Drab olive-green shelving units line the walls. Each one a segment bolted to the next, and each containing assault rifles that stand lined in perfect symmetry. More units given over for the storage of sidearms, sniper rifles, light machine guns, heavy machine guns and ground troop missile-firing systems.
‘Come on, Ryder,’ Safa says, shoulder-bumping him. ‘That was seriously cool though.’
‘Thanks.’
She holds her dark eyes on him for a second before walking over to join Harry inspecting the closest batch of M4 assault rifles. She pulls one out to turn over in her hands. ‘These are only semi, Miri.’
‘Over here,’ Miri says, pulling what looks to Ben to be an identical weapon from a different section.
‘What’s the difference?’ he asks.
‘These,’ Safa says, waving a hand at the closest, ‘are the rifles issued to the soldiers. Semi-automatic and burst fire only. ‘Those though,’ she says, leading them both over to Miri, ‘are the ones the US Special Forces use, and are fully automatic. Harry, have a look. These are good weapons.’
‘Light,’ he rumbles, hefting the weapon. He turns it over, checks the balance, then taps a fingernail against different parts and sections.
‘Twenty of these,’ Miri says, pulling another two from the rack.
‘Twenty?’ Ben asks.
‘Spares. Breakages. Planning.’
‘Right, okay,’ he says. ‘So how do we go back, and what do we do? At the house, I mean?’
‘Later.’
‘Why later? Why not now?’
‘Later. Twenty of these,’ she counts them out. ‘Get familiar with them. You need to be fully conversant. Train for stoppages, blockages, malfunctions. Start using radios, and understanding basic commands and hand signals. Safa, I want them at your standard as soon as possible.’
‘What are we doing with Tango Two?’ Ben asks as they walk back to the portal.
‘You are very intelligent,’ Miri says after a pause.
‘And what?’ Ben asks when she doesn’t continue. She still doesn’t continue, but goes with them into the portal room to stack the rifles against the wall. She still doesn’t continue then, but moves back into the armoury.
‘Barrett fifty-calibre, semi-automatic sniper rifle,’ she says, stopping at a section holding several enormous guns. She hefts one out, grimacing at the weight and the pain in her lower back, hips, joints, ankles and everywhere else.
‘Ma’am,’ Harry says, taking the weapon from her. His eyes show pleasant surprise at the size of the weapon, which looks normal when held by him. ‘Fifty calibre?’ he enquires politely.
‘Fifty calibre,’ Miri says.
‘Is that big?’ Ben asks.
‘It’s big’ Safa says.
‘Oh. Why do we need big?’ Ben asks.
‘Dinosaurs,’ Miri says.
‘Oh.’
‘And firepower.’
‘Oh.’
‘Browning heavy machine gun,’ Miri says, stopping at another section as the others gather round to stare at the huge gun.
‘What calibre is that?’ Ben asks.
‘Also fifty,’ Miri says.
‘Oh. Why do we need another fifty?’
They look at him.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘Sniper rifle,’ Miri says, pointing back to the Barrett fifty-calibre sniper rifles. ‘Machine gun,’ she adds, pointing at the machine gun.
‘Oh,’ Ben says, then shrugs.
‘Single aimed shots,’ Miri says, pointing back. ‘Suppressing fire,’ she adds, pointing at the machine gun.
‘Oh,’ Ben says. ‘The dinosaurs firing back then, are they?’
‘No.’
‘It was a joke.’
‘I know, Mr Ryder. I am laughing on the inside.’
‘Ha!’ Safa snorts.
‘M72 light anti-tank weapon,’ Miri says, stopping at the next section.
‘That’s a rocket launcher.’ Ben looks from the long metal tube to Miri. ‘A bazooka.’
‘Not a bazooka.’
‘Looks like a bazooka.’
‘Single fire. Point and shoot. Remarkably simple to use,’ Miri says. ‘Twenty of these.’
‘Twenty? How big are these dinosaurs?’
‘Very funny, Mr Ryder.’
‘Ha!’ Safa snorts again.
‘M67 fragmentation grenade. Fatal radius five metres. Severe injury to fifteen metres.’
‘In case the bazookas don’t work?’
‘In case the bazookas don’t work, Mr Ryder. Two cases.’
The kit is carried through, and each passage shows the instant change from mid-winter to a higher oxygen density and greater heat and humidity. They scurry back and forth. Carrying crates of ammunition, grenades, rocket launchers and the heavy, frame-mounted machine guns.
‘Done?’ Ben asks, placing the last box on the floor of the portal room. ‘Sure we don’t need a jet plane?’
‘A what?’ Safa asks.
‘Jet plane,’ Ben says.
‘What the fuck is a jet plane?’
‘What? It’s a jet plane.’
‘Oh, you mean like a plane?’ Safa asks.
‘Yes, a plane. A jet plane.’
‘Like a bang-tank?’ Safa asks.
‘What!? That’s not the same thing.’
‘Or a pew-pew laser gun?’
The easy banter continues as the new kit is taken from the portal room to be locked inside one of the bedrooms in the last set of rooms.
Harry sees Miri wince as she stands up from lowering the rifles.
‘We can finish this, ma’am,’ he says quietly to her in the corridor as they walk back to the portal room.
‘Thanks.’
‘Good lord,’ the doctor calls out, standing with his hands on his hips surveying the weapons. ‘Are we going to war?’
‘With dinosaurs,’ Ben says. ‘Those are for aimed shots and that one is for suppressing fire.’
‘Twat,’ Safa says. ‘What they called again?’
‘Um . . . one is Barrett and one is Brown.’
‘Browning. Which one is which?’
‘Dunno. Apparently we’re getting a jet plane anyway,’ he tells the doctor.
‘Are we?’
‘Dick,’ Safa chuckles.
‘And a bang tank,’ Ben adds drily.
‘We should get a tank, ma’am,’ Harry says, lifting two heavy crates of ammunition with ease. ‘Very handy is a tank.’
‘Are we really getting a tank?’ the doctor asks.
‘Doctor, word please,’ Miri says.
‘Of course,’ the doctor says, winking at Safa as he goes past towards the door. ‘Carry on, troops,’ he adds brightly.
‘Tango Two. Injuries. Healing?’ Miri asks, sitting in her chair behind her desk.
‘Ah, well,’ the doctor says, assuming a serious, deep-thinking look. ‘In short, yes, she is fine,’ he adds simply. ‘What’s happening with her?’
‘Her physical state?’
‘As I just said, she appears to be fine. Why? What are your plans for her?’
‘Ria and Bertie?’
‘Both fine,’ Doctor Watson says, sitting down heavily to get comfortable. ‘What’s the plan then, eh? Got something cooking, have you?’ he asks with a wink and a nod. ‘And anyway, Miri. I told you to rest, not to carry heavy boxes and machine guns.’
‘Tango Two mental state. Any concerns?’