The solitary bull stood sniffing the dry prairie air at the brow of a long sweep of rolling green pastures, motionless but for the slight quivering of its nostrils and the occasional flick of its tail against the cattle flies that pestered his cherry-red hide. His stance was one of proprietary and defiant, like that of a male Lion standing watch over his pride on the African savannah, proud and assured. His deference was by due, and he expected if from every other living creature that inhabited his domain. Be they animal or human. Hence his special pasture and feed, his private barn and doting handlers.

Overhead a pair of French built Aerospatiale SA-365 Dauphin 2 utility helicopters shot across the sky, their 584kwT Turbomeca Arriel 1M1 turbo shafts momentarily startling the prize Santa Gertrudis bull. Lowering its head the bull snorted twin columns of dust into the arid air, his right front hoof pawing a shallow trench into the sandy soil. Suddenly his corded muscles bunched under his loose hide and he shot forward, down the slope seemingly following the encroaching aircrafts.

Seated in the passenger seat of the lead Dauphin, Hans Van du Brul watched as the bull raced along under the shadow of the helicopter. Born and raised in the Drakensberg Mountains of his native South Africa, Van du Brul had gone on many helicopter based hunting trips. Watching the bull run along below he was tempted to bring it down, much like he did the game he hunted in South Africa, with a few 5.56mm rounds from the Vektor R-4 assault rifle he held braced between his knees.

'I wouldn't,' Ed Rostadt commented from the pilot seat. After serving with each other for the past ten years in the South African Army Van du Brul and Rostadt had become closer than most brothers ever got. Despite this closeness Van du Brul was always amazed by Rostadt's almost psychic ability to read what he was thinking. 'We don't want to do anything to get on the wrong side of 'the man'.'

Unlike Van du Brul, who had come from a family of big game hunters and safari guides, Rostadt had been born in Cape Town to an affluent family well connected with the South African government. Rostadt's father had tried to guide his son towards a Government career, but the younger Rostadt had rebelled and joined the Army soon after graduation from high school. During his service in the Army he undertaken duty in Namibia and Angola, where he had lead an attack on a UNITA stronghold despite the fact he had already been wounded and was low on ammunition. It was also during the Angola campaign that Rostadt had first met a young soldier by the name of Hans Van du Brul, and the two had become close friends and comrades at arms.

'The Man' Rostadt had been referring to was the Texas Agriculture Minister, Robert Axler. The son of a cattleman, Axler had inherited his father's business after his death and had turned a mediocre cattle ranch into one of the most successful in the newly independent nation. Once the money, and influence, had started rolling in Axler had turned his attentions to a far more profitable range of industries, including slavery, prostitution and drug trafficking. Axler had also used his money to gain influence in the newly formed Texas Parliament, and was a major contributor to the re-election campaign of J.D. Aston as President.

Located on forty thousand hectares of prime rural land to the north of the capital Austin, La Hacienda de la Escorpion was the jewel in Axler's financial crown. From Escorpion Axler ran roughshod over his mini empire. Santa Gertrudis cattle, an original cattle strain developed in the south of Texas, roamed large tracts of the ranch, whilst other areas were set aside and dedicated to the growing of commercial produce. Located roughly in the centre of the property stood Axler's sprawling three-storey mansion.

On the surface La Hacienda de la Escorpion resembled exactly what it was, a successfully run cattle ranch. To enhance the impression Axler had gone out of his way to purchase several stud Santa Gertrudis bulls that, for an exorbitant stud fee, he allowed to breed, via artificial insemination, with cattle from other ranches both inside and outside of Texas. Twice a week a handful of weathered, and wary ranch hands would patiently maneuver the highly strung bulls into custom made squeeze chutes where they were ejaculated and their sperm placed in specially sealed jars and frozen in liquid nitrogen. Left to breed normally, each animal could produce two hundred offspring, two fifty at best, and there was always the risk of the bulls coming into contact with an infected cow and passing diseases onto others. The risks were unthinkable, the bulls would never be allowed to mount a cow, never be permitted to engage in a brief and brutish courtship of their own.

However cattle was not the reason for Rostadt and Van du Brul's visit to the Axler hacienda. The two South African mercenaries were part of a private army hired by Axler, under the guise of bolstering security at the Ministry of Agriculture, to provide additional manpower for his less than legal activities. This visit was to discuss the latest movements of illegals across the Mexican border, as well as a shipment of high grade heroin and cocaine, which would be processed in underground laboratories for distribution throughout the continental United States.

Watching from the ground floor veranda of his mansion, Robert Axler raised his suntanned right arm to his face and shielded his eyes from the swirling clouds of dirt and dust kicked up by the Dauphin's rotors. The two helicopters, painted in a dull grey finish and a blood red scorpion painted on either side of the fuselage, were a part of Axler's own private fleet and were put at the disposal of Van du Brul and his mercenaries to provide secure and private transport, minimizing the risk of any of his governmental colleagues getting wind of his underhanded activities.

Standing at just a little over six feet in height, and weighing in at just on two hundred ninety pounds of pure muscle, Robert Axler cut an imposing figure, looking more like a professional wrestler than a senior official it the Texan government. Whenever he could get way from his official duties at the ministry, Axler would return to his hacienda for private martial arts and weapons handling lessons with a former member of South Korea's Marine Corps. Axler had recruited Yu Pak after he had been dishonourably discharged from the Korean military for allegedly raping a young female during peacekeeping duties in the Persian Gulf.

For the past ten years Pak had served as both Axler's manservant and personal trainer, putting him through a two-hour regimen of weights and Martial Arts. To assist in this training, Axler had installed a state of the art dojo, with a weight room, and firing range so he could practice his shooting skills. Most mornings, in the dark hours before dawn, he could often be found either on the range or in the weight room, finding that it helped to relieve stress and think through any difficult situations he may be facing, be they official or unofficial in nature.

Van du Brul was in charge of Axler's drug trafficking operations and, as he emerged from the helicopter, was amazed at why a man, who made millions of dollars a year through his legal operations, would risk all that he had by getting involved in the drug industry. The crocodile skin briefcase he carried contained a powerful notebook computer which held complete details on how and when the next shipment of heroin and cocaine was to arrive in Texas and how it would be distributed through Axler's criminal contacts.

'Did you have a pleasant trip?' Axler asked, stepping off the veranda and extending his right hand toward the two mercenaries.

'Yes,' Rostadt said accepting the offered hand. 'Thank you.'

'And your lodgings?'

'More than satisfactory,' Van du Brul replied. 'But I am afraid that there is a small problem.'

A worried look briefly flashed across Axler's. This was one thing he was obviously not expecting, which clearly made him nervous. 'We best take this inside then.' Axler replied, leading the two South African commandos through the carved mahogany doors of his palatial mansion and upstairs to his spacious den. Fitted out to his own strict specifications the den was furnished with two leather couches, a teak desk which had once adorned the Oval Office in Washington D.C., and had floor to ceiling windows offering commanding views of Hacienda de la Escoropion's lush pastures.

Taking a seat on the couch in front of Axler's desk, the men waited for Pak to serve them their drinks before Van du Brul opened the briefcase and tipped the contents of a manila folder on the scarred wooden surface. After several seconds Axler leaned forward in his chair and studied first one, then another of the photographs that had just been tipped onto his desk. As he glanced from picture to picture his eyebrow knotted in brooding thought, his head shaking gently from side to side. Depicted in the pictures was his Mexican to the drug trade, Manuel Salazaar, cutting supplies destined for Axler’s American market, and skimming some of the product for either his own private usage or perhaps to establish his own market share.

Though he already knew what was on the pictures, having taking them himself several nights previous to this visit to Axler, Van du Brul leaned forward across the desk and slowly examined them. 'You know that we have been getting complaints about our products for the past few months,' he said picking up one of the pictures. 'So I took the initiative of sending one of my associates down to investigate matters.' He continued, looking at his employer and answering Axler's unasked question.

Rostadt took his partners lead and picked up another of the pictures. 'We have also heard rumors that one of the major resistance groups, possibly the Texas-American League are thinking of branching out into the drug trade in an effort to raise extra funds with which to purchase additional arms and equipment.' Placing the picture back on the desk surface, Rostadt took a sip of his drink, glancing at Van du Brul over the rim of his glass.

'Ok,' Axler said reclining back in his padded leather executive chair. 'We know that Manuel is being stupid, but is he being stupid on his own, or does the stupidity go further up the line?'

'Mr. Axler, you can get furnished with all kinds of bad Intel from any two bit weasel on the street looking for some fast cash, and wind up running around in circles chasing your tail.' Rostadt commented, leaning forward and tapping one of the snapshots with his finger. The picture showed Salazaar sliding what appeared to be a two-kilogram brick of Heroin into his knapsack. 'We got the tip, and decided to check things out before coming to see you with it. That's quality, Mr. Axler. And it's what we are all about or you wouldn't have hired us.'

'Value for money so to speak, ' Van du Brul, commented taking a sip of the twelve-year-old Scotch Pak had poured moments earlier.

Rostadt took a seat and watched proceedings.

They watched the thought lines on Axler's forehead deepen. He was clearly seething at the betrayal by his Mexican contact, and with good reason. Salazaar's organization had been smuggling product across the U.S.- Mexico border though California, the principal polydrug distribution outlet on the Pacific Coastline. The operation was a two-way deal, with hot cars being driven into Mexico for a process known as re-birthing, whilst cocaine, heroin, marijuana and methamphetamines, from Mexico and South America, were transported up to Los Angeles and San Francisco for distribution. In recent years, with the United States Border Patrol and Drug Enforcement Agency's crackdown on drug trafficking through California, Salazaar had been forced to divert his transit routes to southern Texas, quickly bringing him to the attention of Axler's own drug network.

After a turf war, which had claimed numerous casualties on both sides, Salazaar and Axler had finally met face to face and eventually worked out a deal that had proven financially beneficial to both parties. Salazaar was provided with a secure transport route and distribution point, whilst Axler gained a cut from a highly successful drug trade. Now, despite all the assistance and protection he had been given, Salazaar was not only stealing some heavy weight product, but was intentionally, in Axler's opinion at least, rubbing his nose in it. Especially if what the two mercenaries were saying was true and he was selling the stolen product to one of their competitors.

Both Mercs knew that if you went around dissing someone like Axler with that kind of blatant impunity, you were sending a big, bold-faced message that there was some major juice backing you.

'I highly doubt that Manuel would have the balls, let alone the brains to pull off something as brazen as this kind of stunt off his own bat.' Rostadt commented.

'Whether he does or not is irrelevant under the circumstances,' Axler snapped, shaking his head in a combination of anger and dismay. He had spent almost a year cultivating this deal with Salazaar and now the little Spic had gone and betrayed him. 'I will not just stand by and accept this kind of display of disrespect.'

Which was exactly what Rostadt and Van du Brul were expecting him to say, assuming he wanted to stay in the drug business.

'It's got to be fixed!' Axler practically shouted, his eyes catching the two mercenaries in an icy glare.

Both men knew exactly what Axler meant. They knew that serious retaliatory action must be undertaken. The kind of action the two South African mercenaries were more than willing to undertake personally.

For the next hour the three men sat discussing different ways to punish Salazaar for trying to undermine Axler's authority. The big Texan was expecting a new shipment of Heroin and other commodities that night and it was decided that this would be the last ever transaction to be handled this 'Hispanic piece of crap'.

Rising to his feet, a smile of satisfaction on his face, Van du Brul extended his right hand towards his employer. 'I'll see what we can do to eradicate this problem.' He said shaking Axler's outstretched hand. Leaving Axler to contemplate the situation, the two men exited the den and, escorted by Pak, made their way back to their helicopter. If things kept working out according to the plans they had made, the two mercenaries would have just taken their first steps toward taking over Salazaar's part of the operation.

'I do not trust those two.' Pak commented upon his return to Axler's office. 'I think they are up to something.'

Axler smiled. This was not the first time Pak had aired his feelings about the two South African mercenaries. Axler himself did not trust them fully. There was something about them that rubbed him the wrong way, but until they did something to endanger either himself or his operation he would continue to use them.