Chapter 37

The morning pick-ups started with Painted Rock getting the multi-colored Bronco at the Navajo Center. From there, he got Soon Maritsuki and Sun Bear at the motel, in nearby St. Michaels (a small town near the Center), and then he got to Linc and me at Wild Mustang’s home.

We had to hold our breakfast for them to get to Mustang’s, but not for long. Sun Bear looked a little groggy, but his father was ready to go, decked out in a warm-up suit and athletic shoes. God I forgot how much I just, loved, 70’s fashion. We got a breakfast that was a feast. Eggs, pancakes, fruit and bacon – although Dove wouldn’t tell us what creature sacrificed its life to make the bacon. She just said we should avoid the giant jack-o-lopes, ‘cause they might want revenge. She said they were six feet in size, so be extra careful.

By 8:30 we were ‘on the road, agin’ (to quote Willie Nelson, circa 1980), this time headed for Burnside North. It was Saturday, so I assumed that Sergeant Washburn would meet us there. Forty miles of bad road and construction vehicles later, we pulled into the make-shift parking area of the Burnside North factory construction site.

The power lines were all over the place, strung on utility poles. One heavy line went to the green area, over a sharp ridge to the northwest, where, Washburn assured us, a burgeoning town was taking shape. The closer connection led to a partially completed building with a hand written sign that said ‘Spirit of the Hunter – factory #1’ in front of it. It looked more like a prison. There were no windows. I could see two courses of adobe brick, and another course of cement block (I think, at least it looked like the pictures that Red downloaded) under metal beams that looked like a railroad bridge.

[They are called trusses, Lexi. And they are very strong.]

So I said, “We’re using steel trusses?”

Washburn answered. “Yup. The trusses can span a big distance. We’ll put a steel roof on top with lots of insulation, with some exhaust points for the heat. Nobody is coming in through the roof. Not easily, anyhow.

“On the sides, we got four inches of adobe brick, then insulation, then another four inches of adobe, then more insulation, then twelve inches of concrete block. Somebody could come through the wall, but only if they bring an Abrams. And the Army don’t even got THEM yet.”

[The M1 Abrams is a newly tested main battle tank for the US Army. They’ll stay in use through the 2000s. I think he’s exaggerating. Probably the Pershing series of tanks would be adequate to breaking in through these walls.]

Red, who was Abrams anyhow?

[Creighton Abrams, among other things, was the leader of the spearhead, the 4^th Armored Division, of Patton’s Tank Army, at the end of WWII. He died three years ago, in 1974.]

Oh. Good tank commander, I guess.

[Patton thought so.]

“Pretty big building, huh Washburn?” I ventured.

“You can say that,” he answered, with a look at Linc.

Linc just said, so quietly that I could hear it only because of the enhancements Red had provided, “She’s a planning officer, not a non-com.”

I looked around and then went into the partially completed factory. Two guys were in a hole, digging and filling a bucket with dirt. Another guy was manning a tripod attached to the bucket. Every once in a while, he’d haul it up and dump it. I looked down and then went back to Linc and Washburn. “What are those guys doing?” I asked.

“Escape tunnel?” asked Soon-san.

“Not exactly,” said Washburn. “I was told this was a facility that would be a target, and that it would contain secret information. They are digging a tunnel to a secure room where documents would be kept every night. And it’s an escape tunnel also.”

“Very good indeed,” said the Master of the Maritsuki Technique, or Techniques, to be more precise.

“Where does the tunnel come out?” the ever-practical Linc asked.

Sooo, we went back to the Bronco, piled in and Washburn took over the driving and drove us to the ridge, about a mile away. Here there was a cave. He pointed. “There are four guys digging the tunnel egress. It’ll be lined up with the tunnel from the factory by laser compass. I’ll dig the last few feet myself, so nobody will know how it exits.

“But now I have to kill you all.” He laughed and smiled. “Okay. That was a joke ... But let’s go over to the town that’s forming.”

He drove overland to the dirt road that had been graded, although there didn’t seem to be much difference in bumpiness between the road and the overland route. We jounced the three miles to a handwritten sign that proclaimed ‘Burnside North,’ following the utility poles. It had a small number of trailers, some obviously hand-made connections to electric service, but it did have a nice creek and some trees.

“It’s not finished, yet,” explained Washburn. “We’ve been working on it for only a few weeks. The electrician is moving out here on Monday or Tuesday.”

“Good thing you didn’t say it was finished,” drawled Linc. He cast his eyes over to the Porta-potty.

“I kinda got an area staked out for White Owl’s hacienda,” Washburn said. “It’s overlookin’ the crick.” He drove us over and put his hands on the dashboard. “‘Bout here.”

“How’s the Hopi / Navajo mix in the workforce?” I asked.

“We got a good mix of Hopi in here. They’re doin’ most of the adobe work on the factory. Got some good masons there. We had to buy ‘em some trailers, though. Linc said to. Hope that’s okay.” I nodded. “Some of ‘em said they was livin’ in caves over past K-town. The Navajos mostly had their own trailers, but some wanted to clean up the place they were livin’ in. They got chickens and dogs and kids. We’re gonna have to get ‘em a bus to school. For the kids, not the chickens and dogs.”

“Isn’t that gonna be a long trip?” I asked. “We’ve got to put up a school, before the fall gets here.” He pulled a little spiral notepad out of his breast pocket and made a note.

There wasn’t much for us remaining to do, so we started on the ‘long and winding road’ back to civilization. Apologies to the Beatles.