****
“My fucking gun turret won’t turn!” complained Skunk. The gasoline engine had already been choked off by insects and leaves, but the turret and cameras were still operating from battery power.
“Don’t try to force it, you fool,” shouted Barns. He could hear gears grinding and smell something burning. He pushed his way next to Skunk and pried the biker’s huge hand off the control stick.
The Sherriff was too late. The mechanism was busted; he could hear electric motors whining freely but the turret remained motionless. The camera itself still worked; he could see that it showed thick vines wrapped around the gun barrels. As he watched, the heavy steel barrels were bent several degrees by vines as thick as his legs. “Shit!” he exclaimed.
He continued to watch, the camera was pushed by vines until it pointed down and to the rear. In the altered field of view Barns could see another of the APCs. It too was snagged by great vines and was suspended at least twenty feet above the ground, between a giant fur and a massive red cedar. As he watched, the rear hatch of the APC opened and half a dozen men dropped screaming to the ground as clouds of insects swarmed over them. A dozen Tribesmen then collected the incapacitated soldiers, carrying away three of them on makeshift stretchers.
Barns estimated that his own APC was suspended above ground at least forty feet. “Son of a bitch!” he screamed into the radio. “Where is everyone? I need reinforcements now!”
Only a panicked crew of anther APC responded, pleading for help. They claimed their APC was somewhere far up in a tree, hanging upside down. Barns turned off the radio and sat quietly brooding.
“Let’s get out of here and blast the bastards,” said Skunk, brandishing a machine gun and reaching towards the rear-hatch latch.
Barns acted quickly to stop him. What good were guns? Countless insects, birds, and small animals still swarmed outside. “It’s over, you dumb bastard. We lost. Sit down and shut up. If we’re lucky, maybe they’ll let us surrender.”
“Hey, you fellows in the treed tin can,” said a voice from outside, right on queue. “Who is it up there?”
“Barns, Skunk Fenster, and our driver Joe. Who’s down there?” Barns hoped it was his reinforcements, but he didn’t recognize the voice.
“Jake Morgan, that other old fart Billy Wilson, and a few thousand forest friends,” replied the voice. “Throw down your guns and climb out and down, and we’ll call off the birds and the bees and so forth. We’ll escort you off the property peacefully.”
“What if we don’t go for that,” shouted Skunk, before Barns could reply.
“Then we’ll drop that damn thing out of the tree and let the ravens and vultures pick up the pieces.”
Barns opened the door a crack and looked down. Forty feet below him, two grinning old men stared up at him. Several grizzly bears and wolves stood nearby, also watching him. The air swarmed with insects and birds. Hundreds of small creatures, also well-armed with teeth, stared up at him. “We surrender,” Barns shouted.
Despite Skunk’s complaints, Barns dropped all weapons to the ground as requested, and then the three men used a rope to climb down. Under the watchful eyes of several snarling bears and wolves, they allowed themselves to be tied up and led away by the two grinning oldsters. One huge bear paid particular attention to Barns. “Warn your boss not to try anything like this again, Barns,” growled the bear clearly.
“You got it,” the astonished sheriff replied. “That’s for damn sure.”
Secrets of Goth Mountain Page 75
