As the Atlanta Posse made their circuitous way back to civilization, they heard news reports mentioning the Frankstown battle and subsequent mass suicide, including the deaths of Milton Sinclair and Susan Flower. The Atlanta Posse all attended Milton’s funeral in Las Vegas and promised to keep in contact in the months to come.
Milton and the pilot, Javier, led the assault. Javier flew low and slow, allowing Milton to drop glass jars containing live grenades out the passenger-side window. The first throw could not have been better placed. Milton lobbed the jar underhand directly onto the floor of the central guard tower at the front gate. The resulting explosion took out the two guards in the tower, and their cooked-off ammunition incapacitated or killed the guards in the two flanking towers. The second bomb exploded between Franks’s compound and the nearby guard tower next to the Rio Chucunaque, but didn’t do much damage.
Meanwhile, Lightnin’ and Jonny Huong swam up the river behind the boat that El Jefe had provided, and in which they had bound up the slain Temple members upright in order to promote confusion. Lightnin’ revved up the outboard motor for one last push, and then he and Huong swam toward the shore.
While the guards mounted a disorganized response to the air- and water-borne attacks, Shanky, Regina, Cabbage Head, and El Jefe’s soldiers opened a third front by sending Frankstown’s tractor through the camp’s front gate. The group followed in one of their Jeeps, with Cabbage Head driving, Shanky manning the Ma Deuce, and Regina and the soldiers laying down covering fire.
During the next few confused minutes, the sounds of gunfire and explosions punctuated a fiery, rambling sermon delivered by Rev. Franks over the camp’s many loudspeakers, several of which got pinged by “stray” rounds from the Jeep. Huong and Lightnin’ worked their way slowly through the white camp, picking off guards and taking cover from returned fire. The Jeep roared along the southern edge of the camp toward the southeastern guard tower. Shanky, following the Reverend’s example, started preaching to his brainwashed brothers and sisters, urging them to take up arms against Sucka Franks, who had led them down a bad, bad path. The guards grazed Shanky a couple of times, but Regina patched him up and kept him going.
In the air, Milton’s good fortune quickly reversed itself. While he tried to toss another jar grenade into the camp, Javier jinked a little too hard to port, causing Milton’s hand to clip the edge of the open window. The jar rolled beneath the cockpit seats, and neither Milton nor Javier could reach it before the grenade exploded, killing Javier. Milton blacked out momentarily, but came to just in time to pull back on the stick enough to drop the plane into the jungle at an angle that prevented a rollover. Horrified, bewildered, and very, very angry, Milton dusted himself off, grabbed a nearby M-16, and charged back toward the camp, yelling for Susan Flower to show herself so he could get her out of this stupid place. Unfortunately, Huong and Lightnin’ watched helplessly from across the white camp as one of Franks’s personal bodyguards popped out of one of the camp’s huts and buried a .45 round in Milton’s chest.
While Milton made his last stand, Shanky’s words seemed to be taking hold on some of the other members of the camp, who took the proffered rifles and pistols and turned on their captors. Improbably, Dorothea and Shanky managed to find each other amid the confusion in the black camp, and she hopped on the back of the Jeep. Cabbage Head made sure everyone was as secure as possible and rammed the Jeep through the fence between the white and black camps. Huong and Lightnin’ had made their way to Milton’s body, so they all piled in and Cabbage Head bounced the Jeep along the road back to Yaviza.
The group caught up with El Comandante a few miles down the road. After establishing that the crews of the two Jeeps were not hostile, El Comandante motioned for them to follow him to Yaviza. The convoy used speed and some judiciously placed shots from the Ma Deuce and various other armaments to clear the way to the small trading town near the midpoint of the Pan-American Highway.
Though seemingly right behind El Comandante’s truck, the group still found the man already ensconced behind a bottle of local tequila when they walked into the unnamed bar where the 4×4 was parked. Over several shots and cervezas, Shanky and company secured the fellow’s aid by offering a combination of money, illicit substances, and a role in the latest Mirabella film up around Panama City.
While the group discussed their options for entering the Frankstown compound, automatic gunfire erupted across the street, where locals had cleared away vegetation to create a rudimentary airfield. El Comandante (nicknamed “El Jefe” by the Atlanta posse) and his soldiers charged out the door to investigate, followed closely by the rest of the party. As the group emerged from the bar, they saw a Cessna gathering speed for takeoff, while a smaller plane was being blocked by a farm tractor pulling a trailer. Five fellows in white uniforms were firing M-16s at the small plane, and a sixth was unloading on the departing Cessna.
The Atlanta posse ran to the Jeeps and laid down some fire, taking out the parishioners in short order. A quick search the plane revealed the slain passengers as Congressman George O’Brien, two reporters, the pilot, and one teenaged member of the Temple, apparently seeking to flee the compound. The reporters’ notes detailed the last few days of frustrated attempts to get into the Temple grounds, and a plan to evacuate several Temple members who Franks had allowed to leave. Given the gravity of the situation, the group took a camera from one of the reporters and used the remaining film to document the scene of the massacre.
Further investigation of the plane revealed that, although the cockpit was shot up and the radio disabled, all of the control surfaces seemed to be intact. When asked, El Jefe said he could probably contact a pilot within a couple of hours who would be willing to help assault the compound, or at least fly a couple of folks over to reconnoiter the place.
The group spent the next few hours preparing their arsenal and going over the napkin-drawn map Tyler had given them back in Panama City. Given their sudden access to a working tractor, a small plane, six M-16s, and five hand grenades, a small boat, and three soldiers courtesy of El Jefe, they quickly hashed out a plan. Discarding the subtle approach, they decided to sow discord, arm any of the black Temple members willing to fight, recover Dorothea and Susan, and scramble back to Yaviza during the chaos.
As soon as the pilot showed up, fortified himself, and got familiar with the plane, the group headed off, intent on hitting the camp near sundown.
Soon after departing the scene of the biker incident, the group caught sounds of automatic gunfire from over the hill they were currently ascending, and noted a fair amount of smoke and exhaust in the air. They crested the hill and stopped short when they noticed a roadblock a hundred yards down the other side. A group of guys in khaki fatigues were firing on a much larger mob of figures further down the hill, and didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the four cars and trucks idling in front of the log barricade. As Cabbage Head and Lightnin’ edged the Jeeps forward, the group noticed that the downhill mob seemed to move at an eerie, unnatural gait. A couple of the figures shrugged off solid shots from the military rifles and proceeded to rip one of the soldiers apart.
Seriously disconcerted, the Atlanta posse entered the fray. They opened up with both AK-47s and the 50, and Huong used a couple of Molotov cocktails to thin the ranks of both the zombies and the soldiers unfortunate enough to be near the armored personnel carrier that had been parked behind the barricade. Fortunately, one of the bombs also took out a chunk of the roadblock, so Cabbage Head and Lightnin’ were able to follow the local Comandante as he fled upon seeing the next wave of zombies emerge from the jungle. The last surviving soldier shoved the dead driver out of one of the idling cars beyond the barricade, and brought up the rear of the makeshift convoy fleeing toward Yaviza.
About 75 miles into their trip, the group spotted a trio of bikers on the road ahead. Shanky readied the 50 just in case, and the bikers followed suit with their hand cannons. When the group got to within twenty or thirty yards, the bikers tried to pull a hard stop to get behind the two Jeeps. One of the bikers on the right wiped out, while Jonny Huong and Regina took out the other two with a throwing star and an AK-47 round, respectively. Upon seeing what a rifle round can do to a human head from such a short range, Milton disgorged his lunch burrito and suddenly realized that motorcycles were horrible abominations that must be feared and avoided. When Lightnin’ stopped to retrieve one of the Harleys for spare parts, Milton insisted that he strap the motorcycle on the other Jeep.
The plane touched down safely in Panama City, despite, or perhaps because of, the six-pack of Budweiser the pilot had shared with the co-pilot. The posse and the film crew agreed to try to look each other up if they were back in Panama City at the same time, and then went their separate ways.
Within half a day, the gang from Atlanta had traded a few hundred American dollars, some illicit trade goods, and a promise to cast some locals as “extras” in exchange for two Army surplus Jeeps, a Browning .50 caliber machine gun, enough supplies for Lightnin’ to rig up some Molotov cocktails and ammonia explosives, and contact with a fellow who had escaped “Frankstown.”
Over a few beers, Jefferson Tyler informed the group of the layout and population of the cult compound in the jungles of the Darien Gap, six or eight miles up the Rio Chucunaque from Yaviza, 150 or so miles southeast of Panama City. Fred Franks, leader of the Temple of the People’s Truth, had led about 1100 followers to the compound, where they spent their days listening to Franks’s sermons and working the compound’s fields and mines. Specifically, the black followers worked in the mines, while the white followers worked the fields and the Hispanic followers fished the river. Franks had hired a former Green Beret to handle security, and the guy had done a good job. There were numerous guard towers scattered about the compound, with a fence encompassing the grounds and a 100 yard swath of cleared ground beyond each fence. Tyler estimated 40-70 armed guards, some of whom stayed in the towers while the others patrolled the fence. The only ways into the compound were by boat up the Chucunaque, by rail up a rusty track that terminated at the abandoned gold mine, or by a muddy track that might be mistaken for a road if one squinted and had good shocks on his vehicle. When asked why he left, Tyler said that he’d gotten fed up with the camp after his wife’s latest “turn” with Franks, and snuck out before the guards could feed him to the camp’s pigs.
Alarmed by the Tyler’s description and details, the group discussed various plans for getting into and back out of the compound. Tyler shot down the “disguise ourselves as followers” idea, as most of the people in the camp had been through multiple weeks of brainwashing prior to being allowed into the flock. Lightnin’ suggested sneaking up to the camp to get some reconnaissance, but Milton didn’t seem to relish the idea of hacking through the jungle. Some of the other guys advocated sowing as much mayhem and confusion as possible, and looking for Dorothea Banks (Shanky’s girl) and Susan Flower amid the chaos.
During all this discussion, the posse kept noticing small groups of vehicles blasting through town, sometimes accompanied by small arms fire. Asking around revealed that there were a pair of long-distance races going on at the moment in celebration of the completion of one of the last stretches of the Pan-American Highway system. The northern section of the Highway ran from Alaska to Panama, terminating at Yaviza, while the southern section started in Colombia and ran to the southern tip of South America. One of the races ended at Yaviza, while the other ran all the way to Quellon, Chile. The group was heartened to hear about the race, because it meant they wouldn’t be the only gringos in Yaviza.
So, without agreeing to much of a plan other than, “Let’s go and see what happens,” the group thanked Jefferson Tyler, mounted up, and hit the road to Yaviza.
The next morning, they checked their vehicles into long-term parking and met up at the airport. A small crew loaded the cargo hold with film and sound equipment, and accepted the group’s offer of recreational substances in exchange for a lack of curiosity regarding the contents of the crates the group loaded on the plane.
Eventually, a gleaming white Caddy limo pulled up beside the plane. Tony Anaconda, decked out in a superfly leisure suit with collars out to here, eased out of the back seat with a trio of co-stars (Vicky Viper, Candy, and an unidentified fluffer) in tow. Smiling, the posse from Atlanta followed them onto the plane and spent the next few hours drinking, smoking, and performing various other activities with the cast and crew of “Mirabella V: Bunghole in the Jungle.”
Milton’s contact at Caterpillar Records told him about a chartered flight from New Orleans to Panama City, but warned him that the other passengers may be a bit sketchy. Meanwhile, Shanky’s folks had let him know there weren’t any quick ways of heading south of the border, especially if they wanted to transport their vehicles, so the posse decided to take their chances in the Big Easy.
They drove backroads through Alabama, managed to evade or avoid any entanglements with Smokey, and ended up in New Orleans several hours later. After getting in touch with their contact about the chartered flight, they dined in a fine seafood establishment and hit various nightspots to kill some time.
The group piled into Shanky’s Continental, Lightnin’s Camaro, and Cabbage Head’s Kenworth and headed to a nondescript warehouse downtown. They met Pappy’s crew and loaded up the “scrap metal” (cases of M-16s and M-1 carbines) into the Cabbage Head’s trailer. When they were done loading the boxes and getting paid, Shanky tried unsuccessfully to snag some AK-47s from Pappy at a friend price, but Milton stepped in and got a hefty discount by offering Pappy some tickets and backstage passes to James Brown’s next Vegas show.
All loaded up, the convoy headed to Birmingham, dropped off the hardware, and got the other half of their money around 2:30 in the morning. They were heading back to their vehicles to leave when two marked cop cars and one unmarked car screeched into the parking lot to block them in. The cops drew down on Shanky’s crew and Pappy’s fellows, ordering them to hit the ground.
Lightnin’ shouted “Alabama Bureau of Investigation! We’ve got the situation under control!,” but the cops didn’t seem to go for it. About that time, a shot rang out from Pappy’s lookout on the roof of the warehouse. Then things went crazy.
Shanky opened up on one cop car with his AK, while Jonny Huong took out a couple of cops with a pair of throwing stars. One of the other cops hit Lightnin’ with a grazing shot to the forehead, but Lightnin’ managed to shake it off and whip the Camaro around to run the guy over. Milton and Cabbage Head fled the scene in the Kenworth, followed closely by the lone conscious cop.
Cabbage Head switched his CB radio to the police frequency just in time to catch the end of the cop’s report: “… 5 officers down. I’m in pursuit heading north.” Cabbage Head relayed that message to his compatriots and slammed on the brakes when the cop got too close to the rig. He ignored the sickening crunch and crash behind him and radioed a rendezvous location: a package store over on Highway 280 southeast of town.
Lightnin’ and Shanky drove casual, managed to avoid being seen leaving the scene of the crime, and got to the package store without incident. Regina tended to Lightnin’s head wound while Milton tried to calm himself down. The group decided that heading north was out of the question, so Lightnin’ called his bootlegger buddy in Athens to let him know that things were too hot to make his scheduled delivery. After stocking up on Tab, Cheese Curls, and other quick sustenance, the convoy sped toward Montgomery.
They got to town just before dawn and stashed Cabbage Head’s trailer at Shanky’s cousin’s place for a quick paint job to replace the current distinctive Eskimo design. Milton called the record company to inform them that he had a lead on getting Susan back, but that he’d need some kind of passage to Panama. His company contact said he’d see what he could do. Shanky also called some of his connections in Mobile to see about getting a boat or a plane to Central America.
One of Shanky’s hoes went missing, so he called up some of his associates to help get her back from the crazy cult she was mixed up with in Panama. Shanky, Cabbage Head, Lightnin’, Jonny, and Regina met at the BootyDome 23 in Atlanta to discuss the situation. Milton Sinclair, a notable entertainment manager, joined them, as Susan Flower from the Flower Family had recently run away to join the same cult and Caterpillar Records had tasked him with tracking her down.
Over a MegaPartyPak (1 ounce each of weed, cocaine, and heroin; lots of beer and liquor; lots of soda; lots of munchies; and a bucket of chicken), Shanky and his crew decided on a plan: deliver some “Army surplus” “scrap metal” to Birmingham for Pappy Malone, then use the profits to secure air or sea passage to Panama.