"Let me guess. You're planning to have every moment recorded for posterity."
"I'm a big home movie fan."
Nancy sighed. "All right, King. It's your show. But it's your failure if you screw up."
"Skip King never screws up when he has his way."
"I hate myself for letting this happen," Nancy told Thorpe a moment later.
"Keep your pecker up, as we Brits say."
King called the Bantus together.
"I'm in charge again. Savvy?"
They stared at him.
"I want the trank rifles distributed and every man ready to bring Old Jack down when I give the signal. Any questions?"
No one spoke.
"Good. And let's get those T-shirts turned around, this is going to be recorded for posterity."
No one moved.
"Now!"
Reluctantly, the Bantus peeled off their sweaty, dirt-smeared T-shirts and put them on right side out. None of them talked among themselves, but every man seemed to have the same idea at the same time because they put them on with the Burger Triumph logos on their backs, leaving the fronts blank.
King glared at them. "I give up."
"Missy Nancy in charge again?" one asked.
"No!"
They stalked the Apatosaur, sowing toadstools in its path. Like some tireless beast of burden, it lumbered along. From time to time it took notice of them, but as long as there were morsels to be found along the path, the creature paid the tiny humans no heed.
When they were within a quarter mile of the railroad, King got the expedition organized.
"You, you, and you, keep Old Jack moving. And be ready to use your weapons when I say." He turned to Nancy and Thorpe. "The rest of you tag along. You're about to see genius at work."
The railhead was nothing more than a half rotted platform, a signal house and one rusty length of track. The old Marxist government of Gondwanaland had thought it could save money by building only one set of tracks. They hadn't thought to install a signal system and after six train wrecks in the first year, they spent the money they had saved-plus thirty percent more-installing a switching-and-signal system.
The waiting train consisted of two locomotives in front and a pusher in back. Between them was a heavily reinforced flatcar and a decrepit passenger car.
"That's it," King said. "The way to Port Chuma is straight as an arrow. Once we get Old Jack up on that car, it should be a cinch."
"That's a big 'if,' " Nancy clucked.
"You watch."
King measured out a length of the approach with his feet, saying, "I paced the monster when it was asleep, so I'd know exactly how long to mark off." He scuffed an X at either end of the line he had paced off.
"Okay," he said, clapping his hands together, "everything we need is on the train."
At the train, King was met by a man in a purple beret and a Boy Scout blue uniform burdened by heavy ropes of gold braid. He called others out.
Noticing the outfits, Nancy asked Thorpe, "Recognize the uniforms?"
"Can't say that I do."
As they got close, King dispelled all their questions.
"This is Sergeant Shakes."
"Of what?" Thorpe wondered.
King grinned proudly. "The Burger Berets. Our special purposes strike team. Created just for this operation."
Nancy and Thorpe looked at one another.
"I don't know whether to laugh or cry," Nancy undertoned.
"Let's be polite to the gentlemen," Thorpe said. "Gents, what's your pleasure?"
Sergeant Shakes began offloading great canvas sacks tied with drawstring. "Bring these over to the line," he said.
They got them over and King ordered the back opened. They looked like post office mail sacks, but much heavier.
King brought the first leather-and-cable harness out. It was over a dozen feet long, and the leather was cut broad and riveted together in layers.
"The idea is to lay these out every so many feet. Got that?"
Nancy gave one of the straps a thorough examination.
"A harness?"
"Tested until it can take one thousand foot-pounds of weight per square inch."
"Impressive," she murmured.
"Glad you think so."
"But how are you going to convince Clark Kent to gather them all up once you drop Old Jack onto these? That is your brilliant plan, isn't it?"
"All except the Clark Kent part," King said.