Before J.B. could think of a suitable reply, his ears pricked up at the sound of an owl hooting. It wasn’t something that you would expect in the middle of the day, which was why it was the perfect signal for Ryan to use. It may perplex the sec men if they were listening, but it would also momentarily distract them while the companions burst from cover.
Which was exactly what happened. Ryan, Krysty and Dean came out of the undergrowth, moving across the ground at speed and fanning out to present a more widespread target. They were so swift, and the reactions of the sec men so slow that they were almost on them by the time that the sec men knew what was happening.
Ryan held his SIG-Sauer blaster in one hand and the panga in the other. As one man swiveled to cover Krysty, believing that his partner would take Ryan, and the other did likewise with Dean, Ryan leaped into the middle of the blaster nest, bringing the hilt of the panga and the butt of the SIG-Sauer down in a simultaneous motion on the skulls of the sec men, putting them out of action.
“That was almost too easy,” he remarked with a touch of surprise in his voice.
On the far side of the blacktop, the others were finding their task just as easy. At the signal, Jak, Mildred and Doc had adopted a similar tactic, breaking cover and fanning out; meanwhile, Jak had skipped out from his position and taken out the urinating sec man with a blow from the heel of his hand to the base of the man’s skull. He dropped without knowing what had hit him.
The daydreaming sec man had been jolted from his reverie and vacillated over which of the three advancing attackers to train his blaster upon: a decision that was taken from him by the feel of cold steel at the base of his neck.
“Drop or chill,” Jak said quietly.
From here, it was easy for the companions to regroup on the blacktop with their prisoners, stripped of their weapons.
“Why haven’t you chilled us?” one of the sec men asked sullenly.
“Because we want safe passage into your ville, and we don’t want to make any more enemies,” Ryan replied.
“Then why not just use the road like anyone else with decent business?” another complained.
“Because, my dear young man, after we had been attacked by that heinous flying machine and replied in a somewhat damaging manner, there was no guarantee of anything other than a somewhat warm welcome,” Doc said, drawing a puzzled gaze from the sec man who had asked the question.
“Don’t you worry.” Ryan laughed. “Just— What was it they used to say in those old vids, Millie?”
“Take us to your leader,” Mildred replied in dry tones.
So they did. The sec men led the companions through the center of Crossroads, right to the heavily guarded and opulent home of the baron—Jon Robertson, as laid-back as J.B. remembered from the old stories.
For when he saw the sorry state of his sec patrol for that blacktop route and heard Ryan’s story, his only comment was: “Never mind that damn plane. You boys were just lucky these people ain’t hostile. Shit, I’m gonna have to toughen up on you assholes.”
HAVING PROVED THEIR WORTH by taking out the sec post, and their intentions by not chilling their captives, Robertson was more inclined to take their side of the story regarding the sec biplane.
“Well,” he said slowly when Ryan had finished explaining, “I’d say that you had every right to try and bring that fucker down.”
“By the Three Kennedys, it’s not often that one comes to meet a man of such erudition and faith,” Doc uttered, smiling broadly.
“What’d he say?” Robertson asked, puzzled. “He means that we don’t often come across barons—or anyone—who’d see our side of things over a firefight with their own sec,” Mildred replied.
“Why in hell didn’t he just say that?” Robertson murmured before brightening. “Anyway, who the hell says that I’d take your side?”
“But—” Ryan was about to speak, but was cut short from a gesture by the baron.