Assuming that the point of aim with their lower power ammo would be off, they’d brought large sheets of cardboard with targets at the top, and now they set them up at one hundred yards. Then they put on earmuffs and safety glasses and started systematically testing the ammo, one load for one target, not adjusting for aim, just to see where the bullets were hitting and how they were grouping together.
After the second set of shots Santee squinted into the spotting scope. “Pretty good group there, Eddie. What load is that?”
“What?” Eddie took off his earmuffs, and Santee repeated the question while he took off his own. “Uh, #14. I left the details back in town.”
“Not a problem, just keep notes like we talked about.”
Eddie scribbled. “Okay, got it. Let’s go get the targets so we can measure… What was that?”
“What was what?”
“I heard something, like a scream. A long ways off.” They paused, making no noise, waiting.
“There!” Eddie said. “You hear it?”
“No, but if you heard a scream, I believe you. I don’t have young ears. Where’d it come from?”
“Can’t tell. Maybe over that way.” He pointed vaguely off to the left.
Santee quickly reloaded the two rifles and gave one to Eddie. Grabbing the spotting scope with one hand, he started up the side of the small valley, in the direction where Eddie had pointed, motioning for him to follow.
When they got to the top of the slope, they could see a farmstead about a half mile away; smoke was coming from one of the buildings. Santee quickly dropped prone and set up the spotting scope, peered through it, and stiffened. “Damn. Shit. There’s some bastards down there sacking that farm. The house is on fire, and I just saw a half-naked woman being chased by three guys. Shit.”
“I’ll go get the ammo.” Eddie said, and rushed off before Santee could say anything. In a few minutes he was back with the canvas bag that held all their bullets, and had thought to throw in the canteens full of water. Santee had moved over to a low spot beside a fallen tree. Eddie dropped the bag beside him and began sorting out the ammo, which had gotten jumbled. He found a box of .30-06 for himself and handed a box of .308 to Santee.
“Eddie, put on your muffs. I’m going to try a Julie and at least scare ’em good. They’re bringing up a horse and wagon, I guess to haul away their booty.”
The first shot wasn’t close, but it kicked up dirt where he could see. By the time he’d fired the fifth shot and the magazine was empty, he was hitting near the wagon, and he’d definitely provoked a reaction. The marauders turned the wagon to face him and started whipping the horse. He saw six or eight men run to the wagon as it started across the field toward them.
“They must know there aren’t many of us by our rate of fire, and they must want modern guns real bad. We’ve got to take out that horse.” Eddie looked stricken, and he said, “Can’t help it. Shame to waste a good animal, but he’s their motor. Try that load #14 if you have any more. I can’t seem to hit the fucker.”
They both kept firing at the wagon as it came slowly across the field. It was obviously heavy, and they didn’t seem to be having any effect on it. Finally, as it got to the edge of the field where a lane ran in their direction, the horse suddenly dropped in its traces.
“Got the sombitch!” Eddie could barely hear him because of his earmuffs, but understood. He had rolled over and begun fishing for more ammo in the bag when Santee suddenly jumped up and swung his rifle around. Two shots rang out, the second one a deep boom that didn’t come from Santee’s gun. When Eddie turned to look, he saw a man with a wheel-lock slowly folding, blood on his chest. When he turned back to congratulate Santee, he saw him lying on the ground, on his side, writhing in pain. The gun Santee had been shooting was lying next to him demolished, the stock splintered.