In the gathering darkness the creatures of the night, both predators and prey, began to stir from their daytime slumber. From holes, burrows, and crevices, the creatures of the desert night crawled. Slithered or scurried from their daytime habitats out into the gradually cooling late afternoon. For the next several hours the desert predators would seek out, strike, and consume those things that would allow them to survive in such a harsh environment. It was a cruel existence that demanding something must perish in an effort for something else to live. There was no reasoning for such things, or some grand plan. Nor were there any regrets, feelings or compassion. Only instinct and survival.

Mike Dorjan watched as, from one of the hundreds of holes dotting the barren desert floor, a scorpion scurried forth. Like a missile being released from its launch tube, the scorpion, one of thirteen hundred species found worldwide, moved forward, mechanically and unstoppable. As it cleared the narrow confines of its hole the scorpion prepared to strike and kill. Once it was able to the Arachnida swung its massive right pincer like pedipalps, and then it’s left, into position, all before its head was in the open and it was able to see. There was no hesitation as the scorpion continued to move forward, finally clearing its elongated body and stinger tipped tail. The stinger was, for now, curled under on its segmented tail, not required, but ready none the less.

As if it had known where it was going before it had left the darkness of its hole, the scorpion continued to scurry forward in search of its prey. As it did so, for the briefest of seconds, the long shadow of a soaring eagle flashed across the scorpion. The eagle however was no danger to the scorpion. Instead the large powerful bird had its senses tuned to seek out what it needed for its own survival. Flying high over the desert, using the rising thermals to increase and decrease its altitude, the eagle scanned the barren terrain for larger prey. The seemingly insignificant scorpion, now moving under the shadows of the eagle's powerful wings, never even caught the bird's eye. Safe for now the Scorpion continued on its journey, its targets for tonight were insects, spiders, centipedes, and other scorpions.

Perched on the edge of one of the loading docks, located at the rear of the converted warehouse the Texas-American League was currently using as its headquarters, Dorjan lazily ate his supper of chili con carne and freshly cooked tortillas. A faded sign announced that the building had once been the property of Tracker Cattle and Produce. The sign originally painted around the eaves of the building, in large white letters, had faded over the years due to neglect and the harsh environment. A cedar tree, planted by the original owners, its growth stunted by the ferocious Texas heat and lack of water, produced a slight breeze but did little to alleviate Dorjan from the oppressive heat. The heat, even at this late hour, was still soaking his Battle Dress Uniform with sweat. Unless it rained soon the heat would become almost unbearable.

Parked around the loading dock were some of the vehicles, mostly civilian but with a variety of military transports, which the militia used as part of their duties. The warehouse was the perfect location to house the militia operation. Inside there was enough room on the warehouses three floor to provide more than adequate lodgings for Winston's fifty fulltime cell members. On the ground floor of the facility most of the floor space was taken up by specific areas dedicated to the service and repair of the militia vehicles, as well as bunkrooms for the mechanics and those undertaking security details. The second and third floors were taken up with more bunkroom and a small infirmary, used not only by the militia members but also by those persons in the surrounding communities that had been declined, or refused to carry the TRIN card. Located on the basement level of the warehouse was a gymnasium, weapons supply locker, gun smithing workshop, firing range and several offices. On each corner of the warehouses roof were sandbagged machinegun emplacements, which were manned twenty four hours a day and provided the first line in the facility's defense.

In Dorjan's opinion, Winston had chosen the perfect location to base his militia cell. The warehouse was located in a great defensive position, with about a half mile of open ground on three sides and an almost vertical cliff face bordering the facility at the rear. He had also established a good standing with the local communities by allowing those citizens in the surrounding area to get free medical treatment in exchange for food and other services. Also, due to the diverse range of personnel Winston had been able to attract to his cell, they were able to offer schooling for those unable to afford the high cost of education provided by the government. The education provided by the militia members did not only provide the basic skills, such as reading, writing and arithmetic, but also the history of the America Constitution, unarmed combat and, for those old enough, weapons and tactics training.

Since arriving at the warehouse, via an eight-hour circuitous journey to avoid military and mercenary checkpoints, almost two weeks ago Dorjan and his team had assisted in all areas of the facility, including those that had little or no association at all with military style operations. Stoner and Charon had, in between lessons on explosives and demolition, been training those that were interested in the basics in electronics. Stoner had even taking the time to teach some of the men basic weapon smithing techniques. Showing them how to convert their semi-automatics into full-automatic and burst capable assault rifles, as well as teaching them how to manufacture their own ammunition and sound suppressors. With his massive build and gentle nature, Rennick became a big favourite to the kids. When he wasn't assisting the mechanics with their duties he would help with self-defense classes, and having achieved his teaching degree prior to enrolling in the military, he was often found with the smaller children, reading to them and teaching them language skills.

However it was Janyce Dylan who proved to be the most appreciated out of all the members of Dorjan's team. A fully trained EMT, Emergency Medical Technician, who pulled duties in Fort Braggs base hospital when not on assignment, Janyce ran courses in first aid, as well as going on house visits with some of the militia doctors. She had become popular by delivering the twin daughters of one of the militia members, and by performing an emergency tracheotomy on a teenage girl accidentally struck in the throat with a simulated Katana during martial arts training. It had been a complete coincidence that she had been down in the gymnasium when the accident had occurred. She had been on her way to inform Dorjan that she was going with one of the doctors to visit the twins she had delivered when she had heard a scream from the far end of the gymnasium. Field kit in hand, she sprinted across the gymnasium floor to find one girl screaming hysterically, and another girl of about thirteen laying on the ground, hands to her throat, unable to breath.

Immediately Janyce swung into action. 'Get her out of here,' she had yelled, indicating for some of the older students to take the screaming girl aside and try and calm her down. 'And get these people back.'

Once the girls had been taken aside, and Rennick had cleared the crowd back out of the way, Janyce slipped a rolled up towel under the now unconscious girl's shoulders, extending her neck back. Next she removed a scalpel from her first aid kit and made a small vertical incision into the trachea. After sponging away some accumulated blood she inserted a tracheotomy tube into the incision. Once she was sure that the girl was once more breathing on her own she put in two lateral stay sutures to prevent decannulation and secured the tracheotomy tube with neckties. Satisfied she had done all she could, at least here in the gymnasium, she called for a stretcher and, along with Rennick, accompanied the girl up to the infirmary. Once she was sure that the girl was comfortable Janyce went in search of her parents to inform then as to what had happened.

His plate finally empty, Dorjan left the loading dock and made his way back into mess area only to find Winston, the remainder of his team, and several militia members, seated around two of the dining tables in the centre of the room looking over a stack of briefing notes and photographs. From the looks on their faces he got the impression that they had been waiting for him. But if that had been the case why hadn't they sent anyone to go get him. Stoner had found a seat near Jessica Coyle, a lean and attractive blonde, who, at least in Stoner's opinion, was as good with explosives as he and Charon. Rennick was standing at the end of one of the tables, a South African manufactured SS-77 light machinegun resting on the table behind him. From the looks of it he had been in the process of cleaning the weapon when the impromptu meeting had been convened. Janyce had pulled up a chair at a table where Charon and several militia members had been playing cards, her FN P-90 slung casually over her left shoulder. Winston on the other hand stood and paced in the open space at the centre of the room whilst Dorjan disposed of his plate and took a seat. All the others watched and waited until; finally, Winston came to a halt and drew himself up to face them directly.

'For the past several months,' he began his face a stout mask of seriousness. 'We have been hearing rumours relating to a large shipment of high grade cocaine coming up from South America for distribution throughout Robert Axler's drug network.'

The name was familiar to Dorjan from the briefing notes he had received prior to the mission. Born in nineteen fifty-five, the son of a Texas cattle farmer, Robert Axler had served as a member of the US Air Force's Air National Guard, where he rose to the rank of Sargent. Upon the death of his father Axler had resigned from the ANG and taken over the family business and transformed it into one of the most successful breeding ranches in Texas. 'There was a mention of Axler and his drug business in our mission brief.' Dorjan commented, taking a seat on the edge of a nearby table.

Jessica Coyle leaned back on her chair and coughed gently to clear her throat. 'Not only drugs,' she commented. 'But also gunrunning, prostitution, slavery, and has even been linked to several White Supremacy groups. He has his fingers in so many pies, it is unbelievable.'

Winston paused momentarily to allow what little that had been said sink in. 'Also coming in with this shipment are a group of illegal immigrants and several cases of weapons that he will naturally sell on the black market. At a tremendous profit to himself.' He said handing Dorjan the dossier the militia had on Axler. 'The shipment is due to come across the border sometime after midnight tonight.'

Dorjan looked up from the dossier, his eyes literally boring holes into Winston.

'I apologize for the short notice,' Winston said, seeing the anger in Dorjan's eyes. 'But we had only just received confirmation of the schedule a few minutes before you joined us, and if we are going to make any attempt against it, and put even the slightest of dents into Axler's organization, we will have to move fast.'

Not happy with the short notice, but glad his team was finally going to see some action. Dorjan grabbed the photographs and briefing notes and laid them out flat on the tables. Gathering around the two tables the men and women chosen for the mission settled in to make arrangements and plan their objectives.