Phoenix Falling by Mary Jo Putney

sky again. "Almost time. Make sure you don't fall off your horse. We might not have another chance to get this shot right."
    "I shall endeavor to stay on my horse." He handed his coffee cup to Josh, and swung onto his mount. "Don't worry, Rainey. We rehearsed this ride six times yesterday. It will be fine."
    "From your lips to God's voice mail." She jogged over to her Jeep and drove off to join the camera crews on the other side of the hill.
    As Kenzie waited for the signal to start moving, he became John Randall, erect and arrogant, an officer of the empire on which the sun never set. He and his patrol would ride west over the hill, appearing as silhouettes against the rising sun. Though his men were in drab khaki with faces swathed against the dust and heat, Randall wore his regimental uniform. The blood-red blaze of his tunic would be the only color in the dun landscape as they descended the hill to their fate.
    The second assistant director who had been organizing the scene used his radio to announce that all was in readiness. Another two minutes of increasing light passed before the first assistant director's voice crackled back over the radio, "Rolling!"
    Kenzie set his horse into motion, letting it choose its own footing in the dim light. Shoulders square, face determined, a man as at home in the saddle as he was in the world. These rough hills held nothing that a true-born Englishman need fear.
    In typical movie fashion, this scene came before the battle scene that had been shot over the previous days. Rainey had set up the schedule to allow him to start as late as possible, in case his previous film ran longer than it was supposed to. It hadn't, though. He'd arrived in New Mexico two days before, using the time to visit the set and take long drives along remote roads.
    The shooting schedule was a tight one. Since John Randall was in almost every scene, from now on he'd be working six days a week. After the battle and capture exteriors were done, the production would move to England for location work. The final phase would be shot on a London sound stage.
    Kenzie crested the hill and rode down toward the cameras, accompanied by the thunder of hooves, the jingle of harness, a trailing haze of dust. Below, Rainey stood with the two cameras and crews recording the approaching riders. One caught the whole scene while another zoomed in for close-ups. Randall and his patrol rode forward steadily, not expecting trouble but ready for any that might show up.
    "Cut!"
    Just short of running over the cameras, Kenzie and his patrol reined in their horses. Rainey called, "Great job! You all looked fantastic against the sunrise. Dramatic. Ominous. Doomed."
    She grinned. "Now get back over that hill as fast as your horses will take you, and we'll do a second take, just in case."
    * * *
    "Cut!" The marker snapped shut on take sixteen.
    Kenzie sighed. They were trying to get the master shot of the first, critical scene between Randall and his charismatic captor, Mustafa, leader of the rebels. It took place moments after Randall was captured, and had to establish the complex interplay between the characters.
    Kenzie prided himself on his professionalism, always knowing his dialogue. Usually he could nail a scene on the first take. Unfortunately, Sharif Asuri, the young Pakistani-British actor playing Mustafa, seemed incapable of walking and talking at the same time. Though Sharif had done well in rehearsal and had the physical presence to play the rebel leader, he'd flubbed every take so far. Tension was rising among the crew, and Sharif was a nervous wreck.
    Rainey was admirably patient. "Take a few deep breaths and we'll try it again, Sharif. Forget the cameras and act like you did in rehearsal."
    Sharif nodded and took his place. Kenzie was lying half-propped against a pile of rocks, wrists tied in front of him, bruises and smudges of blood artistically scattered over his face and hands.
    "Now." Rainey gave the signal to start another