How can I help being a humbug ... when all these people make me do things that everybody knows can't be done? - L. Frank Baum
It wasn't how he expected to spend the day.
The guys had only been out of Bragg for a couple months, traveling cross-country on foot. Nothing they weren't used to. Not that much different from Nam - other than not having to worry about bombs, booby-traps, getting shot at...
Well, that last was still a possibility.
Hannibal figured Lynch would be looking for a trail of stolen cars and break-ins, and leading much farther west than where they actually were. Which was exactly why he'd kept them on foot for so long. Now he was finally ready to move a lot faster - and more comfortably. And, still being deep in the land of Dixie, he looked to Face for the solution.
"Get us a car - maybe a station wagon. Van would be better. Just make sure it's reliable."
There was a lot to think about. Like dealing with Hannibal's more difficult demands. The colonel wanted a 'clean' vehicle, so hot-wiring was out. And no having to get the thing 'officially' registered, or leaving any other kind of paper trail. And BA chafing at the fact that Face knew next to nothing about mechanical shit.
But Face wasn't worried. As usual, they'd circled the town when they first arrived, quickly learning the areas to steer clear of, and where it would be safer to do a little 'poaching'. So he knew exactly where he was going. Hannibal wouldn't like it, of course.
It was exactly the kind of place the colonel wanted to avoid.
His target was a couple miles from town. Both house and yard were in less than pristine condition, with two coon dogs tied up in front. There appeared to be a younger couple there, but no kids. The woman was young, her clothes definitely more thrift shop than couture. And she liked to yell. A lot. Clearly the boss. The guy was a poster boy for Redneck International. Just the kind of guy who'd shoot first and ask questions later.
But what drew Face to this particular rat trap was the pickup on the side of the house. A pickup with only a bit of rust, and a nice topper on the back. A junker was parked in front of it. Obviously the truck was their 'special' transportation. And that suited him just fine...
BA and Hannibal were both satisfied with their new acquisition. Face made a show of being relieved that the vehicle was mechanically sound. He'd never told them about the auto classes he'd taken in high school, or the friend who loved tinkering with engines. He just smiled and winked when Hannibal asked how he'd gotten the pink slip. He'd known that a bossy little woman like that would hold the title to damn near everything on the property. And what woman living with that sort of man wouldn't appreciate a bit of real 'afternoon delight', coupled with the chance to get back at her husband for buying 'that damn truck'...
He settled more comfortably on the sleeping bags in the back of the truck, falling asleep to the patter of rain on the roof of the topper, and the hum of tires on the highway.