“Only have two more charges for it,” Roberto said, glancing at the rear of the armored wag. There was nothing to be seen up there, the delicate laser stored safely inside the transport to protect its focusing lens. A lot of hard work had gone into fixing the weapon and keeping it operational. But when it worked, there was nothing that could stand in its way. When it worked.
“Two charges is more than enough,” Kate stated, nodding to the guard as she climbed into the machine. Her boots clanging on the corrugated floor, Kate maneuvered past the ammo bins and boxes of MRE packs of the dimly illuminated interior of War Wag One, heading straight to the big command chair in the center of the control room, while Roberto took an empty chair near the port machine gun blister.
As the door guard closed the hatch with a muffled clang, the crew at the control boards got busy cranking the huge tandem diesels of the rig, casting a rainbow of colors across their faces. As the engines started with a muffled roar, the nuke batteries disengaged and the generators came online. Flickering into life, vid screens began to show external views from around the vehicle, and specifically underneath, while the radio crackled the conversations of the drivers of the other vehicles.
At the aft of the big rig, a motionless man behind a tinted Plexiglas blister silently watched Kate settle into the chair and stored her rapidfire in a holster bolted to the armrest. Glancing over a shoulder, she nodded at the long figure ensconced inside a nest of wires running in every direction.
There was only one small door to the blister, and it was mined with antipers C-4 charges inside and out. Nobody was going through without the express authorization of the man in the bubble.
Casting about a trained glance, Kate checked the power levels, fuel supplies, thermos and hydraulics. Everything was in the green, except for a slight drop in pressure on the rear lifts.
“Hasn’t Anders replaced that busted hose yet?” the Trader snapped irritably.
Jake reached out to tap the pressure gauge with a finger. The needle flickered but didn’t rise.
“Sure as shit doesn’t seem like it, Chief,” he said. “We’re still operational, but not by much more than a pecker full of pressure.”
Kate hid her anger. Damn the man! Just because he was the best longblaster shot in the convoy he thought that made him immune to work details! Time for the lazy bastard to learn some the hard truth. “Fine him all candy bars for a week,” she commanded. “He works an extra shift and log the offense. This is the third screwup. One more and he’s gone.”
Every member of the crew scowled at that pronouncement. The road. That was usually a death sentence for anybody cast out of the convoy, unless they could find a friendly baron who wanted a sec man desperately enough to accept a known slacker. Few did.
“My fault, Chief,” Jessica stated, turning away from the radar console. The luminous green arm steadily swept the blank screen, only registering small reflections from the other war wags and nothing more.
“It’s his prob,” Kate corrected, cutting off the tech. “I know you’re bed partners, but every member of the crew hauls their own weight, or pays the price.”
“How about I go tell Anders right now,” Roberto said, rising from his chair. “We can have a private chat.”
Removing her Stetson, Kate hung it on a nearby bolt jutting from the wall. “Just don’t damage him so much that he can’t fix the hose,” she growled.
Roberto nodded in agreement and strode from the control room to head down the central access corridor to the rear of the wag.
“Let’s move,” the Trader ordered, reclining in her chair. “North by northwest, and watch the sand for traps.”
With a gentle lurch, the armored wag rolled into motion and started down the inclined embankment, the other vehicles close behind. Reaching the plains, War Wag One took the point, with the cargo vans clustering close behind, and War Wag Two taking the rear guard. The ground had seemed hard underfoot, but the wheels of the transport sank inches into the gritty material from the tremendous weight of the transports. A tech flipped some switches, and the belly of the wag rose an additional foot.