BACK IN A FBI FACILITY in Denver, the Bell had stopped over for refuelling, before flying back to Washington. Roberta was having a smoke after coming closely finish eating a boring turkey sandwich. Agent Harvest paced in with ebullience into the cafeteria, with the good news...

“Capt. Roberta Jensen, you are absolutely right, my dear — an Army base at one of the Canadian border in Montana, has intercepted your tracker. Let’s go check it out, dog!”

Roberta grinned back at Harvest’s suffused face of bliss. The super-cop stuck her cigarette into her half-eaten sandwich and strode out with her...

Roberta was back in the game — her instincts had finally been right with her assumptions — that the rebels who abducted Laura, were desperately trying to cross to the Canadian border to escape.

***

Reeves was on top of the water-tower that stood fifty foot tall, on steel pillars and concrete foundation. The wind was blowing hard despite the rain had ceased. He looked into the scope of his rifle — and spied True Bob placing the next C4 below the soldiers’ barracks. He trained his scope at Bob who was now running ahead, to set the third explosive charge.

Unguarded to Reeves, two US Army commandos were in stealth mode, climbing up on the ladder of the water tower from his rear. Out of her darken office window, Captain Farrer was wearing a pair of night-vision goggles — raking at her two female soldiers — who were going to surprise-attack the rebel trespasser in her army base.

***

On the windy hill, Laura stood vigil at the slope, worried, she stared at the military base down below — it was too distant for her to figure out what was transpiring in the vicinity. Troy descended from the Mustang, he walked up to her. She reminded him...

“It has been more than a half-hour, Troy.”

“Reeves said that he will give us the signal. Come on Laura, let’s wait in the car — it is too chilly out here.”

***

True Bob deposited the last explosive at the base of a communication tower with a satellite dish — he had set the timer to twenty minutes. He glanced at his watch before he disappeared again into the dark.

*

Captain Farrer opened the door of the officer's barrack — Royle and Piccirilli dragged the bereaved Reeves — and dropped him in the centre of the room. Corporal Hilly passed Reeve's Savage 110 FP rifle, to the Farrer and made her assumption...

“Sir, this bastard is a God’s Army sniper who was slipping into our base — with the probable intension, to kills us all.”

“String him up!”

Farrer said while she looked out the window at the main entrance, mumbling seeing the precarious breach of the base’s security.

“That idiot at the sentry, who let the vehicle pass in, is going to pay for this too!”

She then turned seeing the insentient Intersexual who was now being raised in suspension, above to a horizontal beam. Farrer walked up to him and poked her fingertip into one of the two holes on the army shirt worn by Reeves, which was covered with dried bloodstains — the army captain then recapitulated and pieced the possible modus operandi at play...

“So he shot one of ours to get the uniform, which means there is another perpetrator, who drove the buggy in. Hilly, go out and find the sleeper now before he strikes anyone of us again!”

Corporal Hilly and Piccirilli stepped out of the barrack door into the windy proximate — with a portend blizzard brewing ahead.

***

Across at the end of the base, True Bob reached the water tower, with the howling wind and thunder roaring above. He signalled out at Reeves from below, he got no response. Bob began scaling up the ladder to reach the top...

He detected that his partner was not there...

He found a couple of Reeve’s live bullets, scattered on the floor-top...

He agonized at the prognosticated anomaly that something had gone wrong — because Reeves was prudent and was hardly the careless type when it came to his limited supply of ammo. He pocketed the bullets, and he descended down fast from the water tower. It had started to snow...

The short-sighted, True Bob looked fretfully at his watch — it was 8:47 p.m.

Without any delay, he had to race back to defuse all the bombs timers from exploding — before he set out finding for the missing Reeves. He first ran to the satellite tower to defuse the timer — he straightway sprinted over in the dark to the vehicle parking bay next, to kill off the charger that he had set behind the fuel drums.

The precipitation was getting heavier — and he had to keep moving to keep himself warm, before shutting off the last bomb timer at the soldiers’ barrack. He took a few steps into the open floodlights to crossover — and saw two soldiers coming over towards his way, one of them called out...

“Hey you Private, come here!” It was Corporal Hilly calling him...

It was the second time he was spotted since he got here — could he be as lucky like before?

His finger removed the safety of the rifle, Bob walked unhurriedly against the upwind breeze, towards the approaching female soldiers. He stopped in the darkened area of the barrack so that shadows cast the gloom to concealed his nature.

The only fear he had now is his deeper baritone voice if in case the women questioned him. But Hilly spoke to a soldier beside her instead...

“Flinch, brief her — I am going to check on Piccirilli. Now, both of you — keep your eyes peeled!” Hilly paced away from them.

True Bob was now stuck with this woman named Flinch — and the bomb under the soldiers' barrack, was about to go off in less than two minutes.

They walked, and Private Flinch spoke up...

“We have captured a God’s Army rebel sniper on the base, posing as one of ours. There is a second shooter somewhere, keep a lookout.”

True Bob realized the gravity that he was in, with his buddy now apprehended by the enemy — the half-Cherokee walked along the murky side of the base, while Flinch kept looking upwards at the barrack roofs. True Bob maintained in concealing his identity with his head down, to avoid the flashes of lightning above — to obscure his Intersexual looks...

This annoyed Flinch...

“It is a sniper, goddammit! Keep a lookout above. Who are you anyway? I have not seen you around — are you one of the new guys?”

True Bob remained silent, walking a step ahead — and lightning flashed again, and Private Flinch caught the sight of bloodstain spots on the poncho — the blood of the definite owner of that uniform. Private Flinch also realized that it was not an army-issued boot worn by the stranger — instead, was a black Nike. The female soldier slowly raised her rifle, to point at the lanky rebel walking a step before her...

True Bob turned back swiftly and trusted a bowing knife sharply into her throat. The soldier with the lodged blade gave a last effort of struggle, and she scratched his face — before Bob forcefully kicked her calf, to drop her down. He retrieved the blade out, and blood gushed out — from Flinch’s punctured oesophagus.

He pushed her dying body below the elevated barrack, that sat on wooden blocks — and then used his foot to cover-up the track of blotted blood on the snowed sleet ground fast — kicking frantically like it was some dog’s poop.

With his tracks covered, he started to run against the snowstorm to defuse the last C4 that would blow up — in less than forty-five seconds.

***

The snowstorm began thumping the Mustang’s foldable roof hood — Joe was concerned that it would be blown off by the strong winds. Laura huddled in-between Joe and Troy in the front seat, covered themselves within thick blankets. The temperature was dropping fast — Laura’s teeth clattered when she asked them...

“It is way more than an hour, why the explosions have not gone up yet there? Is something wrong?”

Troy replied after comprehending...

“It must be the blizzard...the guys might have delayed the attack.”

“Are you sure Troy?” The probing, thirteen-year-old child in her asked...

Joe now responded back. “Yeah Mimi, I am sure too, Reeves is a master of timing — he knows what he is doing out there.”

Troy hugged her closer to give her warmth. “Yeah Laura, don’t worry — they are fine.”

Both of the Intersexuals acquiesced so far — Reeves’ instincts and his leadership had kept them all breathing to date since they stepped out of the Mojave Desert — with their first-encounter with the ruthless Jamaicans — and recently, in extracting them out alive without a scratch, from the equally precarious Cannibal-town — even ‘the Desert Preacher’ as their leader, did not survive that long...

Now they hoped and trusted — that Reeves would all get them all into Canada alive.

***

Reeves was strung by his wrists, he hung from the beam above.

He had regained his consciousness and was now in pain — Sargent Royle had used Reeve's abdomen like a punching bag. Reeves gasped for air, responded curses with a throaty growl — with each blow. Captain Farrer had her arms folded, and she questioned...

“Where is the other sniper? Speak up, you tranny-fuck!”

Royle threw angrier punches, on both sides of his ribs — heated more by the death of the two female soldiers from their base — Reeves almost passing out again...

“Answer me — you son of a bitch!”

Farrer then held the soldier's shoulder to stop...

“Enough, Royle — the FBI wants the scumbag alive.”

***

In the dark, True Bob ran in the high winds, and he came to defuse the last explosive that was on its last seven seconds to set-off. He saw a troubled soldier ahead, walking and calming her irrepressible Alsatian dog that was jumping uncontrollably around, to the uncomfortably harsh beating wind conditions. True Bob moved away to find a dark spot, to take refuge — both from the hound’s scent detection and to the thrashing cold winds.

He heard some roaring engine sounds behind...

A generator-room that was powering the army base was operational. An armed soldier was discharged inside and was on guard. It would be too risky to attack her, and gunshots might transpire.

True Bob scaled on the side, to climb the roof of the generator room...

He was also relieved that the base did not have watchtowers like Tombscradle that utilized searchlights — to spot movements below. It was slightly warmer up on the roof, from the heat from the running generators despite the whipping winds thumping on his back. Bob perched to keep a lookout, for the guard-dog that was still patrolling below.

***

The three of them were freezing in the Mustang’s front seat. Laura fought hard to stay wide awake — looking out hard at the snow-filled windscreen — and the lights of the Army base were visibly diminishing. Soon she too sunk into the blankets — and dozed off with the other two Intersexuals, hugging tight to huddle into their warmth.

***

More than six hours had passed during the lowest ebb — a rotor sound was heard from afar.

The sole quarry True Bob was curled up in hiding — he too had dozed off in the dark, with both of his arms hugging tight onto himself. He was snow-covered, until he cranked to straighten his neck up, to the oncoming sound. His eyes were smarting with his own frozen tears — coming to his senses soon that the tempest had passed...

He staggered disoriented to stand up on the roof. Snowflakes dropped off his poncho, but he was still shivering badly to the nippy breeze. He descended from the generator room's roof while looking up at blinking light of a chopper coming over from the dark skies.

True Bob panted in a panic — checked his watch when he landed below on ground — 3:24 a.m.

He picked up his rifle and tottered ahead, to find for Reeves who was captured somewhere in the base.

***

Troy's eyes were the first to open. He glimpsed around at Laura and Joe, sleeping beside him. A chopper was coming fast. He picked up the field-glass from the dashboard and exited off the Mustang...

He sloshed ahead, on the melted sleet to the edge of the high ground. He heard Laura calling his name from behind but he did not stop, she followed...

He peered into the binoculars at the knoll, and he spotted the FBI Bell that had landed — some soldiers were gathering around the whirlybird in the army base. Joe who wrapped in a blanket came standing beside him — the trio looked out at in the darken army base ahead that was lighted in a few strategic areas.

“Is it Reeves? What is happening, Troy?” Laura asked very anxiously.

Troy spotted the military servicewomen welcoming three people — who had descended from the FBI chopper — Agents Maxine Harvest, Agent Ruby Dillon and...

Roberta Jensen...

Troy said softly, "oh no…"

Laura kept asking him. "Troy, what is happening?"

He passed the field glasses next to Joe — who focused to identify the super-cop who made her career as an enforcer by torturing and killing countless Intersexual rebels, gangbangers, and even free-males. Joe contritely muttered in a scared voice...

"Oh shit, oh fuck — it’s her again," Joe finally handed the binoculars to Laura, and she looked into it — Joe shook his wretched head before responding in despair...

"It's your sister — what are the fucking odds of her being here right now? O no... she almost killed us the last time in L.A. — oh me, oh fuck — she has found us again!"

Laura saw the adult self — of her younger sister Roberta physically, for the first time.

She remembered the contumacy of her younger sister’s way of walking which was slightly swaggering back then — today, she walked the same manner but was viler as a grownup — after the browsing into the rebels’ underground intranet forum sites that Troy had shown her, on the Dark-net at the lakes — where she had learned more about the nefarious side of her sister.

***

True Bob moved in the dark, reaching a safe distance from the chopper — the poor eye-sighted, half-Cherokee recognized — and was surprised to Roberta’s arrival too. He saw her accompanied by the base superior-office Capt. Farrer — leading the visitors away to the direction where Reeves was held captive.

He shadowed them...

They all entered the officer's barrack. True Bob peeked from outside into the frosty windowpane at the few women surrounding the hanging semi-conscious Reeves who was strung to a high beam. It reminded Bob of how the 'flogged' Preacher — who was hung by the wrist, at the goalpost in Tombscradle...

True Bob was distracted by sounds of barking dogs, and he started to move again.

*

Shining their flashlights, Corporal Hilly, Piccirilli and another soldier with a guard dog were horrified to the discovery of the dead Private Flinch, with a cut-out throat — hidden under the elevated barrack. The distressed dog was out barking at the stiff corpse, covered in snow.

True Bob spied on them from the dark, while hiding away nearby. His fingers also reactivated the timer on the C4 charge — carefully placed it under the soldiers’ barracks. He started to run fast in the slush grounds, to the other spots, to trigger the other remaining charges.

He was really hoping that the dogs, would not sniff them out first.

***

Agent Dillon held up the out-cold Reeve's face with contusions — while Agent Harvest used her face recognition goggle, to identify the God’s Army rebel in the NSA software's database profile. Roberta looked petulantly blasé at the mundane procedure, as she was eager to begin interrogating the captured rebel...

She recalled recently how the mutinous Reeves had her handcuffed in the car park in L.A. before the coma endured Laura was driven away. He was really cunning — and knew about Roberta’s second pistol, tugged away in her ankle-holster that night — or else it would have been a ‘sweet kill,’ to put a bullet each into Reeves and Joe in the back of their heads when they turned and tried to escape from the hospital car park...

But they got away the last time — just like what the wounded Preacher did, in the burning hotel in New Orleans. She could not afford to repeat those similar kinds of mistakes today — or else the tied up quarry who has her sister, might escape again.

But it was now in reverse occurrences — with Reeves who was the one captured in the hold...

‘...but where is Laura?’

The wait was agitating for Roberta, and she voiced out hastily...

“It is him alright, Maxine — I can never forget the face of the bastard, who got my sister.”

Agent Harvest gave a hard stare, then ignored Roberta Jensen — and continued her standard routine procedures. Exasperated, the iniquitous Roberta turned to Captain Farrer beside...

“Captain Farrer, what about the rest of the fucking rebels with him? There were supposed to be three or four she-males — and maybe with some Aryan Sisterhood bitches — was there also a hostage woman, in a coma with them — she’s my sister, did you find her too?”

“No — we just got only him so far. But my search-teams have resumed searching the grounds since the blizzard stopped — for his accomplice.”

They finally heard Agent Maxine Harvest, speaking out as she inferred...

“Yes, for the record, it is confirmed that this is Reeves Jensen.”

Roberta did not like the acrimonious sound of the mentioned cognomen — that this ‘Mexican-bastard’ shared the same last name as her.

Roberta requested permission. “Excuse me. I need to question the prisoner now.” Capt. Farrer looked at Royle, before smiling back at the cynosure, reputed super-cop...

“Knock yourself out — we tried — but got nada.”

Roberta grabbed the catalepsy Reeve's by his hair, and slapped him hard — Reeve's eye half opened —to see his aversion staring back, with an iniquitous grin...

“Wake the fuck up, Jose! The mountain had come to Mohamed...

“...now, where is Laura? Where are you keeping her?”

“Fuck you!”

Reeves spat at her — and Roberta instantly punched back...

His head fell backwards...

He hung flaccid as the rope that swung him, to a full slow circle. The Intersexual tried to retaliate, with a head-butt as the rope veering him closer towards Roberta, but the effort was an ungainly missed in breaking her nose. Roberta parried, ruptured his instead with a jab — and Reeves fell backwards again, swaying on the rope with a bleeding nose...

“It is the end of the road, Reeves — you give her back to me!”

Mentally, the trapped Reeves agreed — that it was the end of the road. This was the final wall that he could not jump to cross over —

Hanging at the end of the rope, with every ticking second, he anticipated that True Bob’s C4s would explode any time now, and the rest of the team with Laura would start racing to the Canadian border, with True Bob following them...

Everyone would leave him behind — as a decoy diversion for his quietus death...

Roberta saw the Mimi pendant chain around his neck — she snatched it off — Reeves right foot went up, swung over to kick. But Roberta secured his ankle under her clenched arm — and punched his groin. Reeves screamed in agony, but she clasped his throat — to chock and reticent him...

She hollered at his face while she throttled him...

“Where the fuck is she? Tell me and I will grant you a quick death, like the fucking Preacher of yours!”

She released the grip choke, Reeves coughed out, squealed out back in bitter anguish...

“Go ahead, kill me, bitch — yes, I have killed your Mimi —and I buried her in the Nevada desert so that you can never find her again. Now go back to Washington, Uncle Jensen—and go mourn for her death over there...

“Yeah you Jensen bitch, I have killed your fucking sister!”

‘It can’t be true.’

For a second, Roberta thought it out if he would have killed someone who was cognate...

‘He is bluffing.’

But nobody had called Laura as Mimi — except for their mother Martha — it irked her further...

Everyone present at the officers barrack too believed in Reeves’ homicidal confession — that defied Roberta’s incredulous theories that Laura was still alive — they stepped back to witness Roberta’s sudden outburst of torture...

Roberta saw the Savage 110FP sniper rifle on the table — and she grabbed it. She swung the rifle’s butt and rammed it hard into Reeve's midsection...

Reeves coughed out blood.

“You are lying, where is she?”

“She is dead...you dumb cunt — now shoot...kill me and be done, you bitch!”

Roberta slammed the rifle butt again, squarely into his chest — Reeves made grasping sounds, with difficulty to breathe...

“I know you are a liar — you will not kill her!”

Roberta stared at him, grimacing in pain — he looked like Laura — when she was his age, but his contumacy eyes were more like Martha’s — glowering back at all the flaws, deep inside Roberta’s tottering being...

“Laura is mine, you hear me, you freak! Where is she, you piece of shit?”

Reeves seized up a mouthful of air — before he spoke again...

“Yes, Roberta Jensen — I am the piece of shit that your sister gave birth to, you hear me? If you hate my kind so much — why are you keeping me alive?

“Kill me now, my fucking Uncle Rob — grow half a ball in your girlie pants, and shoot me!”

Even though he was gassed out, but he tried hard to laugh — Roberta paused to stare a sec longer —before she too joined her nephew with his laughter.

“I will be glad to — oh yeah — I will be really glad to put some lead, in your cunting faggot mouth...

“But, before I do that — let me humour you, of my first-kill...”

Roberta dugout and took something out of her wallet — a small old newspaper cutting the size of a dollar bill, laminated in hard durable plastic with the picture of a certain Monroe. She placed it towards Reeves’s face — and bragged to challenge him back with sarcasm...

“See this, freak — I was nine years old then when I got my first kill— it was Laura's rapist, yes, Reeves my boy — your lowlife tacos brick-shitting beaner Pappi, who was a dirty cleaner at that hospital! Yes boy, I killed your filthy, toilet-bowl licking hog of your father — and now, I don’t mind killing his fucking son too — yeah because you have the same, beaner shit-stench like him!”

Reeves glimpsed at the photo in the plastic-coated old newspaper cutting — he discovered the agnate Hispanic who had fathered him during the Medusa chaotic period. But he was insensate at that moment, because being in cognomen as a Jensen — which was a real loathed malediction that always got him in complicity and danger from his Tombscradle days, right to the captive situation, which he was now in.

Roberta laughed hysterically, turning to the table where there were a few bullets — and she unwarily started to ‘lock and load’ the Savage 110 FP rifle — but Maxine Harvest came up — and grabbed hold of the rifle’s barrel, with her own pistol prodded into Roberta’s belly...

“Rob put your personal vengeance aside. He is a federal prisoner now — and we intend to take him back alive. ” Roberta ignored her...

Agent Dillon pursued next from the side, gun pointed too...

“Stand down! Reeves Jensen is in the custody of the FBI — for our remaining investigations of God’s Army trained assassins cell-groups — and for their threat on the life of the President of the United States. So if you ever make any attempt to his life — we both will not hesitate to shoot you too!”

Ruby Dillon pointed her pistol at volatile Roberta’s head, aiming at her temple — which made the contumacy Roberta to release the rifle back, into Agent Harvest’s grip...

Before the mitigated Roberta could reply that she wanted to continue on further into the interrogation — the door opened hastily — Corporal Hilly came barging to her superior’s side...

“Captain Farrer, we found a body, Sir — one of ours — Private Flinch is dead!"

The livid Farrer left the barrack immediately, with Corporal Hilly and Royle — to investigate further into the third death, among her soldiers on that day.

Agent Dillon followed them out...

***

True Bob dodged the dogs and he crouched in the dark, near the parking area. He looked at his watch — it was 4:07 a.m.

He spotted the soldier with the Alsatian, sniffing at the grounds at the vehicle parking bay.

True Bob plugged both index fingers into to his ears, spotting the alerted dog barked at the stacked barrels of fuel drums. The soldier went forward to investigate — she stumbled to catch a glimpse of the live C4 explosive — with a countdown timer...

...00:05 — 00:04...

She dropped the dog's leash — and ran scared, yelling out, “Bomb!"

A major explosion ripped the base — with subsequent multiple blasts, of the staked gasoline drums, now ripped sky-high — and the barking Alsatian was not lucky...

Raining suffused of flaming debris, which fell on half a dozen parked terrain buggies nearby, soon were now engulfed in flames...

***

Laura despaired in morose tears at the backseat of the Mustang. She then looked up — to the fiery blasts ahead which brighten the dark skies.

She saw Joe and Troy running frantically over to the car...

"It is the cue, we are good to go!”

Captain Farrer saw the thick black smokes on the fiery sky and called to her women soldiers to prepare for more possible attacks. FBI Agent Dillon rushed back into the officer's barrack and informed of the rebel attack situation — Agent Harvest pocketed all the rifle bullets on the table — before she grabbed Roberta’s arm...

"You are going to stay here, and guard my prisoner — and make sure he is alive when I get back — or I will string your ass up there, Roberta Jensen!"

Harvest and Dillon pulled out their side weapons, and both left out of the door. Roberta glanced back at the unconscious Reeves overhanging, with his neck hung down.

Nearby, soldiers who were half asleep minutes ago were now scurrying into their uniforms, after anticipating the major blast outside — a second C4 from below the soldiers' barracks then set off — killing most of them indoor.

Roberta looked out of the window at the chaotic commotion outside the base — realizing her disadvantage of being suspended from duty and placed under the prerogative FBI’s jurisdiction — she could not get involved into the current action without the authorization nor would be allowed to use any firearm, face the rebels out there — which was something she had trained intensively in and was very good at.

She stepped out the door — and observed the confusion with the two sectors of the base that was blazing brightly in inferno. She peered at the two FBI agents running at the far end, towards the black smoked base...

They both loped forward, unaware towards the direction — of the third explosion that set off...

Roberta’s heart palpitated fast — and she exclaimed...

"Oh fuck! Maxine!"

Roberta ran over to rescue them...

Both Agent Harvest and Dillon survived the blast with minor burns. Both sprawled on the muddy ground, with buzzing eardrums. Dillon was looking up at the half-blown metal stills, which fastened the communication satellite dish. It began to buckle — by its weight and was creaking aloud...

Roberta cried out Agent Harvest's name before the massive dish plummeted below — onto both the dazed FBI agents, who were getting up on their feet to escape — making it an inevitable instant death, to crash on to both of the FBI agents...

Roberta finally reached near to recognize Maxine’s arm visible with the silver bangle, under the mass wreckage — Roberta began to break apart emotionally, seeing her dead beneath.

Roberta bent down to touch the palm and fingers of the lifeless hand for a second. Hot tears streamed on her cheeks, and a deep rage leapt inside Roberta...

‘The rebels will have to pay for this!’

The super-cop then focused on her task-at-hand, in her investigation — which was to find her Laura...

‘...the bastard was wearing the Mimi-pendent — where is he hiding Laura?’

Roberta picked up the dead FBI's pistol on the soggy sleet — and she paced back hastening to the officers’ barrack to get the answers — if he refused to cooperate — she is going to blow Reeve's brains out anyway — as a sign to regain control of her own-self, which had crippled her emotionally weak, ever since Laura’s abduction...

Blowing his brains out would be a good place to start...

She glanced over at some alarmed and vocal female surviving soldiers pointing outside the base, which transpired with gunshot explosions — a red Mustang was heading to the second boom-gate barrier that the army set up for vehicle checks, heading to the border. An Intersexual was seen from inside, pushing over the rooftop, off the moving car — it dropped, cartwheeled and was bouncing off, on the icy tarmacadam road...

The soldiers were shooting at the red car and the standing shemale held two machine guns in the passenger seat of the Mustang, and he fired back — but the fumed Roberta ignored the commotion ahead...

She should not get distracted but focused on heading back into the officers’ barrack — to terminate her Mexi-fuck nephew...

***

Laura ducked low on the backseat floor, of the speeding car.

She peeked up to see Troy with one of his knees on the seat balancing himself, in the front passenger seat — he was firing the two machine guns. Blistering hot bullet shells dropped on Laura’s back.

Troy killed the three soldiers at the second sentry, before jumping out of the car — to lift the boom-gate pole up. Joe drove through with Troy chasing the car from behind, still firing — at more oncoming foot soldiers...

Captain Farrer commanded the troops to their vehicles — to pursue the escaping rebels ahead. The running Troy dove back into the moving car, and the Mustang sped off. Farrer saw the escaping rebels...

She climbed into the Mowag’s hatch — the army tank roared alive.

***

Roberta stepped into the officers’ barrack, to discover the rope was cut off — and Reeves was missing.

‘He has got Laura in the car.’

The enraged Roberta cursed loudly and stepped out — she was assuming that Reeves too had escaped in that fleeting car. Three patrol buggies were driving out fitfully from the blazing vehicle parking bay, speeding by in front of Roberta, to the road heading to the Canadian border...

Roberta ran towards the direction of the FBI's Bell chopper — armed with the dead FBI Agent Maxine Harvest’s pistol in her hand...

She passed by the upheaval women soldiers carrying their wounded away, from the blast sites — unknown to her — one of the soldiers was True Bob with the out cold Reeves, sagging on his shoulder — and with the sniper rifle in Bob’s other hand.

As the dawning daylight suffused, Bob grinned craftily to himself that he had outfoxed the super-cop, while he walked like a ghost towards the parking bay, camouflaged among the chaos on all sides. He peered across at a female soldier dragging a disorderly guard dog that was whining in distress, after scenting the blood of the other canine that was blown away minutes earlier.

True Bob sat the cataleptic Reeves at the assault buggy's passenger seat, buckled his belt — before he used the key which he kept earlier, to start the ignition. The half-Cherokee had a lot of catching up to do, to reach Joe’s Mustang — that was estimated to be two miles ahead of him — now being pursued by the army base Captain Farrer in a tank...

He drove out of the camp, chuckling, looking back at the inferno in his rearview mirror, shaking his head — while still in a state of disbelief and then pride, after he had single-handedly destroyed an entire army base...

... with three of his four explosives...

Not bad for an overnight achievement, for a poor eye-sighted outcaste John Wayne — coming out from his Cherokee reservation.

***

Roberta reached the FBI chopper and saw the pilot taking photos, of the blaze and the devastation happening around her on her phone camera. Roberta tapped her...

“Hey you there, get the chopper — the rebels are getting away to Canada!"

The female pilot baulked out loudly — looking at ‘outsider’ Roberta — who was not sanctified in any form of ratification, in their ‘search and rescue’ mission...

"Back off — this is an FBI authorized property! I only take orders from Agent Harvest, not from any civilians!"

Roberta pointed the gun straight in between the pilot's eyes — and yelled back...

‘Fuck you, dumb cunt! Both the agents are already dead, you fool — and I am fuckin' in charge now!

“Now shut your goddam labia lips — and get your shitty bird-ride moving now!"