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Show Flying - 172 workers, headed straight for them. John Henry grabs for the wheel and yanks the three-quarter ton toward the nearest ditch. It hits, comes up on its nose like a sinking ship, and with great deliberation and dignity continues the forward somersault and stops bottom up, all four wheels slowly turning. Hands pull at John Henry, who can't see because his helmet liner's over his eyes, and yank him out through the driver's door. He gets the helmet off in time to see O'Connell cone around from the other side of the truck under his own power. The farm workers stand in a circle around them and explain the wreck to each other in Spanish, occasionally poking John Henry in the arm to make a point. The foreman comes forward to peer at them. "How you come to do that?" he says pointing at the destroyed truck. "You go too quick, eh?" "A little," says John Henry, prodding himself to see if there are broken bones, but finding only bruises. One of the Mexicans says something and points. They all turn to look. Thompson, his fatigues ripped, his helmet missing, and a scrape «ov™e-rn hhii*s lieefitx eeyyee,, is walking down the road. "Who's that?" says the foreman. "That's the driver," says John Henry. The farm workers have gone, after promising to phone |