“Save the baron!” Pawter shouted, leading a rush of guards.
Knowing this was their only chance, J.B. threw himself to the floor and rolled into their path. Two dodged out of the way, but two more tripped over the Armorer and went sprawling. Punching one in the groin, J.B. buried his teeth into the other guard’s throat, ripping free a ragged gobbet of flesh, veins and ligaments stretching horribly from the ghastly wound.
A sec man was drawing a bead on his father, so Dean spun and kicked the guard directly in the stomach. The man doubled over coughing, but didn’t drop his blaster, so the boy slammed a knee into his face, crashing the nose in a bloody spray. Then Dean wrapped his tied hands around the man’s throat and tried to throw him over a shoulder. The sec man jerked from the attempt, his neck making a loud snapping sound, and then he crumpled to the floor with a broken neck.
Grabbing his blaster, Dean fired at Pawter just as he reached the throne, blowing off the back of the lieutenant’s head. As the corpse toppled, the boy rushed forward for the Thompson still held in the twitching fingers. But another guard got there first and started fiddling with the rapidfire, trying to make it work.
Dodging incoming lead, Doc abandoned killing strikes and stabbed his sword stick among the sec men, wounding as many as possible. A shot was fired that tugged on his coat, death avoided only because he was constantly in motion. But he had expected as much. Black powder was rare and valuable in these islands, which meant that target practice was virtually nil, and thus not many were marksmen with a blaster.
Reaching the throne, Ryan grabbed the twin Webley .44 revolvers from the retching baron and blasted a path to the weapons table. But a dying man bumped into it, knocking the backpacks and weapons everywhere. Tossing away the spent revolvers, Ryan grabbed the first thing in sight and turned to fire the Uzi at an onrushing guard. He was gambling all of their lives on the belief that the sailors might have pulled the clip, but wouldn’t think of working the bolt to eject the round in the chamber. The Uzi roared, and the shrieking man clutched his mined face, eyes and teeth flowing between his blood-smeared fingers.
Spinning away, Ryan dodged a thrown knife and grabbed a clip for the rapidfire. Slamming it in, he jerked the bolt and cut loose, the stuttering machine pistol spraying copper-jacketed 9 mm rounds into the startled sailors. A round hit the table alongside him, spraying out splinters, and he winced as several stabbed into his bruised leg. Those damn rocks had done more damage than he first thought.
Ignoring the minor pain, Ryan thumbed the selector switch to auto and rode the rapidfire into tight groupings, the barrage of hot lead knocking down the sailors. The bolt kicked back when the clip was spent, and Ryan went around the table to grab the LeMat. Remembering Doc’s lectures on the oddball blaster, he clicked back the hammer before pulling the trigger and unleashed thunder, the last sailor slammed off the floor as he rushed up the aisle for the exit The slug hit him in the back, blood splashing onto the wood in front. But incredibly, the sailor still fumbled with the latch. Holding down the trigger, Ryan fanned the hammer and put a barrage of miniballs into the man before he finally surrendered and slid to the floor in a crumbled heap.
Tough son of a bitch, Ryan growled, tossing Doc the LeMat and taking the Steyr and SIG-Sauer.
Good work Doc, J.B. said as the old man cut away his ropes.
Violence is the last resort of the thinking man, Doc said in a singsong voice that meant he was quoting somebody. But only a fool refuses to face the fact when it becomes the option for life.
Dean limped to the table. Ryan cut the boys ropes, he briefly inspected his face, which was already turning purple, but it was only a bruise.
You okay? Ryan asked.
Been better, He mumbled through puffy lips. Give me a blaster.