“We’ll set up in the brothel,” the sergeant directed, starting across the muddy street, his boots squishing in the filthy muck.
A layer of gravel lay scattered around the gaudy house, rendering the ground more solid and less prone to make drunken customers slip and soil their uniforms. A single kick from a private rendered the front door passable, and the platoon swarmed inside. The main room was filled with patched couches and a bar made from stained planks laid across several hogshead barrels. Clearly, the establishment had been vacated recently, as a spilled beer still dripped onto the sawdust-covered floor.
“Move these couches,” the sergeant ordered. “We’ll set up here.”
An area was cleared in front of the broken door, and the canvas-covered object was set down with grunts of relief. In practiced movements, the platoon busied itself unwrapping the thing. The massive autofire weapon consisted of a cylindrical firing chamber, the eight 20 mm barrels joined in a circle, a top-loading ammunition box and a squat motor, supported by a heavy tripod. It was the pride of the ville, a Vulcan minigun salvaged from the back of a predark military wag the lady ward had found outside the yule. In the light of the oil lamps, the predark superweapon gleamed like polished death.
“Bring some wine barrels from the cellar,” the sergeant ordered. “They’ll help hide us.”
Then he turned. “You there, take cover behind the bar. Be ready to give protective fire in case of a mishap.”
The man with the RPG launcher slung over his shoulder saluted and moved with due haste. Two more guards carrying the huge rounds for the weapon followed closely.
Kneeling, the sergeant assisted the corporal with attaching the wide ammunition belt. The dull gray cartridges for the Vulcan were thicker than a cigar, and weighed considerably more than lead or steel.
“What are these made of, sir?” a guard asked, jockeying the belt feed into position.
“Don’t know. But the heirs say it will punch through the armor of the Beast like it was flesh,” he said, watching the work in progress. “Here now! Tighten that bolt, or the first round through will be our last!”
The top hatch was closed and locked in place, the firing bolt thrown and the safety unlatched. Dangling wires were carefully attached to a collection of car batteries, and a light glowed green on a small panel.
“Armed and loaded, sir,” the corporal reported crisply. “What is the plan of attack, sir?”
“We wait here until it goes into the tunnel,” the sergeant said, lighting a cigar.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” the corporal said hesitantly, “but is that wise? Wait until it is past us? Why not fire broadside? It’s an easier target.”
“You’re a fool. Tank armor is thinnest in the back. That’s our best chance to blow it to hell, when it’s moving away from us.”
“So, now we wait?” the corporal asked.
“Hate waiting,” the man grumbled.
The sergeant blew a smoke ring at the open doorway. “Trust me, you’d hate dying a lot more.”
IN THE WESTERN courtyard, a sergeant slashed with his sword, cutting loose a team of mules from a gunnery carriage. Working like slaves, the guards struggled to position the antique muzzle loader on the cobblestone courtyard before the huge iron gate. Mostly salvaged from museums and parade grounds, the predark weapons had each been painstakingly rebuilt to function fully and had slain many bikers and muties over the years. There were already forty assorted cannon placed in a broad semicircle in the courtyard, teams of frantic gunners preparing for the battle.
More and more wags constantly arrived, carrying shot and powder. When unloaded, the wags were rolled into position and toppled onto their sides in front of the cannons to hide them from direct sight, hopefully fooling the Beast for a few precious seconds until the fuses could be lit. Along the rooftops of buildings, in every window and doorway, swarms of guards with long blasters were ready to give cover fire and confuse the tank with multiple targets.
“In position and loaded, sir,” a corporal announced, sweat pouring off the man in spite of the chill night air.