After a few seconds he emerged with an expression of massive relief on his features. He raised his fine blond eyebrows in amazement. “Seems to be okay. No harm done. Bloody incredible.”Thankfully, each of the Pinkies had an oil pan guard—a sheet of solid steel that ran beneath the engine—and it was that which had taken the brunt of the impact.Grey smiled. “Short of rolling the thing, a Pinkie’s pretty much bulletproof.” He glanced at the Dude. “Bet you couldn’t do that in a Hummer, eh?”The Dude shrugged. “Gee, I dunno—Iraqi rock versus American Humvee. It’d sure be a clash of the Titans. My pop and me were once out in our Hummer . . .”As the Dude launched into another of his life-on-the-ranch-back-home stories, Moth got the wagon under way.“Bit of vital tradecraft, lads,” Grey announced once they were pushing ahead at a decent speed. “If you can’t free the wagon in low ratio, what d’you do?”Moth and Dude shook their heads.“You unload all the heavy gear, get twelve of your biggest men around her, and you lift her free.
