EPISODE CXV - SEVERING THE BONDS OF BUTTER SUBSTITUTES
Corporal Powell had his own problems to deal with back in Dead Gulch. His men were currently outnumbered three to one, and the townspeople were proving to be less effective than
he'd hoped. Already two of his men were down as were several of the locals.
They had Tex's men pinned down near the outskirts of town, their plan of luring them into the heart of the settlement having run afoul by someone's itchy trigger finger. Private Hillier's pride still stung
from the corporal's sharp rebuke.
Granted, Tex's men had seen their fair share of casualties, Powell's marksmen had taken out several, yet they were still at a stand off. The Corporal knew it was only a matter of time before the enemy began
setting fire to the town. He turned to his troops. "Watch for torches, men.", he barked, "They'll probably try to burn us out soon!"
Tex's men had been at a loss until that moment, most of them ready to turn back having never expected this type of resistance, but with the bellow of the town's peoples' commanding officer, a new plan had been
birthed, albeit by caesarean. They began gathering brush, and lighting the dry foliage with their smokes. Before long, a warm fire burned on the outskirts of Dead Gulch, and Tex's men pulled burning
embers from the blaze and began tossing them toward the wooden structures of the community.
The Avenging Angels attempted to pick off as many as they could, but nonetheless several torches hit their mark and started buildings ablaze. Powell swore under his breath. He'd have to evacuate the
town if the fire spread, and would likely get picked off in the open plains for his effort, unless...
A desperate plan began to form in his mind. These old world thugs might not expect a frontal assault this late in the game. He opened his mouth to order his men forward, but the air was sucked from
his lungs as a Space Fleet vessel thundered past overhead. The ship dropped low,
barreling through the narrow streets of the town, its sheer velocity pulling the oxygen from the air and effectively extinguishing
what flames had erupted.
Tex's men scattered at the sight of the oncoming onslaught, dropping weapons and abandoning mounts as they scrambled for cover. The ships forward motion stopped abruptly and landing gear extended smoothly
from the fuselage as it settled to the ground. Tex's men screamed and ran as the side of the vessel separated and Sioux warriors came pouring out.
Powell suspected the smoke was beginning to affect him adversely as the spectacle unfolded, half expecting the Flying One Armed Squid to appear before him now, as it had so many times throughout his college years.
What did appear, however, exiting the vessel behind the last of the aborigines, was their pilot, Lt. Krashaki, a smile on his face and a large, ornately carved pipe smoldering in his hand.
