We're gonna be on Action TV. The hottest thing on cable. We each got a chance to win a cool million cash if we can take out two of the worst cons the Federal Prison system can throw at us.

So this was my last day at work. I'd called up the lottery commission and they verified I had a winning ticket. I show up at work, and the guys say "We're goin' to miss ya, Mouse."

I hate that name. I'm Cory. Cory Winston. The guys call me "Mouse" because I'm only 5'5" and I keep to myself, but darn it, I do a good job for the company. Every machine piece I make comes out just right. I'm a good machinist, but what I make regular hardly even pays the bills and sure ain't going to pay no retirement. So sure, I'm going to quit.

The guys ask me if I'm sure this is what I want to do. And I know they're jealous. They wish they could get out on the freeway and take a couple of bazooka shots at some cons. "Yeah," I said, "alive or dead either way I'll be better off than I am now." I go over to say good-bye to the foreman, the only guy I really got along with. He wished me well, and in the background I can hear the other guys talking:

"Just can't imagine the little Mouse up against them cons."
"Yeah, but if he wins, he'll be one rich little white Mouse."

Later that day, I drove on up to Seattle, that's where the big event the Heroes of the Freeway game, will be held in just four days. The lottery commission gives you first-class accommodations. I checked in to the Doubletree Inn, poured myself a cup of coffee, and waited for Harv to arrive.

Harv and his family drove up in a beat-up old station wagon. Harv's a real personable guy. He jumps out and shakes my hand. "Good to meet you, Cory. Care for a beer ?" He reaches in the back and pulls out a six-pack. "No thanks," I said, "I've got a coffee."

"Well, OK." said Harv, red hair and freckles, sippin' on a Bud. "Any weapons experience ?"

"Duck-hunting."

"That's good," said Harv, "That's real good."

Got to meet Harv's wife, Tammy, and their two little kids. Tammy sure was a cute little thing, and she was even shorter than me.

Turned out Harv drove logging trucks, and had just been laid off. Fortunately he had a winning ticket. I felt real good about having Harv as a partner. His dad was a Viet vet and Harv's been firing weapons since he was 15. So right away we decided that I'd be doing the driving and Harv would be firing the bazookas. After all, he had the weapons experience.

Just then I realized I was wearing my machinists glasses. "These glasses must make me look like a geek !"

"Oh I don't know," said Harv, "They make you look like a machinist. "What are they made of ?"

"High-impact safety glass."

"You never know," said Harv. "If one of the con's bullets comes smashing in through the windshield, they might save your life."

I pushed my glasses back against my nose. I'd always felt real bad about being nearsighted. But Harv was like a big brother. He just made me feel like a normal person. He didn't treat me mean 'cause I was short or wore glasses, or didn't drink, or 'cause I read a lot.

So only four more days until the big event, until Harv and me would be out on the freeway, out on Interstate 5, hunting two of America's worst cons.

They're goin' to do this run out in Seattle. Out on the I-5 expressway. A six-lane road that runs from south of the Convention Center in downtown Seattle, up through a series of tunnels, bridges, and on, past the University to a place called Northgate where the expressway ends. The total distance is 22 miles, which you can do in a little over 15 minutes at 80 m.p.h.

Now the rules to the game are fairly simple. The good guys (that's us) enter the expressway from somewhere near the University and drive south. The bad guys (the cons) start their car somewhere south of the Convention Center and proceed north. We good guys have two bazookas and a total of sixteen rounds. The cons have hand guns, but nothing larger than a magnum. If the cons make it past us and cross the finish line at Northgate, they win their freedom. If we kill the cons, we get $1 million each. Once we're on the freeway, all the exit ramps go closed. Only us and the cons are on I-5.

Of course the TV was everywhere. Camera crews in helicopters and remote cameras in the tunnels. Complete TV coverage from beginning to end, and a commentator calling the action. The fans, and there may be as many as 200,000 of them, are lined up behind huge plexiglas-kevlar screens on either side of the freeway. Both us and the cons have car radios so we can hear something of what is going on.

Now those bazookas. They called 'em bazookas, but they was actually reusable rocket launchers. To use 'em was real simple. Just drop a round into the tube and shut the platinum screen behind it. Pull the trigger and whoosh -- don't be standing behind it -- the 3.5" round went screaming out and when it hit ! O my. Some of the rounds were incendiaries. And when they hit they threw shrapnel and phosphorous.

They let us practice some. They took us out to Fort Lewis, gave us two government-issue bazookas, and 50 practice rounds. They had all these old junkers lined up, and after a few rounds, Harv got so he could nail 'em right regular while I was driving a military jeep at 30 mph. He could reload in about 10-15 seconds. At one point Harv hit 13 hulks in a row, then I jumped out and made it 14.

An old drill sergeant and the weapons officer looked on approvingly.

"Well if we ever start this military back up again, I'd like you gentlemen in my platoon " said the sergeant.

Then they drove us over to a garage and let us choose our vehicle. There were jeeps, convertibles, and a big Ford pickup.

"Which one has the biggest engine ?" I asked.

"Why the blue pickup truck," said the officer.

It drove real smooth and had great acceleration.

"What'd ya think ? Harv asked me.

"I like this truck."

"You're the driver," said Harv, and he smiled.

"You made a good choice," said the officer. He was a big guy, maybe 6'6" and he towered over me.

"This truck has a number of special features: Lead sheeting around the gas tank, anti-sway bars, and of course, the big hemmy engine. Notice the back window's been taken out.

"The steel-belted radials are tubeless and there is a package of glu-patches and cans of compressed air in case you get a flat. We wouldn't want you gentlemen to get stuck on the freeway.

"Now if you gentlemen will both sign this release," he handed me a sheaf of papers, "then the truck is yours."

Both Harv and me signed. He gave us a carbon copy.

"Good hunting" said the officer.

On the freeway back from Ft. Lewis I saw a billboard with old Eastwood -- Dirty Harry holding a bazooka -- with the caption

"Go ahead, make your day, join the Heroes of the Freeway."

"I guess that's us." I said to Harv.

"You know," said Harv, "they have a great billboard of Bernard Goetz down in Oregon."

"What does that one say ?"

"Help take a big bite out of crime."

We went back to the hotel, the Doubletree, and watched some of the videotapes of the Heroes of the Freeway.

There was that one that they ran out in Detroit where one of the good guys got hit and for God only knows what reason, as he fell, he fired the bazooka at an up angle -- right at a camera 'copter.

The 'copter went up in a ball of flame -- they spliced in some footage from inside the 'copter going down and turning over and over as it fell-- until it hit the ground. My God, all those flames.

Then a police helicopter came up over the freeway, behind the good guys -- and took them out with 50-calibers.

A message came on the screen:

Harv and me played this tape a couple of dozen times on the VCR.

Just unbelievable. Then there was that one of the crackshot from Duluth. That was the second time he'd been on. I heard he bought a winning ticket for $250,000. He always wore this damn Australian cowboy hat. Anyway, he nailed the cons with one shot from 200 yards out.

What was interesting was they showed the shell moving in slow motion to impact, then a dozen different angles of the explosion.

That night they showed our opponents on TV.

Melvin Mapes, a black guy who looked like a pro-athlete, except he was serving a 25-year sentence for selling automatic weapons to drug dealers. And that Italian guy, Frank Sanducci -- what a mean-looking SOB. This man had a knife-scar across the whole left side of his face, and he wasn't smiling. Damn, they knew how to pick 'em.

Then they showed the cons' car. A yellow volkswagen beetle.

"Why a VW, Harv ?"

"Smaller target size. Those guys are pretty smart."

"Do you think you can get 'em ? " I asked Harv.

"Sure," said Harv "I'll just hit 'em amidships !" and he laughed.

Tammy smiled and said "It's time for Harv and me to go to bed, we'll see you tomorrow, Cory."

I went back to my hotel room, stayed up late, and drank a lot of coffee. I thought about the Heroes of the Freeway Game and how our country got into such terrible shape.

I guess it all started with that Glastnost thing back in the early 90's. Maybe too much of our economy was based on military defense. This country hadn't done anything to use its military since South Vietnam except for Panama in '89 and that easy win in Iraq in '91. Big deal. So 2/3 of the military guys were home now, on unemployment.

The depression had come, but it wasn't like anything people thought it would be. First there were all those Savings and Loan failures, the bank failures, the retirement funds went under, then the Japanese called in their tickets.

What was weird was that there were little pockets of depression here and there and places of prosperity. Some places, whole communities were unemployed. Like 1/2 of LA, 1/4 of Frisco, and maybe 30 % of Seattle. NY was a disaster and DC almost a ghost-town. But the farm belt was real strong and so was the South. There was even some talk of moving the Federal government to Atlanta.

We was high and dry. And who pays? Why we do. Gas prices started going up. $2, $3, now $4 per gallon. Food, clothing, services, repair. All up. Inflation was back, and unemployment.

Out here in the Northwest people were queueing up at Federal food banks -- and there wasn't nothin left except wheat and cattle east of the mountains and forestry, mining, electronics, and fish-farms on the coast. We don't even make airplanes out here anymore. The Japanese had bought Boeing and decided it was more economical to manufacture planes in Wichita.

What a mess. There was even some civil unrest. Until some bright lad thought up the Heroes of the Freeway game.

The idea was to get people to start spending dollars. Give them something they could feel good about. Like a little military action. The first week they sold 2 million tickets at $10 a clip.

And last week, over ten million tickets were sold. People ate this stuff up. It was a real macho thing. If you won, you got the million dollars up-front, non-taxable.

So a little blood gets spilled. It was the most popular game ever. A viewing audience of over 100 million people. And it was a solution to our prison problem. Crime had decreased since the game began.

Every week they ran another of the Heroes of the Freeway games in another city in the United States. They figure 100 million people pay $10 a month to watch Action TV, the only channel that carries the live action, and that's $1 billion a month. Can you imagine that ? A billion dollars a month.

And here we were, two lottery winners, Harv Johnson and Cory Winston, about to risk our lives. What were we, the new vigilantes of the old West, or just pawns in somebody else's game ?

I slept terrible. Sure I had confidence in Harv's ability, but what was it that old man Murphy said, if something can go wrong, it sure as hell will.

The big day was finally here. September 17, 1997.

We got to the starting point. They offloaded our ordnance from an Army van. Harv and me each loaded our bazookas. We were ready. Tammy walked over to the truck. "You shoot real good now, Harv." She kissed him. Then she said "You drive real careful, Cory."

I switched on the radio to listen to the pregame show.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is Harry Kallari your MC bringing you the action live from Seattle, Washington. This is the 33rd running of the Heroes of the Freeway series.

"Today, representing the forces of law and order are Harvey Johnson and Cory Winston both from the Northwest. Johnson hails from Klamath Falls, Oregon and Winston from Centralia, Washington. "There you can see them now -- we've got them on remote camera -- They're driving a blue pickup truck. Can't tell you exactly where they are, it would ruin the fun. Winston from Washington state is driving and Harvey Johnson is the point man.

"They're up against two really heavy hitters from the Federal Prison system. Melvin Mapes out of Old Folsom in California and Frank Sanducci from the Federal prison in Teaneck New Jersey. Mapes is in for 25-30 on a weapons charge, and Sanducci 18-20 for manslaughter. Remember, both will receive full pardons, if they make it to the end of the freeway."

We entered the freeway just a little south of the University. They sealed up the ramp behind us. Now there was no way off. Just us and the cons.

We was doing 60-70 down the freeway, Harv's kinda crouched down behind the cab. The window's been taken out of the back so I can talk to Harv and pass him ammo.

Danger zone, first of 3 tunnels, I put on the high beams so we can see way down the freeway --

"Let me know when you see 'em", said Harv. He was talkin real even. Me, my pulse was starting to pick up.

Second tunnel. Still no cons. We're passing into downtown. Tall buildings all around, people behind the screens, waving --

Third tunnel. Still no sign of the VW. On the radio, I hear Kallari: "We're approaching zero hour. Winston and Johnson are through tunnel #3. It's a straight shot down the freeway. Only a few hills left."

"What'ya think, Cory?" Harv asked me.

"I think they're layin' back !"

"Me too !" said Harv. "Look, slow down, I want a good shot !"

I slowed to 30-40. Harv got up into a shooting position. We were out of tunnel #3. Look real careful. There's only maybe 5 miles of freeway left.

"Here we go !" said Kallari --

And maybe half a mile ahead, over a hill in the freeway came a yellow VW.

"Ready, Harv ?"

"Ready !"

But the VW was all over the freeway, moving left and right over all 6 lanes, back and forth.

"OK, here goes."

The VW dodging and weaving. It was moving too fast -- I kept a straight course --

"Oh, we forgot to tell you", it was Kallari, "we let the cons put nitromethane in their tank."

Jesus ! The VW was moving faster and faster, and turning...

Harv fired. 50 yards away. Tore off their back fender. And the cons were firing. I started to hand my loaded bazooka to Harv. But Harv slumped away.

O God they got Harv, and they'd hit a tire, the truck was swerving to the right.

They were passing by us now, firing, firing. The driver's window shattered. I felt this incredible pain in my left arm. They were past us now still firing. And a bullet must of ricocheted off the inside of the cab and hit the left lens of my glasses. I could only see through one eye and the truck was heading for the edge. I blinked a few times. Guess my left eye was OK -- stopped the truck just in front of the railing, grabbed the loaded bazooka, and kicked the door open. Jumped out.

The cons weren't losing any time, the VW kept going up the freeway. Took a look at Harv. O God he was dead. Sprawled out in the back of the truck. Half his neck was gone.

My left arm was useless. I ran back and braced the bazooka on the back of the pickup and fired. The VW was heading into the tunnel. The shell was a little high and to the right. It hit the edge of the tunnel and concrete exploded.

Goddamn. I one-handed a shell out of the back. Time. No time. Must hurry. Reloaded. They ain't comin back. Jesus. I kept the bazooka with me, grabbed a glu-patch and the inflation can. Slapped the glu-patch on. The tire looked OK, and it inflated alright. I grabbed another glu-patch, stickiest substance known to man, and slapped it on over my arm. Just about passed out from the pain, but it stopped most of the bleeding.

Then it occurred to me what I'd have to do. There were two bullet holes in the windshield. Good. I took a tire iron and bashed out what was left of the windshield. Glass everywhere. I threw the iron down the freeway. I grabbed my bazooka and got in. The big hemmy engine roared to life.

As I entered the tunnel I thought I saw something way ahead. Was it an ambush ? I slowed down and stopped inside the tunnel. I got out. A bullet slammed into the concrete right next to my head. I turned -- a bullet tore the fabric on my shirt -- just then all the lights in the tunnel came on. It was Sanducci, 60 feet away. I fired the bazooka. Son of a bitch, I got him ! Blew a hole clean thru him. He folded like a paperboard cutout. Goddamn, Harv, I got him.

Poor Harv. Still dead. Staring up into space -- Mapes was way up the freeway. I heard a wrench drop. Now Mapes was firing at me. No. At the truck. Damn, he hit a tire.

Heard the radio blaring. It was Harry Kallari. "It's mano-a-mano. Good shot by Winston. He took out Sanducci. No parole for that dude. Now if Winston can just catch a speeding VW..."

There was the whine of the VW shifting up thru gears. I reloaded. Braced the bazooka. Took a wild shot. Five hundred yards up the freeway. Goddamn this wasn't easy with only one arm. The rocket skittered up the freeway sending sparks every time it bounced, missed the VW, and blew up against a bridge revetment.

I had the glu-patch on the tire and used the inflation cannister. Jesus. 2 tires with patches. If they only hold. Loaded both bazookas and powered out.

Heard "He's sputtering" over the radio. Maybe that fuel mix wasn't all that good for the VW engine. I still had a chance. I was hittin 93 mph when I saw the yellow VW maybe a thousand yards ahead.

"This is a great run ! 8.5 miles to go. Speeds of 80+ miles per hour !!" yelled Kallari.

Could I do it ? Was there any way ? My left arm was useless, couldn't hardly move it. I had 2 shots and I'd have to do it one- handed -- shooting out the front window into the wind. The air blast was killin' me. But I had to do it.

"Crossing over the bridge by the University, 5.5 miles to go", said Kallari. "Winston's gaining but is it enough ? He's 500 yards back and he's going to have to shoot fast or forget winning." Kallari was right. I got ready. The air blast was terrible. I was pushing the big engine. 98 mph. I was getting closer, the VW started to weave. I pulled one bazooka up and got ready. Leaned forward on the wheel, braced the weapon as best I could, and fired.

It was on-line, but maybe 300 yards away, the shell hit the pavement, bounced up, went over the top of the VW, and continued on down the freeway. Damn.

"3.3 miles to go." said Kallari. "Not a bad shot by Winston, but not good enough. He wasn't lucky. Mapes just might make it. His engine sounds level. Winston's about 300 yards back now."

I had one shot left. I pushed the engine 98-99-100-101. Not even a mile to go. I was maybe 150 yards back, then I pulled the bazooka up, slowed down, and fired. Some of the backblast singed the back of my neck and shoulders, but I didn't care. The round screamed down the freeway, the VW was moving to the right -- and just like in slow motion -- the round went in thru the back window and -- sweet Jesus -- an incendiary ! The whole interior of the VW was on fire. But the VW kept going up the freeway !!

I couldn't believe it. There wasn't time to reload and that last shell didn't explode right. Sure, it threw phosphorous, but it should of blown the front half of the VW off. The damn VW looked like an inferno. And, if anything it was moving faster. Mapes must be injecting more chemical into the fuel.

On the radio, Kallari was almost screaming:
" A tremendous run by Mapes...
" He's still running. The car's --
" -- the whole interior of his car's on fire !
" It looks like he's going to make it !!
"He's coming in...

" 200 yards ________________

150 yards ________________

100 yards ________________

50 ...

Then the VW exploded in a ball of flame. -- Pieces of car, everything in all directions --

"God what a great finish !" yelled Kallari.
"The winner is -- Cory Winston !!"

I felt the heat from the burning VW as I drove by. I stopped the truck just over the finish line. Got out. O God my arm hurt, and there was Harv, dead as nails in the back. TV reporters everywhere, the crowd leaning forward...

"Well, it's all over here," said Kallari. "One man's $1 million richer. Two more criminal elements gone, and that's a savings of over $100,000 per year to the taxpayer! Look for the exciting replays of today's action tonight on Channel 19 cable!"

Already highway equipment was moving out. "Yep, we'll have this mess cleaned up and traffic flowing in an hour."

I walked away from the truck. There was all this ridiculous yelling -- They must think I'm some kind of goddamn hero -- people straining at the barricades, waving for autographs. Jesus.

TV announcers all around.

"Tell me, Mr. Winston, what'll you do with the million dollars you just won ?"

"I'll give half to Harv's widow." -- things were going red and black --

"That's really generous," said another announcer,
"But do you know there's a $50,000 death benefit ?"

"Maybe you didn't hear me --" I repeated.

I stumbled, everything was going up and down. One of the medical guys was there. He applied a tourniquet. "Son, we got to get you over to the medivan. God you are a mess."

On the way over I got sick behind the TV truck.

I'm out in the kitchen drinking coffee. The kids are in the front room watching TV. I'm going to switch it off in 20 minutes, 'cause that's when Russian TV comes on. Part of the cultural exchange. They play some game called "Death Hunt", Bronson-style, in the Moscow subways. I don't like to watch it. It's excessively violent.

So right now I'm thinking about getting my old job back. And the kids come in. A little boy and a little girl, 6 and 8. Good kids with bright and shining faces.

"Dad, dad, you're on TV."
"They're showing reruns of Heroes of the Freeway !"

So I go out in the living room and watch. Watch poor Harv get blown away. Watch myself fire a bazooka one-handed. And then, then a chill goes up my spine -- there's some closeups of that fellow Mapes. You can see him through all those flames. He's screaming. And all of a sudden I understand. He's a very brave man in a burning car ... coming ever so close, within yards, of freedom .