Stuart Woods - Orchid Blues

Holly set the cartridge back where it came from. "That's downright spooky," she said.

Holly turned to find a fit-looking man in his mid- to late forties standing behind her. His graying hair was cut short, and he was wearing a military-style jumpsuit.

"That thing is hell on wheels," he said. "I've never seen one fired in anger, but I once saw somebody put a round through a six-hundred-pound safe, and I mean all the way through." He turned to Ham. "You say you saw it fired in Iraq?"

"I sure did," Ham said.

"What was it like?"

"Awful, for the men in the carrier. I was a mile away, with the shooter. He said he could hit a playing card with it from that distance."

"A good shooter can hit a playing card from twice that distance, in no wind, if he has time to bracket," the man said.

"From two miles? " Holly asked.

"I kid you not, little lady."

Holly thought he had a lot of balls calling her that, since he wasn't quite as tall as she.

The man turned to Ham and stuck out his hand. "I'm Peck Rawlings," he said.

Ham shook his hand. "Ham Barker. This is my daughter, Holly."

Rawlings nodded at where Ham's stripes used to be. "You ex-military?"

"We both are," Ham said. "I put in thirty-eight years, and Holly did a double sawbuck."

"What kind of service?"

"I was in Special Forces for a long time, then I trained a lot of folks, and then they started pushing a lot of paper at me."

"Yeah, they'll do that," he said.

"What about you?"

"Oh, nothing exotic. I was just a grunt noncom. What about you, little lady?"

"I commanded an MP battalion," she said, "and if you keep calling me that, you're going to get even shorter."

The man gave her a shocked look, then burst out laughing.

"Holly doesn't take any shit from anybody," Ham said.

Rawlings bowed from the waist. "I apologize, ma'am," he said. "Just a figure of speech."

Holly nodded, and as she did, they were joined by two other men.

"Oh," Rawlings said, "these are my neighbors, Jim Cross and James Farrow."

Hands were shaken all around.

"What brings you folks to our little event?" Rawlings asked narrowly, and it was clear he wanted an answer.

"We didn't come to your event," Ham said. "We were just looking for some bass fishing, and we saw the lake on the map and just wandered down this way. Haven't seen the lake, yet. What's the fishing like?"

"Not bad, but nothing to write home about," Rawlings said. "That's a nice pickup you're driving."

"Ford'll sell you one," Ham said, "but not cheap."

"Where do you folks hail from?"

"Over at Orchid Beach, in Indian River County."

"Oh, yeah, that's pretty ritzy over there, isn't it?"

"Some parts are," Ham said.

"What do you do over there?"

"Every day, I explore the meaning of the word 'retired,'" Ham said.

"So do I," Holly chipped in.

"What sort of little town you got here?" Ham asked.

"A homogeneous one." Rawlings chuckled.

"I didn't see it on the map."

"That's the way we like it. You know, I can't remember anybody ever turning up here who didn't have an invitation."

Ham turned to Holly. "Well, I guess we're intruding here, babe; let's take a hike."

Rawlings threw up his hands in a placating manner. "Hold on, now, Sarge; I didn't mean any offense. It's just that this is a private affair, here, and we're unaccustomed to visitors."

"Sorry, I never heard of a private gun show," Ham said.

"Well, it is, but we're glad to have you. Just go on and wander around and pick up some hardware for yourself, if you're in the market. When you get ready to leave, though, I'd appreciate it if you'd check with me, so I can clear you out."

Ham looked at Holly. "You want to stay?"

Holly shrugged.

"All right, we'll have a look around," Ham said. "Thanks."

"And we're going to have a little firepower demonstration a little later," Rawlings said, "if you're interested."

"I'll let you know. C'mon, Holly." They walked slowly on around the big tent. "Well," Ham said, "I guess we're getting the feel of the place."

"Not a very good feeling, is it?" Holly asked.

"You notice anything unusual about this crowd?" Ham asked.

"You mean the lack of anybody any color darker than pink?"

"That, and the absence of any girls in cutoffs with bare bellies or guys with nose rings. I mean, this is still Florida, right?"

"It reminds me of the crowd at a PX," Holly said, "absent the people of color."

"I guess I've gotten so used to what you might call a more diverse population of former hippies and current rappers that I find it strange to be in this crowd. And it's not exactly comforting, either."

"I know what you mean."

They looked at weapon after weapon, at ammunition-loading kits, at holsters, at collections of knives and at more than one collection of Nazi memorabilia.

"I don't think I've ever seen this many Lugers in one place," Holly said.

"Me neither." Ham looked to his right. "What's going on?"

The crowd had thinned, and now people were streaming out the back entrance of the tent. There had been no announcement, no signal.

"Let's find out," Holly said. She and Ham went with the flow, and soon they were back in the humid Florida outdoors, walking down a broad path through pines. Shortly they emerged into a large clearing and stopped in their tracks.

"Good God!" Holly said under her breath.

Before them was a slanting pit. bulldozed out of the sandy Florida earth. It was shallow at the end near them and deepened as it went back another two hundred or so feet. At the far end it was maybe ten feet deep, and earth was piled up behind it for another twenty feet. At the deep end of the pit was the ruin of a school bus, two dead pickup trucks and a collection of other junk vehicles. Immediately before them, as the crowd strung out across the width of the pit, was an assortment of weapons, most of them automatic, on tripods, in shooting stands of various kinds and some in the hands of shooters of both genders.

Ham went to a picnic table, picked something out of a box and returned to Holly. "I reckon we'd better use these," he said, offering her a set of foam earplugs.

Holly rolled the plugs into narrow strips, then inserted them into her ears, where they expanded quickly to fill the ear canals.

"There's the Barrett's rifle," Ham said, nodding toward the firing line.

"I can't hear you," Holly said. "I've got plugs in my ears."

"What?"

"What?"

Ham pointed, and Holly followed his finger toward the evil-looking weapon, mounted on the roof of a Humvee, which was parked on the firing line.

"Oh," Holly said.

"What?"

"Oh, shut up, Ham!" she half shouted.

Ham started to reply, but, at some unnoticed signal, all hell broke loose.

A cacophony of gunfire erupted, and Holly saw holes appearing in the rusted bodies of the vehicles, but not the school bus. Glass shattered and danced in the light.

The earplugs were not enough, and simultaneously, Ham and Holly clapped their hands over their ears. The firing continued for a full five minutes, then, apparently at another signal, abruptly stopped. The shooters all lowered their weapons, and all turned to look at the Humvee. A man climbed up onto the vehicle's roof and shoved a large clip into his weapon, then sat down cross-legged and sighted on the school bus. The crowd grew quiet.

The shooter took his time, then squeezed off a round. Holly was amazed at how much noise the gun made. Then the projectile hit the front of the school bus and two things happened almost at once. First, the bus's hood flew into the air, then it was followed by the engine, which popped up out of its bay a good three feet high.