The corrugated metal sheets, ones that lined the warehouse garage, faintly clattered in the afternoon breeze which whispered across the prairie wastes. A fine red rusty dust filtered down through the golden sunbeams, shafts of light that eased their way between slits in the metal siding and, like a master artisan’s pallet of paints, the colors combined to splash the garage floor in a deep blood orange. Aside from the breezy gusts and clattering sheets it was quiet in the large open space of the garage. It’s a rare day when the garage is a quiet place, and today was such a day as “Little” Alex Diesel laid down on the mechanics creeper to slip her way underneath the undercarriage of an old truck. A truck that her clan had used on the off-chance that someone needed drone coverage from above. Not exactly a truck, no, it was something that people used to call an SUV, a Sport Utility Vehicle. A luxury vehicle, rusted out and held together by bailing wire. But people these days did not even know what luxury was anymore and, so, they just called it a truck. Today was quiet because most of everyone in the clan was out helping to escort a cargo shipment from point A to point B, a routine assignment for the gunships, and no need for a droner, so, only Diesel was left to man the post, or so she thought.
“Diesel, what are you still doing here?!” The sergeant’s voice boomed from across the garage.
L.A. had become accustomed to getting yelled at out of no-where long ago, and she answered back with her own gruff and broken voice, accented Bostonian from growing up near the eastern seaboard of the US Atlantic coast, “The crew said that a droner would be useless on the escort mission, so, they left me behind… now, I’m lookin to see if this beast has someplace where I can mount a couple brackets to the undercarriage…”
By this time the sergeant had walked up next to the rig, and Diesel could see one of his boots tapping impatiently, “Still having trouble making friends with the crew, huh? And, what in God’s name are you trying to mount under there anyway?”
L.A. slid out from under the truck, the brunette beauty with grease in her hair looked up at the sergeant with big hazel eyes, ignored the question about making friends, and she answered the other question with one word and a mischievous smile, “Boomsticks,” and with that, she slid back underneath to continue looking around.
“Diesel, that truck is strickly for Drone Support, and you know that!”
“Oh-ho, it’s gonna do a LOT more than just that…after I’m done with it this thing’s going to be a cataclysm on wheels…” she seemed to be talking more to herself rather than to the sergeant.
“Sure it is,” he said back sarcastically. “Besides, the drones are a huge drain on the batteries as it is, and those old boomsticks we have need a good amount of power to detonate. Where do you plan on pulling more juice from?”
“Theres a cavity behind the transmission, and it looks big enough to fit that Ampere generator we got stashed out in the yard.”
“If you can fit that generator in there, then, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle…”
Again, she slid out from beneath, looked up at the sarge, and shoved a dirty hand down the neck of her shirt, smearing grease across her chest to rummage around on the left side of her bra. Then she pulled out a half-eaten piece of beef-jerky, chomped down on it with a wink to the sarge, and said with a mouthful, “I can fit anything, anywhere,” smacked her lips a couple times as she chewed on the beef, and back under the rig she went.
Slightly shocked and slightly impressed, the sarge asked, “What else do you keep in there?” referring to the bra.
“Life and death.”
“What?”
“Jerky on the left and extra ammo on the right; life and death.”
He shook the thought away as he continued on about the truck. “You know the wiring harness won’t be able to handle all that power, it’ll fry the second you crank the engine over.”
“You’re such a naysayer!” she said from under the truck. “I got a batch of wires and some electronics from my last skirmish, and I’m gonna use them to wire up the boomsticks directly to the gennie,” which is short for generator, “bypassing the wiring harness altogether. You’ll see.” Then she whispered to herself, “Why’s he gotta be a dick?”
“What did you just say?”
L.A. grimaced because she thought she had said it soft enough as to be unheard but, obviously, she was wrong and, thinking quickly, “I said it’s gonna be epic…” her eyes darted to look at his boots as they turned around and walked away while the sarge grumbled to himself.
Then, he stopped and did an about-face, “You know…I actually heard what you said, and I can see why you can’t make any friends. Get that negativity under control or, pretty soon, you’re gonna find yourself without any friends or a clan.” And that was the last thing he said before disappearing into the back.
“I ain’t got no friends in the first place…” she said to herself, “What good are they anyways? They either die on you too soon, or they live long enough to stab you in the back…that’s all they’re good for…”
