Gushing blood from the ragged stump of its neck, the headless body of Elder Thomas flopped lifeless to the ground, the Colt discharging a single shot as it tumbled over the paving stones to land near Kate’s combat boots. She turned to see Roberto standing in the doorway of War Wag One, a smoking shotgun in his good hand.
“Thanks,” Kate said, holstering her piece. “Oweya.”
“Always got your six, Chief,” Roberto answered, the double barrels of his sawed-off sweeping the area for any new targets.
“Okay, I want people over at the holding pits to start freeing the slaves,” she said into the radio, the command repeated from the loudspeakers set in the hull of War Wag One and echoing across the mounting turmoil of the smashed ville.
“They’ll want revenge,” Roberto said, breaking open the sawed-off and dropping the spent cartridge to slip in a fresh one. He jerked it upward and the breech closed with a solid snap. “Not only on their former masters, but any of their fellow slaves who worked for the cannies. Could get damn messy.”
Her face a mask of controlled hate, Kate looked over the battleground, the dead and the dying mixed with the rubble and refuse.
“Let them,” she said in a voice of icy granite. “What’s the status of the laser?”
“We’re almost out of fuel for the reaction chamber,” Roberto reported. “Plus, a few more minutes of use and the main lens would have cracked. It’s just not designed for this kind of fighting.”
“But it did the job. Give Eric my thanks. The man works miracles.”
Just then, a ricochet zinged off the armored prow of the wag only inches from the woman. Instantly, Roberto fired his shotgun at the distant sniper, and Kate dropped the radio to draw the Ingram and hosed a long burst from the rapidfire. Fighting to clear a jam from his bolt action, the coldheart on the rooftop got stitched across the chest by the 9 mm Parabellum rounds and fell away spraying bright blood.
Snapping the sawed-off shut, Roberto grunted at the sight. “Good shot,” he said, stepping closer. “Bastard was out of my range.”
“Can’t control a rapidfire with one hand,” Kate said, bending over to retrieve the radio. “All gunners, secure this courtyard! I want every roof cleaned of sec men, and I mean right fucking now!”
Every gunner inside the three armored transports did as requested and the crisscrossing barrage of .50-caliber rounds from the vented machine guns tore the roofs apart, shattering the red tiles and sending two more snipers to the last train west.
“Roofs are secured,” a voice reported crisply over the radio.
“Good,” she answered. “Jeffers, Daniels, Dink, start a recce of the buildings and watch for boobies. The locals are fond of traps. Be safe and shoot everybody you find.”
“All of them?” the voice asked, startled.
“Confirmed,” Kate growled. “If they ain’t in chains, put lead in their head!”
“Will do, Chief!” The radio crackled, even the short distance affected by the rads in the sea.
“Knives are cheaper,” Roberto stated, staying close to the woman, the sawed-off held level at his waist with both hands.
She shrugged in reply. “Fuck it. We got the ammo. Besides, I’ll damn well not lose another one of our people cleaning out this viper’s nest,” Kate shot back furiously. “Ten rounds now will save us a hundred in the future.”
There was a scrambling motion at the base of a second guard tower, and from the gaping doorway stumbled a bloody man in robes with both hands raised. Roberto fired before Kate could even register the fact, and as he fell the cannie elder was then torn apart by crisscrossing blasterfire from a dozen directions.
“Standard divvy among the dead?” Roberto asked, tightening his lips into what could have been a grin as he reloaded again. The 12-gauge sawed-off did a nuking amount of damage, but he was always shoving in shells. Too bad there wasn’t such a thing as a clip fed shotgun. Wouldn’t that be a pisser?
“Not this time,” the woman answered. “We turn the entire contents of the ville over to the slaves. They earned it in ways we don’t want to think about. Then we divvy half of our food with them, too. Toss everything found in the kitchens and storehouses into the sea. It’s all dirty. Who knows what they used to bake the bread, or fried the fish in.”