We got back on our vehicles and continued in a northerly direction, following the all-too-clear trail left by the caravan of vehicles that had taken John.
It took ten minutes of hard driving in the steadily rougher terrain, maxing out at speeds around 30 MPH, but usually closer to 15, as we wound through the rough foothills to the west of a small mountain I didn’t know the name of.
Officer Jacks signalled a halt as we approached a point where the trail we were following crossed a wide, shallow patch that resembled a dry riverbed. The tracks of the vehicles veered to the right, heading east up the riverbed, into the heart of the foothills. A couple more young men that I hadn’t seen before emerged from the shadows on either side of the riverbed, rifles in hand. They were clearly scouts who had been left behind.
Herne leaped off of his vehicle as soon as the engine stopped and began asking questions of Officer Jacks and the scouts. He quickly determined that this was the only place that vehicles like the ones the bad guys were using could come back out and that none had returned this way since. He also found out that the riverbed was wide enough and flat enough for quite some time for those vehicles to able to go at least a couple of miles back. One of the scouts offered that they knew of an old abandoned mining facility near the back of the canyon that included an old house that had doubled as an office and several old storage sheds.
The sides of the canyon were fairly shallow here, but they quickly got much steeper, until only the riverbed and a small strip above it on either side were navigable by any kind of vehicles. There were a number of small pine trees and bushes clinging to the sides of the canyon, but the bottom was pretty much plucked clean by the miners and the occasional flash flood when it rained hard.
Herne took control of the situation quietly, but firmly, directing the young warriors to stow their bikes and the ATV’s on either side of the mouth of the canyon, half to a side, and all facing outward, for an easy escape, should it be necessary. He then starting picking men for various assignments.
“I want you Officer Jacks, and your partner, to remain out here with a couple of men who have the largest caliber weapons. I want some big rocks and debris thrown into the riverbed, not enough to block it completely, but enough to force any vehicles coming back down it to run a gauntlet that involves a lot of swerving from side to side. If you can’t see who is driving the lead vehicle, and the headlights don’t flash from brights to dims three times, I want you to take out the engine block, aim for the radiator, in this heat, no vehicle will last long losing water. Also, take out the tires if they keep coming at you. Don’t shoot to kill unless absolutely necessary, we don’t know who these guys really are, and we are no longer on reservation lands, so your tribal authority is rather limited here.
“I need six really good shooters to climb the sides of the canyon, three to a side. Your jobs will be to spot and stop any snipers they have in place up high, and also to take out the tires of any unknown vehicle that tries to head this way. When you shoot at snipers though, you need to make damn sure you are taking out a bad guy. Don’t play around with those guys either. If they are raising a weapon, aim to kill. We’ll sort out the legal mess later. I can assure you that you will have the full assistance of my organization if there are any legal consequences to our actions today.
“Agent Bones here will take the lead down the canyon, driving his ATV at a slow, steady pace until the shooting begins. He is our decoy. I expect that they know he is coming for sure, and will try be looking to lure him in. What they won’t expect, is me and couple of you to follow with me. It’s gonna be our job to take out anyone trying to trap Rusty and to help find and extricate John once we get inside. That’s about as much of a plan as I can put together at this point.”
One of the young warriors spoke up, concern in his voice. “Won’t they be shooting at Agent Bones?”
“They might,” replied Herne, “but I am guessing that this whole thing was set up to get him here, for whatever reason they want that. If they do start shooting, that’s when our snipers will take them out. Don’t worry about Agent Bones here though, from what I have read, he’s taken a few bullets recently, and he’s only a little uglier for it. I don’t know if they have a weapon that can really hurt him. Do you Agent Bones?”
I nodded. “Well, if they have any RPG’s, it could cause a problem for me, but somehow I think you are right, this whole taking of John probably happened in order to get me here. They wanted me to come to his rescue. I know that the Haitian man, Papa Locks is a powerful priest, he might be the only person stronger in the Spirit Worlds than John, so be careful using any magick here, especially if it involves leaving your body. He is an expert in capturing and torturing souls.”
Herne’s face turned grim, “We’ll see about that, he might be strong in the Spirit Worlds, but he’s in my element now. Speaking of that, I can tell he, or someone else, has set up some wards to warn against intruders into this canyon, but the wards are weak, and are permeable by non-human animals, which gives me an idea.”
With that he went back to his ATV and pulled out a battered leather sack from his field backpack. He pulled out a number of pieces of what looked like bones and pieces of horn or antlers. Taking out his knife, he began carving runes of some sort into each piece, muttering in a strange language that rolled from his tongue in seemingly endless waves. As he finished each piece, he called over a specific young warrior, or one of the reservartion officers and handed it to them, telling them what the donor animal was, ranging from an elk to bighorn sheep and even a mountain lion. When he finished giving out all of the pieces, retaining one for himself (excluding only myself), he explained.
“I have given each of you a token from an animal native to this area. Keep it in your hand as enter the canyon, when you feel it warm up, you are passing through the wards. These tokens should mask your human nature, as long you are not speaking when you are crossing thorugh and you make some attempt to move in the less direct, less purposeful nature of your token animal. I doubt that whoever set up these wards is sensitive enough to really examine each animal crossing through them. Once the piece cools down, stick it in a pocket until you need to cross through them again. Of course if the shit hits the fan like I think it will, we won’t be worrying about the wards on the way out.
“Rusty, there’s no way I can mask you when you cross through the wards, but then again, we want them to know you are coming. Once we get ahold of John, we need to get the hell out of there.
“Snipers, I want you to shadow us up the canyon, and back out again. We’re gonna give you a head start to get into position about a click down each side, once Rusty passes you, try to keep pace, but primarily watch out for their snipers. You should be higher than they are, and they should be watching the canyon floor, but be careful.
“If anyone is injured, or goes down for any reason, take out the token I have given you and either touch it to your wound, or whisper my name into the token. I will make sure we get you some help. If you are killed, I will be able to find your body.”
One of the young warriors spoke up, looking unsure as he held the token in his hand, “Mr. Clarksson, what if you are killed or hurt, how we gonna get help then?”
Herne grinned, “Son, you don’t need to worry about that. There isn’t a man who’s ever put on a suit who can see me in these kind of settings unless I want him to see me. From the sounds of it, these guys are city goons, guns for hire more used to dealing with traffic than Nature. I am confident that we have the advantage in both skills and surprise. You boys have been hunting and tracking in this land since you were old enough to walk. These city slickers don’t stand a chance.
“Now, I want the sniper teams to start up into the hills. Remeber your token animals.”
Sunday, March 06, 2005
On the Warpath...Part 1
The excitement among the young men grew tangibly as we made our way on foot across the two-lane highway and into the broken scrub of the nearby hillside. What would have been a brisk five minute walk was over in less than three as the men bounded up the hill, each breaking his own path through the loose dirt, slippery stone and tough little bushes that tried in vain to stop our progress. The youngest looking warrior reached the top of the hill first, held up his rifle in triumph and let loose a bloodcurdling yelp that was echoed by another seven eager voices as they themselves topped the hill.
Down at the bottom of the other side of the hill, a small collection of ATV’s and crosscountry motorbikes waited. The young men swarmed down the hill in a rush, yelping and shouting as they did, in a way that must have sent shivers down the spines of many ancient foes.
Soon, the excited voices of the men were joined by the alternating roar and sputters of the many bikes and ATV’s. Dust began to fly as tires spun, the sputters of idling engines were replaced with sounds of gunned motors.
There were four ATV’s altogether, two for Officer Jacks and his partner, and one each for Clarksson and myself. The motorbikes were apparently for the young, which only seemed appropriate.
Officer Jacks stood up from his seated position once his ATV was running, and made a circling motion with his right arm, finishing in a sweeping motion towards the north. The other officer led the way with the first ATV up the clearly marked dirt trail, with Mr. Clarksson and myself following closely behind, Jacks taking the rear. The bikes didn’t bother to stick to the trail, each roaring off in his own unique direction.
After about a mile of tedious climbing and following the switchbacks of the trail, we broke into a flat area that allowed us to spread out from the trail and truly open up the engines for maximum speed.
It was an awesome sight, as we formed up into a ragged flying V formation, zipping through the light scrub of the high desert. Long hair and beaded necklaces trailed in the dry wind. Even I could feel the pressure of the wind blowing in my face, a feeling that brought back a rush of memories from my own youth of riding snowmobiles in the winter and waterskiing on the lakes of Michigan.
It took us another 15 minutes of hard riding to get to the place where John’s truck was sitting. The four ATV’s pulled up to the battered, but newer looking truck, as we dismounted to examine the vehicle. Most of the young men contiinued past the vehicle and gathered in an excited huddle about a hundred feet down the trail. Many were pulling out cigarettes, while a couple seemed more interested in checking their weapons for ammo and any dust that might have gotten caked in them from the ride.
Jacks was pointing out various things to Mr. Clarksson, but my attention was drawn to a small leather pouch that lay half-buried in the dirt near the ruined front driver’s side tire. There were clear signs of a struggle, blood could be seen spattered on the white paint above the tire, like John had been dragged from the vehicle and placed against the side of the truck. I bent down and picked up the pouch, recognizing that it was his medicine bag.
Ignoring the activity around me, I focused on the bag in my hand, trying to picture it around John’s neck, as I had last seen it. I found myself flowing into the Spirit World, but instead of heading for the Underworld as I usually would, I found myself int he Middle World, looking down at the scene of the truck, but apparently at sometime in the recent past. I could see the three other vehicles clustered about the truck, two late model civillian Hummers and a battered Suburban that had swerved in front of John, causing the accident. There were at least six men in the dark suits, sunglasses and clean shaven faces that signalled hired guns who thought of themselves as more than mere mercenaries.
John sat on the ground with his back to the vehicle, near the same tire I was physically standing near, as another man towered above him, a man I recognized from the my earliest memories after I was brought back. He was a tall, extremely dark skinned Haitian Voudoun Priest I knew by the name of Papa Locks for his long, nasty smelling (according to Dr. Geek anyway) dreadlocks. I couldn’t hear anything that was being said, but it was clear he was confronting John about something or another. I remembered his deep, accented voice, and the pleasure he seemed to get out of how he intimidated those around him with his appearance and manner. The only person I ever saw him give any deference to was Drake himself, but even Drake didn’t push and demand from Papa Locks the way he would from his other servants.
I saw Papa Locks strike John across the face with a powerful fist and rip off the medicine pouch from John’s neck, casting it into the place where I came to find it. Standing up, Papa Locks jerked the much smaller John to his feet, despite John’s obvious injuries, and threw him into the arms of one of the dark-suited men. All of them piled into the Hummers and the Suburban and continued down the main dirt trail to the north.
Officer Jack’s voice brought me back down into my body, “Agent Bones, are you OK? What have you found there?”
I shook my head to clear my thoughts, a meaningless jesture now that I didn’t have brains to shake loose. “I found John’s pouch. I was able to look back into some of the incident and see those who took John.”
Mr. Clarksson looked up at that from the bloodstains on the fender, “What did you see?”
I described the scene to them and expanded a little more on what I remembered of Papa Locks.
The other officer asked, “So, you saw at least six men besides this priest?”
“Yeah, my guess is that there were two or three more still in the vehicles, I didn’t see anyone get into the driver’s door of any of them when they loaded back up.”
“How were they armed?”
“I didn’t focus on weapons, but I would presume that they all had at least sidearms. I didn’t see
any rifles, but they may have stayed in the vehicles as well.”
Jacks piped in, “Well, we know they have at least one automatic weapon, they used it to deter our pursuit into the canyon.”
“Alright,” said Mr. Clarksson, “We know approximately how many men they have, the kind of vehicles they are driving, and that they have taken themselves into a canyon with no easy exit. They’ve had John for at least three days now, maybe longer, so we need to bust some ass and see if we can’t get him out of there. I don’t want to jump anyone’s command here, but we need someone to take command of the situation and get a plan worked out and put into action. Any suggestions?” He looked at the two officers and myself.
Officer Jacks was the first to defer, “Mr. Clarksson, I’ve heard plenty about your experience, I think you’d be the perfect one to lead the situation.”
They looked at me, I raised my hands in surrender, “Look, I’m in no position to lead anyone else. I trust you, Herne, and it appears that these officers do as well. You have also read about the kind of things I am capable of, so by all means, take charge.”
He nodded, “Very well. First thing is, we need to get closer to the canyon, and we need to do so quickly. Since they have off road vehicles, we need to take our bikes and ATV’s much closer than planned, in case they try to break through, we want to be able to have wheels available. Once we get closer, we can come up with an assault plan that fully maximizes the armor that we have here.”
He said this last while rapping my chest plate with the hilt of a rather large, very sharp looking knife that had appeared in his hand almost magically. The metallic thunking sound drove home the point to the two reservation officers.
(part 2 to follow in the evening)
Down at the bottom of the other side of the hill, a small collection of ATV’s and crosscountry motorbikes waited. The young men swarmed down the hill in a rush, yelping and shouting as they did, in a way that must have sent shivers down the spines of many ancient foes.
Soon, the excited voices of the men were joined by the alternating roar and sputters of the many bikes and ATV’s. Dust began to fly as tires spun, the sputters of idling engines were replaced with sounds of gunned motors.
There were four ATV’s altogether, two for Officer Jacks and his partner, and one each for Clarksson and myself. The motorbikes were apparently for the young, which only seemed appropriate.
Officer Jacks stood up from his seated position once his ATV was running, and made a circling motion with his right arm, finishing in a sweeping motion towards the north. The other officer led the way with the first ATV up the clearly marked dirt trail, with Mr. Clarksson and myself following closely behind, Jacks taking the rear. The bikes didn’t bother to stick to the trail, each roaring off in his own unique direction.
After about a mile of tedious climbing and following the switchbacks of the trail, we broke into a flat area that allowed us to spread out from the trail and truly open up the engines for maximum speed.
It was an awesome sight, as we formed up into a ragged flying V formation, zipping through the light scrub of the high desert. Long hair and beaded necklaces trailed in the dry wind. Even I could feel the pressure of the wind blowing in my face, a feeling that brought back a rush of memories from my own youth of riding snowmobiles in the winter and waterskiing on the lakes of Michigan.
It took us another 15 minutes of hard riding to get to the place where John’s truck was sitting. The four ATV’s pulled up to the battered, but newer looking truck, as we dismounted to examine the vehicle. Most of the young men contiinued past the vehicle and gathered in an excited huddle about a hundred feet down the trail. Many were pulling out cigarettes, while a couple seemed more interested in checking their weapons for ammo and any dust that might have gotten caked in them from the ride.
Jacks was pointing out various things to Mr. Clarksson, but my attention was drawn to a small leather pouch that lay half-buried in the dirt near the ruined front driver’s side tire. There were clear signs of a struggle, blood could be seen spattered on the white paint above the tire, like John had been dragged from the vehicle and placed against the side of the truck. I bent down and picked up the pouch, recognizing that it was his medicine bag.
Ignoring the activity around me, I focused on the bag in my hand, trying to picture it around John’s neck, as I had last seen it. I found myself flowing into the Spirit World, but instead of heading for the Underworld as I usually would, I found myself int he Middle World, looking down at the scene of the truck, but apparently at sometime in the recent past. I could see the three other vehicles clustered about the truck, two late model civillian Hummers and a battered Suburban that had swerved in front of John, causing the accident. There were at least six men in the dark suits, sunglasses and clean shaven faces that signalled hired guns who thought of themselves as more than mere mercenaries.
John sat on the ground with his back to the vehicle, near the same tire I was physically standing near, as another man towered above him, a man I recognized from the my earliest memories after I was brought back. He was a tall, extremely dark skinned Haitian Voudoun Priest I knew by the name of Papa Locks for his long, nasty smelling (according to Dr. Geek anyway) dreadlocks. I couldn’t hear anything that was being said, but it was clear he was confronting John about something or another. I remembered his deep, accented voice, and the pleasure he seemed to get out of how he intimidated those around him with his appearance and manner. The only person I ever saw him give any deference to was Drake himself, but even Drake didn’t push and demand from Papa Locks the way he would from his other servants.
I saw Papa Locks strike John across the face with a powerful fist and rip off the medicine pouch from John’s neck, casting it into the place where I came to find it. Standing up, Papa Locks jerked the much smaller John to his feet, despite John’s obvious injuries, and threw him into the arms of one of the dark-suited men. All of them piled into the Hummers and the Suburban and continued down the main dirt trail to the north.
Officer Jack’s voice brought me back down into my body, “Agent Bones, are you OK? What have you found there?”
I shook my head to clear my thoughts, a meaningless jesture now that I didn’t have brains to shake loose. “I found John’s pouch. I was able to look back into some of the incident and see those who took John.”
Mr. Clarksson looked up at that from the bloodstains on the fender, “What did you see?”
I described the scene to them and expanded a little more on what I remembered of Papa Locks.
The other officer asked, “So, you saw at least six men besides this priest?”
“Yeah, my guess is that there were two or three more still in the vehicles, I didn’t see anyone get into the driver’s door of any of them when they loaded back up.”
“How were they armed?”
“I didn’t focus on weapons, but I would presume that they all had at least sidearms. I didn’t see
any rifles, but they may have stayed in the vehicles as well.”
Jacks piped in, “Well, we know they have at least one automatic weapon, they used it to deter our pursuit into the canyon.”
“Alright,” said Mr. Clarksson, “We know approximately how many men they have, the kind of vehicles they are driving, and that they have taken themselves into a canyon with no easy exit. They’ve had John for at least three days now, maybe longer, so we need to bust some ass and see if we can’t get him out of there. I don’t want to jump anyone’s command here, but we need someone to take command of the situation and get a plan worked out and put into action. Any suggestions?” He looked at the two officers and myself.
Officer Jacks was the first to defer, “Mr. Clarksson, I’ve heard plenty about your experience, I think you’d be the perfect one to lead the situation.”
They looked at me, I raised my hands in surrender, “Look, I’m in no position to lead anyone else. I trust you, Herne, and it appears that these officers do as well. You have also read about the kind of things I am capable of, so by all means, take charge.”
He nodded, “Very well. First thing is, we need to get closer to the canyon, and we need to do so quickly. Since they have off road vehicles, we need to take our bikes and ATV’s much closer than planned, in case they try to break through, we want to be able to have wheels available. Once we get closer, we can come up with an assault plan that fully maximizes the armor that we have here.”
He said this last while rapping my chest plate with the hilt of a rather large, very sharp looking knife that had appeared in his hand almost magically. The metallic thunking sound drove home the point to the two reservation officers.
(part 2 to follow in the evening)
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