Chapter Ten: And Oft From the Scantiest of Materials...
Friday, October 31, 1997: Sheffield Drive near Dahlia Street, Sunnydale, Evening –
Iron Fist was not having a very good night. For one thing, he was in the fight of his life. For another, he was barely holding his own. Actually... he was barely managing to stay alive, much less hold his own.
Immortal Gods of K'un-L'un. He didn't remember Sabretooth being this deadly the previous time he'd tangled with him, in the museum when Creed had been partnered with the Constrictor. Or the time after that, in the Savage Land. Or any of the other two times...
Obviously, the man had been working out. And training. And eating his ferocity pills...
Once more, he narrowly dodged a swipe of a massive set of claws. Once more, he converted the movement into a side kick that landed in the mutant's midsection. In theory, at least. In practice... Creed almost contemptuously slapped the foot to one side and retaliated with a back handed swipe that did connect with Iron Fist's chest, and sent him flying to sprawl on the grass of a lawn ten feet away.
Grinning maliciously, Creed shivered all over and bounded at the fallen Iron Fist like a hairy, fanged rubber ball.
Rolling to one side so that the pounce narrowly missed him, Iron Fist once more painfully flipped himself to his feet. He'd feel a lot better about the maneuver, however narrow of a margin it had succeeded by, if he didn't think that Creed was just playing with him.
If he could just catch his breath, things might be different. The first slamming impact against the street had left him bruised, aching, and winded, and Sabretooth had never once left him a moment's respite to recover from it. By now, Iron Fist was running almost solely on reflexes, training and instinct, and sheer nerve.
It was a testimony to the intensiveness of the training given to acolytes in K'un-L'un and to Iron Fist's mastery of the skills and disciplines involved that those skills were keeping him alive and so far unscathed. Even if he couldn't manage to take the initiative.
A slash of claws streaked toward his face and Iron Fist bent backwards, leaning away from the strike. He succeeded. Mostly. The tips of the claws left a pair of parallel burning slices across his chin. Not deep, but painful, and debilitating if he acquired enough of them.
Iron Fist turned the lean into a backward arch that put his hands flat on the ground and he brought his legs up, doubled, and straightened them like an uncoiling spring. His twin heels caught Creed under the chin, snapping his head back and sending chips of broken teeth flying. He continued the movement into a hand over cartwheel and landed on his feet breathing heavily, as Sabretooth shook off the impact and launched himself back at his adversary.
If he could only get a moment's respite, he could call upon the power that was his namesake, and end this, as he had done before.
It was a moment that Sabretooth clearly didn't intend to give him.
A fist full of talons skimmed across the top of Iron Fist's mask as he ducked under the blow. He lunged in himself, driving a flurry of hammer blows, right and left alternating, into the huge mutant's midsection. It was like hitting a wall of rubbery iron.
That was the major part of the problem.
Victor Creed was seven foot of solid muscle, sinew, and whalebone, and in superb physical condition. Additionally, he was super-humanly strong, far stronger than Iron Fist, and almost supernaturally fast. Not too much faster than Fist, but it was taking all of the merely human warrior's skill and concentration and awareness to anticipate the movements and stay ahead of them. Plus... Creed had an intensive healing factor. He regenerated from injuries almost as fast as he received them, all but the deepest and most debilitating.
Crushing blows and strikes from hands and feet, he absorbed like Fist was striking at a semi's tire.
Abruptly, Creed threw back his head and yowled, howling in near agony. Iron Fist staggered back as the huge mutant spun on his heel and threw a savage back handed blow at something behind him.
The something was five foot seven inches of mocha skinned girl. Five foot seven inches of girl who had just slashed Sabretooth open along and across the length of his back with the tip of a short sword...
And Victor Creed was not happy.
The back hand blow struck empty air. The girl threw herself under it into a forward roll, coming back onto her feet just past the huge mutant. The sword arced downward and back, slashing across the back of Creed's thigh.
It would have hamstrung him if not for the mutant's almost preternatural sense for danger. Creed yanked the leg out of the way just enough that the sword tip scored him deeply, but missed the tendon.
The return strike was vicious, and it also struck only where the girl had just been.
She came up to a stance, rolling back to her feet even with Iron Fist and about ten feet away to his right.
"Thanks," Fist gasped, "Don't... know... where you came from... but... thanks." Oh, dear gods but the moment's pause to breathe was welcome.
The dark skinned girl threw him a sidelong glance from dark, almond shaped eyes. "Fight now," she said, "Talk later."
Good advice. Iron Fist had every intention of taking it.
"Huh. Another frail," Creed said. "After I've finished whoever this is, you an' me are gonna have some fun, babe. You'll love it – to death."
"You... know who I am, Creed," Iron Fist said. "Iron Fist."
"Naw. You're some idiot freak in an Iron Fist suit," Creed said, snarling, "But you ain't little Danny Rand."
The huge mutant launched himself back at them, and Iron Fist took the girl's advice. Fight now and live. Talk after. Iron Fist got an arm up and used a windmill block to redirect a hand strike, spinning away from the expected followup as the girl lunged in with her sword.
The clawed strike had been partly a feint. The follow up strike never came. Instead, Creed spun on his trailing foot and backhanded the girl across the face, sending her sprawling. Iron Fist more than half expected to hear the sickening crack of a breaking neck – the blow had had that much force behind it. Creed used the momentum of the blow to continue the spin, coming out of it in a lunge directly for Iron Fist, one clawed hand going back for a killing stroke –
– and the lid of a metal trash can, thrown like a discus, hit with a metallic whang off the side of Creed's head and ricocheted away.
Iron Fist took advantage of the big man's momentary wince and the breaking of his stride to leap to one side. The wince had been mostly startlement: Creed hadn't actually been injured...
"Hey! Ugly!" Aura yelled, "Leave my friend alone!"
Creed rounded on her, snarling. "They're dead. You're gonna wish you were by the time I'm done with ya." His eyes widened slightly, and he dropped to all fours as another trash can lid sailed at his face.
Then, Creed screamed again as the dark skinned girl came up from behind and ran her sword through his body. The blow and the agony of it arched him back, throwing her off as he whirled, one clawed hand coming around to slash across her mid section. She went sprawling, slashed and bloody, the sword coming out and away to fall to the grass as it fell from her hand.
The fact that she had been already leaping back at the time was probably the only thing that saved her from disembowelment.
Creed rumbled deep within his chest, and began to move in to finish her, only to pull up abruptly.
There was a pale, dead looking red headed girl standing between him and the fallen mocha skinned girl, eying him curiously with her head cocked to one side.
Creed snarled and slashed his clawed hand at her in a swipe that should have disemboweled her where she stood. It didn't land.
Instead, it passed straight through her as if she wasn't there, and the momentum of the blow turned Sabretooth half way round, with an almost comical look on his face.
"You are boorish, and rude," the girl said. "But I'm not bored now."
"Another one like that friggin' Shadowcat the runt hangs out with," Creed said, rounding on her. The mocha skinned girl groaned, and rolled over, starting to work a hand up under her and trying to force herself up.
Iron Fist charged in, his right hand coming back and cocked for a blow. He didn't shout or waste energy on words. Nor did he do anything to warn his opponent...
He had used the brief moments of inattention to reach deeply within himself for the power that truly made him a force to be reckoned with in his world. Daniel Rand-K'ai – the Dragon of K'un-L'un...
The power of the molten heart of the Celestial Dragon Shou-Lao: the power of the Iron Fist.
Daniel Rand's right hand came around as he stepped in, already glowing like a meteor, and trailing a glowing line of red gold energy behind it. It left after images on the retinas of anyone watching as it connected with the mid section of the huge, Leonid beast man just as Creed swung around to deal with the approaching martial artist –
And hit with the sound of a thunderclap and the impact of a freight train.
It struck and doubled the mutant over, and sent him sailing back, up, and away from the strike. Iron Fist had, to pardon the turn of phrase, not pulled his punches in the least bit. The round house strike sent Victor Creed broken and tumbling, up and over the roof of the single story ranch home across the street, and away out of sight.
He was probably unconscious before he ever hit the ground, nearly a half a block away.
Daniel Rand dropped to his knees, breathing heavily as the glow faded from around his right hand, with dark spots shimmering before his vision. Out on his feet, and nearly unconscious.
The power of the Iron Fist was a deeply draining thing to use...
From over to one side and somewhat behind them, he heard a female voice say in almost a tone of awe, "Wow. Holy fuck."
Friday, October 31, 1997: Imojin Parkway near 4th Avenue, Sunnydale, Evening 6:00pm –
"Ok, so we're waiting here why again?"
The girl's voice had a definite edge of a whine to it this time. First Sergeant Benjy (Beverly or Bev) Sheridan, Tech-Comm, First Sunnydale Irregulars of the Central North American Resistance Command, strenuously resisted the urge to strangle her sometimes friend Cassie Dunleavy, aka Private Hotstuff. Or at least slap the living snot out of her...
"Because," Sergeant Benjy said, patiently (more or less) setting out to explain once more and yet again. "Orders, dimwit. (Ok, so maybe not so patient) It's what the Tech-Sergeant said to do." She pointed up above the heads of their little group. "Streetlight. The Tech-sergeant said that if we got separated from him, to find a streetlight and wait until he sees we're gone and comes for us."
And they were about as separated as they could get, she reflected.
Private Hotstuff scowled at her, starting to sniffle. "I was just asking," she said, "You don't have to call me names. Meanie."
Jeeze. Sergeant Benjy resisted the urge to bury her face in her arms and start sniffling herself. She didn't think it would help. Besides, it was bound to be bad for morale... what little morale they had.
She wondered if it was easier to lead troops when they weren't all eight, nine, ten, or eleven years old...
Probably not.
"I don't think that the Uniform Code of Military Justice allows for Command Sergeants to call troopers mean names," her other sometimes friend, or at least classmate, Simone Deveaux aka Private General Sherman aka General Destruction said.
Sergeant Benjy stared at her. That sounded about as little like spoiled Simone as it was possible to get. The other girl stared back, giving a slightly apologetic looking shrug. "I'm just saying, is all," she added.
"She's right," Corporal Bucky, aka Johnny Smith, another classmate said.
"They do in all the war movies," Sergeant Benjy said. "And hey, what is this, a mutiny?"
"I think you can only have a mutiny at sea," Private Admiral Mayhem, also known in her off time as Bobbie Phillips, an eleven year old from a her own grade level and Simone's half sister said, "I think."
Beverly sighed. "Ok," she said. She looked at Private Hotstuff with a serious expression, and said, "I'm sorry. I won't call you names any more."
"Ok," the other kid said, looking suddenly a lot more cheerful.
And, sigh again. First Sergeant Benjy had been having a great time, earlier. Sure, they were just playing at being soldiers, but hey: it had been fun. And Tech-sergeant Hicks (whose real name was Xander, he'd said, but he was Hicks tonight) had been loads of fun, too. And funny. He'd even gotten the kids who hadn't seemed enthused about being soldiers into the spirit of things.
And then, all of a sudden, it had gotten cold. And that weird glow had surrounded Tech-sergeant Hicks, and he'd started spitting out sparks and coils of energy like in some sci-fi show, and all of them had scrambled back wide eyed.
And then he'd disappeared. Just... vanished. Thin air. Poof! or more like, zorch! But still... wow.
And then everything had gotten really weird. She meant, really. Like that wasn't weird enough... And speaking of weird... Private Benjy looked at Claire Bennett, aka Private Pooka, an eight year old from a class or so behind hers.
Looked up at Claire Bennett, who was now suddenly no longer a regular sized eight year old, but around eight freaking inches or so tall, and glowing. And currently hovering around three feet off the ground because her gauzy little fairy wings were blurring and looking awful real, too.
All of the weapons were real now, too, just like Saavik's tricorder. She'd checked. Private Treasure had a real revolver and bullwhip. And Private Pirate Roberts, Private Pirate Gwendolyn, and Private Swashbuckler Brigitte's 18th century style pistols were too, and didn't seem to need to be reloaded. Likewise for Private Lady d'Artagnan's musket. Which just wasn't right: Beverly's dad was into black powder shooting, and she knew that cap-lock pistols were one shot onlies. The rifled muskets were Hawken Rifles too, but Benjy figured that was the least of the weird, and overlooked it. (The owners didn't seem to notice) The swords were real, too, and Lady Robin's bow (which she'd demonstrated she could use like the real Robin Hood) was a real bow now, with real arrows, and Bucky's .45 auto.
Which meant Private Dread Pirate Roberts had really shot were-Tommy with a real bullet.
And that made it all kind of serious, and not fun any more, and all of the other kids – including Private Pooka, Private Kitty Kat, and Private Devila, were looking at her like she was supposed to pull a miracle out of her ass. Butt. Behind. Whatever.
Like she was in charge or something.
Oh wait. Tech-Sergeant Xander had left her in charge. Crap.
And she had twenty-six, plus one tiny pixie, out of what had briefly been thirty odd plus kids, to take care of. Some of whom were now very odd kids...
"I really don't think the Tech-sergeant is coming to look for us," Corporal Bucky said.
"I'm hungry," Private Kitty Kat said. "And bored." She was looking up with fascination at the hovering, bobbing Private Pooka, with the tip of her tail twitching like she was thinking about pouncing and batting at the diminutive Claire. Or snagging her out of mid air and eating her.
Apparently, Private Pooka Bell thought so too, for she shot up several feet and a few feet farther away, and folded her arms across her chest and glared down at Private Kitty Kat.
"And I have to use the bathroom," Third Squad's Pvt Sergeant Cookie (ten year old Laurie Strode) said.
Sigh. First Sergeant Benjy wondered if bigger kids had problems like this. Maybe it got easier when you were an actual teenager.
"All right," she said, standing up. Beverly reached way down deep inside of herself to the buried memories of every single war movie she'd ever seen going all the way back to when she was a little kid and couldn't even spell war movie, figuratively pulled on her big sergeant panties, and came to a decision. "All right!" First Sergeant Benjy said, again. Eyes all around snapped to her, most of them looking either hopeful or curious. "Ok, look, Johnny," she said, looking at Corporal Bucky, her nominal second in command.
"Bucky," he said. "It's Bucky. Not Johnny. Corporal Bucky Barnes, formerly Private First Class Bucky Barnes."
Bev looked at him harder. He didn't seem to be kidding. Bucky gave a kind of an apologetic little shrug, but looked stubborn about the whole thing. "Of course it is," First Sergeant Benjy said, nodding. "Corporal Bucky." She sighed. "All right!" she repeated. "We," she gestured at Bucky, "Have come to the conclusion that Tech-Sergeant Hicks isn't coming back for us, and we're on our own now."
"Aww, crap," Kit Holburn, aka Private Lady Robin Hood, said. "I was afraid of that." Misty nodded, her eyes big and scared looking.
"What are we gonna do?" someone else wailed. Sergeant Benjy wasn't real sure who...
"We," Sergeant Benjy stated, "Are gonna complete our mission."
"But I do not wish to forage any longer," Private Princess Wicked said. She stamped her foot. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I am surrounded by all of you low people and these... " she gestured at Private Kitty, Private Pooka, and Private Devila, "Things, and I wish to go back to my estates."
"Hey! I'm not a thing, Princess Stuck Up," Private Devila said, almost growling it. Oh, gods, were her eyes glowing? "I'm a demon from a long and royal line of Demon Princes and Princesses. So... bite me."
"Oh yeah?" Princess Stuck Up, err, Private Princess Wicked stepped forward, glowering down from her extra two inches of height at the red dressed (and red skinned now) girl.
A shrill whistle cut across the impending brawl as Bev stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out her best and shrillest blast. "Aw right, time out, neutral freaking corners," she yelled. "Knock that the heck off."
"Why?" both of them said, nearly in unison, staring at her.
"Because," First Sergeant Benjy said, stalking up to them. She drew herself up to her full (not very impressive, she was a fairly short, skinny eleven year old fifth grader) four foot four (and one half) inch height, and glared up at both of the two taller girls. Or whatever they were. "I said so. And if I have to, I will violate the freaking US Code of Military Whatevertheheck it is and knock both of your freaking heads together until you decide to cooperate with each other and the rest of us. GOT IT?"
The last two words were delivered at full volume in the very best Drill Instructor voice Bev could steal from somewhere, anywhere.
She really hoped neither of the two taller girls were gonna call her on it.
Gulp. "Got it."
"Got it."
"Good."
All of the other kids were now looking at her wide eyed, and several of them looked either impressed, or half afraid of her. She figured she could live with both of those, at least until they got back to the High School. Heh. Private Kitty Kat was looking not only impressed, but half in love, with a huge Cheshire Cat grin on her face.
"Aw right, listen up, darn it," Sergeant Benjy said, glaring around at everyone. "We are no longer a Foraging Unit. Our Mission now is to get back to Base so that Command can take over this, uh, cluster heck. Any questions?"
"Yeah, how do I get out of this chicken crap outfit?" someone called out, Bev couldn't see who... no matter, the comment brought out a gust of laughter and a general release of tension and nerves.
Corporal Bucky looked at her, grinning, and spread his hands. "You did ask," he said.
"Teach me, won't it?" Bev said, grinning back at him. "Ok, any other questions?"
Private General Sherman, Private Admiral Mayhem, and Private First Class Captain Maverick, uh... whom she thought was really named Chris something, uh, Castille, that was it, all raised their hands.
"Yeah?"
"Um, we don't want our heads knocked together," Private General Sherman said, "But we were wondering: why exactly are you in charge again?"
"Because... " Sergeant Benjy paused, thinking real hard. Wow. An opportunity to pass this off on someone else... no. Half, or more than half, going by the way they were acting, of these kids had something strange going on that made them not quite themselves. She didn't know what, but it was there, and not just in three or four who were suddenly not people kids any more. Like glowing faerie Private Pooka.
She wasn't sure, but she didn't think she could trust them to not do something bizarre, weird, or dangerous to everyone else. And, she also wasn't sure, but she thought she might just be the only one here aside from Private Misty Pantine who knew who she was. Which meant... crap. Which meant she was the almost the only one who knew where they were going, even, and why. And Misty was a ditz, which meant...
"Because. Tech-Sergeant Hicks put me in charge when he promoted me to Squad First Sergeant of this Foragers Group," Beverly said, "And until he or someone else who outranks him tells me otherwise, I'm stuck with it. Problem?"
Private General Sherman and Private First Class Captain Maverick looked at each other, shrugged, and nodded. "Guess not. Just wondering."
"I do have another question, though," Private Admiral Mayhem said. And, case in point: Bev didn't remember Bobbie Phillips ever having an upper class British accent before, or showing any sign of being able to fake one convincingly. "Doesn't an Admiral outrank a Sergeant First Class?"
"Well, yeah, normally," Beverly said, nodding. She stepped up to the taller girl, but not in a threatening manner. "On a ship. Do you see a ship, or any ocean where we're at?"
"Umm. No, I'm afraid not," the other girl said. She grinned suddenly. "All right then. Carry on, ma'am."
"I still have to use the bathroom," Third Squad's Private Sergeant Cookie said.
"Umm... " Bev looked around them. Sheesh. Heck of a place for that to come up. "Can you hold it for awhile?"
"But... I've been holding it!"
Crap. Sergeant Benjy looked around them. Ok, houses on one side of the Parkway, which didn't seem like a great idea, all things considered. And the dark expanse of a section of Breaker's Wood on the other side, the side they were on. Ulp. Or possibly someone's estate grounds. Weren't those the areas where the Chase's and the Breckenridge's lived?
Bucky pointed at a clump of shrubs about twenty feet away, and said, "On bivouac, I think you're going to have to rough it."
"Eeewww!"
"Jeeze," Bucky said, rolling his eyes, "How did you ever make it through Basic, Private?"
"We had latrines!"
"Well, we're fresh out of anything to dig with," Sergeant Benjy said. "So, either hold it for now, or... " she shrugged.
"Crap." Private Sergeant Cookie said, "All right." With a martyred expression, she started to trudge toward the bushes.
"Wait!" Benjy had a sudden thought. They never did see where the other dangerous kids and things ran off to... and not so long ago, there had been a lot of roaring and screaming and what sounded like a serious fight from back up the direction they came from. Cookie looked back at her, scowling, and Benjy pointed at Private Pirate Roberts, Pvt Brigitte the Lady Swashbuckler, and Private Pirate Gwendolyn and said, "You three go with her and keep your weapons ready. And you, Roberts – don't peek."
The three of them trudged off, and Benjy sighed. One more command decision done with. "And anyone else that has to go, we'll take turns." A lot of the kids looked at the dark expanse of trees and shrubs, and shivered. No one volunteered.
"I'm still hungry," Private Kitty Kat said. "But I'm not bored any more."
"Well, if you eat Private Pooka, I'll- I'll, uh, be really mad at you," Beverly said. The cat girl grinned back at her, and nodded. "We'll get something to eat as soon as we can. Don't you have any candy left?"
"Lost my candy thing," Private Kitty Kat said, shrugging. Which made sense, a lot of them had in that first screaming run from glowing dragon guy. There were probably bags of candy scattered from part way to here all the way back to Sheffield.
"All right. That's taken care of." Bev nodded, and then looked back at her little group of command dissenters. Struck by an inspiration, she impulsively made what was to prove to be the first in a very long line of executive command decisions.
"All right," she said again. "Corporal Bucky – you're now my Staff Corporal and XO. Private Hotstuff? You're now Private Corporal Hotstuff. You have First Squad, under me. Private General Sherman?" The other girl snapped to and looked attentive and inquiring. "You're second in command of First under PC Hotstuff, if you think you can handle it."
"Ma'am! Can do, ma'am," Private General Sherman snapped Bev a very crisp looking salute.
"Private Admiral Mayhem," Bev said, falling completely into her First Sergeant Benjy role now, "You have Second Squad, under Bucky. Appoint yerself a second as your first command decision, and fall to it."
"Yes, ma'am!" Mayhem stepped back, blinking and looking suddenly thoughtful.
"'Kay, now: Private Maxie!"
"Yes'm," the WAC dressed girl said, snapping a salute.
"You're now Private First Class Maxie, and you have Second in Third Squad under Private Sergeant Cookie, got it?" the girl nodded, suddenly wide eyed, and First Sergeant Benjy nodded in satisfaction. That got most of her actual military kids into positions of leadership and responsibility...
"Hey, lookit that!" Corporal Bucky said, pointing.
Huh. Sergeant Benjy blinked, stared, blinked again, and stared some more. She resisted an urge to rub her eyes.
Private Incantasia (Susan Silverman from her own squad) and Private Goth Witch Glenda (Second squad's Beverly Barlowe) were off to one side giggling and making sparklies with their hands and fingers. What made Bev stare and blink was... they didn't seem to have anything to make sparklies with. Shrugging and shaking her head, she wandered over, Corporal Bucky trailing alongside.
"Hey, whatcha doing?" Bev asked, as casually as she could.
"Making magic!" Incantasia said, her eyes wide and excited. Glenda nodded enthusiastically.
"Wow. You can, uh, do real magic?" Bucky asked, blinking. He looked like he was having as boggled a mind as Bev was.
"I guess so," Glenda said, shrugging. "We just now thought about it and decided to try."
"Huh." Beverly and Bucky exchanged wondering looks, and then significant ones. "Well, I guess it's not any stranger than foot tall glowing pixies," Bucky said.
"Giving me some ideas," Benjy said. "When bathroom break is over, let's get everyone in a huddle and check a few things out, and then I wanna do some reorganizing and get this wagon train on the road."
Real weapons from fake ones, real Pixies, demons, and cat girls from costumes, and now real magic from pretend magic. Suddenly, things were looking interesting...
Ok. So things had gotten serious on them. Time to get serious on their own in return, then. Beverly, aka First Sergeant Benjy of the First Sunnydale Irregulars decided then and there that she was going to get this group back to Sunnydale High School one way or another, whatever she had to do to do it. She'd been put in charge, and she was not going to let Tech-sergeant Xander down.
No matter what had happened to him. She really hoped he was ok.
Quick personal inventory time. Her smaller Scout canteen was on her web belt. She had, in her fanny pack: emergency cash left over from her birthday money, some assorted change, her girl scout compass, a scrape-able metal-match thing, a Zippo, some light cord in a coil, a spool of braided 50lb test fishing line, some wire leader, a quarter roll of duct tape (which holds the Universe together), a small SOG multi-tool, a full blown "Champ" 17 tool Swiss Army knife, and her Old Timer three blade Scout jack knife. For serious cutting jobs, where you didn't want a blade folding or a knife slipping, she had a small, half edged, half serrated Ken Onion Kershaw folder clipped inside her jumper's pant's pocket. Plus, there were a few candy bars and granola bars she'd tucked away from her Trick-or-treat goodies, a mini-maglite with extra batteries, a sixteen ounce Coke, her Sony Walkman, and...
Reaching back into her fanny pack, she took out a contraption made of spring steel and dual twin lines of extra heavy duty surgical tubing with a moulded neoprene grip at one end and a moulded, grommeted neoprene pouch at the other, and began to unfold it and assemble it. She took out the stabilizers and screwed them in, and adjusted the wrist brace to length, carefully checking the tubing for cracks or wear.
Benjy nodded in satisfaction, loading the pouch with a marble, and doing a test draw back to her ear to check the sight... Ok, so it wasn't a gun or a sword. It was a Barnett Magnum Pro hunter slingshot – a wrist rocket – with forward extended forks and heavy weight extended tubing. But a steel ball bearing or a glass marble at the velocities that a magnum wrist rocket could deliver them at... definitely wouldn't do any hostiles any real good.
At full draw, the Barnett Magnum Pro could put a half inch hole all the way through a three pound steel coffee can at twenty-five yards. What it might do to a skull probably didn't bear thinking about...
She might not be big or tall, but after four and a half years now of constant near every day shooting, she was seriously wiry in the arms, wrists, and shoulders, and had a grip like a C-clamp.
And First Sergeant Beverly Sheridan, aka Sergeant Benjy, a long time tomboy, was real darned good with a wrist rocket. She had lots of marbles and ball bearings in her fanny pack and in her two web belt pouches. And there were always rocks...
Play time's over, huh?
No problem.
.
