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question. Only Collette knew it was all a lie, but to the sec men, tech stuff
was always accepted without question. She knew that most of the blues didn't
know how an engine worked, or even their own blasters. Electronics was magic
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as far as they were concerned.
"Avoid the roads and use rivers whenever possible, and you'll make better
speed,"
Collette said. "Also, less chance of hitting a roadblock and having to waste
ammo on mercies or coldhearts."
"Riverbeds, you mean," Brandon said, smiling at her mistake. "Not in the
actual water."
"No, she's correct. Use the rivers," Sheffield ordered. "The wags are
amphibious."
Awkwardly, the men shifted their stances, trying to pretend they understood
the words.
"The wags are waterproof. They can float," he added angrily. "Chill anybody
who gets in the way. Put the fear of the blues into the bastards. Pave the way
for our return."
"The first team will be designated Alpha. They'll check the sites in northern
Tennessee, eastern Kentucky and Pennsylvania."
"Beta team will bypass Georgia, and recce the middle of North Carolina, south
Virginia, then upstate."
"Lot of ground to cover," Campbell stated, walking his fingers across the
paper and trying to guess the distances involved.
"Yes, but there is a lot at stake," Sheffield said. Then he crossed his arms
and smiled. Now was the time to give them the carrot. "The first team that
finds what we need will be assigned as permanent guards for the new gaudy
house. No wall patrols for the rest of their lives."
The grim faces in the throne room brightened at the prospect, smiles
abounding. It
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was a rich reward.
"When can we go, sir?" Brandon asked, hitching up his gun belt. "The sooner we
leave, the sooner we come back with a new ville for you."
Caught unprepared, Campbell shot the officer a hate-filled glance, but said
nothing. Damn ass kisser. The baron grunted. "Good man. You'll leave within
the hour, and the slaves will start packing today. Once we have a goal, we
leave immediately. This valley is dead."
"About those two sites in Virginia," Collette started, rubbing her nose
thoughtfully.
Spotted that, did she? Sheffield cleared his throat. "The first is near Green
Cove ville, good walls and that's about all we know. The other is just east of
Front
Royal. I'm very glad that Silas didn't melt the place, because it may just
become our new base."
"Front Royal?" the lieutenant gasped. "But sir, they have wags, troops, an
awful lot of our own AK-47 blasters, grens, and Nathan Cawdor is known to be a
chilling machine."
"We can take them," Campbell growled. "They're just a bunch of farmers and
whitehairs. Easy chilling."
Scowling, Collette shook her head. "Front Royal is an armored citadel that no
amount of troops can take. Only a fool or a madman would even try."
"So what are we going to do if that's our best site?" the sergeant asked,
worried.
"Melt them a little with the Kite as a warning?"
"That would be a waste," Sheffield said, annoyed. "I can do much worse to
Cawdor and his brown shirts. Much worse."
"RISE AND SHINE, lover," Ryan said, walking naked from the steaming shower.
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He grabbed a towel from a pile and started to dry himself.
"I'll rise," Krysty grumbled from underneath the blankets, "but that's all.
What time is it?"
"After noon," he replied, toweling his hair.
She cracked a smile. "Just getting up yourself, I see."
"Second shower today for me," Ryan stated, tossing aside the damp towel and
pulling on some clothes. "We spent most of the morning cleaning that damn ash
out of the garage so we could work on the crossbows. Blasted shit gets up your
nose and down your boots like its alive."
"And you didn't wake me?" Krysty asked. "I looked that bad, eh?"
With a shrug, Ryan started to button a shirt. "You were hit the worst by the
Kite and needed some extra sack time. That's all. Now go wash. Lunch is
ready."
Krysty sat upright on the bed, the blankets tumbling to her waist. "More
soup?"
she asked around a yawn, stretching her arms wide. "We should dip the
arrowheads in it."
As always, Ryan felt himself responding to her beauty, but shoved those
thoughts aside. There was too much work to do. "Too dangerous. It might rot
the metal," he said, buckling on his gun belt. "Get moving."
Stumbling from the warm bed, the nude woman scratched herself as she padded
across the barracks floor and into the shower. Minutes later, she emerged from
the clouds of soapy steam scrubbed pink, her hair cascading down her back.
Ryan waited as she donned clothing, then they headed for the cafeteria. Lunch
was the same as dinner. The companions forced down more of the hot gray soup
and ate another generous helping of the cat food. It left a bad taste in their
mouths that wouldn't go away even with brushing or gargling. But it eased the
pain in
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their bellies and put strength back in their hands. Good enough.
Afterward, the companions spent the rest of the day finishing the crude
weapons.
Doc trimmed the dining-room knives to notched arrowheads, Dean lathed broom
and mop handles into wooden shafts, Mildred used her delicate touch with a
blade to split pillow feathers into fletching, Krysty used glue and thread to
attach them, and Jak fixed the arrowheads into place with electrical tape
salvaged from outlets and light switches. The arrows were ugly, but balanced.
That was all they could ask for.
Ryan and J.B. did the heavy work. The big lathe cut table legs into stocks,
and the long, flat metal strips from the beds became the cross-member pieces.
The string for the weapons was the difficult part. Twine wouldn't take the
tension. J.B. tried, and the hundred-year-old rope snapped every time. Mildred
suggested hunting for a guitar, or a piano. The metallic strings of the
musical instruments would be prefect for the crossbows, but none was
available.
Ryan solved the problem by attacking the elevator with a hacksaw and removing
the support cable. The main cable was a bundle of thin wires twisted together
to form smaller cables, which were braided to make a thick one. It was
incredibly strong, and as difficult as hell to get loose. The cable snapped
free halfway through the operation and shot into the upper levels like a whip.
The companions ran out of the shaft until the wildly lashing cable settled
down and they could claim the smaller ones. The first tries were unsuccessful,
then Doc suggested braiding a couple of the thin wires into a slim cable, like
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the guitar string that
Mildred had suggested. It took the rest of the day, but seemed to work fine.
When
J.B. shot off some trial arrows, the bolts slammed completely through a wood
desk and became embedded in the cinder-block wall behind.
"That'll do," Ryan said, hefting the crossbow. The weapon was slow to load and
heavy to use, but the crossbow would silently chill from a distance, and that
was all they wanted for it. They knew it was a gamble to check the tunnel
before trying a mat-trans jump first. But the thought of going through the
machine in their weakened condition was an even bigger risk. Even when well
rested and fed, it took a lot out of them. The storm outside was still raging,
so of their two choices, it was the least dangerous.
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