NBA Dramatique, Prelude 6

The horses kicked dust high into the air as they charged up the mountain. The men riding the horses held tightly to their reins and kicked into their flanks to spur them onward. Bandannas covered the men’s faces to protect from the dust, and only their eyes squinted out from beneath the brim of their hats. On the front of each man's shirt was a six-pointed badge identifying its' owner as a Deputy. They reached the flat outcropping that looked far out over the surrounding plains and rumbled to a stop. The horses circled restlessly for a few moments as the men brought them under control and lined up along the southern edge to look upon the land. Far to the southwest great pillars of black smoke grew towards the sky as The Machine began its grinding processes of destruction. Far to the southeast, explosions and multi-colored lights from the Sky Fortress flared across the sky and burned out as new weapons were tested and toyed with.

The Kidd looked over at the German and didn’t speak.

“It’s bad. They’re going to come at us from both sides” the German said. “They both think that we’re unfortified, and knocking us over will make them look stronger to everyone else.”

Howard pulled his horse between them. “We’ll kill ‘em. They can ride in all arrogant if they want. We’ll put ‘em down anyway.”

The German glared at Howard. “You can't act like it's going to be that simple. Look at what's out there. If you look at the sky to your left, you can see a fortress floating in the sky. They've got weapons that we don't even know about. We're on horses. We're just going to 'put 'em down'? See the smoke in the sky to your right? That Machine doesn't care about our badges or our laws, and they're not human. I don't think shooting them does much good."

"I don't care how we do it!" said Howard. "I don't care if we're on horses or if we're running on foot. I don't care if we're using pistols or throwing rocks. And I don't care if we do it with our badges on or if we have to hide our faces while we shoot 'em in the back. We need to regulate these parts. We need to be the authority 'round here."

"You don't care one bit about your badge." The German kept his voice steady, but was visibly frustrated with Howard. "I don't get it. You worked hard your whole life to earn that badge, and now you have it, you don't act like it means a thing. You've got a job to do, Howard. Part of doing that job means that people are counting on you to do what they can't do for themselves. They're looking up to you whether you know it or not, so remember that star is on your chest even when you're not in the mood." Howard looked away from the German and tried to give his friend Stack a knowing glance, but Stack was purposely looking down at the dirt. The German continued. "Sheriff Carlisle has asked us to recon these two outfits, because he thinks one of them is going to try to move against us real soon. He doesn't want us to attack or make ourselves known to them yet. He just wants us to report back with what we see so he can decide what we should do."

Howard shook his head and scoffed. “Why are you always worrying about what someone else wants you to do? You know how to use your weapons. You know how to take a man down. You know that you’re put here to do just that. Why do you think you have to listen to someone tell you how they want you to do it?”

“That’s enough from you, Howard” said the Kidd. “The German’s right. The Sheriff calls the shots. We pull the trigger. That’s the way it works. You don’t like it, ride on.”

Howard locked eyes with the Kidd. They stared each other down for a long moment. Howard flinched and tried to pass off a derisive laugh. “You’re something else, old man.” He pulled his horse along side the Kidd’s. “You haven’t been riding with us that long. Don’t think that being old makes you the boss.” The Kidd kept his gaze on Howard as the young man trotted his horse off the outcropping.

The German started to follow the path down as well. He looked at the Kidd as he passed. "He's got a point, doesn't he?"

Kidd gave the German a sly grin that only he would see and spoke in a low mumble. "Damn punk hothead. Of course he's right. He's just got to learn to be quieter about it."