"Maureen," Alan snapped, cooler now. "Get me a pan of ammunition for the Bren gun. Quickly. Alice, show me how the gun is charged."
Alice was at his side, trying to explain. He would have let her take over had she been larger, but he knew she couldn't handle the bucking of the weapon. Maureen had returned with the ammunition, slipped it expertly into place. She too had had instructions in the gun's operation.
Alan ran his eyes down the arroyo. There were possibly forty of them, Horses and Crows—well armed, he could see. Less than a quarter of them had the new muzzle loaders being resorted to by many as ammunition stocks for the old arms became increasingly rare. The others had ancient arms, rifles, both military and sport, one or two tommy guns.
He waited another three or four minutes, one eye cocked on the progress of the running battle below. Vivian, the scout chief, had dropped back to take over command of the younger warriors. She was probably beginning to smell a rat. The intensity of fire wasn't such as to suggest a large body of enemy.
The women in the arroyo were placed now as he wanted them. He forced himself to keep his eyes open as he pressed the trigger.
Blat, blat, blat.
The gun spoke, kicking high the dust and gravel before the Horse and Crow warriors advancing up the arroyo.
They stopped, startled. The citadel was supposedly in their hands.
They reversed themselves and scurried back to get out of their exposed position.
He touched the trigger again. Blat, blat, blat. The heavy slugs tore up the arroyo wall behind them, they could retreat no further without running into his fire.