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this close to the rim of the cliff to see the buildings below. The baron had
small hope of spotting the hated outlanders, but Allison was standing in the
aft turret, ready to unleash the 25 mm cannon at the first sight of Ryan or
the others.
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The heat of the rising sun hadn't yet turned the desert into an oven, and the
baron had the top hatch raised to admit a pleasant breeze into the war wag.
The smell of hot metal, oil, diesel fumes and sweaty bodies had been making
the interior of the APC almost unbearable, and he now bitterly regretted
ripping out the air conditioner to save fuel. The baron had no idea how the
Trader could stand the reek of humanity for those long treks across the
nukescape.
In tumbling majesty, the dying city was spread out to the left, the light of
the fires fading in the sunlight, but during the night the sky had glowed from
the reflected flames. Entire blocks had been reduced to blackened skeletons of
twisted steel from the raging fires. Smaller structures were ablaze, filled
with flames that occasionally exploded, throwing out a spray of burning
debris.
Lines of cars were burning, like knots in a fuse, until the flames reached a
preDark gas station and created new detonations, fireballs rising into the sky
and fading away long before the sound of their creation echoed to the distant
observers.
The sheer waste of the precious materials was a knife in his gut, but the man
accepted the loss and concentrated on trying to steal what he could before the
rest of the city was consumed by the growing conflagration.
Reaching for the water bag, the baron turned his head for a moment when a
descending buzzard jerked his attention back to the metropolis below. What was
it?
Slamming on the brakes, Gaza downshifted until the wag slowed to a shuddering
halt. Almost immediately, the dust cloud in its wake washed over the vehicle,
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blocking out the world for a few moments.
Turning in the navigator seat, Kathleen silently asked her husband what was
happening. Gaza ignored the woman and, grabbing hold of the overhead hatch,
pulled himself from the driver's seat and climbed down the angled hull of the
APC to rush to the crumbling edge of the cliff.
Partially blocked by the smoke, he saw a parking lot about a block in filled
with military vehicles 4X4 trucks, Hummers, a lone LAV 25 and several huge
tanks. It was a convoy of some sort, stopped for lunch or fuel, and caught in
the salt fall to never move again. Until now. The machines looked in perfect
condition from this distance, and Gaza could barely breathe at the idea of how
much ammo and fuel had to be there just waiting to be taken. For a wild
moment, he toyed with the notion of trying to get one of the tanks to the
desert, then abandoned the idea as impossible. The steep sides of the sinkhole
would be tough for even a strong man to climb. And so far he hadn't even found
a trail that would handle the lumbering APC, much less a gigantic preDark
tank. Those were made prisoners of the city from their own weight and size.
But the contents could be scavenged, every drop of fuel and every live round
of ammo.
"Wake up, my dears! Time to work!" the baron said, going to the external winch
and releasing the cable.
With a bang, the rear doors of the APC slammed aside and two of his wives came
running around the machine, with blasters in their hands. As the wife in
charge, Allison would stay with the APC, and Delia would keep a watch on
Shala, to make sure the newlywed didn't run off during the scavenging. Which
meant the task was middle wife work.
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"I'm sending down Carol," Gaza announced, wrapping a length of the greasy
cable around an arm. "Latch the hook on to anything you can and we'll haul the
stuff up here for sorting. Pay special attention for weapon lockers. Those
will be large boxes resembling a green plastic coffin. If you find something
big, I'll send down Kathleen."
Shifting the boxy Ingram rapidfire to hang out of the way across her back,
Carol nodded dumbly. The small brunette was on point for the recce.
Understood.
With Allison watching from the turret atop the APC, Kathleen helped Carol loop
the woven steel cable around her body, under the arms and between her legs for
reliable support. It was a long fall onto hard rock.
Gaza stayed with the winch and kept a hand on the control box, taking his cue
from Kathleen when to spool out some slack. Careful of her balance, Carol
eased herself over the side until she was dangling freely. The loops shifted
position as the metallic length fully supported her weight, and for a heart
stopping moment she thought they were coming off. But then the steel hook
cinched firm and the cables tightened securely about her clothing.
Glancing up at Kathleen, Carol waved a hand to show that everything was okay.
Turning toward the APC, Kathleen wiggled a finger at her husband, and Gaza
began feed out the cable nice and slow. Long minutes passed as the woman
descended into the city, and the main reel was getting low when Kathleen made
a slowing gesture. He complied, and then after a few more yards she clenched a
fist and the baron cut the power and set the brake.
Staying in the cable, Carol unlimbered her rapidfire and looked over the area
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