Santee sighed. “Okay. Pass the word, or give me a badge, or whatever.”
“Will do. One thing though… you’ll be dealing with civilians, ladies and such, and your language is… uh, colorful.”
Santee tried to look prim. “Golly gosh, to think that one of our fighting soldiers might actually say naughty words.”
Frank grinned at him. “Mike said, ‘Tell him to keep it down in front of the ladies, but teach it to the youngsters. It’s part of their military training.'”
“Well, that’s one thing I’m expert enough to teach, anyhow.”
“We hope you can talk people out of their 12-gauge pumps, and rifles in .308 and .30-06 and .223—those are going to be our standard military calibers. And if you can, spend some time teaching anyone who’s rusty, or inherited something. Redistribute the nonstandard ammo as best you can; try to make sure everyone has at least a hundred rounds.” Santee nodded. “And one last thing: Mike wanted me to emphasize that handing over their weapons is voluntary—really voluntary—and even if someone offers to give up their last gun, make sure they don’t. We need armed civilians as much as an army, and the Second Amendment still stands.”
“Absolutely! Couldn’t agree more.” At least these guys have the right idea. “Okay. I’ll not only collect extra weapons, I’ll try to make sure every house has at least one gun and some ammo and knows how to use it.”
* * *
Two days later, after Santee’s last trip to his cabin, they talked again. Frank had managed to scrounge up an extra map of Grantville somewhere. It was one of the full-sized maps the town had kept a few copies of in stock, and Santee was glad to get it. The detail was much better than on the computer-generated map he’d been using. Frank also said he’d talked to Eddie, who was proud to be the new Assistant Weapons Scrounger.
Santee said he was ready to start the job tomorrow, after he rested. “I brought down the last of my stuff, plus two rifles, and I’m beat.”
“Mrs. Tippett says, until we can get an armory, we can use her front room to store all the guns and ammo you round up. That should make things handy for you. I already know some people who have shotguns to contribute, and pretty soon I guess we’re going to have to figure out how to get your guns down here.”
“Yeah, I’ve been worrying about that. When I was up there yesterday I didn’t see signs that anybody but me had been there, but we can’t be lucky forever. I figure those guns are worth a fortune these days, and we sure as hell don’t want any of them shooting back at us.”
“You said you’ve got, what, sixty rifles, plus how much ammo? We could round up some pack horses, I guess, or try to get your jeep through…” He trailed off.
“You guys got the kids doing basic? How about a nice Recon run?” That was a long trip in full packs. Army recruits have hated them since the dawn of time.
Frank’s face lit up. “I like it! We can get sixty rifles in one trip.”
“Uh, I counted,” Santee said, a little sheepishly. “It’s more like eighty. Plus some pistols.”
“Okay, two Recon runs. We can send some armed scouts with them for protection.”
“Uh…”
“Three?”
“Four. Maybe five. Bullets are heavy.” Santee shrugged.
“You’re going to be ‘That bastard on the hill’ to those boys.” Frank grinned.
“Won’t be the first time privates have cussed me. Do ’em some good, in the end.”
“If it’s any compensation, remember that Mike says you’re allowed to teach them to swear.”
“Go up and down that fucking hill enough, I do believe they’ll learn all by their lonesome.”
* * *
“Yes ma’am, I’m sure you should keep your shotgun. You wouldn’t want some mo—, uh, evil person to get past our sentries and into your house without some way of fu—, uh, sending him to meet his maker. Are you sure you know how to use it?”
“Son, I was shootin’ pheasants when you were in diapers, and you ain’t a young man. Don’t you worry about me none. But my husband’s rifles you’re welcome to; we lost him back in ’93. I’m happy to help out the country.”