Dean crawled through on all fours.
J.B. slid under the door on his back, not wanting to roll over his blasters.
Doc got to the ground more slowly than the others, the joints of his knees crackling and popping in protest the closer he got to the ground. “I do hope that you intend to provide us with a more dignified way of getting out of this place.”
Clarissa said nothing, following Doc inside and rolling down the door behind her.
There was a long line of loading docks where goods would have been loaded and unloaded from transport wags almost every day of the year. But now it was vacant for the most part, except for the far corner of the garage.
“That’s the stuff down there,” Clarissa said.
“Dark night!”
“What?” Jak asked.
But the Armorer didn’t answer. He was already running toward the small cache of ancient items stored in the far corner of what was basically a concrete bunker.
The others followed.
There wasn’t a LAV among the collection, but there was a decent-sized wag—the one Clarissa had stolen from Baron Fox—that would suit their needs with a little bit of work.
“That’s a P-39,” J.B. said, standing in front of the green World War II fighter airplane.
Dean came up behind J.B. “What’s a P-39?”
J.B. pointed to the winged relic. “That is a Bell P-39 Airacobra. It was made in this part of the country and used by the air force for ground attack in World War II.”
Doc tapped the aircraft’s wings with his swordstick. “Don’t tell me it’s almost as old as I am.”
“Not quite, Doc,” J.B. answered. “Just about 150 years old.”
Jak looked at the old machine skeptically. “Not know how to fly.”
J.B. shook his head. “Not interested in flying. If I was, I’d use that helicopter over there to land right inside the compound. No, the P-39 just happens to be armed with four .50-caliber machine blasters and a 37 mm cannon.”
“Hot pipe!” Dean exclaimed.
“Hot pipe, indeed,” Doc echoed.
“If we can find some ammunition for those blasters in these stores and secure the blasters onto the transport wag Clarissa stole—” he pointed to the wag “—we’ll be able to rescue Ryan, Krysty and Mildred in style.”
“Easy say,” Jak said with a bit of a smile. “Harder do.”
Clarissa piped up then, agreeing with Jak. “That’s right. You’re talking about all of this as if it’s as easy as changing a round in a blaster.”
J.B. was about to say something to the woman, but was cut off by a wave of Doc’s hand.
“My dear lady, I believe our albino friend is merely teasing his friend. The fact that what John is proposing is extremely difficult is only more of a reason why he will succeed. I have seen this man do some astounding things with blasters and wags, and I have learned never to doubt his word. I’ve also seen that look in his eye. This metal bird’s big blaster will not only provide the means for him to rescue his friends, but it will also provide him with no small amount of pleasure. There is a light in his eyes, and he is eager to find out what a round from a 37 mm cannon can do. And, quite frankly, I am rather curious about that myself. So you see, our weapons expert will not fail. He will succeed and he will do so gloriously. There is simply no other way.”
J.B. had stood back while Doc spoke, and now that he was done, J.B. nodded. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“So, instead of telling the weapons master why something will not work, I suggest you begin opening crates over there and help out in the search for tools and ammunition.”
“All right, I believe,” she said. “Where should I begin?”
“Open all the crates. Any tools you find, bring them to me.”
“All right, let’s do it,” she said.
They began opening the crates and lockers piled on the loading docks, first with their bare hands, and then with hammers and crowbars after Dean found a few of the tools stored in a locker.