Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The following FICTIOUS account is written by Faibhar and intended solely
for the readership of LEGALLY ADULT readers where such material
additionally meets with local standards.  DO NOT READ further if neither of
the above conditions apply to you.

   Do not continue if extreme themes offend.

   Please do not use this original work for any purpose other than your
appropriate enjoyment.  Should you be bothered by themes of torture and
mayhem, please do not continue.  Your constructive comments are welcome. 
Thank you.



   Caliente Alto, Tres.

   Dawn unfolded like a dirty blanket over the flat terrain and already
there were signs of life around hanger #2.  Rustling noises scraped the
weathered wooden walls of the shed where the would-be cast and crew spent
the night.  Two of Lord's gang stirred embers of the dying campfire set
alongside one of the towering metal walls.

   Lord rolled over in his deluxe sleeping bag and called to Clem, who
already had risen with the others.  "May as well check on those two.  That
cage they got locked up in probably wasn't much to their liking."

   Clem straightened his denims as he heard his leader's voice and turning
to him said in his rural attempt at levity, "Boss I reckon that the cage
they were locked up in was the least of their worries."

   "Suppose you do have a point there.  Get them up anyway, and get the
others, too.  No point in any of them eating.  Just get them up now." Lord
felt the hour too early for any of Clem's home-spun humor.

   Weak rays of sun appeared over the horizon.  Already the heat of the
newborn day was making itself known.  The earth, itself, seemed to radiate
warmth.  From behind the hanger, shouts were heard and then the rustling of
the beleaguered members many of whom still wore their costume regalia from
the previous day's planned shoot.

   "Here come what remains of the Roman army."

   Small cries were heard from just inside the hanger itself and soon
appeared two naked women.  They hobbled on bruised ankles and their bodies
bore clear signs of abuse from the previous day.  The tall one, the one
called Candi, lurched forward and stumbled.  Her once perfect skin now
marked by the many stings and hurts inflicted.  She stumbled forward
favoring her right side.  Dense dark discolorization, her swollen right
breast with the fragment of tin foil tape encrusted to her skin and her
hanging right arm all offered testimony that she did not enjoy the most
pleasant of nights.  The midnight purple cropped hair of her shorter
friend, Susan, bobbed alongside as both were shoved toward the dying
campfire.

   Lord arose to his feet as he saw the mock soldiers and the battered
women approach.  His eyes narrowed in the growing light and focused on the
one male of their group that was not wearing a costume.

   "Hey, Director!  You in the snazzy polo shirt.  Come here, we need to
talk."

   Allan Smithey heard the call and shuffled over to where Lord stood tall,
before him.

   "What's your name, boy?"

   "Allan Smithey, sir."

   "Good.  Well, Allan I know you had your heart set on making a movie out
here and just looking at the gear you brought, Lord is here to tell you
that today, my young friend, you will not be disappointed!"

   Smithey didn't bother looking up, but merely hung his bare head and
said, "Thank you sir."

   Master Briefs had been eavesdropping on the conversation.  Having
partially recovered from his earlier groin injury, the lawyer marshaled his
remaining vitality.  Though he too had spent the night in lock-up with the
others, he knew that being a master of one's domain also carried with it
certain responsibilities.  With this in mind, he decided to once more speak
up and boldly said, "Don't listen to him Smithey." Looking at Lord
directly, he mustered more strength and said, "Look.  Obviously, you lead
this band of renegades.  Surely, we can work something out.  I mean, you've
had your fun, now let us all go."

   Lord slowly turned his gaze from the cowering Smithey to the brazen
attorney.  Casually, he looked up at the clearing sky that was steadily
getting brighter, then looked back at the Roman-attired attorney hostage
negotiator wannabe.  Silently, he narrowly stared at the costume dress.

   Master Breifs blinked, faltered, then said, "Okay...Okay.  Look: keep
the girls, but let the rest of us go.  Agreed?"

   Lord looked down at his boot toe and lightly kicked a dirt clod away, as
if seriously considering the attorney's demands.  He then stretched his
arms up high, arched his back and took a deep swallow before saying,
"Friend, what handle do you go by?"

   Bemused, the lawyer hesitated and then said, "Master Briefs.  Because
I'm a lawyer, you see."

   Lord casually spit down to the hard-packed ground before him.  "Oh. 
That's cute."

   Clem called out from hanger #1 to Lord and the other bunch.  "Hey! 
They's got an airplane in here!"

   Lord looked at the anxious members, turned to the silver-haired one and
said, "Are you the owner?"

   "Yes.  I mean, yes Sir!"

   "Does it fly?"

   "It got us here, didn't it?"

   "That's not what I asked.  Tell you what, Smithey?"

   Smithey looked up on hearing his name called and tried to smile, eager
to appease his captor.

   "Get your cameras out here.  Set them up in a circle like before. 
You're going to run the custom-made switcher of yours.  And that VTR unit?
Does it need protection from the sun?"

   "Yyyyes...Sir!"

   "Then we'll get it some shade.  In the meantime, get that plane out of
there." Lord walked over and laid a strong grip on the silver-haired plane
owner's shoulder and said, "Today's a good day for flying, right?" Lord's
smile didn't leave room for any other answer.  "That thing have parachutes
in it?"

   The plane's owner and pilot nodded indicating with his fingers that it
had four.

   "Great!  Smithey, we are going to add some sports-'chuting to your
little movie.  I need three volunteers...You, you and you."

   "Hey, what about me?" Master Briefs said in protest.

   Lord looked at him and his thin lips cruelly twisted and said, "Oh, we
need you here with us on the ground, counselor."

   Randy, a member of Airborne in Viet-nam volunteered from Lord's ranks to
be jump-master.  Lord gave final directions to those he selected to be
jumping and said , "Keep your cute little costumes on, but Randy make sure
after they get their harnesses on that they have removed their underwear
and sandals."

   The selected three, plus Randy joined the pilot.  The others watched as
the old Lockheed taxied out and took off.  Already, the morning sun had
burned away any morning clouds.  Most could feel the perspiration building.
Those already in parachute harnesses sweated for reasons other than the
morning air.  All knew that coming down they would be dreadfully exposed
with just the short skirts.  Without any boots on there was little chance
surviving even the best of landings intact on the hard terrain.  Heat and
fear combined to produce more cold sweat.

   Once the plane was airborne, Lord looked back at Master Briefs and said,
"While Smithey is setting up his cameras out here, I want you to start
digging two deep holes, then get that old lumber from where you slept last
night." He strode away, leaving the once proud officer of the court to
contemplate this latest twist of fate.




   To Be Continued