The First Love Of Alipang Havens

With Dave piloting the single-engine plane, Emilio looked below as they passed over that area of the city which lay between the Merchandise Center and the storefront church. Suddenly he shouted, “Veer off!”

The Ranger leader shouted this because, in the streets below them, he had spotted some thirty men in camouflage uniforms of a design unlike anything used by Diversity State police agencies. They could not be other than enemies. Dave’s responsive evasion was barely in time. The hostiles on the ground had no rail guns or missiles with them, but small arms put holes in the plane’s right wing as it dodged to the left.

“The advance party must have called for more to follow by the same tunnels!” Without speaking, Dave nodded, and kept the plane on the far side of buildings from the Aztlano infantry, while Emilio called Natrona by cognitive radio to tell Brianna Wallace as much. Acknowledging this, Brianna asked, “Do we scramble the Condor?”

“Negative. Enemy presence in Casper not immediately threatening any vital objective, and we _must_ keep Condor in reserve. But have you got that rail gun I retrieved mounted on a truck yet?”

“Expect another fifteen minutes, counting time for charging its accumulator to power it.”

“Roger that. Can’t say if they plan to move against Natrona. They must know that the armored thrust failed. If no further orders from me, hold rail gun to defend airfield; but we might need to use it for counterattack in Casper. Try to raise other units in comms, find out if anyone’s free to converge on the city. Also find out what you can about any open movement of additional troops from the Colorado side.”

Emilio felt still more of the unremitting strain of trying to defend a large territory, with hardly anything, against unknown numbers of adversaries. Dave saw to avoiding enemy gunfire, while Emilio both watched the ground and listened for new reports on the radio. No good news had yet come, when Emilio _saw_ something that sparked hope.

Along a street which led in the direction of The Church of the Faithful, a group of people who clearly _weren’t_ Aztlanos was advancing. Emilio guessed them to be Grange volunteers; two had bows, anyway. Emilio couldn’t raise them by radio; but they had to have heard the shooting, so they would not be unaware of the enemy’s general whereabouts. A moment later, two more figures came into sight, on another street, where neither friendlies nor hostiles on the ground would yet see them. These two men Emilio could identify even from high above: one stocky and bearded, the other tall and very long-haired.

Even if there had been a place where Dave could land the plane right away, Emilio still had to try to keep the defenders coordinated. But he knew that Alipang and Henry would not be easy to ambush; and he could help them there. “Dave, give the gangsters another buzz, draw their fire, make them reveal themselves!”

Ranger Swims-In-Flood brought the plane low enough that, although passing at a perilously close range, it would only be in line of sight for a very brief interval. The gamble paid off: the latest firing by the enemy missed, and the direction Dave took was meant to distract them from looking toward either the first Grange group or Alipang and Henry.

= = = = = = = = = = = =

Neither Floyd Barrington and the four girls with him, nor Alipang and Henry, failed to recognize the light plane as one belonging to the Texan detachment; and they heard the renewed shooting. Floyd, not having spotted Alipang and Henry, judged it best to take his team on a wide detour; but from where the Filipino and the Apache stood, it was nearly a straight line to where Eric Havens’ cry of pain had come from.

Alipang might have tried to locate Floyd’s party first, if the agonized voice had been a stranger’s. But the distress of his adoptive father awakened in Alipang the fury and might of the ancient Moro blood which he had received from his otherwise-worthless birth father. Henry’s Apache blood responded to the same battle-call.

“Henry! I know the rear entrance to the church! You draw their attention in front, without needless risk, while I get around behind!”--and the Escrimador was on his way.
 
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(This completes the current chapter, anyway)

Arriving in view of The Church of the Faithful, pausing at a corner of an opposite building, Henry was stationed at an angle where he could just see that two men were looking out the church’s western windows, presumably because they had heard the gunfire from that direction. All right, then my attention-getter should be the more startling for them.

No one seemed to be looking out the front windows. Having given Alipang a moment to reach the back of the building, Henry took the chance of running up quite close. A rock would have been handy to throw at one of the front windows, but he had none. So he knelt as low as he could while still being able to use his bow, and sent an arrow through a front windowpane at a rising angle, hoping that this would ensure the arrow _not_ hitting the very man he and his friend were trying to rescue. Then he counted to five: surely long enough that Alipang would be breaking in the back door as Henry went for the front....

= = = = = = = = = = =

Alipang was nearly thwarted at the crucial instant, for the building’s rear door was a steel door; and despite the usual Enclave practice of keeping doors unlocked, this door on this day happened somehow to BE locked. But he remembered his super-hard balisong blade, and used it to sever the _hinges_ of the door. That was enough weakening, that the door could be torn loose and tossed aside by a Moro in full berserk rage.

The front window had already been smashed by Henry’s arrow before Alipang got inside, but he moved fast enough not to lose the benefit of the diversion. Bounding from the back room onto the pastor’s platform, he beheld his foes -- and his father.

Eric Havens was to his son’s left, and wore a tourniquet around his right forearm. One man was watching him -- the same, had Alipang known it, who had held Eric’s arm in place for the impromptu amputation. Eric and his guard were the only men who happened to be looking toward the head of the sanctuary; thus, the first to see Alipang coming in. The Aztlano, who seemed to have laid aside his rifle, raised a pistol; but Eric swung a leg, sweeping the thug’s feet out from under him. The gunshot was wasted on the ceiling.

From there, everything accelerated. Alipang put an arrow through the forehead of the next man who seemed ready to shoot at him; at the same time, Henry burst in the front door and shot two more, again selecting the most immediate threats. Dashing toward his father, Alipang made sure that the enemy next to him was out of action, by putting an arrow through that man’s stomach as he tried to retrieve his dropped pistol. Then Alipang and Henry, as if with one mind, dropped their bows and waded into their surviving enemies with knives and axes, Henry uttering his best approximation of an Apache war-cry.

Not one of the Aztlano hoodlums was able to get a shot off to any effect -- excepting one whose rifle was knocked aside by Henry, so that the bullet struck another Aztlano instead. The center of the church sanctuary was deluged with blood, but none of it was Alipang’s or Henry’s. Less than one minute after Henry’s diversionary window-breaking, the only enemies alive inside the church were the one wounded by a comrade’s bullet, and the worse-wounded man lying beside Eric.

Vinu Dandekar lay in the midst of his men, his brain spilling out of a skull split by Henry's axe.

It would have been much harder for the two Grange huntsmen if they had had to contend at close quarters with one of the strength-enhanced men prepared in Aztlan by the enslaved scientist Nora Daley. Unknown to Alipang and Henry, one of these had been in the enemy's tunnel-scouting party; but that man's giant strength had not protected him from the buckshot that Eric Havens had put through his femoral arteries.

Without needing a suggestion, Henry dashed to one of the same western windows from which the raiders had been looking before, and scanned for any new hostiles coming into sight. Alipang grabbed up the dropped rifle of the bullet-wounded Aztlano, more to keep that man from using it than to use it himself, and returned to his father’s side.

For a man who had never been called to be a warrior in the physical sense, Eric Havens was showing now, late in life, what strength was in him. He was fully coherent as his son knelt to examine him. “Al, don’t drop your guard... might be others.”

“We’ll be all right, Dad.” Fresh from killing enemies without a qualm, the descendant of Moro fanatics wept now at the sight of his father’s mutilation.

“So will I,” gasped Eric. “The hand’s the only thing, and they tied it off quickly. I can tell I didn’t lose a fatal amount of blood, or my head wouldn’t be so clear. But what about the girls, the ones who went with Rosa?”

“They got away, Dad; you saved them. Now keep still, while I--“

Alipang was interrupted by the stomach-pierced man: “Die! Die! You have to die!” As he groaned these words, he was trying to draw a belt knife. “You killed Clemente! It had to be a trick! You couldn’t-- beat him--!”

Alipang stared at his enemy; all at once, the man’s face became familiar. It became the face of a gangster who had assaulted the Pansit Paradise Restaurant on a bygone Christmas Eve; and the identities of that night’s criminals, determined later by the police, popped back into Alipang’s brain. “Do you mean Clemente Pasquale?”

“I do, Alipang Havens! I’m Raul Pasquale of Los Coyotes Gordos, Clemente’s brother!” Getting his knife clear of the sheath, he tried to lift himself off the blood-soaked floor. “You couldn’t beat him fairly, and you can’t beat me! No one can defeat The Race!”

Remembering his toughened skin, courtesy of Doctors Verble and Swift, Alipang closed his left hand directly on the the belt knife's keen blade, easily pulling the weapon out of Raul Pasquale’s grasp without harm to himself. “I don’t have time for this! But _you_ have all eternity to have your nose rubbed in how _wrong_ you are!” Flipping the confiscated blade to put the hilt in his hand, he served the younger brother the same death he had given to the elder brother: a throat cut open like a melon. Then, lacking time to detach the sheath it had come from, he slid the knife down beside Chung Sun-Kim's arrows in his quiver, likewise recovering the arrow from Raul Pasquale's stomach. Henry, meanwhile, had finished off the other wounded Aztlano. Alive as prisoners, they would have been a risky encumbrance; alive and free, they could have set their friends on Alipang and Henry’s trail. Dead and in Hell, they would make no more trouble.

Gunshots were audible from outdoors, but these seemed to be moving away, not closer.

Alipang slung his captured rifle behind him; hoisted his father onto his shoulders as if he weighed nothing at all; and retrieved his bow. Henry also helped himself to a rifle, and they fled the church by the way Alipang had entered. Seeing no hostiles on that side, they ran for their lives. Only after they had covered many blocks -- coming near, in fact, to the neighborhood of Eric’s own house, though this was no refuge for them now -- did Henry urge Alipang to let him take Eric for awhile. As he was transferred onto Henry’s shoulders, the injured man rasped out: “Al, you killed a defenseless man.”

“I executed a murderer, Dad. His life was forfeit, and he had no right to enjoy any revenge for his gangster brother. If it had been _safe_ to spare him, I might have, assuming he even did live after that gut shot; but his life had NO claim on me, compared to your life.” With that, the three Americans were on their way again, leaving behind not only a dead Raul Pasquale with his revenge unattained, but also a dead Vinu Dandekar not getting to offer Eric Havens to his leaders as a captive to torture. They never did see where Eric's severed right hand had gotten to.

No war has only one or two heroes. As Alipang and Henry would learn later, the reason why they made it cleanly away was the fact that, together with Emilio's actions in the air, Floyd Barrington and the girls with him had lured the Aztlano reinforcements into chasing them. Floyd’s party also escaped in the end -- but not before the girl carrying Ladira Garvey’s crossbow put a bolt through the neck of one pursuing invader. For Mrs. Cantu.

Leaving Casper on a northeast line, Alipang and Henry beheld a sight too good to be true, but it was true. Terrance and Harmony Havens, unable to endure not knowing what was happening to their father and elder brother, had borrowed horses and come riding down from Teapot Creek as fast as they could without harm to their mounts. Once aware of the situation, Terrance dismounted and lifted their father onto his horse. “Get him back to the camp,” he told his sister; “I’ll stay with Al and Henry!”

“All right,” Harmony replied reluctantly; “but don’t _any_ of you guys go and get killed!”

As Harmony turned back, leading the horse that carried her father, Alipang noted that his younger brother had come without weapons in his haste. “There just _aren’t_ many weapons to be had, thanks to our noble government,” Terrance explained with a shrug.

“Then take these, you have some training with them,” Alipang told Terrance, detaching his quiver and handing it over with Sun-Kim's bow. "Careful with the quiver, there's a spare knife inside it, with no sheath." He also removed his left-arm archery brace and handed it over as well. He had only bothered using it at all as a precaution, in case the slap of his bowstring might come down just _outside_ his area of toughened skin.

“Shall we see if we can take some scalps?” Henry invited.

 
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Chapter 139: Reductio Ad Absurdum

In Beijing, on a hotel floor set aside for diplomatic personnel from the Diversity States, diplomatic personnel hovered in limbo, unsure if there was any more Diversity States to represent or to go home to. The most prominent Americans awake at this early morning hour were Benito Salazar and Reltseotu Smith, who sat in a holovision lounge watching a Brazilian newscast.

President Megavolt Atkinson had been given refuge at the Chinese Embassy, a place no one would dare to attack. From there, she was trying to persuade someone in Aztlan to accept her surrender, along with her doubling and tripling of past apologies for the way the evil horrible old United States had caused all the world's troubles all by itself. The Vice-President was missing. The Great Lakes Muslim Cantonment was negotiating with Canada for independence, the Diversity States no longer being relevant. Texas _was_ a de facto independent country by now, taking two-thirds of Oklahoma and a section of Louisiana with it. The Northwest Federal District was begging to be annexed by Canada, post-haste, before Aztlan began sending troops north from California.

The inhabitants of the Western Enclave not only were holding off their Aztlano attackers, but had even managed to restore near-normal electrical power to the rest of the D.S.A., greatly alleviating conditions for common citizens even amid the present chaos. Fairness Party bureaucrats in the district governments, though bereft of top-level guidance, were giving themselves credit for ending the brownout -- something which, so far, the Brazilian streamcasters were not contradicting. It was just that Reltseotu and Benito themselves knew who _really_ had the brains and guts to have done something about that emergency.

"Do you think Mexico will intervene today?" Benito asked, feeling a need to say _something_ amid his fear and powerlessness.

"I should think they would," replied Reltseotu beside him. Not yet having had all her delusions bludgeoned out of her, she followed this by saying, "Mexicans know as well as anyone what harm is done by white-supremacist neo-Nazis, so they'll surely move to set things right for the oppressed bronze peoples."

Benito, himself as Hispanic as they came, suddenly snorted. "What the _fluke_ are you talking about, Relly? Are you watching the same news I am? Those are 'bronze' people _doing_ the oppressing! And if Mexico intervenes, I hope to Gaia that they'll be doing it for _humanity,_ not for a scragging skin color!"

Reltseotu took three long breaths, then said, "Benito.... if this isn't about what I've wanted it to be about.... if the Aztlanos _aren't_ poor victims of white Christian imperialism.... if _they're_ the unprovoked aggressors.... then everything you and I have built our careers on--"

"--Is garbage, and always was, and you always _knew_ it was!" barked a manly voice from behind the sofa. Reltseotu and Benito turned their heads, to see two men with a strong military bearing, though one, a white man, was in civilian clothes. The one in a uniform was the familiar Lieutenant-Colonel Yang Sung-Kuo; the other, who had just spoken, was unfamiliar to Benito. But Reltseotu, to her intense discomfort, recognized Brendan Hyland, once of the United States Marines, now a Nigerian citizen.

"Don't bother opening your mouth, Miss Maggot," Brendan added. "You deliberately lied about me and my men when we repelled that Neo-Marxist offensive. You deserve to go down with your joke of a government; but for the sake of civilians who are a lot more innocent than you are, someone's about to offer you and the Dead-Worm-City States a way out."

Yang Sung-Kuo's face was a stereotypical Chinese deadpan, showing no sign of even having heard Brendan. But precisely as Brendan stopped, Yang said mildly, "Ambassador Salazar, Ambassador Smith, if you'll come with us, you'll soon find out what is the offer being extended to you. And Ambassador Smith, I recommend that you allow Ambassador Salazar to do most of the talking. Not because he is male, but because as an individual he seems to possess more brain cells than you do."

Benito spoke up at this. "May I ask whom we're going to see?"

Yang looked at Brendan. "That isn't for me to decide, but I see no reason for keeping them unaware."

The secret-army agent nodded, then faced the diplomats again. "You're going to meet with Thomas Guduza of the African Union. And when you hear his proposition, you'll probably be surprised at how much it pleases you."

 
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A nearby hotel was home base for those diplomats who represented the African Union and its individual member states. Thomas Guduza, who spoke for that alliance as a whole, occupied the penthouse. Lieutenant-Colonel Yang escorted Brendan, Reltseotu and Benito to the express elevator, then excused himself. The final glimpse Reltseotu had of the Chinese officer's face gave her the impression that Yang understood, and was amused by, her fear of the warrior whom she had premeditatedly slandered.

But Brendan Hyland not only did not boil her in oil right there in the elevator, he didn't even look at her. Arriving at the penthouse level, Brendan went first to the security door and presented both his irises -- the new irises from his tissue regeneration -- to the iris reader. The door opened, and he beckoned the two diplomats to follow him in.

Thomas Guduza had a proper patriarchal air about him. One other black man, many years younger, was with him. Benito, who had paid more attention to his actual job than Reltseotu had ever done, recognized the younger man as readily as he recognized Secretary Guduza.

"Ambassador Westmore! Pleased to see you!" A sidelong glance advising him that his colleague was staring blankly, Benito told her, "He's the Liberian Ambassador."

Reltseotu made the best recovery she could contrive. "Oh, of course! Mister Ambassador, Mister General Secretary, please pardon me; I've been preoccupied with studying ways to reconcile the racial hatreds and the outbreak of fighting in North America."

"Shut up," said Carson Westmore flatly. "We don't have time for your gutflak. Sit down. You too, Ambassador Salazar." His tone was less harsh toward Benito, but Benito was scarcely less nervous for that. Brendan stood silently behind the chairs in which the American diplomats now seated themselves. Westmore looked at Guduza, who took over.

"If we wished you harm, we need only have asked the Chinese to ship you back to the D.S.A., where you could learn exactly how gracious the Aztlanos intend to be in their presumed victory. Presumed by them, that is; they may have some surprises coming. But to pave the way for the surprises, we have to deal with global opinion: a mindset which you and your Fairness Party have promoted for as long as you've been in business. For you to understand what is entailed, I must present a lesson in _your_ country's history: its _actual_ history, which you have tried not to know and tried to prevent others from knowing.

"The United States of America was founded, more than anything else, on an _idea:_ the idea that individuals had value, and that a government was morally obligated to respect the people's rights. Whatever systemic flaws were present at the start, the root idea possessed such moral force that it could grow and expand, until the flaws were corrected. You totalitarians of the Diversity States have mouthed empty words about being for the people, but you have at every point been _completely_ aware that you were lying. You never had any other intention than to be a ruling elite."

Reltseotu could not believe that her own largely African ancestry counted for nothing with Thomas Guduza. She sputtered, "But, but, the slave trade! Segregation! Inequality! Genocide!"

"Listen carefully, Miss Smith. I don't even say Citizen Smith, because there's doubt now of your _having_ a country to be a citizen of. So listen. There was not one injustice committed within, or by, the United States in its history, which was not equally committed, or even more so, by many _other_ nations. But most of those other nations never had the _honesty_ the United States had, to _confess_ their faults and try to make amends." Guduza cast a glance at Westmore, who had something to interject:

"You probably don't even know this, but my own country was _created_ by the United States. It was a colony of liberated slaves, which was why they _called_ it Liberia. One example of Americans trying to undo the harm they had done."

"In contrast," Guduza resumed, "to the Turks denying their genocide against the Armenians; the Japanese pretending they didn't oppress the Koreans; the French pretending they didn't help the Nazi invaders to round up Jews; the Chinese denying that they did any wrong to Tibet; or today's Aztlanos, claiming Aztec heritage, and brazenly _defending_ the Aztec tradition of human sacrifice."

Brendan felt a need now to add one point of his own. Leaning close above Reltseotu's shoulder, he muttered, "In some of your past propaganda diatribes, with reference to the United States, you have resorted to the platitude that 'It's the winners who write the history books.' But you knew, or you could easily _have_ known if you'd bothered to find out, that _losers_ were allowed to write history books in the United States. Native Americans, Mexicans, Soviet Communists, all had free access to the American audience, all were able to tell their side of events. But you didn't want to give us any credit for that." He looked back at Guduza, as if to say he was finished. The General Secretary nodded at Brendan, then looked at Reltseotu again.

"As Lieutenant Hyland says, there was a love of truth in the American system, which persons like you didn't want to acknowledge. Yes, the Johnson administration lied about the Tonkin Gulf incident; yes, Nixon covered up Watergate; but those leaders _didn't_ send secret police to arrest or kill everyone who _denounced_ their corrupt actions. The real suppression of dissent in America only began building up as the nation began changing into the very thing _your_ movement wanted it to become."

"I admit it!" Benito Salazar suddenly exclaimed. "The Fairness Party _was_ dishonest from the start; we _lied_ on purpose about the character of the United States. We needed to, because if the people understood what they already had, we could never have persuaded them to discard it in favor of our system. But we believed... I should say, we flattered ourselves... that the proletariat would be happy under our wiser leadership."

"So instead," replied Carson Westmore, but in a voice which did not seem to be condemning Benito, "you created a social order which _neither_ gave any justice to the common people, _nor_ had the resolve to defend them against being conquered by an even _worse_ dictatorship."

"Like it or not," said Guduza, "the same dishonesty is widespread all over the Earth today. People in many nations, no, _most_ nations, have chosen to convince themselves that the United States was extraordinarily bad, for the sole and only reason that they _envied_ its prosperity and strength. It's like Cain in the Bible resenting his brother Abel for no just cause. They ignore their own wrongdoing, and inflate in their minds all wrong that America ever did... because they don't _want_ to believe that America did anything to _earn_ its advantages. This toxic mixture of self-pity and self-deception persists even now, when there _isn't_ any more United States.

"Because of this, any steps we take to rescue the people of the Diversity States will have to _avoid_ looking as if the _United_ States is being rebuilt. Otherwise, we'll face too much opposition, both in the United Nations and in the Western Hemisphere Union. The Liberian government came up with a suggestion which I think is actually daring enough to work. Ambassador Westmore?"

The Liberian smiled at the American diplomats. "Because of the link my country has with the former United States, we will propose in the General Assembly that all territory of the former United States which is not otherwise under a stable government... shall be placed under the authority of Liberia. We will keep you out of Aztec-Maoist hands, by annexing you ourselves."

Now Guduza smiled also. "Call it slave reparations; your faction in America always did like to talk of such things. The petty, spiteful detractors of the United States will be happy with the symbolism; but in objective reality, the American people will be _returning_ to something resembling what their parents enjoyed but didn't appreciate enough." He looked past Reltseotu and Benito, at Brendan. "After all, a great many American Christian expatriates now live in Africa, and they've been encouraging our own better side to assert itself."

 
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When Monica Sotero made her debut appearance at the Bi-Continental Assembly of the Hemispheric Union, she scarcely needed to bother with the race-card justifications that Secretary Guduza was planning to apply at the United Nations. Media outlets were doing this for her. The Oneness Channel and the Collective Network, along with the rest of the Diversity States propaganda system, had fallen apart when authorities turned their attention to outdoing each other at surrendering; but Brazilian, Canadian and other journalists were able to link into the streamcast mechanisms for the stricken country, to inform the D.S. proletariat of the sea change. And almost every commentator performed the same routine: pointing out that the first President installed in the Diversity States by the Fairness Party had been WHITE. The second President being black seemed irrelevant, since long-time editorial hacks were fixated on spinning the latest events as racial justice being done.

Still, Monica wanted all the help she could get; so, when it worked in her favor and in favor of Texas, she could live with socialist-minded reporters claiming that the Texan Secession was all about race. Her thoughts flying Heavenward to her husband Pablo, she took the podium. But she was NOT going to add any definite lies herself.

"My fellow inhabitants of the Western Hemisphere, I stand before you as a Hispanic woman--" (pause for cheering) "--who has been elected by persons of ALL colors, to be the first President of the new Republic of Texas." A midair projection of her new nation's outline appeared above her head. "As you can see, portions of what used to be Oklahoma and Louisiana have joined their fate to ours. My first act as President of Texas is to appeal to you all, to ask all of you to give your approval of Texas establishing the borders you see indicated, and your approval of Texas becoming a free and equal partner in the Mexican Alliance!"

Mexico's President Andreas Garcia, sitting with his own delegation, was the first to rise to his feet, making for a standing ovation. Ricardo Formentera, the Aztlano delegate, was the only person to vote against recognizing Free Texas with its modestly enlarged borders, while just a few abstained. The Venezuelan bloc joined Aztlan in opposing the new nation's entry into the Mexican Alliance, but the yes-votes outnumbered them.

President Garcia warmly congratulated President Sotero, and said the obligatory things about brown people and the righting of alleged wrongs; but he himself realized that it was an IDEA which had just prevailed, not a genetic racial grouping. And to consolidate this victory, he hastened to make a call to Mexico City's major air force base. It was an order to proceed with a predetermined plan: to place a squadron of Maquihuitl fighters, and a squadron of Great Condors, at the disposal of the Texans. The pilots in these squadrons would all be United States expatriates with air-combat experience; President Garcia refused to do any juvenile pouting over the fact that many of these were Anglos.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The plane in which Samantha Ford, Zimmo Garland and several other movie people had fled from the Enclave had had just enough fuel to reach the same upper-class resort in Iowa where Chilena Salisbury and her family had found refuge. For her first day and a half in the former Amana Colony, Samantha had tried to raise the morale of her companions by predicting that the heroic Aztlano liberators would soon restore the collective spirit, chasing away the evil capitalistic business corporations which had corrupted the Supreme Court and many members of the Presidium. The repairing of severed electrical connections in Amana, allowing the recently-restored power to flow in, made her feel vindicated for this prediction.

Then the word reached the refugees that Canada would be approaching the Hemispheric Union for permission to annex what had once been the states of Washington and Oregon. This worried Samantha, since she felt Canada could not be trusted to be collectivist enough in its governance. But the claim to autonomy made by the Great Lakes Muslim Cantonment made her feel better, since it ensured that the Muslim proletariat would avoid the danger of being taken over and enslaved by racist Nazi Christians. Then the United Nations approved the absorption of what was left of the Diversity States into the sovereignty of Liberia, and Samantha forgot her fleeting admiration for Aztlan. Zimmo had pointed out to her that Aztlanos had murdered some of their fellow show-business professionals; but Samantha had hesitated to shift verbal allegiance until she had someone else non-white to favor. Now, she exulted that the wise, warm-hearted Africans would rescue her homeland from the evil capitalistic business corporations which had corrupted the Republic of Aztlan.

With a little good karma, Samantha might be the one to get everyone in Africa playing Equalityball.

Her optimism was destined to endure for exactly the time it would take for news to reach her that privately-owned business firms from Africa would be involving themselves in reconstructing North America.

 
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Acting on behalf of her new President, Texas Ranger Commandant Brittany Pierce welcomed the new air force which was being given to her as a housewarming gift by the Mexican Alliance. The Maquihuitl fighters were organized as the First Air Superiority Squadron, and the replacement Great Condors were the First Tactical Air Squadron. Ranger Lieutenant Sally Pitt assumed responsibility for furnishing logistical support to the new air assets. Later would be soon enough to decide whether this aviation wing would remain subordinated to the Rangers, or be set apart as a separate Texas Air Force, leaving the Rangers to concentrate on land and water activity.

By Saturday night, the American-expatriate fliers and their aircraft were primed and ready to carry the fight to the aggressors. The Mexican Air Force loaned them two fuel-tanker planes, with four Mexican-subordinated Maquihuitls to protect these. The Texan jet and helicopter squadrons both split into half-squadrons for the mission. One half-squadron of each type set out to strike military installations in those parts of Aztlan closest to Texas. Their job was made easier by the havoc that Colt Finnegan and Greg Jessup had already inflicted on the enemy. The other half-squadrons had much farther to travel tonight; the tankers were along for their benefit.

Interceptors belonging to the Aztec-Maoist government in southern Aztlan scrambled to try to stop the Texan assault. All they accomplished was to allow their adversaries to demonstrate why the cutting-edge fighter design was called Maquihuitl. The ancient Aztec weapon for which the airplane was named was a length of hardwood shaped like a sword, with its cutting ability provided by sharp teeth of obsidian along both edges. Corresponding to those volcanic-stone teeth, each Maquihuitl carried eight drones, which would be released at the pilot's discretion, and eventually retrieved if both drone and parent aircraft survived. There were three options for equipping the drones: with a three-shot laser beam, with two compact air-to-air missiles, or with an electronic warfare suite to confuse the radar, guidance and communications systems on opposing airplanes. The drones incorporated the latest friend-or-foe systems to prevent them from attacking their own side. This design concept represented an attempt to deal with the modern robotic emphasis in air combat, while still retaining human pilots who could exercise human judgment. At the pilot's disposal besides the drones were two belly-mounted extreme-range air-to-air missiles, defensive countermeasures, and a variable-aperture six-shot particle beam.

The Great Condors on this close-range mission carried all ground-attack ordnance, apart from their rotary cannons counting as air-to-air weapons. They relied on the Maquihuitls for protection from Aztlano fighters; and the Maquihuitls came through for them. Not one Texan aircraft was destroyed, though the helicopters took some damage from ground fire and the fighters took some damage from the Aztlano fighters. When the mission ended, five military sites in southern Aztlan were in flames, and every Aztlano jet that had challenged the Maquihuitls was either annihilated, or crippled and forced to make an emergency landing.

The surviving Aztlano pilots swore that there had been at least forty Texan jets, shooting at them from every possible direction. Their counterparts up in Colorado, Nevada and Utah were destined to fare no better.

When the farther-travelling component of the air operation had visited similar devastation on its targets, the tankers replenished fuel for everyone (including their own Mexican escort jets, which had not engaged in combat except defensively). Then they all turned back toward Texas -- except for the half-squadron of Great Condors, which had purposely kept some of its ammunition in reserve. These helicopters then went into stealth mode with their blur-projectors, and continued north, to come to the aid of the Western Enclave.

When word of this disastrous turn of events reached the palace and the bed of Emilio Formentera and Jessica Trevette, Jessica's first words to her lover were unprintable.

Since he understood her anger to be directed against their enemies, Emilio replied to her gently: "We still have our last card to play. Los Bucaneros have their contingency orders; I'll get them started at once."

Jessica nodded. "No time to lose. They'll have to cross the Northwest District before Canada takes possession there, if they're going to make it to Yellowstone Sector."

"They'll make it, querida. And when we can threaten to set off the Yellowstone supervolcano and blow up the whole continent, everyone will back down. We'll show them that we're the ones who know how to play to win!"
 
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Chapter 140: Volcanic Vector

Los Bucaneros had come into their own. Aztlan's ramshackle air force had by now lost nearly all of its fighter jets to the overwhelmingly superior Maquihuitl fighters, just as most of their armored ground vehicles had been destroyed by the Enclave's resourceful defenders. But as the faint first light of Sunday morning touched the east, mere propellor-driven airplanes promised to salvage victory for The Race.

A certain Colonel Ramon Ybarra, in being assigned to lead this mission, had been hastily promoted to Major-General by El Presidente. The boost in rank was to distract Ybarra from thinking about the way he might end up dying.

Felipe Contreras was on board one of the former U.S. Coast Guard seaplanes: not as its pilot, but as commander of a rifle squad that would be involved in securing the area surrounding the Yellowstone Sector geothermal plants. As they flew in from the Pacific to sweep low over Oregon, the very fact that they were seeking to sneak past before the Canadians occupied this region made him think about Canada. He was remembering the day when he had acted as a courier, meeting those haughty, stuck-up Diversity States diplomats, Cassandra Jefferson and Samantha Ford, at a resort in Canada. They had held him at their mercy that day with an Executioner Virus, while taunting him with the sight of their bodies, treating him as a nobody.

Felipe would have liked very much to have those women at HIS mercy now. But as for that, he would also have liked to detour north to Seattle, to blow up the headquarters of the ridiculous All-Species Council, where the ridiculous Tim Govinda had presumptiously spoken against bullfighting.

A man can't do everything at once. But once we hold this hemisphere by the throat, the gringos will be begging us to TAKE their women, if only this will appease us and prevent us from exploding the supervolcano.

He had spoken of this very thing with his men. From time to time, they glanced out the windows of their plane at the two larger planes flying in the center of their formation. These aircraft carried the penetration bombs which were to be jammed into the volcanic steam vents around which the Yellowstone power stations were built. The bombs weren't nuclear; they didn't have to be. All they needed to do was uncork the supervolcano.

Long intoxicated with hatred of everything and everyone daring to defy The Race, Felipe had been able to convince himself that he was not a bit afraid to die if El Presidente's bluff was called and the strike force DID go ahead and blow up North America. He would live on in the Solar Influence, his machismo radiating through the universe. The same confidence, he knew, motivated two fellow Aztlanos, doctrinaire Aztec-Maoists, who were furnishing cover to the north. Flying two old jets which had been scraped up by the Party, these two pilots had the proud duty of challenging any Canadian fighters that might come from the north to intercept the Bucanero planes. In such an event, the Aztlano fighter pilots would be killed, probably without even being able to do any damage in return; but it was hoped that they would keep the Canadians busy long enough to help the airborne troops get into Yellowstone Sector.

Felipe and his compadres would not need any escort for a return flight. Either they would die in Yellowstone, as every living thing in North America and many in South America died with them; or they would be strutting conquerors, free after this to come and go as they pleased.

When it became apparent that no Canadian jets were coming, the two Aztlano jets, also on a one-way flight, redirected their one-way flight toward North Dakota Sector, to strafe any town they could find before their fuel ran out. Then the fanatical aviators would land wherever they could and take their chances on the ground, having drawn attention away from the Bucanero mission.

The propellor planes crossed Oregon airspace into Idaho airspace, making steadily for Yellowstone.
 
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Alipang, Terrance and Henry had spent Friday afternoon and evening playing a vengeful hide-and-seek with the invaders -- of whom another platoon's worth had come north via the tunnel which communicated with the Merchandise Center's basement. It had begun with arrows and bullets, picking off Aztlano troopers from cover as opportunity allowed. When Henry had run out of arrows, he gave his powerful yet user-friendly Everstrain bow to Terrance, enabling the teenager to be more effective while continuing to play his role at long range; for sturdy and courageous as Alipang's younger brother was, he had never before fought anyone to the death hand to hand. With darkness approaching, the Apache and the Moro intended to resort to close-up slaying.

Floyd Barrington's group had at last met with Alipang's, just long enough for the less-warlike team to pick up what news their friends had, leave off spare arrows for Terrance, and then clear out. Alipang's group saw nothing more of the remnant of the armored column, but did at one point hear distant explosions, and guessed that the Texas Rangers had finished off that threat one way or another.

Terrance, commanded by his elder brother to take no reckless chances, had kept the enemy occupied awhile by sniping, using his arrows sparingly until he ran out. He did wound three hostiles in the course of this diversion. Then he had fled headlong to his secondary assignment: to find and borrow provisions from houses in Casper, since he and Alipang and Henry were going to need food at some point. Alipang had chosen four locations around Casper, in descending order of probable safety, as potential rendezvous points.

During the time of Terrance's sniping, Alipang and Henry had made preparations to set a series of non-residential buildings on fire. There had not been time, when rescuing Eric at the church, to search their fallen enemies for infra-red vision gear; but they had no doubt that the Aztlanos did have such equipment. Consequently, the two Grange men didn't intend to begin close-up sneak attacks until there were fires blazing to make their body-heat silhouettes less noticeable for sentries.

This plan, in short, worked beyond all expectations. Between eight p.m. and midnight, Alipang and Henry slew nine Aztlanos between them. Henry actually did scalp two of his four victims. He didn't bother keeping the gory trophies; it was enough that the other invaders would see the scalped corpses, and hopefully would be at least a little intimidated.

With exhaustion creeping up on them, Alipang and Henry finally disengaged... carrying with them additional weapons taken from their dead foes. They found Terrance at the second hideout; he served them food, then kept watch while they slept.

Although not in communication with the Grangers, the nearby contingent of Commerce Inspectors gained boldness when made aware both of the guerrilla-style strikes against the invaders within Casper, and of the Texans using the rail gun captured by Emilio Vasquez to disable the last Aztlano armored vehicles. While Alipang and his comrades were recovering strength, the Commerce Inspectors took on the Aztlanos in a firefight in the center of town. The Commerce Inspectors retreated after four of their number died, but they also had slain some of their adversaries.

Meanwhile, Forest Ranger Mark Terrell saw no more point in his remaining at the rear when a war was in progress. Avery Glass, Osmawani Jalil and the other civilian leaders were doing well enough at helping the Energy Undersecretary to hold Rapid City together. So Mark, with Dana and Whiplash, rounded up available officers from the multiple police bodies, and flew in a Transport Police plane (with only enough fuel to fly one-way) to the western frontier of the Enclave. Their purpose was to reinforce the handful of Grange hunters, led by Gabe Ellison, who were trying to block up the breach an Aztlano force had made on that front. For although the first thrust from the west had been foiled, there was no guarantee that a much larger enemy force would not come in that way -- the more so since the force from the south was faring so poorly.

On Saturday morning before full daylight, Alipang, Terrance and Henry slunk out of Casper, leaving it awash in flames. The Aztlanos not only had not put out the fires Alipang and Henry had set; in frustration at not catching the nocturnal counter-raiders, they had made the juvenile gesture of starting more fires. These acts of arson deliberately claimed vacated homes... and the Church of the Faithful.

North of Casper, Alipang's party found where a Transport policewoman was supervising civilian volunteers in tearing up railroad tracks, to prevent the invaders from pressing northward by that means. The policewoman was able to inform them that the Texas Rangers, during the night, had made their last sortie with the Great Condor until more fuel and ammunition might become available. Fu Hai-Sheng and Vesta Jackson had used the Condor to rout the remainder of the Aztlano forces besieging the Gas Hills uranium complex. Lieutenant Vasquez had allowed himself to see personally to his father-in-law being provided with adequate medical care -- at the same north Wyoming infirmary where Alipang and Henry had been treated for chemtrail-gas overdose, back while the place had belonged to Overseers. No one had condemned Emilio for doing this, because he had done it only after the invasion was clearly blunted, and he was soon back on duty.

Aztlano infantry was still marching in through the southern breach in the Enclave perimeter; now it was scattering as it came, to meet stealth warfare with stealth warfare. Aerial recon had shown that now the Aztlano reinforcements even had at least one holographic camouflage apparatus like the one used against them at Beartrap Meadow.

"We need to be in on that," Henry told Alipang. The warrior dentist then quickly told his brother in turn, "But not you. You've got nothing to be ashamed of if you head back for Teapot Creek now. You've done well, but Mom and Dad mustn't lose both of their sons." Terrance yielded reluctantly to his elder brother's will, and started back for the refugee camp. It was a slight consolation to him that, in going, he could take with him the surplus firearms Alipang and Henry had collected, so these could be added to the railguns Peter Tomisaburo had delivered there, making that camp the more able to defend against any assault reaching that far.

Terrance also carried verbal messages from Alipang and Henry to their loved ones. Just in case.

Thus, at the time when Los Bucaneros were beginning their gamble farther north, Alipang and Henry were with Texas Rangers and Forest Rangers, combatting the Aztlano reinforcements in the south.
 
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In a firefight that was more like urban warfare than anything Forest Rangers were accustomed to, Lyra Bender's force finally shot its way into the power station that tunnel-using infiltrators had captured. It had been a bitter fight; Lyra had started with fifteen Forest Rangers under her command, and six had died and three received serious wounds before they forced the entrance. Once inside and able to use them, the Rangers tossed the frisbee-like sonic stun-grenades ahead of them around corners and over obstructions.

By the time they captured the main control room, one more Forest Ranger had perished; but they saw no more living Aztlanos, except those knocked cold by the sonic devices. Bill Shao of the Energy Department was with the Rangers, to inspect the condition of the plant. But he didn't get the chance to perform his function.... because no one in his party had thought to look UP.

This control room happened to be designed with a high ceiling. Two big ceiling girders were directly above the group which had just recaptured the power plant. No one without special equipment should have been able to get up to those girders--

Unless it happened to be someone with an artificial strength enhancement, his legs rendered just strong enough to do a phenomenal high jump.

The first intimation Lyra Bender's party had that one enemy still was active, was when a brawny man who wore an Aztlano uniform, but who did not look Hispanic, dropped straight down from the ceiling, his booted feet descending on the shoulders of one male and one female Forest Ranger, smashing them to the floor.

Lyra Bender was quickest of the others to react. Swinging up her rifle, she almost got a shot off; but almost wasn't good enough. The strongman grabbed her gun barrel, yanking it past himself, so that when the gun did fire, it fired into Bill Shao instead. Lyra had no time to regret this in mortal life, because a granite-hard fist was already striking her in the face, so hard that her head snapped back and her neck broke.

Three other Rangers were still on their feet, but none of them succeeded in putting a bullet into their ambusher either. Between his gorilla-like strength and a machete he drew from his belt, he had killed them all, and finished the two on the floor, before they fully understood what was happening.

Vitaly Khloponin, formerly Commander of the Campaign Against Hate, then shattered every control panel in the place, while disregarding Bill who appeared to be dead. Next, the big Russian found one of his surviving companions who seemed nearest to waking up from the sonic stun, and carried this man outside with him. Shooting the three wounded Forest Rangers who had been waiting near the Rangers' two overland vans, he asked his companion, "Are you recovered enough to drive one of these?"

The Aztlano trooper was recovered enough; so Vitaly told him, "Then go back in, wake up our other survivors, and load them in the second vehicle. We're finished with this objective, and I want to be in on the big stroke, up in Yellowstone. You have your g.p.s.; follow me when you're ready." And the sometime ally of Carlos Anselmo, now a minion of Emilio Formentera, got in the first overlander and started driving.

Lying in blood and pain, but with the presence of mind to keep up direct pressure on his own gunshot wound, Bill Shao played dead convincingly enough that the Aztlano survivors took no notice of him. When they were gone after what seemed forever, Bill fished his dataphone out of a pocket, and called for help.

This, too, was occurring around the time when Los Bucaneros began flying their circuitous route for Yellowstone Sector.

 
Seven horses were trotting -- the best compromise between speed and endurance for a horse -- through fields and woods, west of the Big Horn Range. Two of these horses were carrying Agriculture Ombudsman John Wisebadger and his wife Lynne; two others were carrying the Forest Rangers Fastrada Bowdrie and Iago Carrasco; two more were carrying the horse-ranching couple Blake and Dorcas Hanley, who had provided all seven horses for this expedition; and the seventh horse carried Doctor Irina Stepanova. This group was making rounds of the farms and camps where refugees from the south had been hastily relocated, to see what needs the people might have.

Fastrada and Iago, having both rifles and pistols in their possession, had decided enough was enough of keeping exiles defenseless. Ripping out the DNA sensors from the grips of their sidearms and reconnecting the firing mechanisms, they had given these weapons, with the available ammo for them, to Lynne and Blake. John declined a gun in favor of arming his wife, whom he had taught to shoot back in the days before mandatory defenselessness; for himself, he still had his bow.

So far, all was as well as it could be during a barbarian invasion. Then the dataphones carried by both Forest Rangers registered Bill Shao's multi-channel distress call. Iago took the call, to learn that the injured Energy Ombudsman was within galloping distance. They accordingly set out galloping for the power station that Lyra Bender had been besieging: anxious to help Mr. Shao, and sorrowful at the deaths of Lyra and her companions.

As they topped a rise of ground on the way, they sighted a Forest Ranger overland van two kilometers to the west of them, heading north. Three minutes later, they sighted an identical vehicle, following the first and seemingly in a hurry to catch up. There was nothing they could do about this themselves; but Fastrada put out an alert to all friendly forces, that Aztlano raiders had stolen two Forest Ranger vehicles and were moving in the direction of Yellowstone Sector.

Arriving at the corpse-littered power station, they sought out Bill where he lay in the control room. For the same reason as Blake and Lynne being given firearms, Irina had by now been provided with government-grade medical supplies. In short order, with Dorcas Hanley's assistance, she ascertained that the bullet had passed through Bill; bandaged both entry and exit wounds; and plugged an intravenous feed into her patient, administering plasma first while they re-hydrated a packet of freeze-dried blood in Bill's type. To this, Irina added a small dose of cardiac restorative. Meanwhile, the two Forest Rangers, with Blake, John and Lynne, scouted outside in case any hostiles remained in the area. It had taken no time at all to be sure that no friendly survivors were to be found outside the plant.

Soon Bill was in stable enough condition to give instructions, and he insisted on doing so. While Fastrada and Iago stayed outside on guard, Bill directed the others in assessing the damage to the generator controls, the better to facilitate repair when technicians could reach the scene.

= = = = = = = = = = =

When the Energy Undersecretary was made aware of the raiders driving toward Yellowstone Sector, her mind leaped ahead to what this could mean. Merely capturing control of electrical supply could just as well be done among the power stations which were more easily reachable for the Aztlanos. But the _definition_ of "easily reachable" could change; and she _had_ been wondering why they had not seen more of Aztlano aircraft....

Putting out her own multi-channel call, she requested that _any_ defending force able to get up to the Yellowstone geothermal plants, do so immediately. This done, she put on body armor for the first time since the day she had personally shot Nash Dockerty dead. _Ordering_ the Distribution Undersecretary to stop hiding in caves and make herself useful in the Enclave capital, the Energy Undersecretary commenced rounding up whatever defending force _she_ could find to go to Yellowstone.

One unexpected volunteer turned up: Osmawani Jalil. "I did get _some_ firearms training while I was in the Pinkshirts," she reminded the Energy Undersecretary. "And this is my best chance to repay you for saving my life when my, ha ha, lover took me as a shield."

"If you put it that way, you're in. And by the way, since there's no telling if my government title will even _exist_ after today, you might as well start calling me by my actual name."

So it was that Energy Undersecretary Karen Milligan deputized Osmawani Jalil. Then she rounded up the Commerce Inspector office workers, who were the only members of their organization still in Rapid City besides their commander (whom she told to keep the Distribution Undersecretary from slacking off). One of these rear-echelon Commerce Inspectors had a pilot's license and could fly their plane. As with Mark Terrell's flight to the western perimeter, this would be a one-way flight due to fuel shortage. But if the Aztlanos were up to what Karen Milligan suspected, there might not be any home to return to if they weren't stopped.

Apart from exactly one Forest Ranger named Hal Quigley who was already stationed near the geothermal plants, and some Energy Department workers being issued unfamiliar pistols, Karen's party, such as it was, was destined to be the only defending force to reach the geothermal plants before Los Bucaneros did.

The Chinese had gotten through to Peter Tomisaburo with a message telling that the Aztlanos were pulling an airborne end run; but no one Peter was able to contact had an aircraft with the fuel left to fly up to Yellowstone. Texas Ranger Bob Chesterton at Natrona was working to transfer unused fuel from Brianna Wallace's disabled plane to smaller craft, but this was taking time; Frodo Von Spock was the only worker who could be spared from airfield protection to help him in the procedure.

= = = = = = = = = = =

Emilio Vasquez's helicopter Number 343 had finally received makeshift repairs to its landing skids, and had finally gotten its particle beam recharged. With Natrona Airport secure for the present, Emilio retrieved his newly-charged anti-gravity device, then took Ranger Glenn Souter with him in pursuit of the raiders in the Forest Service vans.

Flying at his top speed through the near-dark sky, and knowing the probable route of his quarry, Emilio eventually overtook the second of the stolen vehicles. When the Aztlanos opened fire on 343, Glenn returned fire with his rifle, only to have his right shoulder fractured by an enemy bullet. This made it No-More-Mister-Nice-Guy time for Emilio, who turned the invaders beneath him into charred meat with two shots of his particle beam. The van rolled over and lay smouldering.

The nearest medical aid for Glenn that Emilio knew of was at the same power station from which the report of the stolen vans had originated. As quickly as he could, Emilio went there, left his wounded Ranger in Irina's care, and resumed pursuit of the leading getaway vehicle. He had one particle-beam shot left.

But Vitaly Khloponin, having some inkling of what had befallen his comrades, had not waited to be roasted to death in his turn. Abandoning his ride, he had made off on foot, using all available cover.

During the night, Khloponin stumbled upon a lumber camp which had been set up not long before the invasion, to provide employment for some of the "clockwork oranges" lately integrated into the exile population. These men being programmed not even to _try_ to defend themselves, Khloponin amused himself with murdering them, then helped himself to everything useful that he could carry away, and continued northward. He would not sleep in any spot where avenging foes were likely to find him.
 
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Around the time that Energy Undersecretary Milligan was heading to join Ranger Quigley's little contingent, Grange volunteer Sumerico Bivar, and one lately-recruited Grange girl named Eleanour, had their hands full rendering emergency care to all the _other_ surviving members of their scouting party.

These Grangers had been plugging the defensive gap over toward Thermopolis, riding back and forth to spot any raiding detachments. They had spotted six hostiles near a small electrical substation; these hostiles had apparently come this far via some of the utility tunnels. Alertness, and a practiced awareness of the nearest cover, had saved the Grangers from being wiped out in the first volley from the Aztlanos' automatic rifles. Most of their _horses_ had been mown down, a loss to be grieved; but the invaders had made the self-flattering mistake of assuming that the _riders_ had perished with their mounts. In fact, only one exile man had been killed, with another one wounded but able to function. The Grangers had then waited for their enemies to come closer, and cut loose with arrows when the over-confident gunmen were too close to miss. A shot from Sumerico had felled the big man who seemed to be in charge, and the other Aztlanos had fallen as if they were dominoes lined up after him.

But when Sumerico's party advanced in turn to collect their adversaries' weapons and gear, the big man had sprung up as if not hurt at all -- despite Sumerico's arrow visibly sticking in his lung. Grabbing at the first archer in reach, who was the only woman in the party besides Eleanour, he had literally and horrifyingly torn her head _off_ of her shoulders. A man alongside Sumerico, paralyzed with disbelief at this, died next, from a diagonally descending hammer-fist blow that shattered his collarbone and his neck. The remaining exiles had frantically assailed the strength-enhanced man -- for that was what he was -- with their knives and hatchets. All except the sixteen-year-old Eleanour, who froze in fear. The younger men all received injuries from the opposing behemoth, who was only stopped when Sumerico sank his knife into the big man's kidneys and ripped with all his might. They hacked at him further even when he was unmistakably dead, afraid that he might spring up yet again.

Sumerico was left to direct Eleanour in keeping the other survivors alive, and to tell her that no one, even their dead, would blame a girl so young for being terrified. When she could be spared from paramedic duty, he would send her off on the last unwounded horse, to find competent civilians who could come out and transport the casualties to shelter.

This was the contribution that the oldest active Grange huntsman in Wyoming Sector made to the defense of the Enclave.

= = = = = = = = = = =

It was late Saturday night when Mark Terrell's party, having been obliged to leave its plane on lower ground, arrived on foot at the perimeter breach above the recreational trail. Gabe Ellison greeted them. While Gabe's Irish Setter Clementine and Mark's Border Collie Whiplash were cordially sniffing each other's butts, Gabe updated the senior Forest Ranger:

"We were able to install three new infrasonic mines inside the fence, to replace the ones the Aztlanos knocked out when they first penetrated. Those will be activated when we're done. We've gotten a good steep-sided pit dug out on the outside of the breach, so they won't be able to use any vehicles in a new assault. The limited light's made it slow work assembling a framework with razor wire, but we'll have it in place shortly. The other Grangers and I have been taking turns picketing the far side, in case the Aztlanos try to ninja through. Close to my turn again; but it wouldn't be bad to have your people with _guns_ in on that."

Fred Yoshiwara, the only Forest Ranger among the new arrivals other than Mark and Dana, started through the gap at once. Another man, one of two Transport Police besides the airplane pilot they had left behind, followed Fred. The other Transport officer was the same abrasive woman who had behaved belligerently toward the _Texas_ Rangers that time at Ellsworth Airfield; Mark had had to take whomever he could get. He assigned her to assist in completing the razor-wire barrier that was to be set up covering the breach. The one Commerce Inspector to have come along was a much more cooperative woman: one of those who had behaved amiably toward Josiah Redfern during his Enclave sojourn. This woman joined Mark, Dana, Fred, Gabe, one other Grange man, the Transport policeman, and the two dogs, to fan out on the west side of the fence, as their Granger friends completing a tour were coming back and being recognized.

By Mark's orders, the two urban-type cops in the guarding group kept in the center, venturing only a little way beyond the breach and finding cover. Mark, Dana and Whiplash moved off on the southern flank, the direction most likely to be toward the nearest enemy troops. Fred, Gabe, Clementine and the additional Grange man scouted the northern flank. They moved as silently as possible, using all available concealment, choosing to assume that any invaders in the vicinity would have night-vision equipment, as the three Forest Rangers did.

Whiplash was the first to detect a threat. The wind was northerly, so the collie didn't _smell_ enemies; but his upgraded brain could expertly interpret all _sounds_ he heard. Nudging his master's leg with his snout, twice rapidly, he then began tapping the same trousered leg with a forepaw. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap: Whiplash reckoned that there were nine enemy soldiers ahead of them. The ninth tap was quickly followed by the paw rubbing against Mark's leg in a fashion which, in a past generation, would have been compared with crushing out a cigarette. This signal was meant to suggest someone or something very big.

Mark uttered a soft bird call, Indian style, to alert the others, even as he drew his wife down behind a boulder with him.
 
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The other side opened the festivities. These Aztlanos were lusting for revenge, for many of their compadres had fallen to the defenders' railgun fire on the first attempt to break through. One of the two major weapons they still had was now brought into play: a rocket-propelled grenade, launched at the rocks behind which the two center-position police officers were crouching.

These rocks, though cracking apart, absorbed the force of the explosion. The Transport man and the Commerce woman rose and opened fire. It was uncertain what damage they inflicted on the enemy.... before the _other_ major weapon possessed by the raider squad showed itself.

Rather, showed himself.

A hefty log flew through the air at the uniformed officers, knocking them down. The log tilted in flight in such a way that more of its force descended on the Commerce woman's head.... fracturing her skull. The Transport man survived, with a concussion.

But these casualties did not fail to buy something for their side in return. As the Aztlanos charged for the breach, their attention straight ahead, Gabe Ellison's double crossbow snapped twice, and two invaders were seriously wounded by the bolts. The other Grange man also put an arrow in one of the attackers. When the Aztlanos looked to their left, Mark and Dana opened fire from the other side, each killing a man.

Then it was an ugly gunfight. The defenders had to duck down more because of the attackers' greater firepower; but the Aztlanos were spraying their bullets from a more exposed position. Meanwhile, the defenders on the Enclave side of the fence, unable to add their fire without the risk of hitting friendlies, took cover too.

The men wounded by the Grange archers kept on shooting until Fred Yoshiwara picked them off, though not before Gabe was shot in one leg while cranking up his crossbow. Fred himself took four bullets in his right arm, thus having to get off his last shot left-handed. Clementine was wounded also. The second Grange man downed another enemy with his bow, Then Mark and Dana killed another enemy apiece, but Dana suffered a grazing bullet impact across her face. This accounted for all of the raiders--

--excepting the worst of the lot, the man who had flung the log: another product of Nora Daley's laboratory. As Mark was turning to help Dana, this man descended upon him like an elephant in full charge. The uninjured Grange man put an arrow in the strongman's back, but this didn't stop him. Whiplash was there, fastening his teeth in the man's left forearm; but the Aztlano, seeming not to feel the bite, swung the collie like a club to knock Mark sprawling. His right hand then reached for Dana, meaning to wring her neck.

A Grange woman, who had come off-watch before and joined the barricade workers, sprinted through the gap and tried a hard kick to the strongman's ribs; she too got knocked over by a swing of the still-attached collie. But the added ripping effect to the man's own arm crippled that arm. When Whiplash went for the invader's throat, the invader could use only his right arm to defend his throat. Unfortunately for Whiplash, one super-strong hand was enough. When this hand closed around Whiplash's snout like a muzzle, the collie's lower jaw was dislocated as he was flung off.

The dog's counterattack had gained time for the Grange man beside Gabe to charge across also, stabbing the hulking soldier between the shoulderblades with his hunting knife. The strongman smashed his newest opponent to the ground, and yanked the knife out of his own back. He turned again toward Dana--

--just in time to see Mark, on his feet again, bring up his rifle. Jamming the gun right into his foe's abdomen, Mark fired. Howling in agony, the man fell back, dying; but as he fell, he threw the Grange knife with demonic accuracy.... into Mark's chest, where it sank to the hilt.

Dana, her face bleeding, hurled herself on her husband, trying to stop the gush of blood. Mark lived long enough to say to her, "Dana... trust Jesus... He'll bring you... home to me, when..."

Then he was gone.

Everyone from the other side of the fence was on the outside now. Some had gone straight to the other friendly casualties to render aid. Those gathering around the fallen Ranger Terrell beheld not only Dana weeping hysterically over her man; they also beheld the unexpected reaction of the Border Collie.

As if unaware of his own injured jaw, Whiplash stared intently at his master, as if seeing something that was invisible to the humans. His tail suddenly wagged; then he lifted his head slowly, his eyes seeming to follow the ascending movement of something only he could see. When he was gazing straight up into the night sky, Whiplash repeated a gesture which some had seen him do in the past: he lifted a forepaw and brought it up above his eyes, in a remarkably human-like salute.

Dana, at least, understood what Whiplash had seen, or rather, _whom_ Whiplash had seen departing to the beyond.

= = = = = = = = = = =

When Undersecretary Milligan arrived at the geothermal site, Hal Quigley met her, prepared to follow any orders she would issue. The first thing Karen Milligan did was to allocate her defending force. Ranger Quigley and the people he had already armed would all guard Spirit Smoke, the first-completed of the two geothermal plants, while the new arrivals would guard the second, which had been dubbed Thundering Mist. Karen then supervised electrical workers in rigging electrocution plates inside and outside every entrance to the two power stations, as a surprise for anyone trying to break in.

The defenders were as ready as they could be when, at first light, rumbling propellors became audible to the northwest. When the Bucanero planes flew over, they dropped some kind of bombs or grenades on the power stations. The explosions didn't hurt any of the defenders, but inflicted property damage. "I guess they're not interested in taking these intact!" Osmawani exclaimed to Undersecretary Milligan.

Neither were Los Bucaneros interested in keeping their own planes intact. Their pilots made whatever landing would leave themselves and their passengers alive. Soon, they were advancing in skirmish lines. Major-General Ybarra did not bother involving himself in this action. Staying over near Old Faithful where the bomb-holding tower was to be set up, he focused his attention on the radiomen who were assembling his field radio station -- for the broadcast of his apocalyptic ultimatum to North America.

With her dataphone active, Karen Milligan could be heard by the defenders in Spirit Smoke as well as those with her in Thundering Mist. "Make every shot count, friends. And if anyone feels like asking God to protect us, I promise I _won't_ have you arrested for hate speech."
 
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Eric Havens was not dying, it only felt as if his right arm was doing enough dying for his whole body. There was no pain medication available for him, but Kim finally managed to find the correct acupuncture points which could block the blazing pain in her father-in-law's arm. All the pain, that is, except the phantom pain which Eric's brain insanely reported as coming from the severed hand.

Cecilia stayed by him all Saturday night at the former Overseer facility, drinking the bitter cup of helplessness in the face of her true love's suffering. But Eric found distraction in the very effort to ease HER distress. "I guess... this is my... punishment... for every mistake... I ever... made with... drilling or... extraction. Only... the Lord's aim... is off a bit."

This was one time when Cecilia did not scold her husband for making bad jokes.

Meanwhile, Peter Tomisaburo received a new message from his Chinese superiors. It informed him that the Chinese intelligence service had uncovered information on exactly how the Aztlanos planned to explode the supervolcano if not getting their way. They would assemble a prefabricated tower, like an oil-well tower, directly over Old Faithful or some other geothermal vent, and stack their ground-penetrating bombs atop the tower. Plunging straight down one after the other, these bombs would (at least in the opinion of the Aztlanos) penetrate deeply enough to release the whole magma pressure of the western half of North America.

In view of the worsening situation, the Chinese had already tried to dispatch aircraft of their own to intervene; but the computer sabotage from their own fanatical enemies had caused still more aviation accidents when they tried. Canada's government was dithering in disbelief, while Alchatka still was recovering from the war it had endured. But one thing Beijing HAD been able to do was contact the Commerce Inspectors' leader in the Enclave, so that she would find some vehicle that was not yet out of fuel or electrical charge, in order to get Peter out to Yellowstone by morning.

For if he could get close to the enemy's proposed bomb-dropping tower, his micro-whip would be able to topple that structure, so that even if the bombs still detonated, their force would not be properly concentrated. Then, God willing, their force would NOT be enough to set off the supervolcano.

Lucinda, Victor and Adrienne were not at all happy about this plan; but neither did they relish the thought of almost a quarter of the entire planet's population suddenly dying.
 
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A Note To My Readers

As I get closer to the end, the tying up of plot strands gets more difficult.

From the moment I first conceived this novel, I knew that Alipang and Kim were going to be stuck inside the Enclave.... and I was expecting to keep THE ATTENTION OF READERS mostly confined inside there as well. Sort of an echo of Corrie Ten-Boom's "The Hiding Place." But anyone reading the true, real-world story of Miss Ten-Boom has the advantage of ALREADY KNOWING what World War Two and the Nazi Holocaust were. It's different when you set a story in a future year which, by definition, HASN'T HAPPENED YET.

I found that the dystopian world of the Diversity States and its fraudulently-named "Campaign Against Hate" could not just be ASSUMED. There had to be scenes "outside the fence," SHOWING what had become of the world. This meant I could portray what had become of characters from the first book like Brendan Hyland and Lori Purdue, at the same time as introducing many new characters like Denise Heathcock and Yang Sung-Kuo. But it ALSO meant lots of stuff happening that my central hero could not play any part in, BECAUSE he was imprisoned inside the darned Enclave.

Now that the story-universe time is running short, I need to figure out how Alipang can become IMPORTANT to the climactic action, without it seeming ridiculously artificial and forced. And guess what? Literally WHILE writing this note to my readers -- I've gotten an idea which I think will work!
 
You're perfectly right in principle, Holly. But in practice, "The Possible Future of Alipang Havens" has been the LEAST advance-planned of all my novels. Well, except for all the others. But seriously, folks, this near-future saga just assumed a life of its own and ran away with me.
 
Chapter 141: An Amish Apocalypse

In Los Angeles, Emilio Formentera and Jessica Trevette were summoned out of bed by El Presidente's sister Lupita. "We need to move, pronto! The Navajos and Apaches are being stirred up against us!"

The young dictator had managed to go to sleep without knowing a final outcome to his planned threat to blow up the Western Hemisphere; but Lupita's words roused him to alarm. The Aztec-Maoist Party had always treated Native American peoples other than Aztecs and Mayans with contempt; and if Apaches, Navajos, Comanches, Pimas, Utes and other mistreated peoples now saw an opportunity to avenge themselves, they would not wait to find out whether the Yellowstone supervolcano was detonated.

"Lupita, how much do you know?"

"A transmission came from Colonel Escalante: a _brief_ transmission. Before someone stopped him, he managed to report that Navajo and Apache elders had come together to hear an offer of support from the Mexican government. And the offer was being relayed to them...." Lupita herself looked sick with disbelief, but forced herself to continue. "The offer was presented to the tribes by.... Sunki Pavatea."

Jessica, alias Jacinta, spewed curses in English; her lover and his sister ignored her. "He _can't_ be alive!" cried Emilio. "I'll kill him!"

"More likely, his friends will kill US if they catch us," Lupita snapped. "We've diverted so many men to the invasion, and lost others to those air strikes..."

Jessica now reverted to Spanish, offering words more helpful than her initial cursing: "Tribes closer to us will probably rise also. We need to escape to where we DO still have some loyal forces left -- the Enclave!"

Emilio nodded. "You're right. Lupita, round up our family members and favored servants. Jacinta, see that Nora Daley and other science personnel are brought along. I'll get my personal jump-jet ready to fly, and have its associated air detachment made ready to get airborne with it. We'll join our front-line troops in Wyoming; and we'll put on an optimistic face, as if we came up there because we simply _felt_ like it! If the volcano plan works, it won't matter what that ____________ Sunki does, as long as his friends can't get their hands on us!"

"Shall I call ahead to the invasion commanders?" asked Lupita.

"Yes, but make sure they know not to tell the muchachos about our new rebellion. And get hold of Dandekar and Khloponin if you can; find out what they see going on."

As Lupita hurried to get the Presidential household moving, Emilio paused and grunted angrily. "Sunki must have been spying for the gringos all along -- and faked his death! But if HE was a spy.... then maybe that woman Amalita, and her technician boyfriend...."

"Think about them later," Jessica told him. "We need to stay ahead of events now."
 
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