“Part of the territory,” Ryan agreed.
Chapter Seventeen
The wag rolled into Shauna’s territory at approximately twenty minutes after twelve.
High noon, and the sky overhead was crisp and clear, so clear that objects as far away as a hundred feet still looked as sharp as if they were directly in front of your nose. The air was silent, precisely so, as if waiting in anticipation for the inevitable sudden sound or motion to appear in a rapid onrush to shatter the serenity.
The young lookout in the watchtower, flat on her stomach to avoid detection, had spotted the transport well in advance of its arrival. She had signaled the waiting group below with a prearranged motion that the convoy consisted of a single vehicle, just as had been predicted.
After the high sign had been given, there was nothing to do but wait. As they took their positions in the trench alongside the dirt-and-gravel roadway—a trench that had been widened and deepened to accommodate the lean and lethal attack force—Ryan had to wonder if such a simple plan of battle would work.
“Simple’s sometimes the best way,” J.B. said as he waited with Ryan in the ditch alongside the roadway. The Armorer’s eyes wandered over enviously to the ordnance Shauna and Carter were carrying. Earlier Carter had led J.B. and Mildred to a secure place hidden away in a seaside cavern about a quarter mile from the cluster of shacks and tents that made up the commune.
From a grease-stained canvas bag, Carter had pulled out twin Calico M-955AS light submachine guns, complete with full shoulder butts and forward hand grips all molded in stark black metal and plastic. The Calico was a unique little weapon that was a cross between a machine pistol and a full-blown rifle.
“PDWs,” J.B. had said in admiration, his voice echoing slightly in the cave. The cave was a natural formation fortified with large wooden beams jammed every few feet along the walls in a basic yet effective effort to prop up the ceiling and avoid the possibility of having the roof fall down around a visitor’s ears.
“Pee Dee whats?” Carter responded.
“PDWs. Quick-speak for Personal Defense Weapons. They emerged in the predark days right before the nukecaust for nonsoldier types to use, you know; whitecoats, engineers, comm men, techies, drivers. Those guns you have there were made by Calico Incorporated of Bakersfield, U.S.A. First appeared in 1989, by the old calendar,” J.B. rattled off with conviction.
Carter glanced at Mildred with a cocked eyebrow.
“One thing John knows is guns, Carter,” she said. “He’s probably the greatest weapons expert left alive in Deathlands.”
“Do tell,” Carter said. “I’m smart enough to know these are good guns, but I didn’t plan on being quizzed.”
“The Calico is a modular system, which allows a longer or a shorter weapon to be assembled from interchangeable components. You’re got the full package there,” J.B. said, pointing at the guns Carter was carrying. “Best of all is the Calico’s amazing large magazine capacity. A small mag holds fifty rounds, the large one a hundred. You can always tell a Calico magazine by the shape of the mag.”
“Really,” Carter said. “And why is that?”
“Calico is the only PDW to use a cylinder mag. Either the large or the small will clip down right on top of the gun, storing the cartridges in two helical layers. Ammo feed comes down from the top, while the spent cartridges eject underneath instead of out the side. Sweet little guns.”
“Glad you approve. These are in good shape, but unfortunately what you pointed out about the ammo is true. We’ve got a 100-shot load and a 50-shot, and a backup fifty, and that’s it. Most of the better stuff was lost the first time a group of us took Poseidon on.”
“What else you got?”
“In guns? Not much.” Carter took another of the insulated sacks and revealed the remaining stockpile of hardware.
J.B. eyed the rest of the weapons dump. Carter wasn’t understating the loss. A few 6-shot Colt revolvers, a rifle that looked as though it was an antique when Doc was still young and an astonishing lack of ammunition.