War Weapons (3 page)

Stone had to jump back to avoid the leaking corpse, but still a piece of it landed on his boot, which totally revolted him,
so he bent down, grabbed a broken piece of wallboard, and wiped the siime of rat flesh from his boot. As his eyes came up,
his heart nearly fell down to his feet, for a trapdoor had opened in the ground just yards ahead of him, and nine terrified
and ash-coated faces were staring straight at him, each man with a pistol in his hand—all aimed straight for Stone’s heart.

The dog started to growl, but Stone, without moving a muscle, commanded it sharply to shut up and stay still. Excaliber whimpered
and then lay on his paws just behind him, but with his eyes cocked on the men ahead like a lion on a gazelle, ready to move
at the slightest threat to his master. Stone scanned the faces back and forth in a single fluid sweep, still keeping his body
absolutely still, his gun motionless at his side. It was hard to tell who they were, they were all so filthy, but they looked
familiar. Suddenly he realized it was the raw recruits, the men who had just been inducted into the NAA a few days before.
Stone had joined the army and gone through the super-intensive New American Army boot camp with them.

“Kill him,” one of the men snapped out, starting to raise his pistol. It was Bull. Stone knew the bastard had always hated
him since he kicked his ass in a hand-to-hand practice.

“Now listen fellows,” Stone started, not having the slightest idea of what he was going to say next.

“You’re a traitor,” another voice hissed. “Just before General Patton drove off, he said you had brought in the slime. You
had betrayed all of us.” It was Bo, a trooper Stone had saved from drowning in quicksand. He knew they weren’t dying to shoot
him or they would have done it already. But he’d have to convince them. All he had to do was convince nine hicks from the
sticks who had been inducted into the New American Army that the NAA no longer existed because it had been a fascist force
that had to be destroyed. And do it in three seconds.

“Listen, fellows,” Stone began again with a weary sigh, wondering just how long he could keep talking his way out of being
killed, just how long he could bullshit death itself each time it came to argue with him about why it was time to die.

“No listening, asshole.” Bull sneered, raising his .45 toward Stone. “Time to die.”

“No,” Bo suddenly yelled out, whipping his .45 around toward Bull. “Let him talk,” Bo said in a trembling voice. He was obviously
terrified of the larger and tougher Bull. “He saved my life. He helped a lot of us in the boot camp. At least he deserves
to speak.” Bull grumbled and eyed the pistol with a simmering anger, but the others spoke out as well that Stone should have
his chance, and the barrel-chested Bull let the big handgun fall away at his side.

“Thanks,” Stone said, exhaling a long breath. Excaliber relaxed slightly as Stone did too. The pitbull was linked to his master
by an almost telepathic bond. It had been that way from the start. They just knew each other. “Look, I’m not going to lie
to you and say I didn’t bring down an attack on Fort Bradley, because I did,” Stone said. “And I was ready to sacrifice the
lives of every man in this camp,” Stone said. “I’ll admit that too. I was ready to let every one of you smelly bastards kick
it. But I had my reasons.” They all looked pretty skeptical. But at least they were listening.

“Patton started out with good intentions,” Stone went on, “but somewhere along the way he lost it. Because what he has in
store for America is the Hitler route. The elimination of blacks, Jews. Hartstein—you’re a Jew, right?” Stone asked, looking
over at one of the men in the squad. The inductee nodded nervously.

“Hey, pal, fine with me,” Stone said. “But someday you might just find yourself up across a wall with the captain of a firing
squad asking you if you want a last cigarette. The general wanted to rule by an iron fist. No freedom of the press or religion.
Nothing. It wasn’t a return to the America we knew but to his own dark vision of hell. You understand what I’m saying?” A
few of them seemed to get dim light bulbs glowing in their fear-winced eyes. But most either didn’t appear to understand what
the hell he was talking about or else didn’t particularly give a shit if one race or another got exterminated.

“And,” Stone went on, knowing he had to hook them on this. “He had a policy of purification by fire. You know what kind of
fire he has in mind?” Stone asked them, glancing around with a smirk as if they were all poor fools. “Atomic fire, my friends.
The crazy bastard wants not only to purify America by burning her to a crisp. But right now, today, this minute, he wants
to kill me—and he’s gone to get a ten-megaton missile to do it. You hear what I’m saying. You can kill me or not—it hardly
matters. Because he won’t know it. And unless we stop him first, you’re all dead men.”

That seemed to get their attention. Even Bull looked a little pale through his ash makeup.

“Let me get this straight,” the big man said skeptically as the others gulped continuously, their Adam’s apples moving up
and down like corks on rough water. “You telling me that at any motherfuckin’ second some big ol’ missile gonna come down
right on our heads?”

“That’s about the size of it,” Stone said with a razor-sharp smile. The trapdoor flew back and the entire crew—all ten of
them, he could see now—stepped out and up onto the rubble. Just a few seconds before they had been ready to kill him—and now …
But time passes and things change. And no man likes the idea of his radioactive balls spinning endlessly through space.

“S
IR,” ONE of the ash-coated recent inductees said, looking at Stone. “Should we call you sir?”

“No,” Stone said, waving his hand with a disgusted look. “Just Stone … will do fine.” He looked them over quickly. They looked
like shit. They hadn’t particularly known what to do just days before when he had gone through the two-day boot camp with
them. And he was sure that they hadn’t learned a hell of a lot since then, either. They were scared too. Hell, most of them
were just kids, not even out of their teens. Half of them weren’t even holding their pistols correctly. It wasn’t a hell of
a lot to work with. But then, beggars…

“At ease,” Stone said with a sheepish look as he saw them trying to stand at some semblance of attention. There was something
in him that just didn’t take well to telling men what to do. His childhood, most likely. His father being military had a lot
to do with that. And the fact that he and his dad had fought their entire lives until the day the Major died. And yet many
of his father’s words remained in Stone’s mind to this day—words of a man who had seen much. “If you want men to follow, you
have to enthuse them,” Stone remembered the Major telling a fellow officer once over a prime rib roast at their home in Denver.
“Have to make them believe that they’re special, hot shit, God’s gift to the United States fighting forces.” Stone took a
deep breath and prepared to lie his ass off.

“Tell me, fellows, how come you were down in that junk hole, anyway?” Stone asked them as they stood side by side in a vague
sort of line. They had just been learning military ways for under a few weeks now and had only just begun to get the hang
of it—barely. Well, Stone wasn’t one for marching or spit-and-polish, thank God.

“ ’Cause this major man tol’ us to guard it,” one of them said. Stone tried to remember his name. Or any of them, for that
matter. “Said to stay down here and guard the general’s stuff, and if any asshole shows up—to fill his ass full of lead. And
those were his exact words,” the half-wit said with a smile, proud that he could remember so much vital information. It was
all Stone could do not to just walk away. But he had to have men. There was no way in hell he would be able to attack Patton
with the kind of defensive forces the general had at his command, without some kind of fighting team.

“Well, you did real good,” Stone said, looking around the place. “Look’s like no one got in here—other than the artillery
shells—but then you couldn’t do much about that, anyway, could you?” He laughed nervously, knowing it sounded crazy as the
recruits glanced at each other. “Yes, fine job.”

“But no one really tried to get in here—uh—sir,” one of the real young ones, tall and lanky, his face still acned, said nasally.

“Ah, but they didn’t try, because somehow they sensed you all. And knew that they were dead men if they stepped one foot in
here. Every man has a sixth sense about danger —even if it’s only partially developed. They
knew
—that’s all—just knew that there were some tough-ass troops lying in wait.” The men, fortunately for Stone, were young or
dumb enough, or both, to be extremely gullible, and so they smiled at the praise of their manhood. “And that’s why you guys
are kick-ass soldiers. I knew it from the start—back in training. Could see that I was working with a fine bunch of men.”
Somewhere inside themselves they probably all knew he was lying, but every man likes to be complimented, to be told he is
tough. Thus they smiled even wider, stood a little straighter, and decided that this guy Stone wasn’t such a bad son of a
bitch, after all. And Stone learned the basic truth that all politicians know instinctively—that lying works.

“Now, let me just say two things about my running this show,” Stone said, trying to sound firm. “One—we’re not going to worry
about parades, clothes, haircuts, fingernails, or saying ‘sir’ or any of that shit, okay? You guys can pick your noses and
eat it for all I care. But two—you’ve got to do what I tell you, when I tell you. Not just because I want you to but because
the lives of every man on this attack force will be dependent on every other man. You’re all in this together. You understand?
Any one of us goes and ka-boom—it could be all over. And if we don’t get Patton—it’s going to be kaboom, anyway, for this
whole damned central part of the country. So we have to move fast and hard. I’m not going to mislead you—it’s going to be
a bloodbath. You hear me? We’re going into hell. So if any of you want to back out now, just tell me—because I have to know
I can count on whoever’s on the trip when the shit hits the fan.”

“Sir.” Another of them spoke up, though who it was Stone couldn’t begin to tell, as the man looked like the inside of a vacuum
cleaner, covered with dust and soot. “I guess the fact is, most of us grew up in these parts. And, well, I don’t know who’s
right or wrong in all this, I guess, but I don’t want to see my daddy’s farm tore up to hell into that there rad-active, whatever
you calls it, stuff.” The others nodded in agreement, even Bull, who Stone knew was the one he was going to have to keep his
eye on. The guy kept giving him funny looks.

“Good,” Stone said enthusiastically. “Then we’re in this until the fat lady sings. All right, then—we gotta get things going.
First, I can’t even remember all of your names. So tell me who you are, and what—if any—special training of weapons you know
about.” Stone looked at the man on the far right side of the ragged line who looked around, down, at the men next to him,
back at Stone, back down at the ground, up at Stone, and then asked, “Me?”

“Yeah, pal,” Stone said with a grimace. “You.”

“Oh, well, I’m Nathan Farber, come from Greenwood, other side of the state. Far as any trainin’—well, I’s good as a mother
with a knife. Can skin a deer—or a man’s throat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone said. “Next.”

“Ross Phillips,” the man said, “from Brandon. Don’t know a hell of a lot about weapons,” the man said, “but good with a truck,
drove one for this guy. Can shift gears, everything.”

“Gary—Gary Zzychinski,” the next said, “from Greeley. Done a lot of hunting. Used .22 and 30–30. These here M16s suck, but
get me something good and I’ll knock a squirrel out of a fucking tree—or just take his balls off if you want.” Stone grinned
and moved his attention to the next man.

“Trevor Simpson, sir,” the guy barked out, keeping his back straight, looking more like a soldier than the others. “From Rangely,
sir. Knowledge of explosives. Used to help set them for a mining operation—before things got bad. Know nitro, fuses, timers,
you name it. Show it to me—I’ll blow it up for you.” The man seemed a little older than the others—more intelligent.

“Excellent,” Stone said, slapping the man on the shoulder and making a mental note to keep this guy on tap. His services were
undoubtedly going to be needed soon. So it went along the line, coming finally to the last guy there, Bull. Stone could feel
himself tense up as their eyes met. He knew the bastard hated his fucking guts.

“You know me,” the man said. He was a good four inches taller than Stone and probably fifty to sixty pounds heavier. But though
he scared the others, Stone had already knocked him down. The guy hadn’t forgotten.

“Hope there’s no hard feelings,” Stone said, holding out his hand.

“Nah,” the man said, taking the offered hand. “Bygones are bygones—got to take care of business. I ain’t no idiot, much as
I might sound like one.” For some reason Stone’s hackles went up at the words. They sounded out of character for the man,
revealing more self-analysis or awareness of his outward appearance than Stone would have thought him to have.

“And believe it or not, I know something about communications equipment. They had already started training me to be a corps
signalman, carrying radio pack and all. So if we can dig up any, then you got yourself a comm man.”

“Good, Bull,” Stone said. “I’m glad to see that you’re man enough to be beyond all that bullshit.” He knew the son of a bitch
was lying. And he knew Bull knew he knew…. But they smiled at each other like account execs at a cocktail party. Typical
communications between members of the human species.

“All right, then,” Stone said, slapping his hands together as if they were really getting somewhere. Then he remembered that
his father had often done mat and instantly stopped, sort of holding the hands out in midair, not quite knowing what to do
with them. “The first thing we’ll do is just what Bull said—dig up something. Let’s spread out and scout up what gear we can.
Look for big stuff, mobile artillery, armored vehicles. Even if it looks fucked up, make note. Then we can check it all out.
Try to find automatic weapons. I know there were some Steyr 5.56-mm assault rifles, that the general had just received—crates
of them. We’re going to need heavy-duty firepower, so forget anything small. Grenades, grenade launchers, hand-held rockets
would all be useful. Break up into groups of two-we’ll meet back here in half an hour. And keep your fucking eyes open, ’cause
there’s assholes shooting at anything that moves out there.”