CHAPTER ONE / ALLIED FOR LIFE / PAGE 3

Right, but how are you going to shake Cissy and her girls loose? They've got superhuman strength and not a lot of give -- KRANK KRANK KRANK -- pilot pulls up on his stick, as any normal guy would, and slowly, rotor shifting, straining, he's... he's... he's beginning to broach -- SNAP! -- rivets pop! Skid gives! Rips clean clear off the fuselage, with Cissy and her gang taking a plunge... while the helicopter does a gyro, which isWHUP WHUPS spiral up, thenWHIP WHAM downward slam.

"Pissah maneuvah theah fella, pissah!"

"Go fir the thrills, do you?"

(WHOOP -HOOP -HOOP)

"Hope this burd hodds steady -- name's Scott Burlap, n you'v got ta be noon other than Chipper Stirbee."

"None othah." Chipper offers a hand.

"Pleasure's mine."

"Appreciate the lift."

"Do wha ah can do. So tell me, how'd you git yirsell inta a scrap wi a bunch a'Sheffield razorheads?"

"Sheffield razahheads?"

"Heard tell it's the style thir ta git a sharp blade incised front ta back righ inta yir scalp."

"Whoa! Didn't run into one of those."

"N needles inserted inta the tips a'yir nipples."

"H'yep, can attest to that."

"So wha say we haul ou'ta hir? Had enough ruckus fir one ev'nin?"

"Can't just yet Scotty, we've got to drop back down theah, way stealthy like, go in fah a quick rescue."

"Tha's a quick what?" --WHUPWHUP

Chipper does a downward motion with his thumb.

"Might be ev'ry bit the nutcase you a, r warse, but it canna be done." Helicopter is riding at a noticeable tilt. "Though ah do admire a bloke who'd go back ta save his mates."

"My who?"

"Yir mates, yir security escort doon thir on the ground."

"Hell with them, those ah QuotLinks."

"Qua-whats?"

"QuotLinks Scotty, QuotLinks."

Who still lie littered across the field.

"Those suckahs can suhvive on theih own anywheah, anytime, believe me. It's my gal Betsy I'm wohryin about."

"Ah see, thirsa wuman involved. Thasa dif'rent story. "

"Best damn hound dog in Aroostook County, except I can't see hide noh haih of huh down theah anywheah."

(WHUP -PUP -PUP)

Hide or hair of her is about all that's left of her. Betsy's got the wind knocked out, lying flat on the ground with thousand pound butchbullies dumped on top, and she's grr-rrum-muttering mad about it too. Worst predicament she's been in since she got her front half stuck deep in that mama woodchuck's hole a few soggy springs ago. She tries a yelp -- elp! To no avail. Squaws could give a squat. Which gets Betsy's dander up, something about solidarity and sisterhood as she begins spinning her heels in reverse -- grr-grrr-grrrrrrr -- got to kick up some dust, got to bust out of there -- and up top Cissy's girls sense something, sense the sassy brat beneath them is about to blast backassed out from under them, and she does, in a flash, and lands scat scratch on her tailbone while the heap load of sisters collapses through a crack in the asphalt. Might not be the most dignified exit for a prize pup, but a lass packed fast in a morass has hardly any other way she can go.

-FWHUP -FWHUP -FWHUP -- Scotty's lowering within range, although the helicopter's vibrating dangerously.

"Theah she is! That's huh doubled up ovah on the edge of the runway!"

Scotty sights her.

"Betsy baby, hold on!" Chipper hangs out the open portal. "HELP IS ON THE WAY!"

Sure -rr, and anyway Betsy's busy, leg up and licking at her war wounds. But if Betsy's sanguine, Cissy isn't. Gang girl sees opportunity.

"Coo'moon, puut soome muuscle into it sistoors! We've goot t'dig oor way uut oof this bloomin 'ole!"

(CLUMP CLUMP CLUMP CLUMP CLUMP CLUMP)

(WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP )

Scotty takes the chopper in low. "Any closer n ah could round up!"

"HEAH YOU GO GIHL!" Chipper tosses a rope ladder. "CATCH THIS!"

-rr right, that's catch what in the dark outside where -- oh I see it, a stick in the air. Piece of cake!

A stick with some strings attached however, as the ladder stops short just as Betsy makes her famous leap -- makes her famous leap and misses! Betsy, blue ribbon best and misses!

-rr rough, because now she's going to have to do laps around the warm-up track while the rescue craft circles.

"Whir yoo oof to in suuch a huurry, I want t'knoow?" Cissy's fast, fat or no, hustlin close behind her.

-rrooh!

"Take yoo doown single handed, I will."

-rr -row!

And do they ever! Mano a mano, nip you and nasty, with big mama on top, though only momentarily, Betsy going for the soft underbelly of the beast -- but what's this, an arm block? No matter, wrist's not that bad to gnaw on either.

"Yoo bitch!"

That's a given sist-rr, as Betsy digs in. First leather, next flesh, then crunch until Betsy hits bone.

"And a diirty rooser as well."

-rr right, because clean's clearly a losing battle with your kind.

Cissy tumbles free, stands on her hind twos. She uncinches her waist chain, which granting the gal's girth is quite lengthy. She twirls it over her head -- CLANK CLANK CLANK -- lasso western style.

Betsy shrinks to the ground --WHUPWHUP above her.

"Yoo'r gooin to end uup minced buutcher's meat!"

-rr wrong, as Betsy springs for Cissy's kneecaps, which is why thigh highs though not as chic as the wellies afford the female biped so much better protection -- brings Cissy buckling down to doggy dog level.

(WHUPWHUPWHUPWHUPWHUP) circles in closer.

Cissy scrapes the mud off her face and scowls, all sour and spikes and not a thing nice... -rrr

And that's an -rrr back at you while they square off, Betsy crouching low, Cissy lower yet, Betsy more, until the fatass can't get down any further and is forced to spring first, digs into the raised nap on Betsy's neck -- whelp -- like needle points -ow! -ow! -ow!

"Yoo'r doone foor it noow."

Maybe. Betsy does a rollover...

"Yoo roody looser!"