//------------------------------// // Act I - 04 - Smoke on the Water // Story: Harmony's Warriors: X-Questrians First Class // by Avenging-Hobbits //------------------------------// Act I: "In the Beginning" Chapter Four: "Smoke on the Water" Smaugton, Wyremland, October 1975 The thin, yellow stallion quietly stepped inside the pub, carefully scanning the exotic mix of multicolored dragons and he smiling at the blue scales of a young female drake on the other side of the room, trying to hide the fact that he was staring. He always did have a rather exotic taste in women, although his weakness had always been for sheer elegance of blue, backed by sheer power of will in general, no matter what species. This was the place that an orange dragon named Cinder had sent him, and from all the signs, it looked to be that the hidden cache of silver and gold that Carrot Cake had told him of had been a well spent after all. As he made his way to the bar stools, past the pool tables and through the decrepit stench of cheap cigars and bit store whiskey, he carried himself as if he were any other problem drinker out there, showing nothing that would give him away and even forcing a false, drunken stumble. Carrot sat himself down upon the worn and torn cushion of a brown, wooden stool on the far side of the bar, before turning and quietly inspecting his surroundings. Crisp had told him that two griffins frequently visited this bar, so the skinny young stallion knew explicitly what to look for. Considering that every other patron of the bar was some sort of dragon, it would be relatively easy to spot a griffin, and if they weren’t here, then he would need to have words once more with his informant. A confident smile spread across his face as he spotted his targets, happy that he wouldn’t need to waste time correcting his informant in the art of intelligence gathering. Sitting in the far corner of the bar, next to one of the windows, were a pair of griffins. One of them was a stocky fellow, evidently having grown very comfortable with his life in retirement and chatting quite adamantly with his companion, a taller, older individual who seemed much more noticeably reserved. “Barkeep,” Carrot called out, refusing to use the native accent of the land to blend in and waving over to a rather old and haggard looking dragon from the far side of the bar that had been polishing a shot glass far too large for pony consumption. “I’ll have some Zap Apple Brandy.” The bronze drake nodded, reaching under the counter to pour a bottle of the rainbow colored liquid into the shot glass and sliding it over to the foreign visitor. Carrot took a sip, enjoying the incredibly sweet and sour kick of the guilty pleasure he had first come across in a small town in the valleys south of Canterlot. “That all laddie?” the reptile asked as he reached back for his glassware. “Anthin’ else, or would that be all, then?” the dragon asked, looking down at Carrot. As he took another sip from his fine liqueur, a thought traveled into his young mind as he glanced down to both the reasons he’d made his journey here. “As a matter of fact,” his thoughts began to race at mach speed as he answered and took a small, valuable gem from his pocket. “You can take this, Sir,” the stranger then turned around to face each and everyone of the bar patrons. “And pour a round for everyone here!” he declared throughout the establishment. The patrons and bar tender all raised their eye ridges in sync, and the bartender crossed his arms. “YEAH!” The crowd’s cheer echoed throughout the building as the near-golden old lizard busted out some of his finer whiskey and poured maybe a dozen shot glasses in a single precise and fluid motion. “Alrighty then, lad,” he then cupped his claws to his mouth. “DRINKS ON THA HOUSE THANKS TO THA BONNY BONEH FELLA, HERE!” he hollered, and the entire bar let out a second boisterous cheer. Carrot however, kept his eyes focused on the two griffins, whose reactions were noticeably subdued. Coolly and with trained confidence, he rose from his torn and tattered bar stool and moved over to a booth, close enough to be within earshot of his targets, but far enough away not to arouse any unwanted suspicion from where the two griffins were sitting, moving through the newly caused uproar like a wraith, only stopping to accept the well-meant gestures of a pat on his back or a ruffle of his mane. He sat at his new table calmly, listening as the two griffins discussed something in subdued, suspicious tones. “I do not know, Eisenhardt,” the elder one expressed, his eyes shifting from side to side as if Celestia herself were expected to bust through a wall. “I just have a bad feeling...as if we’re being vachted,” his voice carrying with it a sense of trepidation. "Christoph,” the younger one placed his talon upon his friend’s shoulder. “You vorry too much. Ve're in a pub in Wyremland!” He moved his arms wide as if to show the whole nation. “No one vill be looking for us here," the other griffin, a stocky fellow said, patting the taller one on the back. "Ve are perfectly safe, trust me, Ich bin Arzt.” “That is vat you might think, Eisenhardt, but even still…” he took a deep breath as he looked down upon his alcohol. ”I feel as though ve should err on the side of caution,” the taller griffin replied, his voice much colder, more methodical, which meant he was less inclined to make a mistake. “That is all.” Upon hearing the names, Carrot pulled a notepad, flipping past the coins and notes of convenience until he’d found what he’d been searching for, an old and tattered slip of paper with several dozen names on it with several already crossed out. At the top of the page, in the native language of South Griffinheim, were the words “Personnel Roster”. Carrot carefully scanned the faded text, seeing if any of the names matched up to the names that had been spoken, already having a strong feeling but looking over it for absolute certainty. While he detested griffins as a species, he knew he couldn’t simply kill all of them. After all, even he knew that not every single one was worthy of death, a deplorable and hideous race though they may have been. A dark smile crossed his face as he spotted two names: Christoph and Eisenhardt, the Red Right Talons. Without saying a single word, he slowly, quietly and methodically rose up out of his seat and moved like the slow but sure wrath of Celestia herself towards his targets, feeling nothing but the sheer and unbridled desire for revenge. “Good evening, friends!” he said, taking a seat at the pair's table. The two griffin’s eyed him warily, noticing his seemingly slight accent and bandaged forelimb, but seeing no real reason to call attention to it, with the tall one seemingly choosing to keep his glance on the face of the young mustang before him. "Why hello there, friend," the stocky griffin replied, his voice carrying the gruff and angular sound of Southern Griffinheim. "Vhat brings you here?" he asked, giving Carrot an amicable smile that only made Carrot feel more hateful. “Well,” Carrot began, controlling his heart rate with near impossible effort. “I am here to visit old acquaintances and teachers from home,” he let on with a half truth as he pat his hooves on the back of the older griffin. “And I recognized you two fine fellows as my most favorite teachers." Carrot felt no small amount of satisfaction at the sight of the two griffins growing more uneasy. The elder griffin, must have learned how to hide it, as his expression grew inquisitive, and he raised an intrigued eyebrow at the younger pony. "Is zat right?” he asked, his claw now tapping his thigh rapidly, obviously at a loss as to where he’s seen this young pup before. “And, pray tell, Mein Freund, vhere vas it dat ve have met?” he cooly continued, his voice growing darker in tone. “I do not remember teaching any classes, boy.” “Really?” Carrot asked, keeping his mind sharp with preparation and anticipation. He then nodded. “Because I certainly remember being taught at one of your schools,” he raised his own eyebrow, now grinning with a smile of pure bloodlust. “I remember being one of your best students, as a matter of fact.” The two griffins exchanged a nervous glance, both worried and still very much uncertain who this supposed ghost from their past was. The younger griffin calmed himself, electing not to attract any more attention than he already. “Well, I must say zat your accent does, indeed, ring a bell of sorts,” he took another drink of his whiskey. “So tell me. Are you from Prospekt? And if so, vat vas it zat your parents did?” “It’s funny that you decided to ask that very question,” Carrot chuckled slightly. “Yes actually, Mr. Christoph. I am indeed from Prospekt. But my family didn’t exactly do anything of particular importance, really...” “Enough of zese games, boy!” the younger and more impulsive of the two elder griffins declared as he took out a thick combat knife, his alcohol intake now corrupting his judgment. Carrot’s eyes darted towards it, recognizing it as a Equestrian Civil War era blade. “Now, you vill tell Christoph and I how you know us, or you vill be a new skin decorating zee wall of zis bar!” the griffin growled. “You both truly have no idea of whom you are dealing with,” Carrot stated coolly, taking a deep breath to maintain his sense of control in the very tense situation. “Do you?” “Should ve?” The dagger was raised closer to the orange stallions neck, the very tip now touching the jugular and barely kept from piercing his throat. Around them, several patrons had noticed the altercation and had begun to edge away, all giving Carrot and the two griffins strange, uneasy looks. Carrot Cake’s eyes flashed with a golden rage. “Oh, you definitely should,” he instructed as the knife of the griffin flew backward and into the neck of the griffin that had dared to threaten him. The griffin let out a watery yelp as the blade planted itself into his jugular, his talons flying up to his neck in a futile effort to pull the knife out. Of course, by this time, the blood was flowing quite freely, and within a few seconds, he was slumped over the back of his chair, his neck feathers soaked in his own blood. He then mentally leveled the knife towards the temple of his next target. “Now, you’re going to answer my question. And after you tell me where Shaw is, I am going-” “To kill me, Boy?” the elder griffin finished as he took a drink of his whiskey. “Vell?” he asked, looking up at Carrot, who simply blinked in surprise. “That was the idea, yes,” Carrot answered back, nodding his head slightly. “Now, tell me everything you know and-” “You vill make it end quickly?” the griffin asked, his eyes looking directly into Carrot’s. “Stop that,” Carrot sneered, holding the knife even closer. “And you sound almost as if you…” “Want to die?” they finished together. There was a long, strange moment between them, broken when the griffin shook his head. “Boy, I think you gravely overestimate the animosity of those you hunt.” he said, his voice growing heavy and burdensome. Carrot gritted his teeth. He didn’t have time for the old griffin’s ramblings. “Don’t play your games with me, griffin,” he barked, slamming a fist onto the table. “Do you honestly expect me to let you go because you have no ‘animosity’? Or to let you live?” The griffin simply looked down to his drink as he continued to speak, his words carefully spaced. “I have been dying a little each and every day since I left the service of Gustav le Shaw,” he then looked up into Carrot’s eyes. The griffins’ eyes were heavy and burdensome, as if they were the eyes of someone much, much older, and Carrot could have sworn that there were tears in the griffin’s eyes. “To end me now vould be no less than a blessing, Mein Freund.” “What?” Carrot seethed, as the rage was boiling in his veins. How could this griffin, one of his tormentors, could possibly want to die by his own hooves? “You can’t be serious.” he said, shaking his head again. The griffin slowly placed his head in his claws. “Ze zings I have done, the sins and ze red upon my name… veigh ‘eavy on my soul, al because I had chosen to follow ze vill of a mad-griffin and a murderer.” “And what makes you think I’ll believe you?” Carrot spat out, furious that any potential satisfaction from revenge was being foiled from the griffin’s sudden feeling of regret. “Freund, I vill not claim that I am cut from a finer cloth than my compatriot you just elegantly ended,” he waved a talon towards the dead griffin slouched over the chair next to them. “Ze fact is that I could never bring myself to disobey a single order from a maniac,” his voice began to drift off, growing more and more emotional as he spoke. “I see zem all, in my dreams. I see you, I see the other prisoners, all who suffered because of me,” he looked back up to Carrot, letting out a heavy sigh and sitting up. “I ‘ave ‘ad a revolver with but a single round in it under my pillow ever since before I left his service,” the griffin took a final gulp of his whiskey. “I am under no delusions that I may atone for my sins, but if I can help bring an end to vatever it is he vants, zen I vill do it with nary a thought.” “What?” Carrot asked, completely unprepared for anything what the griffin had just said. The griffin nodded. “I vill tell you vhere Gustav is, Freund, but on ze condition that you kill me.” “I…” Carrot Cake’s thoughts began to race, a tremendous feeling of guilt pouring over him. This griffin was apparently remorseful, willing enough to tell Carrot whatever he wanted to know. But, regardless of any remorse, this griffin had still personally supervised five years worth of torment upon Carrot. And nothing this griffin had said could make Carrot forget that. “Tell me,” he said, looking back up at the griffin, who nodded slowly, a look of relief on his face. “You vill find Gustav in the city of Las Pegasus, in a casino called ze Valkyrie.” Carrot nodded, leveling the knife up to the griffin’s throat, “Thank you Christoph. Might I ask if you have any last words?” The griffin simply shook his head. Carrot swallowed again, cleanly slipping the knife forward and into the throat of the griffin. As the blood flowed freely, Carrot pulled the knife out, cleaning it off and putting it in his saddle bag. As he did so, he couldn’t help up wonder how the now deceased griffin’s life would be like if he had never become involved with Gustav. However, Carrot shook his head. He was a griffin, Carrot. That should explain everything, he thought bitterly as he turned out of the bar. As he walked, he quietly crossed out the two names from the list, leaving only one name. And the name was Shaw. //////////////////////////////////////////////// Undisclosed location, Equestria, November 1975: The aggressive music continued to assault the griffin's ears, each harsh chord acting like a sledgehammer to his ear drums. He could barely hear the sound of a heavy metal door scraping against its hinges over the din, only for everything to suddenly become quiet. "Rise and shine, Friedrich," a blinding light exploded across the griffin's field of vision as the burlap sack was unceremoniously yanked off his head, only managing to disorient the already deeply confused griffin. As the griffin's vision slowly drifted into focus, he saw a dark lavender colored unicorn sitting in a small chair in front of him. He struggled to shake free, as he’d struggled for the past few days, but like all those other attempts, it was ultimately a fruitless endeavor. Friedrich was trapped. The petite unicorn just stood there, emotionless, as the harsh light and heat from a lamp struck both them and the rusty table between them. The air was insufferably stale and heavy, and the temperature of the room made it feel as if he were in a pressure cooker. “I can only imagine how uncomfortable you must feel right now,” the unicorn projected, seemingly unfazed by either the humidity, nor the glare, nor the smell of sweat and griffin body odor. "Care to tell us what you know now?" she tilted her head slightly, an expectant look on her face. Friedrich shook his head, still adjusting to the light and the lack of food or water he’d been given. “Go… to hell…” The unicorn let out a mildly frustrated sigh, shaking her head slowly. "Can I be honest with you, Friedrich?" she asked, her tone hardening noticeably from the mildly amicable tone from before. The griffin watched as she stood up from the chair, slowly walked around him. “Is it okay if I call you Friedrich?” He responded only with a glare, and he could barely manage that much. "Alright then. I'm going to tell you this right now, my friend,” the lavender agent walked across the room, placing no swagger in her step and simply walking with the obscenely cool confidence she must have developed over what was likely many years in this profession. “I am very, very bad news. Especially for someone like you,” she turned her head slightly, then continued facing the opposite direction. “I am not your friend, I am not your buddy, I am not here to hold your talon or sleep with you if you have a nightmare and I am most certainly not here to help you. I'm here to break you,” she turned and looked him dead in the eyes. “Understand? And if you lie to me..." she paused, holding her hooves under his beak, and tilting his head up so that he could look her in the eyes. "I will not hesitate to hurt you. Do you understand me, Friedrich?" The griffin growled slightly, his whole body tensing up. The unicorn however, just sighed, shaking her head as she started walking around the room again. "I just trying to be honest here, Friedrich" she said, her tone growing softer, but still maintaining a sharp edge. "Just because I'm willing to hurt you, doesn't mean I want to hurt you. After all, you decide how you are treated here,” she walked up and put her arm around him, seemingly paying no heed the soggy, sweaty feathers and the stench of an unwashed half bird. “If you are cooperative, then you will be put in a nice, comfortable cell, with books to read and nice air conditioning and music by Coltzart and Beethoofen and not forced to sit in this chair in this hot and sweaty room all day with the lights off and the door closed." The unicorn sat down again in the chair in front of him, her eyes growing stern again. "But if you are uncooperative, then you'll be stuck here, in the dark, with that music playing all day long," she shifted slightly, adjusting her outfit slightly. "And we also know that, the longer you remain here, and the less willing you are to talk, the more likely I am to be forced to resort to methods that aren't..." she paused, looking down at her hooves as if inspecting them for flaws. "Gentle," she finally said, crossing her arms on the table and looking him directly in the eyes. "You also know full well that I know that you know what we want to know. Now," she leaned in close, her eyes narrowing and horn glowing and somewhat impressed that she’d been able to say that in one go. "Tell me where Gustav la Grande le Shaw is or else I get..." she took a moment to try and find the right word. “Feisty.” The griffin narrowed his eyes hatefully. He might be handcuffed to a chair like some sort of common criminal, in a hot, sweaty room with stale air, but he was still a griffin. And not just any griffin, but a Southern griffin. And that meant he would never, ever submit to some weak whelp of a unicorn. Especially some catsuit garbed mare. That was when she heard him mumble something, as if the past few days in this kind of captivity had placed such a drain on him that he couldn’t even talk right. She knelt her head closer. “What was that?” “Go fuck yourself,” he hissed, before spitting at the unicorn, hitting her across her eyes and snout. She then looked back at him straight on, her eyes narrowing slightly and her expression becoming like steel. "I really don't want to do this, but I did warn you...” Although, she couldn’t help but admit to herself that she would probably going to enjoy the following just a little bit. The griffin was greeted with the pony slamming his head face first into the table, causing him to yelp out in pain. “Ah! You never start wiz ze head! It gets the memories all… how is it your Equestrian bitches say? ‘fuzzy’?” The unicorn, however, simply lit her horn and scowled at the griffin sitting across from her. In an instant, a rose aura enveloped the haggard griffin, wrapping him against the against the chair tightly and securely. Just as the griffin was going growl another declaration of defiance, another pony, a dull looking pony wearing a pair of sunglasses appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Widow,” a somewhat staticky voice filled the air, drowning out the sound of the harsh breathing caused by the griffin prisoner. “There's a call from HQ for you. It has to do with le Shaw." The agent’s eyes darted towards the doorway, before she took a step back and nodded. "Alright then, Agent Blazer,” she sighed as she answered. “I'll be right there." Releasing the griffin from her magic, she began walking towards the door, feeling a more than slight tinge of irritation that the insulting griffin was going to get away from her questioning. As she came to the doorway, she paused, turning to look at the griffin. "Just remember, Friedrich. Everypony breaks. Its biology." She then cracked a small smile, “And I was a straight ‘A’ student.” She then slammed the door shut, sending the griffin into darkness. //////////////////////////////////////////////// Twilight let out a long frustrated sigh, shaking her head in frustration. It had been two days since they had managed to capture Gustav’s current second in command, and that meant two days of constant interrogation and questioning as to his superiors’ whereabouts. Of course it didn’t help that the griffin seemingly was dead set on never revealing what he knew, so, here Twilight was, miles from home in a small and very modest N.E.I.G.H.S. base, trying to get the griffin to finally submit. “He didn’t talk?” the orange pony next to her asked, looking down on the shorter mare with his pitch black sunglasses. “No Blaze, he didn’t,” she shook her head at the blue maned stallion. “I don’t know why he’s being so stubborn. I mean, does he like being locked in that room all day?” “Well,” her subordinate answered. “Maybe he’s into that kind of thing,” he offered as Twilight just stared at him, not at all happy about hearing his unique brand of comedy at the moment. “Sorry, bad joke.” Twilight just rolled her eyes at the current lieutenant in charge of the facility as she moved the still ringing phone to her ear. “Hello, this is Agent Black Widow. To whom am I speaking with?” “Agent Widow,” a stern voice responded back. “This is Director Armor.” Twilight smiled slightly, her brother’s voice always somehow managing to bring a smile to her face, no matter how bad her day might be going. “Hey BBBFF, what’s up?” she asked, knowing that, given their jobs, phone calls usually meant work. “Well, there seems to have been an interesting development on the potential location of le Shaw,” Shining said, and Twilight raised her eyebrows slightly. “Really? Because Friedrich isn’t cooperating at all,” Twilight said, glaring towards the steel door across the room and remembering the unfinished business she had with the terrorist on the other side of the doors. “Not surprising. Le Shaw takes special care on choosing his seconds,” Shining replied tactfully. “But apparently, there is a bread crumb trail indicating he might be operating in Las Pegasus.” Twilight asked, furrowing her brow slightly. “Interesting, because last bit of info we had placed him in the mountains of South Griffinheim. Why would he be in someplace as populated as Las Pegasus?” “Intel wasn’t clear on that one, although if I had to guess, it would probably be for the purpose of hiding in plain sight,” Shining replied, the sound of shuffling papers reaching Twilight’s ears. “At any rate Twi, the bread trail in question is Juggernaut,” Twilight’s eye widened slightly. “Juggernaut? The black market antiquities pony? What does he have to do with Le Shaw?” she asked, jotting down the information on a notepad as she spoke. “That’s the thing, we don’t know,” the director admitted. “All we’ve got is that Juggernaut was called to Las Pegasus, apparently to speak with somepony known only as ‘Herald’, which we know is an alias of le Shaw.” Twilight nodded, already looking at the map on the wall to see how far Le Shaw had traveled since his last sighed. Apparently, he’d been able to go from the mountains of central South Griffinheim, to Las Pegasus, Equestria, a journey of over two thousand miles. All in a relatively brief amount of time. “So when do I leave?” Twilight asked, still studying the map. “That depends,” Shining Armor said, “Do you have a team ready?” “Well, there’s me, Spike and Steady Hooves. But I think that’ll cover it,” Twilight replied. “Well, if you think they can handle it,” he said, still uncertain as to whether or not it would be enough. “Then I’ll send a C-130 to pick you all up,” Shining replied. Twilight nodded. “Don’t worry Shiny, they can handle it. Just give the order and we’ll be on our way.” Shining laughed. “That’s my sis, always on top of her game,” he let out a sigh. “I’m sending the word out now. Just remember,” his voice then grew serious. “You have to move quickly. If le Shaw is anywhere near as slick as he’s been in the past, it’s very likely that he’s already gotten wind of us spying on him. I don’t want to lose him again. Understand?” Twilight nodded, already sliding a door open to prepare her favored weapon, a simple pistol, for the upcoming mission. “Don’t worry brother, unless he’s somehow figured out teleportation or has bribed all of Las Pegasus, we’ll get him,” she answered calmly, checking the sight of the pistol as she did so. “Or my name isn’t Twilight Velveteen Sparkle.” “All right then. Sounds like we have a plan, just…” he trailed off. “Just be safe, alright LSBFF?” Shining answered, his voice carrying with it a sense of concern. “Shaw’s at least as dangerous as the Red Skull was and I don’t want to have be the one that chokes up at your funeral.” Twilight smiled, cocking her gun, affectionately named ‘Susan’. “Always, brother.” //////////////////////////////////////////////// Agent Spike Pendragon was by no mean a lazy agent. In fact, he was probably one of the most dedicated and dauntless agents in all of N.E.I.G.H.S.. However, just because he was dedicated, didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the times he was able to catch a few extra minutes of sleep. Yes the cot he was sleeping on right now wasn’t exactly a soft, comfy mattress in a five star hotel, but it was still better than nothing, and that was enough for him. “Up and at ‘em Spike!” came a voice, followed by a sharp prod at Spike’s side, causing him to bolt upright and accidentally roll off the cot and onto the floor. “Bualadh craicinn!” he spat, shaking his head as he tried to get his bearings. He looked up to see Twilight standing over him, a bemused look on her face. “Spike how many times have I said that I don’t like it when you curse?” Spike rolled his eyes. “Sorry Twilight, it’s just that you startled me. Why’d you wake me up anyways?” he asked, getting up and stretching out slightly. Twilight nodded, “Well, either way, get ready. Shiny’s sending a Hercules over to pick us up and fly us to Las Pegasus.” “Really?” Spike said, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Has he finally listened to me about letting us have some fun for once?” Twilight rolled her eyes, “No. And anyways, this job is fun, and you know you love it.” Spike laughed, “Yeah, I know, but still. Always wanted to visit Las Pegasus. Can you blame a dragon for wanting to take a vacay?” Twilight shook her head, “No, I can’t. But in all seriousness, we’ve got intel that our so called 'Mastermind' is hiding out there. So get Steady Hooves up so we can get to it.” Spike nodded. “Sure thing Twi,” he turned towards the cot across from him. “Hey, Steady Hooves, you up?” “I’m moving, I’m moving,” came the voice from under a nearby cot’s sheets. Up popped a rather short looking pegasus with a messy mane. “So, we’re heading to the jewel of the San Palomino Desert to stop some bad guy?” Both Spike and Twilight nodded. “Seems to be the case,” Spike said, getting up to start packing his bags. “Well not just any bad guy Steady Hooves, but Gustav la Grand le Shaw. He’s one of the top brass for South Griffinheim’s secret police and their intelligence organization. Has links back to HYDRA as well.” Steady Hooves shook his head. “Damnit Twilight, I’m a doctor first and foremost, not a historian.” “Thanks Bones,” Spike chuckled. Steady Hooves merely shot him a look as he got out of his cot. “I thought I told you not to call me that,” he grumbled, “Adventures in Time and Space is better anyway.” Spike turned and glared at Steady Hooves, “To Boldly Go is the best thing on television right now, admit it.” “Oh please… The Doc and his friends beat The Harmony and it’s crew any day of the week.” That sent the pair into yet another of their characteristic debates on the merits science fiction television programs. All the while Twilight shook her head, a smile on her face. “Come on guys, bury the hatchet. Let’s get ready. The C-130 should be here within the hour.”