The youth said nothing, but his expression was one of intense scorn.
“This isn’t their base,” Krysty stated, lowering her blaster. “This isn’t the home ville of anybody.”
“Obviously, madam,” Doc announced lugubriously, easing down the hammer of his gigantic LeMat pistol. “Nobody resides at this location but ghosts, and mayhap a few sand crabs. It is a simple village returned to its primordial state, with nary a humble cottage remaining to be balanced by a river’s brim.”
“Walt Whitman?” Mildred asked, squinting, thumbs hooked into her gun belt.
“No. Me,” the man said, smiling broadly. “Just me this time.”
Removing his hat, J.B. grimaced as he smoothed the brim. “Crap,” he announced. “There’s not a blaster or a war wag in sight, and the blues were lousy with pre-dark military supplies. Seemed like Overton had more weapons than Wizard Island and the Anthill combined!”
Dean scratched his head. “Mebbe this is the wrong Shiloh,” the boy suggested. “We knew it wasn’t the one in Virginia because that town got nuked in skydark.”
“Could be the Civil War battleground we once visited in The Smokies,” Mildred offered. “There’s even a redoubt nearby, the one with all the tunnels. That could be where they’re getting the weapons and wags from.”
“Makes sense,” Ryan said, nosily sucking on a hollow tooth. “But Tennessee is a mighty long way from Front Royal. If their home base is there, why choose a ville in Virginia as their capital city?”
“A diversion,” J.B. stated, as if it were obvious. “Or mebbe Overton lied.”
Mildred fiercely shook her head. “No way. He was in too much pain to be inventive. The home base of the people who attacked Front Royal is someplace named Shiloh. That we can count on as a fact.”
The salty breeze from the Lantic felt good on his skin as Ryan stepped closer to the cliff for a better view. He heard a stick snap under his boots. Only the noise sounded more metallic than wooden.
“Everybody freeze,” he ordered softly.
The companions went motionless, straining to detect any possible dangers. The field was empty, and nothing could be heard but the waves on the beach below.
“Now listen to me very carefully. Back away from the cliff and only step in the exact same spots you did getting here,” Ryan continued in a deceptively calm voice. His heart was pounding in his chest, and suddenly his palms were damp with sweat.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, worried. His father looked so strange, every muscle was straining, yet he was poised as if in the middle of walking.
Not daring to even turn his head, Ryan spoke to the ocean. “I just stepped on a land mine.”
Chapter Two
Dropping the Uzi, J.B. lay flat on his belly and crawled closer to the motionless man. Gently parting the autumn grass, he saw a low swell in the soil under Ryan’s boot.
“Dark night, you’re right!” J.B. whispered. “Now stay calm, and don’t move. If it hasn’t gone off yet, it’s not a TD or fire-string.”
“Explain that to me later.” Ryan felt the ground give slightly under his weight. “Hurry. The cliff is giving way.”
Sliding his knife from its sheath, J.B. started quickly trimming away the grass and soon had a clear view of the mechanism. It was a fat disk with handles and a low cylinder rising from the middle topped with a simple pressure switch.
“Everybody get behind the LAV,” J.B. ordered. “It’s a Bouncing Betty.”
Watching where they stepped, the others retreated to a safe distance and climbed back into the LAV.
“Hope the hull will stop a Betty,” Krysty said, as she flipped up the driver’s hatch and stood on the seat to see outside.
Doc climbed into the turret and did the same with the auxiliary hatch. Dean wiggled up there with him and squinted into the distance at the men on the cliff.
“What’s a Betty?” the boy asked nervously.
Bent over, watching through a blaster port, Mildred said, “The worst type of land mine,” she replied. “If any of the damn things can be called good. This type will blow off your father’s leg with the first explosion, then a secondary charge will heave the mine a yard into the air and a third charge will spray out a ring of steel bearings. Cut a dozen men in two at fifty yards. It’s designed not to kill, but to maim.”