On the ground, he yelled, “Hold your fire, you trigger-happy hot dogs! I’m Ranger Battle. Doesn’t this hat tell you anything? Who do you think I am, the reincarnation of Sergeant York?” “Sorry,” came the call. “We thought you were one of them.” “Who the hell is them?” Rick said, getting off the ground and brushing at his clothing. He began rounding up his spooked horses. A man stepped out of the brush and walked up to him. “We just got in from the Los Angeles area last night. We were told this entire area is infested with armed radicals and survivalists and dopers.” A dozen more agents left the brush to join him. Rick was angry to the core. “You people better go easy with those triggers. There are a lot of good people living out here. There are campers and white water rafters. Jesus Christ! Are you going to shoot everybody you see?” “Hey, Ranger!” the team leader of this particular bunch of feds flared. “We’ve lost half a dozen agents, at least, during this op.
