Disclaimer:
        -"Car Wars", "Autoduel Quarterly" (ADQ), "Midville" and
"Americain Autoduel Association" (AADA)  are all registered trade
marks of Steve Jackson Games.
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        I'd like to write here saying a big thankyou to all those who
have contributed the the CWML.  As a result of these contributions I
have been able to continue to run this mailing list.  However there
are still a lot of you who haven't contributed and it would be nice
to see the list grow.

        On to U.S. 1 now, as many of you wuill have noticed pt III
was held back for a fortnight.  This allowed Taxi Driver to start and
us down this end to get U.S. 1 just perfect.  After a week of rest
U.S. 1 is back, so everyone sit back and enjoy.
 

        All these links can be found at
  http://www.sjgames.com/HVD/lnk.html

        Any contributions, news or questions can be sent to.
  mailto:dbarton@racp.edu.au

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NEWS:

DRAW:
        Regretfully this chapter has folded, the last memebers left
no long ago, and the web pages are to be deleted.  While this isn't
really good news, it is news none the less.  There should stil be
events at RADcon, so get along and farewell this chapter.

HVD:
        There have been some problems getting HVD-7 out, so while I
said it would be out 20-AUG, it hasn't yet been updated.  I
apologise to all those who have been inconvenienced by this, but
HVD-7 should be out by 20-SEP.  I've had a bit of a re-organise here
in regards to the tie I can spend on the magazine.  Rest assured when
it does come out it will be pretty special.

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AADA CHAPTERS:

DRAW:                                                   DEAD
        Due to the folding of this chapter the pages are soon to be
removed, if you want any info, etc just contact me and I'll see what
I can do.
                                                Last Mod: N/A

NOVA:                                                   OLD
        Still more updates, arenas, designs, everything.
                                                Last Mod: 25-AUG

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OTHER CW PAGES:

ADQ:                                                    OLD
        Finally more have been added by SJG, there are a few new
issues there, but a couple of the link don't appear to work.
                                                Last Mod: 20-AUG

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                              U.S. 1
         An early adventure of the Driving Tigers/Road Wolves

                       by Christopher J. Burke
                            cjburke@io.com

 Copyright (c) 1984, 1997 Christopher J. Burke.  All rights reserved.
 

                            Episode III

    The van and its retainers pulled into the Raleigh garage of
Wildcat Auto Works one vehicle short:  mine.  As the gates slid shut
behind the convoy, a team of mechanics moved out with fresh tires and
ammo clips.

    Turbo hopped out of Bumper and approached a mechanic whose nametag
read, believe or not, "Rench".  "You can put that set of tires away.
I don't think we'll be needing them."  Turbo then turned and walked
off.  "Anyone want a drink from the machine?"

    Startled, Rench went to Lucky.  "What's he talking about
-- you lost someone out there?  He okay?  You want us to send a truck
out looking for him?"

    Lucky waved off the questions.  "No need. Aramis will be fine.
He's great at getting out of tough spots. I should know; I've put him
into a few myself."  Lucky's smug grin didn't seem to ease Rench's
concern.

    "Relax."  Lucky reached into the air and snatched a can on
collision course with his head.  He ripped off the tab and took a
swig.  "He's lugging around a case of grenades.  Don't worry yourself
about it."

    The burly man was left dumbfounded by the team's nonchalant
attitude concerning a fallen member.  He stood speechless as Lucky
wandered off.  Words fled him even faster when he felt a tap on
the shoulder and met Oddball face-to-face.

    "Open the gate.  I got a call on the radio.  Our guy's outside."

    Rench recovered and gave the order.  The barrier moved aside just
as a cycle rode up into the garage with me on it.  A cold can flew
toward the cycle.  I grabbed it before it struck me and waved a thank
you to Turbo.

    He waved back.  "I figured you'd be here sooner or later.  Any
problems?"

    "Not really," I replied.  "If this bike hadn't had a sidecar, it
would've been a different story though.  All the other bikes were
scattered across the highway by their owners and their owner's
handguns.  This bike practical came riding right up to me."

    I called Rench over.  "Send out a tow truck for my car.  It's
about 20 miles north.  This cycle should cover the cost."

    "Right away, sir.  You going to wait for it?"

    "No time for that.  I'll pick it up on the way back.  Thanks."
Reaching into the sidecar, I hauled out a knapsack and tossed it to
the mechanic.  "Put this in the van.  Oh, and tell Jones that I'm
driving now."

    Rench left with the bag and ordered my tow.  I had just sat down
to knock back my soda when Oddball shuffled over to me.

    "What's in the bag?" he asked.

    "A bunch of grenades and some Vulcan ammo.  Never know when it'll
come it handy.  Besides, the stuff's expensive."

    "You probably won't need it.  You got to figure the Vulcan's been
stripped off by now."

    I took another drink.  "Not likely.  The car's sitting on it.
The wheels are probably gone though."  I called over to Rench, "Make
sure they have a couple of spares -- or send a flatbed."

    We finished our drinks, and the mechanics their repairs.  Time to
set off again.  Oddball asked me if I could handle it.

    "No sweat.  Just stay close behind me."

    Oddball growled.  "Yeah, that's a good place for a rear guard."

    "You know what I mean.  Just let me drive the van, and we'll have
nothing to worry about."

    "Your driving *is* what I'm worried about."

    It was my turn to growl. "Cut it out. I'll handle her fine."

    Jones cut in.  "Actually, she handles like a brick."

    Oddball and I growled in unison.

                               *  *  *

    The next few hours passed quietly, if you consider rumbling over
worn terrain at high speeds quiet.  Boredom brought me close to taking
potshots at fleeing squirrels, but then I realized that wild creatures
were a *good* sign.  It meant that there weren't any more
hunger-starved crazies nearby.

    The only excitement on the Augusta leg of the trip came when we
approached a northbound convoy.  It took a couple of minutes to assure
the fellas in the big rigs that we weren't bandits looking for
trouble.  Running my courier routes, I've picked up a few tips from
various truckers at some of the stops along the way, and that
certainly payed off now.  Anything to avoid arrays of autocannons and
twenty-ton ramplates.

    The Augusta stop lasted long enough to get a bite to eat.  We
checked the data from the cubes that Uncle Jack provided and decided
to press on into New Jacksonville where we planned to crash for the
night.  (I'm talking figuratively here, folks.)  The roads were good
and the armor was holding up well enough.  Quick patches were fine for
the short hops, but the grease monkeys in Jacksonville would be up all
night laying it in thick.

    With a little luck and no unnecessary stops, we could cover the
remaining 250 miles just after dark.  Before dark would've been
better, but we'd have had to really push it, more than was prudent.
So we'd deal with night driving on unfamiliar roads.  What could
happen, huh?

    Well, for one thing . . .

    WAW didn't have any company-owned garages in Waycross, Georgia,
but there was no way we'd make it another 70 miles without stopping.
According to the maps we had, this was our best best.  We had no idea
was to expect from a regular truck stop.  As the cars charged up, we
hit the diner.  Everyone inside was of high spirits -- they were
celebrating something.  One guy, Max, told Lucky that they usually
find any excuse to party, but tonight something special was going
down.  Only problem was that no one knew exactly what it was.  We
turned down the invite to the party.  Too much to do and darkness was
setting it already.

    New Jacksonville was less than 70 miles away.  So far, the trip
had taken us over 12 hours and it'd be another hour before we could
turn in for the night.  Our tires were feeling some of the wear as
were the rest of us.  Oddball and Lucky had each lost small pieces of
armor.  I'd have been happy to just see the Florida border without
another incident.

    No such luck.  A radar blip slowly advanced on us.  A minute
later, another edged onto the screen behind the first.  Both were
gaining on us, but we played cool.  We had to think about Mr. Cose's
welfare.  Soon, two pair of headlights became visible, and each
vehicle sported a flashing light -- along with a heavy smattering of
offensive hardware.

    Great, I thought.  We're heading to Key West, our lives threatened
at every turn, bandits lying in wait everywhere.  So what happens?  We
get ticketed for speeding in Georgia.  No way I'm showing up for a
court appearance.

    We pulled over immediately -- why look for trouble?  No reason to
slug it out with the cops.  One of the men from the lead vehicle got
out and approached Turbo cautiously.

    "We weren't speeding, were we?"  Turbo knew full well that we were
doing about 75.  He talked with the officer for a few mintues and then
exited Bumper.  He walked around the back and showed the man his empty
cargo holds.  Ram cars usually have a good deal of empty, useless
space.  When they finished, they walked up to Lucky's clunker; Lucky
didn't have a sqaure foot to spare to squeeze in any cargo.  The three
then came toward the van; Lucky walked behind, puzzled and scratching
his head.

    Turbo stuck his head inside the van.  "Sean," he said, knowing it
bothered me when he didn't use my street name when we're in the
street.  "These gentlemen are checking for contraband being smuggled
across the Florida border.  They have to inspect the van for illicit
cargo.  You haven't been stashing any tobacco products back there,
have you?"

    Lucky grabbed Turbo by the arm and yanked his head out the window.
"Is that what this is about?  Why didn't you just show him the guy on
the stretcher so they'd let us pass?"

    "You kidding?  I wouldn't miss this for the world!"  Turbo
positively grinned from ear to ear.  He shouted to the back of the
van, "You can open her up, officer!"

    The state trooper sprung the door and gasped in shock.  He stared
at Victor Cose and his attached monitors then looked to Jones and
Carmichael, each displaying grim faces.  He then gazed at me up front.
I managed to keep a straight face even as Turbo cracked up in my ear.

    Turbo composed himself and approached the officer.  "You see, sir,
we are in charge of getting this man -- who you can see is in critical
condition -- to a specialized hospital not far away in Florida.  Even
now as we speak, his lifeforce slowly ebbs away."

    The trooper was flustered.  "Why didn't you say something ten
minutes ago?!"

    "Never let it be said that the Road Wolves would be so
inconsiderate as to obstruct police procedures."

    "Where are you going?" he demanded.

    "We're meeting a relay team in New Jacksonville."

    "Get in your vehicles.  You're getting an escort to the Florida
border."

    "Yes, sir." Turbo turned with a wink to Lucky and me. Leave it to
Turbo to get our escort team an extra layer of protection.  For free,
no less!

    Once across the border, after the patrol cars had fallen back, I
got on the radio.  "You took a bit of a chance there, didn't you,
Turbo?"

    He chortled.  "I figured as long as none of us had any smuggling
compartments, they wouldn't give us any trouble."  He laughed again,
proud of his own work.

    "Turb," I replied slowly.  "You realize then that it's a good
thing that I lost the wagon up in Raleigh.  The one I sometimes
transport sensitive materials in."

    His laughing stopped cold.  Radio silence.  A minute later,
Oddball cut in.  "You all realize that it's a better thing that they
saw our patient before they got around to checking out the stuff in my
car.  Or does anyone want to explain it."

    A cold shudder.  Chills on the spine.  Stiff hairs threatened to
break the neck ring on my body armor.  I straightened up in my seat
and kept my eyes forward.  I didn't want to think about Oddball's car.
As a part-time developer/gadgeteer and part-time mad scientist, he
might have brought anything along for the ride.  How mad is he?  Let's
just say that when he sent some designs to my godfather for his
opinion, Victor Cose had a special R&D lab set up for Oddball . . . in
an isolated section of Brooklyn . . . where no one would get hurt.

    That was the main reason that Oddball had come along for the ride.
I hadn't thought that there might have been any other reason, but the
words "Road Test" suddenly flashed acrossed my mind.

    Thanks to the Georgia State Police, we were in New Jacksonville in
20 minutes.  Not a moment too soon for me.  We saw Victor Cose and his
equipment into a special area set up for him, and then we all found
our bunks.  The mattresses were hard, lumpy, and somewhat worn.  I was
asleep before I hit the pillow.
 

                           End of Part III

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        Well next issue will see the last installment of U.S. 1, then
I'll start up Taxi-driver in full earnest.  Once again thanks to both
writers for offering their services for the CWML.
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