Grand Junction, Deseret

  Five miles outside of the city, they encountered the first Deseret Patrol checkpoint. A bend of the Gunnison River came close to the western side of the road, securing that flank. Several armored vehicles sat on the eastern side, arrayed in rammed earth revetments with their heavy guns pointed towards the open plain beyond.

  The Patrol placed sandbags and concrete barriers to form a dogleg for vehicles approaching from the south. Outbound vehicles faced a similar maze to navigate, and it was overseen by machine gun emplacements and a tank sitting in the median. Gabe and the others were already through and pulled over to the side of the road.

  Dillon slowed to a stop in front of the first barrier, a simple set of sawhorses with a ‘Stop here and present ID’ notice in big red lettering. Two armored Patrol members approached, assault rifles on two-point slings. Another pair watched them from behind the barriers, and the heavy weapons on the side were casually pointed in their direction.

  The first Patrol member to reach his car paused in mid-step when he saw the jagged hole where the driver’s window used to be. The soldier’s eyes were covered by ballistic glass, and Dillon watched his head move slightly along the side and front of the car, noting the bullet holes and scorch marks. Putting a smile on his face, the driver mustered what calm he could and asked, "Afternoon. Can we get through?"

  "You part of that race?" The mirrored eye protection reflected the driver’s face back at him, and Dillon realized he there were powder burns along the side of his helmet.

  "Yep. That’s us. All of us, in this group. Headed up to Grand Junction and past to the Green River Truck Stop for this leg. Then on to Salt Lake City tomorrow."

  "Right. I got special instructions for you people. We’re to provide you with an escort up to our HQ. Please proceed slowly through the security zone. Turret to the rear. Join up with the others and your escort on the other side. No display of weaponry and no threatening moves. That includes moving that turret."

  "Right. Kayla, you hear that? Okay, thanks for the escort. You guys had any trouble from the gang yet?"

  "I can’t comment on ongoing operations, sir. Move along."

  The barrier lifted at a signal from the soldier, and Dillon proceeded slowly through the winding course. It was just wide enough for him to drive through and not quite wide enough for him to open his door all the way. From the state of the barriers, it didn’t look like they’d been attacked yet. Given what they saw earlier, that was only a matter of time.

  A light armored wheeled vehicle waited for them on the other side, about fifty yards from the exit. Two more soldiers guided him to a stop about twenty feet behind the escort, and they sat there, waiting for the rest of the racers.

  "That’s a Nero. We sell the targeting computer to Deseret for those."

  The voice was right at his ear. Dillon looked over to see Kayla, leaning forward and staring at the armored vehicle. He couldn’t think of anything to say other than, "Really?"

  "Yeah. It was a real pain in the ass to get it to talk to their radar system, a homegrown Deseret system. They may be good at fighting, but they’re behind on their software programming. The code was sloppy, about a third again larger than it needed to be. They wouldn’t let us modify it without a huge number of assurances that we wouldn’t screw it up. Dad nearly lost his temper several times during meeting with the Deseret senior program manager. He threatened to rip out their radar and put in one of ours, free of charge, just to make the problem go away."

  "What happened?"

  She smirked, the same look she’d given him days ago when they’d first met. "The program manager got all huffy, claiming it was our software that was messing up their radar. Dad told Eric fly out there with our system and two different radars. He showed them how their radar couldn’t talk to anyone else, where we could talk to each of the other two. That shut him up right away. After that, it got a lot easier to make changes to their code."

  "Well, let’s hope that guy isn’t working here now. We don’t want anything to delay us once we get to Grand Junction."

  The soldiers were remounting their vehicle, and one hung a ‘Follow Me’ sign on the back. It pulled out and led them down the highway at a leisurely thirty-five miles per hour. After the first ten minutes, Dillon’s left leg began to shake nervously while he fretted over the slow speed. It would only add a few more minutes to their travel time, and the lack of control over their speed was gnawing at him.

  "Dillon, you’re about to shake the car apart. Knock it off," snapped Kayla.

  "Oh. Right. Sorry. It’s just the slow speed. It’s getting to me."

  "You’re the one who said we don’t need anything delaying us. Speeding ahead of our escort, or the car falling to pieces will certainly delay us."

  He made a conscious effort to control his leg, realizing at the same time his gunner was no longer withdrawn and gloomy. Not that having her pissed at me is a good thing. At least she’s out of her funk.

  They climbed the small ridge on the outskirts of the city, their escort taking the offramp to a side road, where they could see a sizable military encampment. Tents, temporary buildings, scores of vehicles, and antennae dotted the ridgeline to the east of the highway, and their guides took them straight into it.

  Guards waved them through another temporary checkpoint, and they were directed to park off to the side. At Dillon’s hesitation, the soldier manning the checkpoint moved his assault rifle off his chest in a vaguely threatening gesture. Unwilling to start a confrontation, the young autoduellist complied.

  One by one, the other rally cars parked in a loose line. A group of soldiers took up positions at either end of the line, and an officer came out of a nearby tent. "All of you, follow me. Brigadier Hollend wants to talk to all of you."

  Gabe stepped forward and waved both hands in the air. "Oh no. I ain’t in your pinche army, piss boy. The general wants to talk to me, he can come out here. And he better do it real damned soon, cause we’re about to get back to racing."

  An overall muttering from the rest of the crews followed, cut short when the soldiers raised their weapons. The Deseret Patrol officer, a major, smiled without humor. "You can come with me and talk to the general, or we can arrest you and impound your vehicles for weapons violations. Your choice."

  Gabe looked ready to argue the point further, subsiding when Rafe put a hand on his arm and spoke in a low voice. While the other Angel kept his mouth shut, the furious look on his face didn’t change.

  They walked to the tent, Dillon whispering to his gunner. "Anything we should know about dealing with the Patrol and their generals?"

  "Like I said, they don’t think they’re wrong very often. At least, not without significant proof. Let’s not start an argument we can’t win, since we’re really short on the ability to prove anything from here. Eric is watching what’s going on, and so is Dad. They can work things from their end as long as we don’t screw things up too badly."

  Escorted by armed soldiers, the major led them into one of the larger tents. The inside was spartan, with several rows of chairs in front of a podium. Several other officers stood at the back of the tent, talking among themselves. They briefly looked up at the entrance of the civilian racers, and then went back to their low-voiced discussion.

  "Take a seat. The general will be with you in a few minutes." The major gestured at the chairs lined up in front of the podium.

  Gabe turned to toss another insult at the Deseret officer, but his gunner tugged on his sleeve and motioned at the chairs. They sat in their pairs, with one or more seats between each crew.

  After a few moments, a burly sergeant popped into the tent and called ‘Attention! Commanding officer, Brigadier Hollend."

  While the soldiers there popped to attention, the racers kept to their seat. A tall, spare man strode briskly into the tent. His demeanor and stride spoke to the stress he seemed to be under, waiting to defend a major city from attack. If he took exception to the lack of deference from the civilian racers, he didn’t show it

  Taking position behind the podium, he stood there, ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back. He let his gaze linger over them, and said, "I’ll keep this brief. You’ve heard that Jeb Cannon and his Red River Riders are preparing to attack this population center. I’m tasked to do everything necessary to defend this city. I’m told you’ve already had a run-in with them south of here. You know the threat they pose. As of this moment, you and your vehicles are under the authority of the Deseret Patrol, and specifically me. You are tasked to assist in the defense of Grand Junction and its civilians until such time as the threat is neutralized."

  ***

  Advanced Tactical Software Solutions Building, Denver, Colorado

  "Goddammit, Greg! How the hell are you letting this happen?" Nico listened to the phone for a moment, and then pounded his fist on the desk. "Negotiations, my ass! In my day, the AADA had a lot of pull and we didn’t let anyone order us around like this. They’re autoduellists, not soldiers."

  Ms. Thorp appeared in the doorway and mouthed Eric is on the other line. Nico nodded his understanding while he listened to the other end. His mouth curled up in distaste and he snarled, "I told you ten years ago the Association was losing influence. You didn’t listen to me then and you’re not listening to me now. Well, to hell with you and your association. I’ll get them out of this without you."

  He savagely punched the disconnect button and muttered under his breath, "They’re pathetic." Louder, he said, "Ms. Thorp, get me Dan Flynt from Lion Micro and Cassandra Foley from the Mitsu Group on the phone. We’ll see who this Hollend character thinks he is once their major defense contractors have a word with his superiors."

  Punching the connect button, he said, "Tell me you have good news."

  "I hope you didn’t use that tone with the AADA." Eric’s words were interspersed with a crunching sound.

  "I didn’t. I used a much more pissed-off and superior tone."

  "Good ol’ Basher. Still bashing away at problems."

  "Eric, quit screwing around and tell me what you know. And what the hell is that noise?"

  "My lunch. I need calories to deal with the messes you create." Another crunch came over the line, followed by chewing sounds.

  "Eric…"

  "Take it easy, Nico. I’m guessing since you’re snarling at me like a chained dog that the AADA people aren’t having much luck?"

  "They need more than luck. They need brains."

  "So much for your invitation to your ten-year reunion. Let me guess; you’re talking to Dan and Cassie next?"

  "That’s right. They have hefty contracts for our software, without which they can’t complete their deliveries to those bastards across the border."

  "Right. Let me know how that goes, because I’ll be talking to the Patrol logistics people when I land in Grand Junction. We diverted as soon as I heard. I’ll be on the ground in about twenty minutes, so chop chop on those calls."

  Nico breathed a sigh of relief. "Eric… I can’t have her in a war zone like this. They’ll be cannon fodder and those bastards won’t think twice about expending them to stop those gangs."

  "She’s tougher than you think. Did you watch this morning’s footage yet?"

  "Not yet. Why, what happened?"

  "Basher’s goddamned daughter is what happened. That, and Dillon being the king of driving. Watch it soon, Nico. You’re going to love it. I don’t think you’re going to be getting Kayla back in the software lab anytime soon." With that, Eric hung up.

  A growing sense of dread in his stomach, Nico called up the archived footage of the battle that morning and started to watch.

  ***

  Grand Junction, Deseret

  "How long can we stay here?" Rebekah watched the Deseret camp with a glum look on her face.

  "I can give you another hour, and then we need to go recharge. The good news, the airport isn't far away. It's only about fifteen minutes travel time."

  "This is ridiculous. We're wasting daylight with briefings and negotiations." She changed the channel on her headset to the private line back to the studio producer. "Robyn, what's happening. We're losing coverage up here. I can't see anything except green tents."

  Her producer was just about as upset. "Nobody from the Deseret government is speaking publicly on this turn of events. They just released a simple statement saying they won't comment on ongoing military operations. Maybe you should go to the airport and get a car. Drive out to their stupid campground and get the word straight from them."

  "No, Robyn. I'm not going to antagonize the military. If they arrest me, we won't have any coverage."

  "Rebekah, we're going to start losing viewers soon if we don't do something."

  The reporter looked out the window once again, her lips curling in disgust. The uniformity of the tan camouflage became a wall in her mind, blocking her from the real story.

  "That's it! Robyn, the story is still there. The lead characters have changed, though. Get me everything you can on this Hollend person and anyone else in charge down there." She contacted the pilot. "Let's recharge now. I need to be back over the top of this circus and able to see everything the military is doing."

  ***

  The racing crews moved about the briefing tent, many complaining at the top of their lungs. The Brigadier hadn’t waited around to answer questions. He’d simply left out the back of the tent, and now both entrances were guarded, with orders to keep the racers in the tent ‘until such time as they were needed.’

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Dillon, Kayla, and Jesse were the only ones not engaged in shouting and cursing. They sat in a group, heads together in one corner.

  "Them Red River bikers are smarter than most gangs. They won’t take on a fixed position like this head one. I’ve seen them in action. They’ll lure them Patrol boys out in small groups and finish them off, one by one." The older man nodded while he spoke, the memories of past actions coloring his language.

  "And we can’t do a damn thing to keep that algae sucker from using us like toy soldiers. Worse yet, from here we’re only attacking in the wrong direction." Dillon rubbed one gloved hand over his face. "And without access to our cars, we can’t tell what’s happening to get this fixed."

  Kayla eased a small tablet out of her leg pocket. "Yes, we can. I use this for portable coding and bug detection. I’ve got full control over the computer, so I can tap into the incoming feed and see what’s popping up on the media channels. I won’t be able to listen in on the radio, but we should be able to at least see what the organizers in Denver are saying. Maybe even get some idea of what the viewers are seeing."

  The other two crowded around her, both to see what she was doing and to prevent any of the soldiers from getting a look. It only took a couple of minutes for Kayla to share the car’s display to her screen.

  "Well, would you look at that," said Jesse after a quick look at the channel. "Fans are pissed. You never seen so many people typing with the caps lock on in your life."

  Dillon pointed at a couple of posts. "That one’s from Salt Lake City. There’s one from Grand Junction. Even their own people aren’t happy with this situation. They want to see a competition."

  Kayla paused the scrolling screen and looked at the rest of them. "I can access the feed. Post our own status and tell everyone what’s happened to us. Should I?"

  "Is the Patrol monitoring it? What happens if they see us posting?" Jaslynn asked, worriedly chewing on a thumbnail. "Will they take the tablet away?"

  Dillon held a finger up. "If we say nothing, we’re not telling our side. We can’t do anything from inside this tent, but I bet there are fans who are more than willing to make a fuss for us. I say we do it. Even if they do end up taking away the tablet, we’ll have gotten our message out there?"

  Kayla looked around the circle, getting nods from the rest. She began typing, posting that that they were okay and that the Patrol and specifically Brigadier Hollend were holding them in his custody to help fight against the coming attack by the gang.

  By this time, some of the others wandered over to see what the huddle was for. Gabe bristled a little at the fact this was only on the ATSS team feed, a sharp contrast to his earlier complaints. When he saw Dillon watching him, he snarled, "What? I’m not stupid. Those fans are our best shot of getting free. I can’t beat you if we’re not racing."

  ***

  Advanced Tactical Software Solutions Building, Denver, Colorado

  Nico replaced the handset, a smile on his face. Corporate CEOs were much easier to deal with than politicians, and the AADA contained far too many of those in its upper ranks. They never forgot that autoduelling was, at its core, a business. It provided entertainment for the masses, and whole industries depended on it, from weapons manufacturers to marketing companies, and even small concerns that produced merchandise for the fans. He’d spent the last few hours making calls to several more of those presidents and CEOs that were linked to the autoduelling world in Deseret, stating his concerns over what would happen if the Dead Man’s Run got rerouted away from Salt Lake City because of an overeager general. Good business sense and plain greed were his allies in these calls.

  He hit the speed dial button for Eric, humming a small tune under his breath. It took more than a few rings before his friend answered.

  "Tell me you have good news," was all his director said.

  "All’s well on my end. Once you start talking about lost revenue and falling stock prices, people whose jobs depend on those factors take notice. I’m guessing you haven’t had much success."

  Eric snorted. "Oh, I just wrapped up some very interesting talks with my counterparts in the Patrol. Hollend’s been in his position for a couple of years, long enough to get a feel for the threat and communicate back up his chain. He fully intends to make his mark by taking out this Cannon character. Then there’s the fact that he is connected, Nico. His brother is some high muckety-muck in the LDS church. He’s not going to be intimidated by small threats."

  "I just talked with the heads of three more major corporations with significant investment in Deseret. They were, in order, pissed, worried, and I quote, 'gravely disappointed.' They’re looking at a major hit in revenue if the rally gets rerouted because of that man. And they’re not going to go to him. No, they’re going to take their concerns much higher up the food chain."

  "I don’t know. Everyone treads lightly around him, even the people not in his chain. I’ve heard he has a reputation for running over anyone in his way. Don’t count your winnings yet, old man."

  Nico switched tracks. "Have you talked with Kayla?"

  "No, I haven’t talked to our crew. Hollend isn’t allowing any communication with the ‘civilian augmentees,’ as they’re now being called. No one is allowed in or out of the encampment except on official business. However, she did manage to get something out on the media channels, letting the fans know what happened to them. Lots of likes and comments. Maybe the media team can do something with that?"

  "Good point. I’ll call them next. If we can get the fans motivated, that’ll put some more pressure on the politicians. None of them want bad press over this. Meanwhile, keep trying to talk with Kayla."

  "And Dillon. They’re both part of our team, Nico."

  "Yes, and Dillon. I haven’t forgotten his name. My priorities are somewhat different than yours."

  Eric’s voice sharpened. "Well, then, you’d better rethink those priorities. If you talk in public like that, they go from an ATSS team to your daughter’s ‘coming out’ in the autoduelling world. Then the story is all about the Battaglia dynasty. Get back to thinking of them as a team, damn it!" The line went dead.

  ***

  Grand Junction, Deseret

  Within twenty minutes of Kayla's first post, a pair of Patrol soldiers came into the tent. It was obvious they were looking for signs that someone was using a computer. Dillon caught Gabe’s attention when they came through and motioned at them with his head. Though the other man curled his lip at being ordered about, he began following the soldiers around the tent while they searched. They became subjected to the full force of the Angel’s scorn, while he questioned their intelligence, parentage, sexual habits, and choice of careers.

  The two tried to ignore him at first, and when some of the other team members joined in, one whirled on Gabe, hand on his holstered pistol.

  Gabe was armed also, since no one disarmed the crews, and he made no attempt to go for his gun in the face of the threat.

  The shorter man stood, chin forward and eyes full of fury. "What, you think that makes you a badass? Puto, I’ve faced down bigger guns than that. Come on, Jell-O eater. Pull that thing if you’re man enough."

  "That’s enough of that. Corporal, stand down." Brigadier Hollend stood just inside the tent opening, flanked by the two more soldiers. Their assault rifles were not quite pointed at the racers, and they looked tense.

  The corporal removed his hand from his weapon slowly, saying, "Sir. We haven’t found any contraband yet, but we’ve yet to search the lot of them."

  "Never mind the search. It’s no longer needed. You’re dismissed, corporal."

  The pair left and Hollend looked around the tent. His gaze was coolly disinterested, as if what he was seeing did not impress him. Finally, he shook his head.

  "You all think just because you’re celebrities, that excuses you from the law? Things are different here in Deseret. Your online fans mean nothing, and your big money deals don’t carry any weight out here."

  He paused, and a look of distaste passed over his face briefly, before he locked his expression down. "Unfortunately, politicians are more than willing to make deals and give things away. No, you’re not free to go. Yet. The criminal elements are massing for an attack. Our cavalry scouts and drones confirm this. It’s going to happen very soon. Even if I were to let you go right now, you’d run into their forces."

  Dillon stood up. "We wouldn’t have that problem if you hadn’t stopped us in the first place."

  The others stood with him, muttering their agreement with his statement. The glare from the older man’s face might have melted privates and lieutenants, it had no effect on Dillon and the rest of the racers, who were used to unfriendly looks, at the very least. After several seconds, when they refused to be cowed, he slowly blinked and looked away.

  "Water under the bridge, young man. Nothing to be done for it now. So, if I could continue," and he glared around the room, daring anyone to interrupt. "An agreement has been reached between the Council and the AADA. Given that we’re all threatened by the bandit Jeb Cannon, Rally Control has agreed to permit you to participate in the defense of Grand Junction. Once the danger is past, you’re free to continue your… activities."

  ***

  They were finally allowed access to their cars again, and found out Rally Control was working on incorporating the defense of Grand Junction into the rules. Everyone’s position in the event would be paused, starting from the time they stopped at the Patrol roadblock until they were released by Hollend. At that point, they were to depart in the order they entered the roadblock. In addition, taking out any Red River vehicle would count double in point value.

  Gabe nearly picked another fight with the Patrol quartermaster, asking for military munitions to rearm his cannon with. The argument could be heard across the small pad where their cars sat.

  Dillon and Kayla were at their car. He sat on the ground, leaning against the driver’s side door. Inside, her fingers danced across the car’s laptop, her brow furrowed in concentration. Eric appeared out of the crowd of people and motioned to Dillon to get up and follow him.

  "Don’t you want to talk to Kayla, too?" He asked while they strolled around the perimeter of the parking area.

  "I will. I know that look, though. She’s working her way through a complicated programming problem and hates to be interrupted. So, how are things?"

  Dillon gave a short laugh and waved his arms at the camp around them. "We’ve joined the army, apparently. No fancy uniforms, though."

  The other man gave him a tired smile. "Not how you thought this contest would go, did you?"

  "Did anyone? Still, it’s not going to be all bad. Double points and all that."

  Eric laid a hand on his arm. "This… isn’t going to be like an arena. A lot of those fights are just to knock out a vehicle. Your opponents aren’t necessarily trying to kill you."

  Turning to face the ATSS man, Dillon shook his head. "Why do you think that Gold Cross became popular? Trust me, Eric. When the bullets and rockets are flying in the arena, you’re very aware the next shot could be it for you, even if it wasn’t deliberate. Either you accept that fear and move past it, or you don’t compete."

  He looked back over his shoulder at his gunner. "Kayla got her first close range kill today."

  Eric followed his gaze and nodded. "I saw the footage. How is she?"

  "Shook. She’s coming to grips with it, though. She didn’t retreat the way some people do who can’t handle death up close. It’ll take a bit, but she’s already getting her head around it." He turned back and said, "Her father isn’t going to get the same person back."

  "Deep down, I think he knows that. He’s just afraid to admit it to himself." He shook his head. "Alright. Enough maudlin shit. How’s the car? Do you need to make any repairs?"

  Dillon threw his hands up in the air. "With what? Spit and algae paste? We have no tools, no armor patches, and no ammo to rearm with. Someone needs to make the point to Hollend we’ll be no good to him unless we’re in shape to fight his war."

  Eric’s eyes went hard, and he looked over at the command tent. "Is that so? Excuse me, Dillon."

  With a small smirk, the driver watched the lanky figure stride across the grass toward the tent. They might not get anything out of the exchange, and the fireworks would be spectacular. Turning, he walked back to the car to share the news with his gunner.

  ***

  Whatever was said, Hollend authorized an ammunition delivery to the racers. Although they now enjoyed full magazines, the damage from their first run-in with the gangbangers was unrepaired.

  They stared at the missing windows together. Dillon finally shrugged and said, "We’ll just have to be more careful on the sides. Nothing we can do about it."

  "We could try to pair up with someone and cover each other’s flanks…," her voice trailed off when he shook his head.

  "Won’t work. That’s just going to hamstring both of us, even assuming someone would team up. No, we're going to have to be even more careful about exposing this weakness."

  A loudspeaker sounded a two-toned alarm, and then an amplified voice announced, "Hostiles sighted. All units, this is a Stage 1 Alert. Man your positions and stand by for engagement."

  "Well, that’s a new way to start a fight." Dillon hefted his helmet and looked at her. "Ready to kick some biker butt?"

  She gave him a wan smile, and there was determination in her eyes. "Ready. Let’s show them what happens when you mess with the best."

  Given the racers’ lack of off-road capability, Hollend elected to keep them on the highway and frontage roads. If the biker’s primary attack was on those, they would be the initial thrust to blunt their effort. If they chose to attack elsewhere and left only a screening force on the road, the general would release the teams to blow through the screen and attack the bikers from the rear.

  They moved into position on Highway 50, with the Angels and the Quikshred in the lead. Their heavy front-mounted weapons were well-suited to blowing through whatever initial resistance the bikers put up, and then they would either keep going through the lines, shooting anything that moved, or make a U-turn and hit them again from the back.

  The ATSS car was in the second rank, ready with either the front cannon to support the breakthrough or protect the flanks with the flamethrower. Flammo was with them, while the others formed a loose arc at the rear, ready to respond to anyone who survived the initial attack.

  From their vantage point on the low ridge, they watched the dust trailed track across the landscape. The bikers seemed to be attacking across the entire front, with at least five separate spearheads. Nothing moved ahead on the highway, however.

  To either side, multiple Deseret units were repositioning to counter the coming attacks. Hollend’s strategy seemed to be to let them come to him, since his units made no move to leave their positions to meet their attackers.

  "This is stupid. Hollend said if they weren’t going to attack on the highway, we could go down there and kick their asses. Why won’t he let us go?" The Angel driver's throttled impatience came through the radio with ease, and Dillon suspected some of the others felt the same way. In front of the pack, two military utility vehicles blocked the road. Their drivers were ready to move out of the way once they got the signal, and so far, they hadn’t moved.

  Dillon watched the oncoming enemy with suspicion and keyed his radio. "That’s not smart of them at all. Everyone who’s fought these guys never said they were dumb. The ambush outside Montrose; that walso planned."

  Jesse put in, "He’s right. Jeb Cannon is a lot of things. Dumb is not one of them, but plenty of people have called him devious and underhanded. I don’t think this fight is going to turn out the way the Patrol thinks it will."

  Gabe said, "Who cares what he’s doing? We’re not sticking around to defend this trash heap, so why worry about it? Let’s get out there, kick butt, and score points. That’s what we care about."

  "The man is not wrong. I’m not liking this situation, us sitting around with our thumbs up our asses while there’s points out there to be collected."

  Explosions to the east cut off further conversation. The drivers leaned out their windows to see, and Kayla pivoted the turret to bring her camera to bear.

  Three pillars of smoke were rising to the sky from positions east and north of the ridge they sat on. Kayla was first to realize where this was happening, since she could overlay her camera view with the map.

  "That’s the Palisade district, on the eastern side of Grand Junction. Someone’s already in the city."

  The military personnel still in camp stood frozen in place, watching the columns of smoke. Another two explosions carried across the terrain, followed by the start of accompanying dark pillars. Screaming sergeants got people moving, but there was little they could do. All the combat vehicles were positioned forward and dug-in, at the edge of the mesa. All that was left were supply and utility vehicles.

  And us, Dillon realized. We’re the only force available to respond. Any second now the general is going to recognize that. He shifted into gear and started a turn to the left.

  "Dillon! What are you doing?" Kayla spun the turret to keep the scene to the east in view while he completed the turn.

  "Being a team player," he said with a smile. "We’re the only ones available to go after whatever’s behind us. Hollend is going to give us orders to go after them anyway, so I’m just beating him to the punch."

  He keyed his radio and relayed his analysis to the others. The others followed him, with Gabe laughing, "Yes. We get to kill shit finally!"

  Kayla pointed past him to the right. "Take that turn. Highway 141 will take us east and then north into town"

  He cut the steering wheel, taking them past a whole row of solar arrays and battery banks. The afternoon sun threw the shadow of their car in front of them, and also gave the smoke rising in the distance an eerie orange tint.

  They turned north and crossed over the Colorado River, crossing into the suburbs. The earlier smoke pillars were now behind and to their right, marking the former Patrol positions. The fighting moved into the houses themselves, and they could hear weapons fire and see small explosions among the buildings.

  ***

  Rebekah cursed the airport personnel who'd taken so long to turn the helicopter around. The Patrol aircraft were being given priority, they were told, and when time was available, they'd take care of the news crew.

  She'd taken advantage of the delay to go to the bathroom, fix her makeup and hair, and grab a quick bite. Even so, they were still getting the craft ready when she got the message from the network that the Red River Riders were on their way.

  Her screamed imprecations at the maintenance crew did not get them to move any faster.

  ***

  Jacob led his BLUD teammates at a careful distance behind the rampaging bikers. Those were shooting with abandon at every person and car in sight and tossing homemade explosives at houses and businesses. It was wanton and indiscriminate, and he curled his lip at their orgy of destruction. He didn’t interfere, however. Jeb Cannon was an ally of the BLUDs, and this was his show. Jacob's mission required their involvement, no matter what he thought of them. His people were here to take down the AADA racers and get it all recorded. Every BLUD vehicle mounted cameras front and rear, ready to capture the destruction and share it with the rest of the country.

  There were five of them, including him. Even getting that many together on such short notice was difficult. The Colorado State Patrol still kept tabs on the more experienced BLUDs, and only the increased attention on the rally made it possible to get his people out of their respective hometowns and out west.

  Sooner or later, the Patrol would get their act together and respond to this penetration of the lines. One of two things would happen. Either they would engage the Riders and tie them up, leaving him free to seek out his quarry, or the racers would come here. He didn’t think they would be the type to sit and wait for a fight. They wouldn't be expecting the kind of fight they would find.

  They penetrated further into the eastern suburbs of Grand Junction, and he let the bikers increase the distance between them. The old US Highway 6 was the only direct route west. Once they hit 33 Road, which ran north-south, it would give them more options to get past the main fighting. At the first sign of real resistance, then he could decide how to engage.

  New sounds reached him from up ahead. The chattering of machine guns and the deeper thump of cannons firing told him the bikers found someone who could fight back. He keyed the radio to his team.

  "Get ready. If they're military, we blow past them. If not, we've found our targets."