For J.B., it happened when he was squatting about twenty yards from the plastic and canvas wall joint of the camp. He was looking out in a southwesterly direction, back across the path they had traversed along the plain. The night had been cold and quiet since he had been roused from sleep to take his turn at the watch, and the boredom was lulling him toward sleep.
He wore only a shirt and camou pants, unwilling to wrap up too warmly against the night cold lest he should succumb to the desire to nap in the boredom. The chill edge kept him awake and alert.
Nonetheless, as he squatted with one hand resting on the cold earth, the short grass bristly beneath the pads of his fingers, the fingers of his other hand rubbing at eyes raw from sleep and the dryness of the air, he became aware of a vibration that ran up through his fingers and along his arm. Perhaps, in the business of day, he wouldn’t have noticed something this slight. But in the absolute still of the night, it took just that to make him aware.
J.B. rested his other hand on the ground, palm down. The vibration was faint, but growing harder with every second. Straining his ears, J.B. could hear a faint rumble that he was able to identify immediately: the tone and pitch of a diesel engine powering a wag that had tracks on the back, possibly an old military sec wag, or at least one that had bastardized pieces of such equipment.
Rising smoothly to his feet, the Armorer could no longer feel the vibration—not through the soles of his boots. The faint rumble was still there, but not growing appreciably louder.
Turning, he ran back toward the encampment, not wanting to raise the alarm by shouting, in case there were scouts ahead of the wag who were on the fringes of the woodland who would hear him.
As he reached the hooded entrance to the plastic and canvas wall, he almost ran into Margia. The woman was grim faced, her white teeth and blond hair shining in the reflective light of the moon against the dark of her tanned flesh, barely covered even in the cold night.
“Something’s up, honey,” she said to the Armorer. “Some way off, but—”
“A wag? Mebbe old predark sec?”
She nodded briefly. “How d’you know, sweets? Same your end?”
“Yeah, so it’s at least a two-pronged attack.”
Margia looked around. Dean and Tammy hadn’t yet joined them, and so were presumably at their posts. “The young ones aren’t here, so unless they’re not as aware—”
“Unlikely,” J.B. cut in.
“Precisely. I guess they’re just going to try to pull us in opposite directions. One from where they come from, and one from where we came from.”
“That’s assuming that they come from the settlement,” J.B. pointed out.
Margia shrugged. “Good assumption as any. Anyway, stop arguing and let’s get everyone up.”
Inside the camp, all was still and quiet, the fire that warmed the camp now dying, the lamps now stilled apart from the muted lights that prevented the camp being in total darkness. Both armorers moved toward the queen’s tent, joined on the way by Tammy and Dean.
“Guess you know what we’re here for,” the young Cawdor said wryly to J.B.
“Anyway, we could see you and Margia move past us, so we knew before it became obvious,” Tammy added with a toss of her auburn curls, catching the dim light and making her eyes sparkle with the light of oncoming battle.
The Armorer assented. “Need to get everyone together as soon as possible.”
Margia arrived at the tent first, where Petor rose from out of the shadows. As always, he was guarding his queen and mentor.
“Trouble?” he asked, already wide awake and alert.
“Wags approaching on the southwest and northeast,” Margia said briskly. “Not much time, boy, so tell Glo I said we need to move—”
“Nobody tells Petor what to do, even me,” Gloria snapped as she emerged from her tent, interrupting her sister’s officious flow. Despite only being awakened by the discussion outside the tent a few moments before, the warrior queen had already brought herself around to full consciousness, and was pulling on her clothes as she emerged. She smiled at Dean as she caught his expression on seeing her firm breasts before they were covered. “When you’re older, son,” she said to him before returning her full attention to J.B. and Margia. “How big are the wags?”