others. This one, tantalizingly so, was secured with a padlock.

"Well, well...well..." Kamon lifted the padlock gently with his crowbar. "Whatever do we have here? Hmmm... It's no good for such a lovely thing like yourself to be all buttoned up. Why don't you slip into..." Kamon hooked the padlock bar and braced the crowbar. "Something more comfortable?!" CR-Thack!-Pang! Off the padlock came and the cabinet spilled bare its secrets. Hardly believing what he had found, Kamon began taking pictures of the files so quickly the photos could be confused for film. A third of the way through his watch alarm beeped. Time was up.

"No, no, not yet! Uh... what to do? Do I just..." Kamon looked down at the pile of papers, then around his feet. He was up to his ankles in ransacked evidence. "To hell with it. They'll already know someone broke in. Might as well go all the way." Instead of taking pictures Kamon scooped up the entire stack and dumped the whole lot into his bag. Dangerously overloaded he opened the linseed oil can and doused his remaining rags, buried those in a trash can under a pile of paper and boxes, then liberally christened the room with the rest of the oil. The deed done he dropped the can, exited the room and pulled the door shut as tight as he could behind him. He was walking back to the hallway intersection when someone bellowed for him to stop. On his heel he turned, facing several terrified police and mercenaries with their guns drawn.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here officers!" Kamon sighed. "I am terrified for my life here, with all this shooting and bombs going off!" To be safe he put his hands up, wrist in view to keep an eye on time. "It's been hell making any kind of productivity with this kind of hostile work environment! I ought to report the whole lot of you to Internal Affairs!"

"I...wh-what?! Just who in the hell are you?!" Kamon had thrown the officers for a loop.

"And what're you doing here, and what's with the gas mask?" Another demanded. Kamon glanced at his watch. A few seconds was all he needed.

"Who am I? Whom am I indeed? I'm sure you're just dying to know. I've gone by many a name before, each more extravagant than the last. Boss, The Wolf, Aramis Lupan, Edgar de la Cambriole..." Whisps of smoke began seeping from cracks around the Evidence Room door. His watch told him one second more. "But you, my jolly friends..."

On time another burst of gunfire lit off and ripped through the hallway window between Kamon and the police. Scattering glass and brick chips filled the hall while the police retreated to get out of the line of fire. Just enough distraction for Kamon to pull a pair of grenades and send them bouncing down the hall. As they rolled to a stop at the feet of terrified mercenaries and cops, they heard a deep laugh as their quarry escaped around the corner. Then to their relief, and annoyance, both grenades blossomed harmlessly into blinding clouds of smoke.

"You can call me..." Kamon hesitated, wondering what name to use. What would be a better time to make a mark, a long-lasting impression that would really turn some heads? "KAMON NANDABA, THE FIRST AND ONLY!"

. . .

"Roger that, on our way back." A State Patrol car spun around, dug its tires and roared towards Port Matilda. They had gotten a call that someone, or a group of someone's, was taking mag-dump potshots at the barracks and mercenary camp.

"Do you think it's an actual attack?" The driver asked his partner as they turned off Casanova Road and onto McCord Drive; headed east. "Or a distraction for something else?"

"I don't think it's an attack per se..." They took several turns at high speed, catching air on the small hills of the weaving mountain road. Their Dodge Charger could handle it and the driver pressed the throttle hard.

"But not a distraction either? Maybe a raid? They're shooting at us just to shoot at us; keep us on our toes?"

"That makes more sense. After we penned them all up in their bases out in the boonies, this's all they're good for now. Hit and runs, basically drive-bys. I'll bet by the end of the month we'll have this-ah-fuck!" At nearly ninety miles an hour they began crossing the bridge over Sixmile Run. The drove into the hanging web of power lines with no chance to stop in time. One line ripped the car's row of lights off, the second slapped the windshield and smashed it end to end with cracks, and the last got under the car and wrapped around the driver's side wheel. This lasso clenched around the tire and refused to relinquish its grip, spinning the car around so it faced back from where it came. The sudden stop and cable also broke the tie rod and stripped the bolts on the control arm. With a screech of burnt rubber, severe whiplash and much cursing from its occupants, the car came to an abrupt halt.

"What in the fuck was that?!" Stretching out his neck and rubbing his bruised collarbone the driver dropped his window and leaned out.

"Did we hit a pothole or something?"

"Ahhhh...fuuuuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck." The driver swore and punched his steering wheel.

"How bad? Bad-bad?" The passenger, unable to see out the windshield, lowered his window. The first thing he saw was their light bar on the road fifty feet back. Then he saw the powerline trailing from under the car. "Hey...I think we hit a downed power line!"

"Not only did we hit it, but it's also wrapped around the front left wheel, and the tie rod's broken." The driver rested his head on the steering wheel, trying to keep his temper.

The passenger sought to calm him down. "Okay, okay. The important thing is that neither of us is hurt. Let's first get out of the car because we can't just sit here in the open like this." Both opened their doors and stood on their doorframe in preparation to jump out and avoid making a circuit between themselves, the car, and the live wire. "Alright, on three we jump."

"On three, we jump. Got it. Count us off."

"One...two..."

. . .

To his astonishment, he'd caught something in his electric net. And he hadn't even needed to wait all that long. Naota had heard the state patrol car approaching and lain down with his rifle ready. Through the scope he watched the wreck unfold and the shower of blue sparks from the power poles as the lines strained and stretched. Now one hundred and fifty yards distant he watched the windows drop then the doors open. What to do now? He could call this mission accomplished and go home. He had sabotaged the enemy's ability to cross the bridge and intersection at Black Moshannon Road and Sixmile Run Road. But while he had waited an alteration to his original idea came to him. A road blocked by power lines was one thing. A road blocked by power lines and a wrecked car caught in them was something more. But... but a road blocked with power lines, a wrecked car and a body or two, indicating the area was being hunted by a sniper... was something different entirely. Hadn't this been why he had volunteered? To inflict as much sharp, targeted damage as possible to get this whole horrific nightmare over with faster? While he had been denied explosives, he had been given an excellent rifle. And even Naota knew what one determined individual with a rifle could do. As the State Troopers recovered from the initial shock of their accident, Naota line up the patrol car and took the safety off. But as he lay in the chill dark, the scope's picture bright from gathered ambient star and moon light, his mind was anything but clear.

'Huuhhhuuuaaa...ohhhh, can I really do this? What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing...I'm not supposed to be doing this, I'm not supposed to be here. This isn't my story! I'm supposed to be dozing off in high school back in Mabase! How did I end up here in Pennsylvania behind a rifle?! I'm in the wrong story! Some rat-bastard asshole picked me up while I was dreaming and dropped me here where I don't belong! I'm supposed to be, shit, I dunno, trying to fuck Ninamori or something like that, not worrying about windage! Ohhh, something has gotten way fucked up, way, way, waaaay fucked up...'

The windows of the patrol car opened, and the officers poked their heads out to inspect the damage. Naota took his eye off the scope for a second to rest his eye and take several gulps of air. He looked back and resettled the rifle's fore end on his rolled poncho; it was a fine rest. The car doors opened, and the officers stood on their doorframes. He couldn't make out words, but their lips were moving as they talked to each other.

'They've got families, surely, just like I do. And they just want to go home safe like I do. They might not even want to be here; they could just fear The Red Star Marines and what The Man in Black might do to them if they try to leave... What am I thinking, I can't do this...? They're just people after all, and besides, it's not like they wouldn't feel the...same if...it was...me...' A pit opened in his stomach as he thought those words and realized how wrong he was; and how wrong he had been. When he had held Haruko at gunpoint in his room, he knew that if the positions were reversed, he'd probably have a 0.45 caliber hole in his head. Medical Mechanica, whenever it sent forth its soldiers and robots, was certainly not pulling their punches. His grandfather and grandfather's friends saw no leniency due to their age; all blasted with fire and shrapnel. And if these officers were on this rock and it were him trapped on the road, he recognized he would be treated just the same. They had already tried several times, and nearly succeeded, to kill him. And if he were under the scope, he'd already have his skull blown open and his body left in the ditch for the coyotes and buzzards to fight over. It wasn't fair, none of it was. This war, being uprooted from his home, just happening to have the right head when Haruko swung her bass against it and sending this whole stupid, crazy, unending roller coaster rattling down its tracks... He'd asked for none of it, he certainly would not have voted for it if the option had been given, but now the only way he was going to make it through was to shoot his way out. Nervousness and cold, queasy unease boiled away into a growing anger. He had done nothing wrong. He had hurt no one. He had violated not a single right of, nor trespassed against, a single of his fellow men. He had simply wanted a content, peaceful life, and these people were trying to kill him for the crime of existing. How... how... how very fucking DARE they...

'I am Naota Nandaba, and I'm a Human Being, GOD DAMN IT!' His mind raged and he remounted the rifle painfully tight into his shoulder with full intent, fighting his rising excitement to control his breathing.

"Alright, on three we jump." One of the officers said and they stood. Naota settled onto the rifle as Rig had taught him.

Breathe in. Hold. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. Breathe out. Hold. Thump-thump. Thump-Thump. Thump-thump. Breathe in. Finger on the trigger, last pad of the finger; thumb off to the side to not twist his grip. Fore end of the rifle pressed tight onto the poncho. Do not focus on the target. Crosshairs, focus on putting crosshairs on a specific spot.

"On three, we jump. Got it."

Breathe in. Hold. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. Breathe out. Hold.

"Count us off."

Breathe in. Hold. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. Breathe out. Hold. The rifle is sighted for 200 yards, this is 150 yards. Aim just a touch low...

"One..."

Breathe in. Hold. Squeeze the trigger. Squuueeeeeezzzze really slow. Take your time. Do not rush. It will happen when it is meant to happen. Listen to your heartbeat. Keep yourself calm, cool, unhurried. This is a good, loyal rifle. It will do what you ask of it, if you treat it right and do your part. Focus on the task at hand... clear your mind. Everything else in the entire world, the whole universe, it doesn't matter; let it all go. Just breathe. Hold. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. Thump-thump. Breathe out. Hold.

"Two..."

Empty lungs, all the way to the diaphragm. Hold... hold... hold... Thump-Thump. There's no wind. No left-right hold. Steady on. Thump-Thump. Aim for the bottom of his earlobe. Hold... squeeze the trigger... hold... squeeze the trigger...

"Thr-..."

BANG!

A thunderclap came from on high and smote the counting passenger trooper where he stood. If he hadn't kept a good hold on the 760, Naota's surprise at the Remington's recoil would have socked the scope into his eye. But that's how it was supposed to happen to put the round exactly where he wanted. The bullet travelled the 150 yards in a tenth of a second, reaching its target before the sound of the rifle's shot even got its boots on. Hitting the man's skin, the bullet's ballistic tip began opening the round into a deadly flower with rapidly growing petals. It expanded to three times its original size with a wound cavity wider still. The hydrostatic shock rippled across the trooper's head and neck, blowing apart the base of his skull and top of his spine and turning the surrounding flesh to jelly. Held on by his remaining skin, esophagus, and windpipe, the Red Terran Trooper's head dropped forward and spun around to look up at the sky before his body tumbled off the car. He was dead in a fraction of a second, before he even began falling. The recoil lifted the fore end of the rifle up and pumped itself, kicking the old round out and slamming a new one in. All that was required from Naota was to hold on and make sure the second half of the pump went forward with the proper force to lock the bolt in.

The second Red Terran trooper had jumped just as the 760's hammer dropped, and he landed to an ear-ringing boom. He turned to see his partner had disappeared and a disturbing spray of blood across the hood of their car. Then he saw the prone body through the open doors, a fresh corpse that appeared to have no head. His ears ringing and the shot echoing off the valley walls, he had no idea where the shot had come from. Even in the dark the muzzle flash had been too quick for him to see. Fighting a rising tide of panic, he drew his gun and felt his eyes roving madly, looking for the threat. He worked his way around the car towards his downed partner.

"McNab?!" No response. "McNab, c'mon, talk to me man. McNab!"

Naota tracked the moving Red Terran, focusing the crosshairs on a white spot. It was the man's undershirt, just below his neck and above his body armor. It was easier to track and hit on a moving target. Same as before he followed his checklist, timing his shot for the opportune moment. Right at the rear bumper corner the Red Terran stopped to look around. It was at this instant Naota's trigger squeeze reached an adequate point to release the hammer. A second shot rent the night. The bullet skipped off the top of the Red Terran's body armor plate and drove into his right clavicle at a steep downward angle. Copper and steel plate splinters followed the bullet in as it expanded down into the chest cavity and the top of the man's right lung, then through his shoulder blade and into his back armor plate. Contrary to movie myths the trooper did not fly back but rather slumped against his car's bumper, then slid off and collapsed to the pavement in gasping silence.

Naota stood as the second man fell. He had to leave, those two shots would have echoed far and wide. As he packed up the gravity of what had transpired began setting in and the side-effects as well. On one hand Naota realized his mind was perfectly clear now and he had two kills to add to this mission. On the other hand, he could hardly think straight with such a flood of adrenaline. Flushed with the hormone he felt borderline giddy and euphoric to a degree that it terrified him; worse still because he felt himself getting beyond his own control. If he couldn't get a handle on himself, he was going to devolve into a jittery, useless mess that couldn't hold a rifle. With no knowledge of having done so, he found himself on his dirt bike, flying through the woods with the throttle cranked to max, unfazed by the branches smacking him in the face. A sharp pain brought him temporarily to his senses as a branch almost put his eye out. This was enough to slam on the brakes, tip the bike over and throw himself at the dirt.

"Breathe! Breathe! Breathe!" He ordered, wrapping himself in a self-hug, holding himself down and still. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing deep, long... breaths... and smelling, smelling the crushed forest flowers under him, the damp and cool earth below those and letting those scents flow through his nose and all the way to the back of his head, filling him with life again. In this position, looking like a well-armed log, he kept himself until his tremors subsided and heart rate returned closer to normal. He sat up and saw the glistening edges of those blue lines, those beautiful, wonderful, blue lines with the calm anchor points he so desperately needed. He put out a rattling hand and made contact. Warm, heavy sunlight flowed into him, soothing over frayed nerves. His instincts and subconscious mind fought him ferociously at first. He composed himself just as he had atop The Iron in Mabase.

'Package everything up, put it aside for now...' He talked himself through it. 'It will all be there when you come back... just relax and think clearly... it's alright... no mature, wise decisions are made with a heated mind. Let yourself Feel Calm, Feel Cool...and...' His body gave one last shake as it worked out the remaining tension. Now spent and turned to rubber, Naota let himself fall onto his back. "...And...ahhhh... There we go. Much, much better. Okay, no time to be lounging about. There's still things to be done." He hauled himself up and stood astride the dirt bike. Calmed enough to see and think clearly, his heart where it belonged and not in his throat, only now did he realize he could not recognize these trees or the landscape.

"Where... in the fuck am I?" He gave the area another pass and found nothing familiar. 'I must have gone a lot farther and faster than I thought. Great, out of the frying pan and into a bonfire. Now I'm lost. Wait, no I'm not.' He looked to the trees, their high leaves forming a vast woodland great hall; a vaulted ceiling supported by the thick bark columns with strings of stars for lights. 'I know where I am. I'm in Black Moshannon Forest. I just don't know which way I'm going. So, I'm not lost, just exploring!' With this optimistic outlook he dug out his compass, found west and set off.

. . .