Grantville Gazette Part 9

Frank grinned. "Yeah, he showed it to me. He was real proud of it. I'm glad you did that; Eddie's basically a good kid." Frank closed his eyes and tipped his head back a moment, thinking. "Your a.r.s.enal may be screwy, but most of what we've got is screwy, and the whole Ring of Fire is screwy. If you'd be willing to contribute some of it, it could make a huge difference in our war effort."

So here it was. Santee had to make up his mind now. He kind of liked Frank Jackson, and Mike Stearns had seemed competent during their brief meeting that afternoon, but he still didn't like the choices-come join their army and give them all his guns, or tell them to f.u.c.k themselves and go back and defend his cabin and guns by himself. He decided on compromise: give them some of his guns and help them out a little but stay independent. He'd long ago promised himself he wasn't going to take orders ever again, and that still held.

"I'll tell you what," he said slowly. "I'll do an inventory and see what I have that I don't need and you guys could use, and I'll let you know."

Frank looked deflated, but he said, "Thanks a lot. We'll appreciate any help you can give us."

They talked on for awhile, but it was getting late. Too late and too dark for Santee to walk back to his cabin, even if there hadn't been marauding Germans around. He warily accepted the spare bed Frank offered him for the night, but he left early the next morning and chewed over his choices all the way back.

It was a cold shock to see his front door half broken, hanging open on its hinges. Santee froze, then stepped silently back behind some brush, drew his .45, and listened intently. Nothing. From where he stood he could see tracks in the dirt, coming and then going-big odd-looking, flat footprints. Germans! Three of them, he decided; two tall and one short. He waited a long while, then flicked a pebble onto the porch. Nothing happened. Very quietly, very stealthily, he crept up on the porch and entered the cabin.

He was shocked at the devastation. It seemed as if everything that could be broken was broken, and everything loose was on the floor. Dishes, books, lamps, pieces of computer equipment, food. Even the stovepipe had been knocked loose, and greasy black soot had fallen all over the mess. A few papers rustled forlornly in the breeze from the open door. But he gave the scene in the front room only a glance. Sick with apprehension, he stepped quickly over the piles of debris and through the open side door into the spare room. The storage boxes there were dumped and things were thrown around, but the floor seemed unbroken. With a huge sigh of relief, he pushed aside an overturned box and flipped an almost invisible catch that released an almost invisible hatch cover in the floor... Thank G.o.d they hadn't found the guns!

Later, after he'd tacked up plastic sheeting over the broken door and windows, unearthed his futon from the mess to sleep on, and found enough food still intact for a cold supper, Santee was still shaking, but hot rage had turned into simmering anger. If I knew who did this I'd kill 'em-with my bare hands! Stealing his stuff would have been bad enough; trashing it was pure malice. But if the culprits had been a party of Germans, as seemed likely from their tracks, killing them bare-handed was a tall order for a little guy in his fifties with shrapnel in his hip. If they decided to come back, he'd have a tough time with them even if he was well armed, even if they didn't bring any friends along. And he'd have to stay up nights pulling his own sentry duty. And eat what? Most of his food stores had been trashed. They hadn't found his Jeep, but there were no roads he could take now to replenish any supplies...

Suddenly he realized just how alone he really was. He shook his head, almost in despair. He'd been wondering if he really needed to get involved with the people in Grantville. Obviously the choice had been made for him. G.o.dd.a.m.n it.

Santee found Frank Jackson again the next day, in the office that had been created for him in one of downtown Grantville's vacant buildings. "I told you I'd bring you a list of the guns I could spare for the army," Santee said, "but I've got a problem. Two problems."

"Shoot," Frank said.

Santee told him what had happened to his cabin.

"Oh, G.o.d," Frank said. "I was afraid that kind of thing might start happening. Single isolated cabins are just too tempting a target. Can we send a squad out to help you chase them down? We can spare..."

"No need," Santee interrupted, rather bitterly. "Much as I hate to have the decision made for me, I've decided I can't live out there any more. Not just dangerous; no way to get supplied. Got to move."

Frank looked sympathetic. "s.h.i.t. I'm sorry. Do you want me to see about finding you a place to stay here in town?" Santee nodded. "And will you have a lot of stuff to move?"

Santee fidgeted. "Well, that's the other problem. The personal stuff that I can salvage probably won't amount to much-two or three backpack loads ought to do it. But then there's the guns..." He fished out a rather crumpled handwritten list and handed it to Frank.

Frank quickly scanned the list. "Pretty impressive looking. I don't know half these names, though." He looked up at Santee. "You mean you're donating these to the army?"

"What the h.e.l.l else am I going to do with 'em? Can't sell 'em, can't shoot 'em all myself, sure as h.e.l.l can't eat 'em. Maybe your guys will go out and kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who trashed my cabin with 'em."

"This is quite a list. They're going to be a big help..." He stopped, seeing Santee's sardonic expression. "But first we've got to get them here, right?"

"Yep."

"How long do you think we have before the Germans find them first?"

"Oh, they're pretty well hidden. If the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds didn't find them when they tromped all through the cabin, I doubt if they're going to find them now. Unless we advertise they're there by making constant little trips carrying two guns at a time."

"Yeah, I see what you mean. Since we don't have to rush, let's think about how we can get them here more or less safely." Frank thought a moment. "Are you going to be around this afternoon, like three-thirty or four?"

"I could be."

"Good. I have to go to a meeting now, but why don't you come back then and I can spend more time with you?"

"Okay, I'll be here," Santee said. Busy man, he thought as he left, but he was real smooth in getting rid of me.

Santee was back a little before four, and Frank seemed more relaxed. He said, "I've found a place for you to stay, if you want it, a guest cottage a block from the big church. Small, but Ruth Tippett will be happy to let you use it. Her husband was a Korean veteran, and she told me to specifically say she'd be proud to have you."

Santee grinned at him. "Maybe she wouldn't be if she knew some of the s.h.i.t I pulled."

They talked briefly about the arrangements for Mrs. Tippett's cottage, and then Frank changed the subject. "Listen, I've been thinking. The army's growing. We've been getting more and more raw recruits in, and I mean raw-they don't even know how to stand in line. It would sure be a big help if we could find somebody with military experience who could show them the basics and..."

"No!" Santee snapped. "I can see where you're heading, and the answer is no! I appreciate the help finding a house and all, but I'm not going to be a G.o.dd.a.m.n training instructor for anybody. Keep me out of the f.u.c.king chain of command! Remember, when I was in the army I broke a colonel's jaw. And the last time I had a job, I was unloading a truck and the driver about run over me and I whupped his a.s.s. Big sucker, he was, and I'm a little s.h.i.t, so they believed me when I said he started it, but I still had to go. And the time before that... well, I made sergeant three different times. Never mind." He took a deep breath. "I guess I'm saying I'm not cut out for taking orders any more. I just get p.i.s.sed off when they turn stupid." He glared defiantly.

"Okay," Frank said in a flat tone, "message received."

Santee felt a little bad. "It's not that I don't want to help. Maybe I can do something else. Reload ammo or something. I do know guns-well, rifles and handguns anyway..." He trailed off.

"I'll think about it," Frank said.

A week later, Santee had settled into Mrs. Tippett's cottage and Frank dropped by with a proposal.

"Chief Weapons Scrounger? h.e.l.l of a t.i.tle," Santee said.

"Yeah, but we need one. Mike and I were talking. Lots of folks around here probably have hunting guns they aren't using. And there are the gun nuts, too; who knows what they have. Between them there'll be guns in all sorts of different calibers and conditions. So your job would be asking people for their spare weapons and then sorting them out, and the ammo too. We don't have an armorer or anything."

"Hmm," Santee said slowly. "You said this is an army job? Who would I report to?"

"Just me, if you want to call it reporting. No chain of command-let's just say Mike and I tell you the job we want done and you do it."

Santee closed his eyes and thought a long moment. "Okay. All right. I can do that." Have to do something; I'll go crazy here otherwise. "When would you want me to start? I still need to make one last trip to the cabin."

"You can start when you're ready," Frank said, looking relieved. "Welcome to the U.S. Army."

"I'll need some help if I'm going to scrounge weapons. Someone who knows the town, and maybe Eddie Cantrell; he seems sharp enough to pick up the job without a month of training."

"There's a map of the town on the wall at the hardware store. Or you might still be able to buy one for two bucks at the mayor's office if they still have any left. Eddie can help you, but we can't spare anyone else. All the adults around here are already trying to do a thousand things at once.

Santee sighed. "Okay. Pa.s.s the word, or give me a badge, or whatever."

"Will do. One thing though... you'll be dealing with civilians, ladies and such, and your language is... uh, colorful."

Santee tried to look prim. "Golly gosh, to think that one of our fighting soldiers might actually say naughty words."

Frank grinned at him. "Mike said, 'Tell him to keep it down in front of the ladies, but teach it to the youngsters. It's part of their military training.'"

"Well, that's one thing I'm expert enough to teach, anyhow."

"We hope you can talk people out of their 12-gauge pumps, and rifles in .308 and .30-06 and .223-those are going to be our standard military calibers. And if you can, spend some time teaching anyone who's rusty, or inherited something. Redistribute the nonstandard ammo as best you can; try to make sure everyone has at least a hundred rounds." Santee nodded. "And one last thing: Mike wanted me to emphasize that handing over their weapons is voluntary-really voluntary-and even if someone offers to give up their last gun, make sure they don't. We need armed civilians as much as an army, and the Second Amendment still stands."

"Absolutely! Couldn't agree more." At least these guys have the right idea. "Okay. I'll not only collect extra weapons, I'll try to make sure every house has at least one gun and some ammo and knows how to use it."

Two days later, after Santee's last trip to his cabin, they talked again. Frank had managed to scrounge up an extra map of Grantville somewhere. It was one of the full-sized maps the town had kept a few copies of in stock, and Santee was glad to get it. The detail was much better than on the computer-generated map he'd been using. Frank also said he'd talked to Eddie, who was proud to be the new a.s.sistant Weapons Scrounger.

Santee said he was ready to start the job tomorrow, after he rested. "I brought down the last of my stuff, plus two rifles, and I'm beat."

"Mrs. Tippett says, until we can get an armory, we can use her front room to store all the guns and ammo you round up. That should make things handy for you. I already know some people who have shotguns to contribute, and pretty soon I guess we're going to have to figure out how to get your guns down here."