Disclaimer:
        -"Car Wars", "Autoduel Quarterly" (ADQ), "Midville" and
"Americain Autoduel Association" (AADA)  are all registered trade
marks of Steve Jackson Games.
----------------------------------------------------------------------

        It's here, the final part of 'U.S. 1', that's right part IV
has finally made it to the CWML desk and is included here for your
reading pleasure.  Apart from that there isn't much more to sya, short
of enjoy and expect a couple of hearse designs and 'Taxi Driver' in
the next few issues.

        Make sure you check the NEWS section below, SJ-Games are
currently looking at ADQ.
 

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

        CWML homepage
  http://www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/Alley/3133/cwml.html

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

----------------------------------------------------------------------
NEWS:

ADQ:
        Well, SJ-Games are looking at restarting ADQ, now won't we all
enjoy that.  And there is something that everyone can do to help this
project along.  It's really easy and everyone will surely be capable
and should spend the 5 minutes it will take to do this.  There is a
poll being done, and it wants to know what you would like to see, a
bit of market research.  The more people who respond to this, the more
chance there is of something going ahead.  To get to the poll check
out the illuminator for 22-OCT.  Follow the link and fill out the
form, if you don't know where the illuminator is, follow this address.
Or use the link on the CW links page to get there.
        http://www.sjgames.com/ill/

CADC:
        We are looking for a few more racers in the Detroit area to
join the CADC (Championship Auto Dueling Circuit).  We are planning
to start the season in mid January 2048.  There will be one race/event
per month.  And we will be playing in 3D.  We plan to use
MicroMachines and increase the scale of the game.  For more info,
please e-mail timgould@sprynet.com.

PBEM:
        Anyone looking to try this format of play, there are a couple
of spots which have come up in the current duels, check into the page
(available form the links page) and send me a mail if you are
interested.

----------------------------------------------------------------------
AADA CHAPTERS:

NOVA:                                                   OLD
        Almost don't need to say this, but they've updated them again,
this time more designs.
                                                Last Mod: 19-OCT

----------------------------------------------------------------------
OTHER CW PAGES:

Official Car Wars Pages                                 OLD
        A few things have been added here, have a wander round, they
even link to the CWML homepage now.  Also have a look at the latest
bit of AADA news, a few descriptions of some club championships.
                                                Last Mod: 20-OCT

D.O.A:                                                  **
        Well, here's one which I should have put up an issue ago, a
relatively new group from Canada looking to become an AADA chapter,
have a look at the pages.  They've got a 3D model of their arena
available, as well as an archive of the CWML (what can I say?).
much more is promised in the near future
                                                Last Mod: 18-OCT

German Car wars Page:                                   **
        Not much here yet, a new page, however updates are promised,
at hte moment there are a couple of designs up.  Car Wars is getting
a bit international isn't it.
                                                Last Mod: 23-OCT

----------------------------------------------------------------------

                                 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 IV

    To bring you up to speed:  Two days ago, Victor Cose, President of
Wildcat AutoWorks was caught in an explosion, the work of industrial
sabotage.  Jack O'Hara, VP and long-time friend, hired his nephew's
autoduelling team, the Driving Tigers, to bring Victor Cose to a
special facility in Key West, Florida -- a two-day trip down US 1.
(Ed- check out the CWML archive, if you missed the earlier epsiodes.)

    Yesterday, the team started its journey as a decoy team set off
down Interstate 95.

                                 *   *   *

    We awoke in New Jacksonville to a beautiful morning with a sky a
peculiar shade of orange.  The garage buzzed with people checking
equipment, including Oddball who stood in his trunk recalibrating his
anti-tank gun.  The mechanics seemed happy for the work -- in this
town, damaged cars turn into flaming wrecks quickly.  The residents
take it in stride though; it takes time to totally rebuild a city.

    The team suited up, our patient was secured in the ambulance, and
we set off.  The weather forecast told us to take advantage of any
clear skies we got, so we got an early start.  Maybe that's why we
were able to travel an entire hour without another incident.

    In what seemed to be a replay of last night, another police car
came racing after us -- this one bearing the black and gold markings
of the Florida Highway Patrol.  When it pulled alongside the van, they
told me to pull over, and our entire convoy did.

    The FHP car stopped across the highway and both men got out.  The
taller guy went to Turbo; the driver stepped over to the van and
waited.

    Turbo went through the same routine.  "We weren't speeding, were
we?"

    The officer shook his head even though we had been.  "You do know
that this road is in a state of disrepair.  It's like that down most
of the coast.  Not many people go this way, except for bandits and
victims.  Which group do you fall into?"

    "None of the above, Officer.  Thank you for the warning, but we're
in kind of a hurry and I-95 is more crowded than Coney Island on a
humid August afternoon."

    The cop smiled.  "New Yorkers, huh? just what we needed a few more
of down here.  Anyway, we have to search your van.  We have reason to
believe that there's a shipment of illegal substances being run across
the border from Georgia down into Miami."

    Turbo took the radio in hand.  "Let me tell the others.  You must
be working with the Waycross PD.  They stopped us yesterday for the
same thing."

    The cop's smile grew larger.  "Yes, that's right.  We've been
working on this crackdown for weeks.  Well, then if you've been though
this before, this won't take very long."  The officer waved to his
partner.

    "I'm sure it won't."  Turbo raised his window.  "Did you read
that, Aramis?"

    "Loud and clear," I replied.  Very clear.  Jones was puzzled by
how little fuss I made.  Carmichael just sat tight, facing away from
me.  The back of the van flew open, and the shorter officer peered in.
He saw Carmichael and the wounded man wrapped in bandages.  He took a
good look and reached for his gun.  Then a shot rang out.

    He hadn't noticed Carmichael's pistol.

    "Go!"  I screamed into the radio.

    Tires screeched.  The other "officer" jumped for safety.  Jones
and Lucky each took shots at him; both missed.  I instinctively
reached for a grenade before realizing that Carmichael was dangling
out the back trying to shut the door.  Oddball closed in to give us
some cover.

    "What's the story, Aramis?"  Lucky asked.

    "Bulletproof vests don't stop head shots.  He was down before he
got his gun out.  Our patient is doing fine."

    Turbo got on the air.  "Okay, guys, we left a man back there.  As
soon as he hits his radio, we may have a lot of company."  The radar
went crazy with blips.  "We may be in trouble."

    As we streaked down the road, they pulled from behind the trees
and fell into formation behind us.  We had speed on our side though,
and catching us on this terrain would take forever.  At least, that's
what I thought before three cars pulled within a couple of
car-lengths.

    "Hey!  Gasburners!"  Turbo quipped.  "I haven't seen one of those
in the longest time.  Cool stuff.  What a waste.  Take 'em, Oddball."

    A loud "Y-e-e-e-h-a-a-h!" echoed over the airwaves.  Oddball had
seemed very itchy this morning about that AT gun.  As we came to a
bend in the road and they moved into proper range, Oddball aimed at
the lead vehicle and fired, scoring a direct hit.

    The road sparkled in a cloud of electric pink.  Paint covered
everything but mostly our pursuers.  In my opinion, I'd said the guy
who got it the worst was the one in the middle.  He didn't see the
tree in front of him until it was riding shotgun.  The guy on his
right also drove off the road, though he managed to stay in one piece.

    Oddball's newfangled paint shell passed its first test with flying
colors.  So to speak.

    The green and pink sedan remaining managed to clear its windshield
and get back on the road in time.  As soon as he was hot on our tail
again, Oddball did what no one expected him to do:  he fired another
round.  The sedan's paint job became a panorama of the grotesque.  The
roving mural fell back, not knowing what had hit him.

    "Really, Oddball," Luck spat with disgust.  "Bright orange?  How
could you?"

    To which Turbo replied, "It's not just for breakfast anymore."

    Oddball just hummed satisfaction.

                                * * *

    We had passed Daytona and stopped at Vero Beach where we were
informed that Tropical Storm Diane wasn't moving out to sea and would
probably hit the coast within the next few hours.

    Lucky wasn't happy.  "How come no one told us sooner.  They had to
have known before now."

    "Maybe they were waiting for her to go hurricane.  Doesn't the
idea blow you over?"

    "Aramis, this isn't the time for your bad puns.  We're driving
straight for it.  We could get killed."

    "Guys," Turbo cut in, calmly.  "What's the big worry?  We've been
through it all.  We've driven though rain, snow, sleet, and Jersey.
How destructive could Diane be?"

    Oddball growled.  He wasn't overly thrilled either.  But we all
finally agreed, however reluctantly, that we had to keep going for as
long as we could until Diane forced us off the highway.

    That's a major problem of ours:  We got plenty of guts and we got
plenty of brains.  We just don't always use them both at the same
time.  Shoddy road, Florida coast, possible hurricane.  Hey, life's
too short to worry, right?  Yeah, who knows, you might be dead in
another eight hours anyway.

    We kept going southward, even as a mass exodus rushed northward.
The skies grew darker as we passed Nuevo Miami.  The waves crashed
against the MacAurthur Seawall and spilled over the top.  Diane moved
closer.  We all felt uneasy and all remained silent after leaving
Miami. The only saving grace was the smooth asphalt beneath our
wheels.  This was the home stretch; it was just a matter of time.

                              *    *    *

    The road had been deserted for several miles, no signs of anyone
on the highway.  Not surprising -- anyone with any sense in his head
had probably barricaded himself in some secure spot.  Anyone but us,
that is.  And at least one other we could notice.

    Overhead a chopper hovered a little way down the road, just
hanging there with the black clouds as a backdrop.  The pilot watched
us for a while, making sure, all the while trying to hold a scrawny
one-man copter steady in the heavy winds.  You had to wonder how low
on the totem pole this guy was to pull down this assignment.

    We closed in and brought all weapons on to bear on the target.  He
veered off quickly.  A dozen potshots flew wide and away.  That didn't
help him, however.  The wind and rain did him in in a matter of
minutes. A fire erupted when he crashed, but the storm doused the
flames quickly.

    They knew where we were now, but that was okay.  We could pretty
much guess where *they* were.  Actually, they kept us guessing for
over 30 more miles of pounding rain and gale-force winds.

    Our point-man started to sway back and forth.  Lucky got on the
air, "Turbo, you okay?"  Lucky's the type to get nervous quickly when
there are gales about.

    Turbo proclaimed, "Remember the Cyclone!"

    What the hell was he babbling about?  Was Hurricane Madness
setting in?

    "This is bigger than all of us," he continued.  "This isn't just
Cose or Wildcat we're fighting for.  We're fighting for the glory of
Brooklyn."  Turbo struck a chord in all of us, got a pumped,
adrenaline flowing.  "Are we going to let a little thing like *Diane*
stop us?"

    "Arrrrrrrrr!"  Oddball's growl drowned out the storm.  Turbo had
delivered a back-handed slap across the face.  Diane wasn't just a
storm, she was a woman, too.  Who's fury was greater?  That's another
story.  Whatever the case, we took off as our rear guard took off,
determined to stand up to Diane and spit in her eye.  In the face of
certain annihilation, we sped onward.  Into the valley of death drove
the six duellists . . .

    Some folks might think it strange to see four vehicles charging
down a slick highway doing 70 in a storm with winds blowing at 50.
They might think it strange to see the drivers, fists clenched, teeth
gritted, enjoying the ride.  They might call it crazy, dangerous or
stupid.

    They've never been to Brooklyn.

    We drove as if hit by lightning . . . until we came upon a tree
that had been.  Turbo saw it start to topple and hit his brakes.
Lucky, who had been following close behind, swerved to avoid a
collision, oblivious to the impending danger.  But not for long.

    "Turbo!  What do you think you're . . . H-e-e-e-e-l-l-l-l-p-p!"
Lucky saw it.  With no time for brakes, he hit the accelerator and
executed a beautiful maneuver just as the tree would've clipped him.
This had the unfortunate consequence of several more swerves and
fishtails -- mostly unintentional -- at least, I think they were
unintentional.  There are times when I'd swear that Lucky had an
aversion to moving his car in the direction it's pointing while
simultaneously keeping all four wheels on the ground.  This was one of
those times.

    "TIM-BER!"

    Very funny, Turbo.  We all stopped, everyone except Lucky on one
side of the tree, Lucky a couple hundred feet down the road.  A
thunderclap followed by heavier rain didn't stop us from piling out
and deciding what to do about the tree.

    We couldn't budge it.  The waterlogged limbs wouldn't ignite.
Shooting it would take all day, not to mention all our ammo.  No one
wanted to suggest Turbo's ramplate.  We managed this far, we had to
keep going.

    "Any sane solutions?"  I asked.  Everyone looked back and forth
until all eyes came to rest on Oddball.  No one, not even Oddball,
spoke a word.  Finally, I sighed and uttered the inevitable.  "Any
insane ones?"

    Oddball stuck out his hands.  "Give me some grenades."

    "Waitaminute!"  Lucky protested.  "You'll blow a hole in the
highway before you blow a hole big enough to pass through.  I'm not
going to stand here and allow it."

    Oddball collected my grenades, shrugged and grunted, "I wouldn't
recommend standing there myself."  Lucky stood his ground as Turbo and
the medics got in their cars.  I took Oddball's.  Then Lucky thought
it over more carefully, weighed the possibilities, and ran for his
life.

    Oddball examined the deadwood before him.  Had he some of the
equipment from his lab, rigging a chain reaction wouldn't be a
problem, but that wasn't a possibility.  Then he noticed the squirrel
hole, or whatever kind of animal inhabited the trees down here.  He
calmly reset the timers on four of the grenades and let all of them
drop into the hollow of the tree.  Oddball executed a beautiful swan
dive off the side of the road to safety.

    Moments later, kindling covered the road, along with a huge log in
two pieces.  Oddball was standing there with eight grenades left.  We
picked him up and started down the highway to recollect Lucky.

    "Ahead, warp factor one!"  Turbo ordered.

    An unknown voice came over the radio.  "Attention, Convoy.  We
have one of your men surrounded.  IF you want to see him alive,
approach slowly and surrender the van and its occupant.  If you
refuse, this clunker will be blasted into its component parts as will
it's driver."

    Turbo knew how to handle the situation.  He replied, "He's a
victim of war.  He understands."

    Lucky's voice shot back.  "No, Turbo.  I don't understand.  Why
don't you come down here and explain it to me!"

    We continued as if nothing had happened.  My mind focused on
driving because I didn't want to think of the mutilation I would
inflict on whoever touched the van.  Jones climbed into the shotgun
position.

    "Aramis, do you know what we're going to do?  I mean, do you think
they'll call Turbo's bluff."

    I kept my eye on the road and my expression blank.  "What bluff?"

    Jones turned pale.  "I'll go check on Mr. Cose."  I grabbed him
before he could leave.

    "Man the guns.  I don't want to take a hand off the wheel unless I
have to."

    I followed Turbo as we accelerated about the next turn.  Up ahead
was the most disappointing excuse for a roadblock I'd ever seen.  Just
a couple of station wagons parked across the road.  Of course, the
path leading up to the blockade was lined with heavily-armed defenders
on both sides of the road.  Jones gasped as the sight of so many
people and called for Carmichael to strap Mr. Cose down as tightly as
possible.

    "Forget the cars, do a sweep on your side, and I'll take care of
mine."

    "Yours?  How?"

    I grabbed the top two grenades from the backpack.  "Oddball didn't
use them all.  I keep these for emergencies."

    The storm pounded the windshield, making it difficult to see the
targets.  Lucky was bracketed in my a lux with a turret and a group of
guerrillas.  They hadn't fired on Lucky yet, so they must have been
conserving ammo, holding it for us.

    "You have three seconds," the voice announced.  "What'll it be?"

    Turbo gunned it.  He jumped 20 mph in a second and a half.

    "Halt or we'll open fire!"

    He sounded desperate and with good reason.  Have you ever tried to
hit a moving target in a hurricane with a BB gun.  They'd have had a
better chance if they had.  Two dozen men jumped from the ditches and
lined up in front of the station wagon with whatever paraphernalia
they could fire.

    "They task me!"  Turbo muttered under his breath.  He leveled off
the accelerator at 65 mph and was gunning for the crowd.  Shotgun
blasts, Uzi bursts, even a rifle shot or two, and poor Lucky seemed to
have been forgotten.  At most, they might have scratched Turbo's paint
job.

    "I'm aiming for them," Jones said.

    "No.  Aim for the ditches," I replied.

    "The ditches?  There's no one there."

    "There will be."

    Turbo didn't let up at all.  He held tight.  "You guys ever been
to Bensonhurst?"  With less than a second to impact, the crowd
scattered and dove for cover.  Turbo ripped through the barricades,
straight through the center, knocking both wagons to the sides of the
highway.  Our ambulance was close behind, but not close enough.
Everyone got to their feet and fired.

    "Here we go!"

    Jones made a strafing run on the right side.  I tossed the first
grenade, with it's cousin right behind it.

    "Aramis, I'm sitting under those pineapples in case you forgot!"

    Before Lucky could finish griping, the road flashed royal blue.
Quite serene, actually.  Everyone was so overwhelmed that they
couldn't see where to shoot.  That made little difference, though,
because the concussion grenade threw them all for loops anyway.

    In short, no one touched the van, not even the black and royal
blue Caddy.  The driver, sake from the blast, was ready to return
fire.  Then Oddball blasted him with that rear-mounted autocannon.

    "That's it!" the radio boomed.  "Your pal is history!"  A moment
or two passed when he yelled, "Where'd he go?"

    In all the commotion, Lucky decided to make a timely departure,
backing down the road as far as he could before being noticed.  "I'm
sorry I couldn't stay and chat, but I really must be going."  With
that, he threw the car into forward gear and raced off after us.  Our
hijacking pal decided not to follow.

    We didn't stop to congratulate ourselves.  Good thing, too,
because it was time for that yet.  We realized that when we heard a
pair of explosions and the shells rocked the road.

    "Incoming," Turbo announced.  "And damn if it aint a big one."

    Lucky swung into his customary position and hollered, "Holy --
What the hell's that RV doing?"

    "Moving very slowly," Turbo replied.  "They don't handle well in
storms."

    Jones whispered, "You don't suppose they're just a bunch of
friendly retired folks, do you?"  Another pair of explosions answered
his question.

    Turbo cursed.  Lucky told him to move aside so he could get a bead
on it, but Turbo waved him away.  He was staying the course against
the behemoth.  The distanced between us closed rapidly.  The RV driver
stopped with the twin-turretted rocket launchers and starting aiming
the bad news.  There was a large-bore weapon protruding from the front
grill.  Make that a "massive-bore" weapon.

    "Turbo, move aside."  Lucky ordered, but Turbo didn't budge.

    The RV inched toward us, waiting for a clear shot in the storm.
Finally, the tank gun locked in and fired on Turbo's position.  The
only problem was that Turbo wasn't there.

    Before the shell ripped free of the RV, Turbo ignited Bumper's
jump jets and sailed into the sky, as high as the RV.  But not higher
than its turret.  Bumper ripped through the turret and came to rest on
the top of the RV.  Within the monstrous vehicle, there was an
explosion, and it started to tip over.  Turbo spoke the truth -- they
don't handle well in storms.

    "Geez!  Everyone to the left!  Quick!"

    We got around the prone machine and stopped as fast as the rain
allowed.  "Any sign of Turbo?"  Lucky yelled.  "Did you punch out?"

    "Punch out?"  Oddball shouted into the wind.  "If he did, he's
halfway into the Gulf by now!"

    Flames were shooting out from all sides by the time we got to the
wreck.  Bumper lay smashed amongst some fallen trees on the side of
the road.  The driver's seat was empty, but the car top, though
thoroughly smashed, was still in place.  He hadn't ejected.

    "Hey," a voice yelled.  We turned and looked up.  There, on what
had been the side of the RV, now the top, stood a bumped and bruised
Turbo. "Can someone give me a ride?"

                               *   *   *

    "Road Wolves, we have you on our radar.  You are safely inside the
non-combat zone.  The gates will be opened for you when you arrive."

    The old Naval Air Base was just a minute away, but we didn't drop
our guard yet, despite the announcement.  We had been too banged up
along the way.  We didn't feel safe until the gates swung open before
us, and even that made our hearts skip beats.  A half dozen black cars
sped out.

    "Road Wolves, this is Escort One.  You have clearance to enter."
You would think it still was a naval base.

    Once inside the medics rushed Victor Cose into emergency.  I
stayed in the waiting room for the latest news.  Lucky went for some
coffee.  Turbo went for some nurses.  Oddball went for whatever he
could get his hands on.  A few minutes after they left, another
patient was rushed into emergency.  Busy day, I thought.

    I had just finished reading the "No Smoking" sign for the 412th
time, when I heard someone approach.  "So there you are," he said.

    I turned to see Uncle Jack standing over me.  He wore a white lab
coat.  "Victor's going to be fine thanks to you and your friends.  You
did a great job."

    That was a major relief.  "Great news to a very tired and soaked
body.  This isn't something I want to repeat anytime soon."

    Uncle Jack nodded.  "Agreed.  But I must admit, you handled
yourselves like pros out there.  That was some great driving."  He
gave me a slap on the back.

    "Hey, we *are* pros."  I started off to find the gang to give them
the good news when that slap on the back suddenly felt like a slap in
the face.  I looked back at Uncle Jack with glaring eyes.  "Just how
would you know how we handled ourselves?  For that matter, how did you
even get here?  The airports are closed."

    Jack took a seat and indicated for me to do so as well.  I stood.
"It seems that we had an informant in the crew I picked.  Everything
was out.  So last night, while you slept, Victor was switched with the
other team.  Only one of your medics knew that *I* was on that
stretcher today.  That was me in all those bandages, and I heard
everything that happened.  Let me say I was thoroughly impressed."

    My face went red to deep crimson to hotter than the unholy
inferno, but instead of lashing out, I turned and stormed off.  Uncle
Jack hollered after me, "Sorry you were the diversion, Sean.  But
that's how it had to be.  You should've expected something like this
after you asked the Georgia State Police for an escort last night."

    I kept walking.

    "If it's any consolation, Sean, the other team would never had
made it through without you."  He laughed, "I understand the guy in
the Caddy was greatly confused."

    I stopped at the end of the hall, deciding whether to go left or
right.  Back wasn't an option.

    "Are you going to tell the others what went down?"

    "They'll figure it out," I shouted back.  "They'll wonder why I'm
not speaking to you."  I turned left and moved on.

    "You know something, kid.  You're pig-headed, just like I was at
your age.  You know, you're going to turn out just like me.  I did
what I had to do out there, and you did what you had to.  And
everything got done that was supposed to get done.  I'm proud of you,
kid."

    He was still talking as the words drifted off and all I could hear
was the sound of my boots on the hallway floor.  I tried ignoring what
he had to say.  The funny thing was, though I hated to admit it, I
knew he was right.

                               *   *   *

                             Designer Notes

    You mean I was supposed to come up with Designer Notes for this
thing?  Actually, I could dig out the scenario that I wrote up based
on this, but the rules of the game changed drastically in the last
fourteen years since I originally wrote this piece.  And parts of the
story bent the rules as they were back in 1983.  So I decided to
confuse everyone by leaving the story mostly intact, but updating
other parts of it, mostly so it would read better.

    On the other hand, I'm glad to see that I predicted things that
eventually happened.  There were no sedans back then, and I mentioned
them more as a vehicle description than as a new car class.  I always
hated having to dig out my Vehicle Guides every time I read a story to
find out what the other car was.  And I hated thrower out random car
names as opponents.

     Another invention wasn't mine, but Matt Laverty's -- the paint
shell for the anti-tank gun. He had some really sick ideas in those
ideas, so I used a couple.

    The biggest change, of course, is that hand weapons -- grenades in
particular, but also the Uzis -- just don't do any kind of damage to
cars, not even to their tires (a rule change in there, somewhere). So
And then there was AV ammo, and then it was gone . . .

    I just concentrated on the story.  I figured that was the best
approach.

    I hoped you liked it.  And if I can sneak in a plug for the
Driving Tigers Magazine page, it's at;
       http://www.io.com/~cjburke/dtm/dtm.html.

    Stop by. I'll be updating it again soon.

Christopher J. Burke

----------------------------------------------------------------------

        Well, hope you enjoyed the final installment, hopefully we can
get C.J. Burke to write something else.  Well I'd just like to say
thanks to him once again for putting it together.  Until next issue,
let's enjoy some dangerous duelling action.  Send in any duels you've
been having - let the world read about your exploits.
----------------------------------------------------------------------