CHAPTER 5 : THE GUN NUT
Jhon MaGraw had to book it, and book it fast. A whole gang of Grand Officer Gobbel's goons were incoming and he really didn't want to get trapped in the defenceless small cottage he had been using for operations. The Neo-Dreghs had been cracking down especially hard on rebels recently and somehow tracked his cell down to this village.
He snatched up the rucksack containing the rebel plans and spun away from the door to the table where he had left his trusty P-Bronning'57 Auto-Carbine in burnished metal. He put a hand on it and gently slid the well greased back jacket onto the chamber latch. He could hear the satisfying click of a Donkanarov 460 Custom muzzle-stumper. His hand lingered on the weapon where the textured stock met the ejector housing and he could feel the six scratched notches – his kill count for this weapon. Then his eyes were drawn to the glint of the switchnozzle in silver, clean and maintained.
–– "Aah~ that's a quality switchnozzle.", he groaned, running a finger back and forth across the cold metal. Old memories surfaced. The switchnozzles used in Weinnam back in the late 460s were something else – he kept all of his pristine since they didn't make them like that anymore. He used to pick them up in packs of five at the restocking depot Fatty Marvin staffed. That man knew his switchnozzles! He knew his switchnozzles...
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–– "Marvin you damn fool! Why did you have to go and die on me?", he yelled, banging two burly, weapon oil lined fists on the table.
Grand Officer Gobbel's goons had stood waiting in the room for a while, observing the man lost in his brooding.
Finally Jhon picked up the weapon and turned, eyeing the goons. The were all carrying the Hazap-90 Limited Edition – the rare variant with the knurled sight stoppers.
He was happy to see the baddies all observing perfect trigger discipline, their "Zaps" pointing a 45 degree downwards and their fingers out straight forward towards the safety latch swivelnick which he could see was oiled and well maintained. The goons also complimented his with a nod.
–– "Zempris foo.", he stated solemnly, recognising that a few of them may have served in Wiennam.
–– "Zempris foo.", they returned with mutual respect in their eyes.
What followed then was a 15 minute discussion about the knurled sight stoppers. He thought they were good lads, until one of them coughed and mentioned that they should get back to exterminating the villagers.
–– "You...! Crettid, Babbans!", Jhon yelled as he opened fire.
The P-Bronning'57 smattered and the goons fell, half a second short to the draw, perhaps having followed trigger discipline regulations a little too closely. Jhon could see that the penetration of the 6.6mm A-tip rounds was good, even against the new Neo-Dregh vests. He had profiled it with gel blocks over the last few months and knew the P-Bronning'57 was up to the task.
He left the cottage having scratched four more notches.