The old forges loomed over Nick's spirits like the shadow of death. However much angst and suspense he had felt about getting "McFly"-ed and sent to overthrow a ruthless dictator was elevated considerably when he realized exactly how much he would have to sort through to get something that might not be worth all the time it took to find it. He looked over at Wolford, who seemed to be having the same thoughts as he stared up at the daunting stone buildings. Their broken, jagged spires stabbed the sky violently, tearing it apart in an attempt to grow ever taller. Burn marks and ash covered most of the stone, worn from heavy use. Primitive iron assembly lines were covered with a fox-colored rust. As Nick took in the building's interior, he felt a sense of respect for the animals that built it. It was, after all, very impressive for its time, and he couldn't fathom how many man-hours went into making this place an outlet for a holy war. These people were really dedicated to their religion. But he knew that, of course, because of the whole crusade situation. He looked to Robin, who had a nostalgic air about him. Guess he was more excited to come along than he let show; Nick had to spend a few minutes convincing him to join the gang. Turns out his convincing didn't really mean anything until he got Robin out of the tuxedo and into the robe he used to keep his cover while visiting Otto and the friar. Without his hooded robe, Nick found the tunic to be too breezy without undergarments and, since said undergarments were in short supply, he was forced to constantly make sure that he wasn't poking through anywhere.
"Holding up okay there?" he asked his ancestor.
Robin's eyes were taking in the whole structure, each new second slammed with a new reminiscence. "I…" he said, a bit weakly.
"Hey." Nick instinctively put his paw on Robin's shoulder. "What's going on?"
"I...I was an apprentice here," Robin responded. "Before I went off to the desert to fight in the war." He pointed to one of the lines. "That was where I worked most of the day, taking workable pieces of red steel and giving them to the blacksmiths. I watched them work as much as I could. Their methods were hypnotic, bringing their hammers down on the sword they wished to create, producing masterpieces that no one could see at the start." He sighed in a way that sounded a lot like he was pining for the old days. "Then I became a stable boy, grooming steeds during the day, training with my master well into the night. And now…" He gave another sigh that sounded like he was getting overwhelmed with memories and wishful thinking. "Well, you know what's happening now."
"Indeed we do," Wolford chipped in. "You're coming back and giving the crown back to the rightful ruler of England."
"Are you sure the note gave us no more than the general location of the cache?" Robin asked, turning to Nick.
"Unless there's some kind of Caesar cipher or a message written in invisible ink, no," Nick shook his head, making sure to leave the sarcasm out of what would usually be one of his more condescending comments. "Any ideas? Secret hiding places that are hard to get to? Easily overlooked areas?"
Robin paused, clearly thinking. "Well," he said slowly, after a few seconds of musing, "there was a door that many people never noticed. It was in the very back, at the wall on the opposite end of us. There." He pointed. "To the right."
Nick looked for the door. Yep. There it was, in all it's wooden, half-hinged, drooping glory. The only thing going through his head was, "And it hasn't turned into kindling...why?"
"That's the target?" Wolford asked him.
"Indeed," Robin confirmed.
"Well, let us go have a looksie, shall we?" Nick swaggered, his vulpine psychology commanding him to arrogantly and sarcastically stroll along through the ruins. Yep, just another walk in the park nine hundred years ago, searching for something to help them blow things up and rebel against the government.
Nothing unusual about that, right?
As Nick approached the door, he could hear something rustling inside. He drew his pistol, which he had been keeping inside his villager's boots, and made sure it was loaded before looking back at Wolford and doing the "cover me" look he had seen action heroes do a million times. Wolford nodded, unsheathing his own weapon and aiming it over Nick's shoulder to assist his ally. Nick tried to see what was inside, peering through the cracks in the door. He could see nothing. His plan "A" foiled, eh turned to Wolford, paw on the huge iron ring that served as the doorknob. With his pistol paw, he held up his fingers in a countdown.
One...Two….Three!
Nick ripped the door open and waited for something to attack him, but soon he realized that no living thing had made the noise. It was dark, indeed, but the only objects in sight were a large barrel and a metal crate, way too advanced to be medieval work.
"Well, guess we can safely say we found our drop point." Nick turned to Robin, impressed. "Nice. How'd you figure that one out?"
Robin shrugged. "Just a guess."
Nick heard Wolford give a snort of suspicion, as if to say, "Yeah, right." Nick ignored him, his attention focused on the mystery package. It looked like the lock on it wasn't just for show; someone definitely wanted to give them a bigger challenge. He looked around for a key or a crowbar, but no luck. With no other options, he inspected the crate itself. He checked on top of it, behind it. Nothing. Which meant their only hope would be checking underneath it. Not sure what was in it, he thought he might be able to lift it on his own. After all, it was their first drop; whoever was tugging their puppet strings was probably giving them an assortment of ugly Christmas sweaters. He grabbed hold of the bottom of the metal crate and lifted. The crate didn't budge. Nick tried again, this time squatting down and pushing against the ground in an attempt to put more force behind his movement. He felt the suddenly massive object lift a few inches off the dirt, but his muscles gave out and he was forced to jump back to avoid getting hurt.
"Looks like it's going to take a bit more than that to get it moving," Wolford pointed out the obvious.
"Do you need help?" Robin asked, his chivalrous nature as present as ever.
"Yeah, you grab the other end. Wolford, grab the side," Nick responded. They might not even need Wolford, but better safe than sorry. Plus, he would take some of the load off their shoulders. Nick re-assumed his position and waited for the other two to chip in. Once he felt they were ready, he said, "One, two, three, lift!"
The crate succumbed to the strength of the three grown renegades, now moderately heavy due to the distribution of labor. Nick found it was like heaving a backpack over his shoulder. He immediately began to solve the next problem: getting the three of them, crate in tow, out of the door.
"Turn to the right, you two," he said, acting as the pivot as he waited for them to complete their task. He felt the weight shift as they did. Whatever was in there was big, which only meant that it was worthless or priceless. Guess they'd find out. He checked the door and found that they would all fit easily. Good. That was one thing that had gone right today.
The trio set the crate down almost as soon as they got out of the small, dark room. As Nick wiped his brow, he could only wonder what their supplier could have sent. He wouldn't find out, though, until they attacked that lock and broke it off the container.
So...how were they going to beat a lock whose key was manufactured centuries in the future?
Nick turned to his allies. "Any suggestions?"
"We could gnaw on it," Robin offered.
"Maybe something a little easier," Wolford interjected. "And less damaging to our precious teeth." He took less than half a second to look around for, and find, an instrument of destruction. "There." He pointed to a rusty, jagged piece of metal sticking out of a pile of rubble twenty feet away. "We can use that as a lever and snap the lock off." He strutted up a jog and pried it loose from its bonds, holding it like a sword as he came back.
"All right, let's give it a try," Nick agreed. It was their best bet, after all. Probably best if they tried everything they could. If they didn't get this open, it would make life that much harder. He grabbed the rod to give Wolford some help, guiding it in between the bars that set the lock. With his device in position, Wolford braced the rod against the crate as he pushed the lock. Three seconds later, the lock had enough force exerted against it to the point of snapping off with a satisfying ching! The broken pieces clattered to the ground, useless now that Wolford had rendered them obsolete. Nick put his paw on the lid, motioning for Robin to grab the other side of it as Wolford got out of the way, looking on with the eagerness equal to that of a kid on Christmas. Nick nodded to Robin, and the two of them lifted, revealing the insides of their mystery crate.
It wasn't underwhelming: the first thing Nick saw was the massive .50-caliber special operations sniper rifle, new and shiny and waiting to be used. The next thing that caught his eye was the stack of body armor and magazines for said .50-caliber rifle. Next to the armor were two assault rifles, with spare magazines, and a note made from the same parchment as the friar's. Nick whistled, impressed. His mouth watered at the thought of using that 50. But first things first. Whatever that note said had to be important. He picked it up, nudging a magazine to clear his way, and read it out loud.
You three:
Frankly, if you missed this one, it's your fault. The friar knew about the clue, Robin knew about the room, Wolford knew about the rod. So Nick has some catching up to do. Have fun with that.
Body armor should stand up to everything this century can throw at you, save the cannons and explosives. Just make sure to be careful during swordplay. It sacrifices defense for free movement. Though some medieval leg armor wouldn't be a bad idea.
The rifles are standard issue for SWAT teams, so the two cops shouldn't have a problem using them.
Feel free to use the .50-caliber any time you want. Just remember that it makes a really loud noise and that you'll want to use the earplugs that have been provided. They're under the weapon itself.
One last disclaimer: these rounds are not real bullets. They're training rounds with a little kick to them. They splatter blood red paint on their targets and pierce the skin just enough to introduce a knockout serum into the target's bloodstream. They're not real bullets because Robin hates the idea of killing, but it has to look like the enemy's died. Hence the red paint and knockout serum.
Enjoy the toys, kids. But be warned: once all the bullets have been fired, that's it. No free refills.
Use it all wisely. The fate of the world literally rests in your paws.
Nick sighed, a little agitated, but at the same time anxious to feel the kick of the .50 against his shoulder. "Guess we'll wait for tomorrow to get whatever else they're sending us. But in the meantime…" The massive ballistics weapon snagged his eye again. "Let's cause some chaos, shall we?"
Robin held his paws up. "Hold on now," he said, a little hesitant to use their care package. "We still have no plan to use these."
"Actually," Wolford interjected, "I think we do." There were a few seconds of silence, then Nick realized Wolford wanted him to take his focus off the sniper and take part in the conversation. He broke eye contact with the weapon and looked at Wolford. "Elaborate, would you?" he asked the wolf.
"We were talking about using witchcraft as a cover for this superior weaponry thing, right?" he said, raising up his paw in the same way he had before. "This whole idea?"
Nick remembered the plan, and began working it out in its head. "Yeah! We approach Prince John, tell him to step off, and when he doesn't…"
"One of us uses the big thing to make a noise and trick Prince John and his men into thinking whoever raised their paw is a wizard."
Hold on. Did Robin just say what Nick thought he said? He turned to his ancestor, eyes wide and brows scrunched in confusion. "How'd you know how this thing works?"
Robin shrugged. "Looks like a cannon. Probably works the same way, right?"
Nick nodded, still a little amazed. "Yeah. That's right."
"Well, that only leaves one question," Wolford pointed out. "Which one of us gets to hide in the trees?"
Nick mused, thinking about it as he spoke. "Well, they don't really know how each of us operates, so whoever's playing the wizard has to be about as mysterious and vague as possible. What's more is we need a good marksman to pick off threats if it all goes south. Since I'm better at personas and you're better at target practice, I hate to say it, but I think you're the best fit for taking this baby on a joyride."
Wolford nodded. "Fair enough. Don't say I don't envy you, though. These things can hurt when they kick."
"So where does that leave me?" Robin asked, sounding a little left out.
Nick chortled, a genius idea coming to his head. "Well, that's the fun bit," he started, still not able to get himself to stop chuckling. "You get to come with me. See, I just got the best idea."
"And what idea is that?" Robin asked, brow raised suspiciously.
"It's a surprise," Nick replied. "But, oh, you're going to love it."
Robin nodded slowly. "Okay, I believe you, but should I take my bow just in case?"
Wolford broke into laughter. Nick didn't get the joke, if there even was one. "What's got you off?"
"Oh, bloody—" Wolford got ahold of himself, wiping a tear from his eye. "There's a sniper rifle and two assault rifles. What do we need a bow for?"
"Wolford," Nick said flatly. "Wolford. He has no experience with carbines. We might as well be giving a credit card to a three-year-old."
"It's not that difficult," Wolford laughed. "Same principle. Point and shoot, just with more ammo."
"You're not accounting for reliable aiming and sight adjusting, recoil, reloading, handling a jammed gun properly, appropriate stance…" Nick let his list trail off because he was running out of ideas, but his point still stood.
Robin jumped in. "I'm more comfortable with a bow and quiver in any case. It's like my flesh and blood."
Wolford shrugged, his idea shot down. "All right," he shrugged. "Whatever. I guess I'll take that second AR too."
Nick grabbed one of the body armor chestplates and tossed it to Robin. "Wolfie, help him out with that," he instructed, taking another for himself. He had kind of been hoping for some undies, but body armor always had that crotch flap, so he was counting on that to decrease the chance that he was going to suffer a wardrobe malfunction. The armor went on pretty easily, but it was still kind of an inhibitor for free movement. Putting on ten pounds of weight in approximately three seconds was a major change, and he could already feel it pressing on his rib cage, forcing him to work harder each time he took a breath. Robin seemed to be doing just as well.
"I..Is this...normal for you?" he heaved, muzzle rife with fatigue.
"Thankfully...no," Nick replied, just as pressed for words as his blood relative. "This is...only f..for special units." The vest was becoming a little more natural, and he found his words easier to form. "Turns out...whew...we weren't really prepared...huh...for this, were we?" He threw his arms around and spun his head to get loose and further his comfort with his old encumberment. "That's a little better. Not like I have to do a lot to keep myself from getting pulled to the ground by gravity. Just go ahead and loosen up, Rob. Nothing to it."
Robin hesitated, then mimicked Nick, shaking his arms and rotating his head until he looked completely unhindered. "You're right," he remarked, looking down at the armor. "It's not as bad now."
"All right, then," Wolford said. "Let's go back into town then."
Nick felt a surge of adrenaline as he clapped Robin on the tunic-clad shoulder. "Ready for your first special operation assignment?"
Robin looked at him as if he was speaking Swahili. Nick shook his head.
"It's a 21st-century thing," he explained. "Just tell us where the castle is."
Nick wasn't very surprised to see the reactions he was seeing. Everyone was keeping their distance and watching him and his mysterious hooded companion, the undead archer formerly known as Robin of Locksley, as they made their way towards the castle of Prince John. The rifle felt really nice in his paws; the armor combined with it to make for a satisfying sensation of male domination. As much as he hated being phallocentric, it was nice to be holding a big gun. Robin, however, seemed just as pleased to have his bow and arrow hidden underneath his cloak. It was surprisingly hard to spot, considering it reached from his head to his crotch. Nick wasn't about to question it, though, because as long as it worked, they were in the clear.
"Are you sure this is the right way for me to re-enter Nottingham?" Robin whispered uncertainly.
"Look," Nick replied, "this way, it makes me look like a super-powerful wizard, right? Raising the dead and all that? Plus, when Wolford demonstrates the power of that rifle, there won't be any objections to our…'supernatural powers.'" Nick used air quotes to accentuate his exaggeration of "supernatural." Robin didn't get it.
"What does this mean?" he asked, cocking his head in curiosity and mimicking Nick's paw movement.
"It means I don't actually mean we have supernatural powers. When you do it, you're letting people know you're not serious about whatever you're saying."
Wolford, apparently, thought he could help out by providing an example. "Like this: 'he "helps" us with the heavy lifting.'"
Robin nodded. "Ah. I understand it now."
"Now," Nick said, a little louder than normal. "Let's scare the cowardly lion, shall we?"