“Just line ’em up along this wall here!” the supply sergeant instructed, grabbing the first long crate himself and manipulating the float dial until it settled on the carpet. With a flourish, he punched a combination into the lock’s keyboard, and the crate lid hissed open.
“Help yourself!” he declared, then thought better of it. “No … cancel that. Form a line! Jason! I want ’em to sign for whatever they take! We gotta be sure we know who’s got what so’s we can go after ’em if it don’t come back in good shape.”
As expected, the long, flat cases held the rifles and other long arms that had been packed away when the company was pulled from their old duty as swamp guards. The square crates held ammunition.
“Well, I guess that solves our firepower question,” Rembrandt said, frowning at weapons being passed out, but making no move to object or interfere as the Legionnaires seized the armaments and scattered through the room, each of them clearing, checking, and loading his or her weapon of choice.
“I just figured that whatever goes down, it don’t hurt to have a few extra persuaders close to hand.” Harry winked, then his face sobered. “All right, what have we got so far?”
“Not much,” the senior lieutenant admitted. “Until we can figure out where they’re holding him, there’s not much we can do. The trouble is, everyone wants to be here. It’s all we’ve been able to do to keep the duty crew at their posts while we’re working this out … Which reminds me …”
She raised her wrist communicator to her lips and pressed the Call button.