"Muddy! Stay with me!" Nena wrenched herself backward, yelling into the wind. In the rear cockpit of the biplane Muddy shook his head, clearing the tears from his eyes and focusing on the sound of Nena's voice. Without time to tend to his wound, too much blood had drained out. The higher altitude made his heart beat faster and his head spin.

"I'll make it!" But he wasn't sure. "We'll run out of gas before I run out of blood." He grimaced. "The flight time can't be more than a few hours!"

Chancho chimed in. "We've been flying for over three hours already!" They each looked over the edge. A thousand feet below, the ground rushed by at over 100 mph, hills dotted with clumps of trees and brush. In the distance a skeletal city of black oil derricks scarred the horizon like jagged stitches on the seam between sky and earth. Chancho pointed, "Boomtown!"

Nena shifted in Chancho's lap. "We have to land!"

"You're telling me." Chancho tried to rub feeling back into his legs and fend off the chill wind.

Muddy knew from the time they took off that crashing would be more likely than landing. Watching the countryside pass beneath him, he momentarily regretted not setting a course for Mexico, but his choice had been final, even before Jesse. When he wasn't focused on landing the plane without killing them, he seethed over the dishonor and ingratitude extended toward his mentor. He had to correct it.

Three hours had passed as he flew aimlessly, running scenarios through his mind. They needed a flat surface away from notice while maintaining access to ground transportation. No use in landing the plane just to be stranded in the wilderness without even a horse among them. He'd figured out the best option thirty minutes ago, but hesitated to commit to it.

Watching the ground blur past, he spotted the place and finally forced his mind to assent. He banked the plane sharply. Through the support struts of the biplane they watched dark smoke from a distant derrick transition toward the nose of the plane and across to the other side until it passed out of sight toward the back. Turning 270 degrees they came around for what, one way or the other, would be their final pass.

Muddy dipped the nose of the plane into a low wisp of cloud, all three of them shivering from the cold and damp as well as the unnerving feeling of whistling blindly through the air at 100 miles an hour. Moments later they emerged from the cloud into much warmer air within a few hundred feet of the ground. Beneath them a railroad, like a chalk line snapped across the surface of the earth, continued seamlessly over a small hill on the horizon.

"The railroad?" Chancho craned his neck, "I love trains, but I don't want to see one—"

Nena interrupted. "There should be room beside the tracks to land. The hill will slow us."

"But what about trains!"

"Exactly. Sooner or later a train will come, and we'll get on!"

"What if it's sooner?"

Nena turned until she could look Chancho in the eye. "You had better not die. I am not finished with you yet." Chancho swallowed and grew quiet. Muddy wondered which Chancho feared more, dying in a gruesome crash or living to face Nena.

Lifting in his seat, shockwaves of pain spidered through Muddy's body. He used the adrenaline to focus. Land the plane. He repeated the words as a mantra. He slowed as much as he dared, pulling hard on the controls to keep the nose up. Tears whipped off the sides of his face, the temperature of the air rising steadily as their altitude fell. Green blurs of scrub and live oak swelled in his peripheral vision as the ground rushed toward them. "Hold on!"

First contact came too hard, but he held the wings level and the nose up. They bounced, the landing gear creaking under the pressure. The torque on the steering slammed Muddy against the side of the fuselage. The smaller steering mechanism in the front cockpit bruised Nena's ribs. Aware of the strain on Muddy, she did what she could to help hold it steady.

With both of them focused on maintaining the plane's wheels, Chancho was first to spot the belching smokestack looming over the hill. "Train! ¡Por el amor de dios! Train!" Seconds later a 125 ton steam engine chugged into view. "It was sooner!"

The plane crashed down a second time, snapping off the rear wheel, grinding the tail of the plane into the ground and jamming the controls. Steam purged from the sides of the engine as it deployed full brakes. They could have easily stopped by the top of the hill, but with the hundred yards between them and the train shrinking every second they'd never make it. Even if Muddy could steer effectively, the terrain thirty feet from the tracks grew thick with juniper. Still, crashing into trees seemed favorable to a smoldering furnace on wheels.

A terrible screeching licked his ears as slick steel wheels slid along the polished tracks spewing sparks. He plunged the controls of the plane forward, shifting the flaps enough to lift the tail off the ground, dipping the nose instead. Skidding momentarily on one wheel, the plane bounced sideways and for a split-second, flew. Muddy revved the engine full throttle for one brief burst before cutting it entirely.

As the train closed within twenty yards, the chewed up tail of the plane lashed out over the tracks. In a final gasp, the plane lurched forward and out of the way. Blasted with hot steam as the hundred ton beast slid past them, Muddy overcorrected and finally lost the battle to the jammed controls. The left wing dipped into the ground, catapulting the nose of the plane into the body of the train.

The full heft of the plane's 200hp Hispano-Suiza v8 engine struck the gap between the second and third cars, lodging under the coupler. Both vehicles slowed below twenty miles an hour. Still, the tugging momentum of the train ripped the left wing from the fuselage of the plane, splintering the wooden frame in multiple spots.

Nena dangled from the front cockpit, dragging her feet across the railroad ties as they slid past. Chancho, dizzy from a lashing strike across the face from a snapped support cable, held three of her fingers in a tenuous grip. Each passing railroad tie chewed another piece out of the side of the plane, dropping her closer to the train's grinding wheels. He lunged toward her. Throwing his weight out of the cockpit he grabbed her wrist and slung her away from the train. Allowing her weight to pull him the rest of the way out of the cockpit, he followed her to the ground. Both of them bounced and rolled clear of the tracks.

Moments later the remaining section of the fuselage bit into the ground. The mass of the train rolled it before the steel wheels cut it in two, crushing the front half. Completely detached, the rear cockpit, with Muddy still in it, slid to a stop yards from where Nena and Chancho lay crumpled. Sixty long seconds later the train finally shuttered to a stop.

Dizzy yet lucid, Chancho wondered if they had flown in a wide arching circle. He could swear the first several people emerging from the cars at the back of the train wore U.S. Army uniforms. "Ay dios mio. It's not fair." He checked his torso for injuries and came up clean. "Of all the stupid... Nena." Crawling over, he shook her gently. She moaned and fluttered her eyes. "You'll be okay. Remember, you were saying how much you loved me."

"Crazy Mexican." She shoved him away weakly.

The soldiers continued toward the front of the train cautiously. Chancho smiled at her. "We have trouble, but I have a plan." 

"Crap."

Ignoring her, Chancho crawled toward the fuselage of the plane, hiding his movements the best he could. As he neared the tattered capsule he grew increasingly worried. Muddy had been furthest from the impact, and Chancho had never conceived his best friend could suffer serious injury. Muddy had always been impervious. But the unsettling thought occurred to him now. Like the struts snapping on the bi-wing, he felt suddenly untethered and vulnerable.

The cockpit faced away, forcing him to scamper around. "Muddy." The hulking man seemed intact but pale, if pale was possible for his skin color. Chancho slapped him lightly in the face. "Are you hurt, mi amigo?" He looped his arms beneath Muddy's armpits and tested the resistance.

"Nena?"

"No, no. It's Chancho."

"Is she—"

"Yes, she's fine. She'll be around in a minute, but for the moment it appears you have chosen a train loaded with U.S. Cavalry to crash into. Muy malo. You should be more careful." Chancho tutted before heaving Muddy a few inches.

"I'm sorry, now we—"

"Don't worry, I have a plan."

"Crap."

"Hey! That's what Nena said." Muddy laughed briefly before degenerating into a coughing fit. "But I have to hurry. Can you get out and help Nena?"

"Yes. Go."

Chancho peeked over the top of the shattered fuselage. Scattered shouts were drawing closer. Grabbing a two foot long pipe, a remnant of the landing gear, he bear-crawled into the brush. From there he scampered forward toward the engine without being noticed.

He knew trains. Steam engines in particular. Since adolescence he and machines spoke on a first name basis, and trains had captured his fascination early on. Finally God had given him an opportunity to serve the others, a chance to be useful rather than troublesome. He would make the most of it.

As he reached the tender, the driver stepped down to check the front of the train. Quietly Chancho snuck into the gap between cars. "A Janney." He had seen the new coupler model once before. "Ingenious." He pulled up on the link to disengage the knuckles before jamming the pinched end of the pipe into the joint to keep the knuckles open, hopefully.

Leaping onto the runner of the tender he shuffled forward toward the cab. At the corner where the tender met the cab he yanked a shovel from its mounting and moved quickly toward the oblivious fireman.

"What the..."

Chancho clocked the man with the backside of the shovel, dropping him to the cabin floor.

"Sorry about that." Gathering him under the armpits, he lowered him off the train. "Now, we're going to need a little more steam."

After making a few quick adjustments Chancho was about ready when, "Hey Frank! Get your ass down here and help me with this mess." He grabbed the shovel and ducked out of the way.

"I'm afraid Frank is not available, mi amigo."

"Who the hell! Hey you can't—" his protest was cut short by the crunching sound of bone impacting bone.

"Why don't you give me a hand Frank." Muddy and Nena appeared around the corner of the tender.

"Ah, mis amigos! All better I see."

"Not exactly." Nena snapped. Despite her ill temper she reached out for Chancho's hand. He pulled her into the cab as angry voices erupted from behind them.

"Hey! Stop right there." A bullet ricocheted off of the engine.

Both Nena and Chancho took one of Muddy's beefy hands, heaving him into the cab.

"Go." He grunted as he came to rest against the far wall.

Chancho slammed the lever forward, releasing the brake. Giving the engine full steam, the beast hissed to life and lurched forward. "Success!" The train's pulse slowly increased.

"The saddle bags! The med kit!" Nena gripped Chancho. "Muddy needs it."

"No problem. Stay here." Chancho felt the call of the occasion swelling in him, giddy with the glory of his adventures with Villa. Stealing a train again! He thought of Ah Puch and the heist they had pulled off together years before. Maybe I should have kept the magnetic spurs. After rubbing spit on his boots for good luck, he snagged a fireman's glove and levered a burning coal into it using tongs. 

"Chancho!"

He poked his head out of the cab, pulling it back instantly as a whistle and ping indicated a near miss. Gunfire echoed from less than a dozen cars back.

"I think they're upset about their plane." He shoved the glove into his belt.

"Chancho!" Nena lashed out at him, but before she could say another word he swung himself over the top of the tender, landing on a heap of coal. Speeding toward the gap between the tender and the decoupled train, he planted a boot on the metal lip and launched himself across the gulf. Landing with a thud and a tumble he pulled up just shy of the edge. He progressed another half-dozen strides across the top of the box car before bullets began bouncing off steel.

Without time to consider the landing, Chancho leapt from the roof of the box car. He arched further upward before finally bending toward gravity. On course for the shattered carcass of the plane, he was descending entirely too fast to avoid it.

"Oh mierrrrda!" Boot-first he collided with the plywood frame, crunching through the hull with his foot before tucking his shoulders and crashing into the ground. His boot, caught in the wreckage, yanked from his foot as he bounded head over heels. Amongst a spray of bullets he clambered back to the wreck, ducking inside. Noticing the intense heat creeping southward from his belt, he fetched the smoldering glove from his endangered nether regions and dumped the coal into the cockpit.

He yanked the saddle bags from the compartment, flipped open the box of gourds, and dumped them into the echoing confines of the cockpit. Chucking the box, he threw the bags over each shoulder. Next he touched the tips of two fuses to the burning coal, leaving one and taking the other.

"Ay! My boot!" Amid flying splinters of wood he clutched his boot. Yanking it from the side of the plane, he tucked it under his arm. Then heaving the lit gourd high up over the approaching troop, he turned tail and high-stepped it toward the engine, one boot on, one boot off.

 An instant later a whoof ignited the air. Splintering wood shot in every direction as a concussive blow bowled the soldiers over backwards. Ears ringing, Chancho managed to keep one foot moving in front of the other. The bullets stopped and he focused on gaining ground. One boot in his hand, saddle bags flopping, he closed the gap slowly. But he was getting winded.

Finally he neared the back of the tender, lungs burning, foot bleeding. Chucking his boot on top of the coal he latched a single finger around a grip. While wrapping his other fingers around the handle he stumbled, nearly dropping a saddle bag. Barely staying upright, he lost several strides on the engine which was increasing speed.

"Chancho! Give me your hand." Nena clutched the hold he had just missed and reached back for him.

With fresh hope he chugged his legs in rhythm with the locomotive and lunged forward. He clasped her wrist.

"Jump!"

He leapt forward and up as she pulled him crashing down on top of her.

"Now get off of me."

He sat up on the narrow running board, clinging to the tender and trying to catch his breath. "See." He heaved. "I knew," another breath, "we could be friendly, after all that."

"No. We are not." With poison in her eyes, she snatched a saddle bag and turned toward the cabin.