Anyone who’d done time up the line knew nothing ever happened at night, but some execs tended to be over-zealous – new promos transferred in looking to make their mark, and the perennial brown-nosers ever-eager to work their way up the wire. These dills spent the whole of their watch patrolling up and down the wagon-train checking the alertness of those selected for guard-duty – generally managing to spoil everybody’s shut-eye and keeping the grass-heads from tunnelling out in the John.
The unofficial alarm system – switched off during the day – gave the dozing Vid-Comms time to pull themselves into watchful postures, eyes glued to the screens.
Aarons wasn’t one of them. And the reason she didn’t want to waste time banging away at buffalo was because she’d been working up a head of steam with a hunky jack-dandy under the shower and wanted to get back before he went off the boil.
Aarons was also right about Simons. Like most Vid-Comm Techs, he was not, by nature, an avid follower of regulations, but following the bomb attack on The Lady from Louisiana in 2990, CINC-TRAIN had issued a general divisional unit order about the need to observe proper security procedures. In the last four years Simons had seen plenty of buffalo at close quarters but he’d never known them walk towards a wagon-train and pass right underneath it as if it wasn’t there.
That’s why he’d alerted Aarons. Pretty soon, they’d be sitting in the middle of a sea of buffalo. Maybe it was because the train was stationary, and the turbo-generators in the power cars weren’t roaring their heads off. Or maybe it was parked right across one of the herd’s annual migratory paths. Tracks which, according to the archives, had been followed for centuries.
Arrgh, what the hell, thought Simons. Who cared? It was Aarons’ responsibility now. She liked dumb animals. Simons could tell from the brightly flushed cheeks and the way the ID-card had trembled in her fingers that she’d been pumping some bone-headed jackeroo when he’d called her out. Everyone knew Betty-Jo Aarons liked it under a hot shower. That’s why the guys called her Soapy.
Simons opened one eye and checked the screens linked to the side and ventral cameras. Buffalo everywhere you looked; a slow-moving carpet, grazing briefly then plodding on under the train towards the SSW. He yawned and wriggled down to a more comfortable position in his chair. ‘Lemme know if they start eatin’ the wheels …’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Mason. He switched off one of the cameras to clear the screen and put up one of his favourite video-games.
Believing the M’Calls to be several tens of miles to the west of the train, and lulled into a false sense of security by the knowledge that Mutes – like Trackers – did not embark on warlike ventures during the hours of darkness, neither Simons nor Mason, nor the two Duty Vid-Comm Techs in the rear command car noticed the pairs of warriors cloaked in buffalo skins, moving stealthily among the slow-moving herd.
And because the side-mounted cameras were aimed outwards and not down the length of the train, they did not see Cadillac shin up a primitive ladder to reach the umbilicals linking the power cars to the rest of the wagon-train. Not just once, but eight times. And when that task was completed, they did not see him crawl under the curve of the first pair of wheels of each command car and carefully plant something in one of the moulded recesses of the tread at the point where the giant tyres met the earth.
With that crucial task completed, Cadillac made his way back through the herd to the river bank then turned north along the water’s edge to where Mr Snow and his escort stood waiting in the darkness with the horses they were to ride.
‘Are you ready, Old One?’ Cadillac attached the leading rein of the second horse to the one he had chosen to ride.
Mr Snow answered with a reluctant nod. ‘Am I going to have to get on that thing?’
‘No, that’s a spare in case of accidents. You’re going to sit on this one with me.’
‘I’d rather not …’
‘It’s really quite simple. All you have to do is hang on. I’ll take care of everything else.’
Cadillac climbed into the saddle then two of the warriors hoisted Mr Snow up and helped him wriggle into position. Cadillac knew there was no point in asking him if he was comfortable. He leaned down and clasped the hands of Awesome-Wells and Boston-Bruin.
‘We will return when the sun has left the eastern door. You know what has to be done. If each of us plays his part to the full, the day is ours! May the Great Sky-Mother watch over you!’ He raised his fist in response to their farewell salute then urged the horses into a canter.
The darkness closed around them. The two elders gazed at the point where they had vanished into the night until the sound of hoofbeats faded then turned to face each other.
‘Well, my friend, this is it …’
‘Yes, agreed Boston. ‘The big one …’
When the herd of buffalo finally cleared the immediate area around the wagon-train, the enveloping blackness had thinned to a leaden grey. Mason, the junior of the two Vid-Comm Techs cleared the fourth of his favourite video-games from the screen and nudged his partner. ‘Sy! C’mon! Time to re-set …’
Simons struggled to wake up. ‘Whaaa–?’
‘The buffalo … they’ve gone.’
‘Ohh, yeah … okay.’ Simons stretched and rubbed his face then started pressing buttons with fluid movements of his right hand while he used the left to key himself through to his colleagues in the rear command car. A view of the senior Tech appeared on one of his screens. ‘Tony? Lock on a new set of masters.’
‘Wilco …’
The computer at the heart of the surveillance system duly recorded a new master-scan of the train’s surroundings. But the procedure was fatally flawed: the system was not programmed to compare the new masters with the ones made the previous evening. The earlier scans had, in fact, been wiped from the computer’s memory, and because the Vid-Comm Techs relied on the system, they did not remember in exact detail what they had seen on the screens. So although they could see the ground was now covered with hoofprints and scattered dollops of buffalo shit, nobody noticed that the random pattern of trenches had altered considerably.
A lot of them had been filled in …
Hidden from the wagon-train by a fold in the rising ground, Cadillac reined in his horse and used a Tracker torch to flash out a signal. An answering light, high up on the next slope, winked out of the darkness. ‘Nearly there, Old One.’
‘About time,’ grumped Mr Snow.
‘Don’t get too excited. As soon as we get there, we have to ride all the way back.’
‘Brilliant. Whose idea was that?’
‘I’m doing my best, Old One.’ Cadillac dug his heels into the flanks of his mount and led the trail horse up towards the flashing light.
Steve and Night-Fever stepped into view as they reached the campsite. Above them, the canopy of pines stretched away like a threadbare piece of tent cloth, black against the lightening sky.
While Night-Fever led Mr Snow away to fit him out with a set of camouflaged fatigues, boots and helmet, Steve steered Cadillac through the forest in another direction and wound up in front of a camp-fire. Several Bears dressed in captured uniforms stood around it checking their weapons.
Steve, his face and hands washed clean of dye, was already in uniform and had been for several days. Taking the offered bunch of pink finger leaves, Cadillac washed his own face and neck down to the collarbone and both arms up to the elbow. When Steve had inspected the result by torchlight and declared himself satisfied, Cadillac unrolled the bundle of clothes that had been set aside for him and started to dress.
Steve watched him pull on the red briefs and T-shirt. ‘So … how’d it go?’
‘Brilliantly. The Old One’s idea to drive buffalo towards the train worked like a charm. Everybody was able to get into position and there was absolutely no reaction from the train.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me. When you’re on the red-eye shift, that hour between two and three can be a real killer. Did you manage t
o get the –?’
‘The PX? Yes, it’s all in place.’ Cadillac consulted the wrist watch he had taken from one of the SIG-INT corpses. ‘Timed to explode in one hour and forty-five minutes from now.’
Steve slapped his partner’s shoulder. ‘Terrific. Well done. D’you want any help with that flak-jacket – or d’you know where everything goes?’
Cadillac closed the front zip of his fatigues. ‘I think I can handle it.’
‘Okay, I’ll go and round up our pursuers for a final briefing. Excited?’
Cadillac ignored the cold ball of apprehension that had lain in his stomach ever since he had watched Red River roll to a halt. ‘Can’t wait …’
Ten minutes later, the principal players were assembled round the fire. The initial assault group, consisting of Steve, Cadillac, Mr Snow, Cat-Ballou, Purple-Rain, Diamond-Head and Lethal-Weapon were now all dressed as Tracker soldiers. The only things missing were the breast-tags bearing the names and numbers of the previous owners.
Ranged behind them was the first pursuit group, the remaining hundred or so M’Call Bears and She-Wolves who – as far as the Federation knew – had been doing their utmost to catch the runaways. Their numbers had already dwindled due to attacks by the patrolling Skyhawks whose pilots had been given the task of shepherding Malone’s group to the safety of the wagon-train.
The last, smaller group was composed of elders and warriors – representatives from the two She-Kargo and three M’Waukee clan who had moved out of the area around Big Fork and were now posing as the main force of the M’Calls, moving towards the wagon-train in the wake of the first pursuit group.
With Cadillac’s assent, Steve explained the set-up and the planned sequence of events then questioned the leaders to make sure everyone knew what their group was supposed to be doing – and when.
Timing, he emphasized was critical. ‘I’ll just go over the key action again. The horsemen will approach the train in two groups. Cadillac and I will go in first – and we will ride in all the way. The second group of four – Purple-Rain, Diamond-Head, Lethal-Weapon and Cat-Ballou-will come in a little way behind us and will complete the last half of the journey on foot.
‘As they come onto the flat ground, the last three riders will go down.’ He paused and interrogated his audience. ‘Where are the bowmen?’
Twelve Bears stood up.
‘Good. When you get into position, you will see two marker stakes – just ordinary branches – stuck in the ground between the foot of the slope and the wagon-train. We want you to bring the horses down somewhere between those two markers. Not before and not after. The last three horses. Is that understood?’
It was.
‘Take careful aim. It’s vitally important you bring down the horse and not the man.’
The bowmen nodded.
‘Good. You’d better leave now. I want you in position when we ride through. Aim for the head, neck and rear flanks – and make it look good.’
The twelve bowmen melted away into the shadowy gloom of the forest and made their way towards the crest of the last slope now silhouetted against the grey-blue pre-dawn backdrop of the eastern sky. The representatives of the supporting She-Kargo and M’Wankee clans were the next to leave. And as they went off to rejoin their own people, the pursuit group retired to take up their positions for the ensuing chase.
When only the horsemen remained, Steve sent Night-Fever to fetch their visitor who, up to that moment, none of the others had seen. Cat-Ballou and the other Bears reacted warily as Night-Fever reappeared, guiding a masked figure towards them.
‘I have news that will gladden your hearts,’ said Cadillac. ‘Behold! The Old One has returned from the Valley of Death to be with us this day!’ He drew back the tinted visor of the helmet to reveal Mr Snow’s face.
The five warriors stared open-mouthed at the old wordsmith. Shock, surprise, terror, incredulity – their faces reflected the whole gamut of emotions experienced at the unexpected return of a loved one then, with a chorus of joyful whoops and yells, they rushed forward to embrace him.
Steve watching from the sidelines with Cadillac felt a twinge of envy. You had to be a pretty extraordinary individual to inspire that kind of affection and respect. And it must feel good to be on the receiving end. He saw his partner’s tear-streaked face. ‘Cheer up, it’s not over yet.’
‘Not for you and I perhaps – but this is his dying-day.’
‘You think I haven’t thought of that?’ Steve’s voice cracked with emotion. ‘I don’t want to lose him any more than you do but I’m saving the grief until it happens. You were wrong about the date once. You may have got it wrong this time too.’
‘No. I have seen the iron-snake looming over me just like the vision in the seeing-stone. This is the place! This is the day!’
Steve hid his emotions under a cold veneer. ‘Yeah, well, it’s your dying-day too.’ He saw Cadillac’s frown and explained: ‘Time for you to send your last message as Malone.’
Using the temporary video hook-up that linked the task force’s base in the cargo skip to the command car, Wallis screened himself through to Commander Fargo. ‘Malone just came through. His group are still in one piece. They’ve sighted the wagon-train and are making their run in. Can we get a camera on them?’
‘We can when they break out into open-ground.’
‘They’ve also asked for air cover.’
‘No problem.’
‘Good. We’ve got some valuable people out there. I’d hate to lose them.’ Wallis rubbed his red-rimmed eyes. ‘We’ve got to save something from this fiasco.’ He heard the klaxons sounding up and down the train, summoning the crew to ‘Action Stations’. ‘Is there anything my team should be going?’
Fargo gave another of his skull-like grins. ‘No, just relax. This could be your lucky day.’
Yeah, it could, thought Wallis. Except that you needed more than luck when you were working for AMEXICO. And there was something else which Fargo had said which struck him as rather odd. ‘Just relax.’ At a time like this? The man was an idiot…
Commander James Fargo was, of course, far from being an idiot. For the past hour, he had been privy to a piece of information that Wallis – for tactical reasons – had not been made aware of.
Leaving the horses in the care of Cat-Ballou, Steve crawled to the top of the slope with Cadillac and focused the viewer on the wagon-train. Although some of the trains were fitted with different types of external cameras and aerial arrays, they were all built to the same basic design and camouflaged in the same pattern of red, orange, light ochre and brown. But there was no mistaking the insignia on the side of the nose, and the code letters RVR.
Steve felt a surge of excitement spiced with a delicious dash of mortal danger. This was it. Big Red One. The idea that they were about to break open the flagship of the Federation really set the adrenalin flowing.
Cadillac explained where the Clan M’Call were now hiding in readiness for the main assault then said: ‘I left the approach to the three middle wagons clear on this side of the train to give us room to ride in without stepping on anybody’s toes. That okay …?’
‘Yep …’ Steve swept the whole length of the train one more time then collapsed the viewer and slipped it back into the pouch on his left sleeve. ‘I’ve seen all I want to see.’
‘Then let’s get out of here,’ said Cadillac. ‘Look! They’ve put a Skyhawk up!’
They wriggled down out of sight then got up and ran back to where the Mutes were waiting with the horses. Mr Snow was already riding pillion behind Cat-Ballou. Steve’s mount was nose to tail with Cadillac’s and as they swung up into the saddle, their eyes met.
‘This could be tough on you,’ said Cadillac, ‘Are you going to be able to handle it?’
Steve shrugged. ‘Had no problem at the Heron Pool.’
‘Yes but they were dead-faces. These are –’
‘Sand-burrowers,’ said Steve. ‘And we’re Mutes. So let’s go for it
!’
The main camera towers, mounted on the roofs of the front and rear command car, zeroed in on the first two horsemen as they came over the rise and down the slope at a furious gallop. A few moments later, four more horsemen appeared. One of them had a passenger seated behind the saddle, his legs flapping as he bounced up and down.
Seven riders. Malone had started his run with eight. Who had fallen on the last stretch?
A twin-boomed Skyhawk soared into view over the slope, flew over the riders then banked right and headed west in a shallow dive.
Up in the saddle of the wagon-train, the pilot’s voice came out of the speakers on the main console. ‘Blue Nine to Red One. This looks like the main event. The home team has upwards of a hundred Mutes on its tail and behind them, advancing on a wide front, are at least five columns – all heading this way. They’re running loose, spread out over two or three miles. If you want us to break this up we’ll need more birds in the air.’
Captain Jack Cullimore, the new Flight Operations Exec, responded. ‘Red One to Blue Nine Roger. We’re going to nail three to your tail. Take ’em down and show ’em the town. But leave a few for us, huh? There’s some guys back here just itching to get into the ring.’
This raised a few broad grins among the command staff. Cullimore keyed himself through to the flight car and spoke to Section Leader Sam Petrie. ‘Sam! We got some heavy action west of here. Put up Knox, Harding and Eiger. Tell ’em to touch base with Ebbets in Blue Nine. He’ll lead ’em in.’
‘Yess SURR!’
‘First two horsemen closing fast!’ yelled a Vid-Comm Tech. ‘Range now three hundred yards!’
The wagon-master turned to the First Systems Engineer. ‘Lower the ramp on Number Four, Mr Wyatt.’
Steve and Cadillac saw the ramp come down and make contact with the earth. They could hardly believe their luck. The ramp was almost exactly opposite the approach avenue prepared by Cadillac.
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