The Scout

When the tanks reached the top of the hills, they open fire. Sam stared in awe as the mighty guns exploded. Scott was amazed as the first salvo screamed overhead and smashed into the ranks of Anarchists.

The motorbikes and buggies flew into the air in twisted burning wreckage. Then the helicopters opened up with their machineguns. The 20 mm rounds fired from the M197 tri-barrel chewed up what the tanks did not destroy. In a matter of half a minute, the entire Anarchist patrol laid destroyed smoking and burning in the late afternoon sun.

Scott now noticed the white stars and American flags painted on the vehicles.

"Looks like you are in the clear, Scout," the mysterious voice crackled over the radio again. "Welcome back to the United States of America."

General MacKenzie paced back and forth in the briefing room. He had just finished debriefing Scott and the report of a petty dictator trying to carve himself an empire out in South Dakota greatly troubled him.

"We've dealt with crazies styling themselves after Napoleon before," the large general said. "But we never had to deal with one who wanted to play at Armageddon. Hell, you'd think we all would have learned something over the last twelve years."

Scott just sat behind the table watching the general march back and forth before the dry erase board. The military base situated just outside of Billings represented the farthest eastern reach of the United States in the north.

"You know general, we may need your fire power to help us get to the Twin Cities," Scott finally said.

"Impossible," the general barked. "We are all that stands between this fried-out colonel and the rest of the United States. You know how hard it is to get five M1s not to mention those two Cobras?"

"General, we don't stand a chance if we send our usual convoy east. How about that Apache you've been working on? I also know you have some of those old Pattons."

"The AH64 is nearly repaired. However, it is a moot point. There is no way the president and the congress is going to allow me to loan you that helicopter or those three M60s."

The general groaned, "Ah hell, we have a month to ready the convoy and fix up your car. Who knows maybe I can work some kind of miracle. You didn't happen to see what all they had there at Fort Meade did you?"

"Sorry general," Scott replied. "I only saw one M113 APC. In fact, I thought they caught up to us when I first saw your forces. Thank God, we started painting the white stars back on our equipment."

The general laughed, "Yeah, it has been about half a century since we did that. But, things have changed and now more than ever we need to be able to tell us from them.

"Not to change the subject. But, have you decided what you'll do about the kid?" the general asked with genuine concern.

"I guess I haven't really thought about it," Scott said. "I suppose I'll have to adopt him otherwise he'll be sent to a coast detention center. That would be pretty cruel after losing all of his family."

The general groaned, "You know that there are regulations about that."

Scott scratched his chin in thought before he finally broke out in a smile, "Unless the refugee from the Wastes has a special talent that would greatly benefit the United States."

The general stared at Scott for a while, "What in the hell could that kid offer us. He's hardly a mechanic or an engineer."

"No, but I could definitely use a top gunner for my car," Scott countered.

"WHAT!?!" the general exclaimed. "I doubt that kid even held a gun before he met you. He's no top gunner."

"Yet -- General -- he's no gunner yet. I was kind of hoping you'd help out with this. After all, we have a month to scratch together a convoy and I need a gunner for the new turret I'm adding to the Charger."

The general pondered it for a couple of minutes. Finally, MacKenzie shook his head, "Sorry, Scott this is likely to be a suicide mission. I can't have you take a kid out to the Wastes."

"General, if we send that kid to a detention center where he doesn't know anyone that too could well be a suicide mission. Things aren't what they were before the Big Bang. Hell, that kid has spent his entire life living in the Wastes. He knows it better than any of us I'd bet," Scott answered hotly, his face flushed red.

"Ok, we'll put it to the kid," the general finally relented. "You know if we hadn't been friends for the last ten years I'd never let you talk to me like that."

Scott chuckled, "Well, thank God for friendship."