Chapter 61

Daleana, Suleita, and Britta were amazed again when they discovered what all those new things were where our cooking fire had been. When they got a sample of toast with their breakfast they were dying to know where it had come from and how to make it.

I abandoned the hen party which had sprung up, but did remind them not to pay so much attention to Frank they forgot to fix my lunch. If I was going to get a few days to stay home I wanted to make sure I got three good meals a day in the bargain.

"What would you like for your meal my wonderful mate," Dalia asked, already understanding I just wanted a little more attention.

"Ask Frank to teach you to cook a big thick New York Strip rare with a baked potato."

"But what is that?" Geera asked.

"Frank will tell you," I said and headed for the new shooting range.

After I'd traversed the tunnel I went over to my locker, noticing for the first time it was easily twice as large as the others. I hadn't really paid much attention the day before since I had wanted to get my bow and some arrows and start my little demonstration.

Today I noticed. All my other firearms except the M1 were now stored in the locker and there were more new arrivals than the one 25 Buck Mark type I expected. The first one to catch my eye nearly had me crying.

It was a sporterized version of a German 8mm Mauser, their WWII standard rifle. It was just as beautiful to me today as it had been when I was thirteen years old and had begged my daddy to buy it for me.

As I picked it up gingerly and looked it over I wondered how in the hell Argent and company knew about it and found it, or re-created it. It was exactly as I remembered though, down to the rather cheap Tasco 4x scope that had come with it.

It had been a custom rifle by a local small town gunsmith. His main claim to fame had always been his skill at putting on a rich deep bluing and his ability to make a beautiful stock from a rough chunk of hardwood. His other skills had been workman like and the rifle did function perfectly even if it hadn't been the most accurate. It had been easily up to my skill level though.

I had killed my first deer with that rifle, a three pointer. I had been so excited when it walked under my tree stand, built with my own thirteen year old hands, that I shot it without even knowing whether it was a buck or a doe. I realized this after it ran and then fell about sixty feet from me. After waiting a few minutes to make sure it didn't get back up and run off, I worried all the way down my hand made ladder and over to the deer that I might have shot a doe, illegal in my county at that time.

I was very relieved to find it had antlers and more relieved to see it had the minimum three points to make it legal. I quickly dragged it back to my 1966 Pontiac LeMans and wrestled it into the trunk to go show it to my aunt and uncle, whose property I was hunting on.

They both bragged on my manly exploits and my uncle showed me how to gut and skin the deer and then how to cut it up. My aunt claimed a portion of the back strap and we had it for supper that night with both of them bragging on its taste and tenderness.

Until Jana Green showed me better a few months later, in the front seat of my mother's Cadillac Coup deVille, I thought this was as close to heaven as a thirteen-year-old boy could get.

So much for memories of the past I thought, and realized they were actually memories of the future for me. What a deal. I put my treasure back in its spot and thought a thanks to Argent.

The next thing to catch my eye looked like a giant version of the new rifles. I took it from its spot and looked at the hole in the muzzle first. Jesus! It looked big enough to crawl into.

I looked around for its ammunition and discovered it at once. It was 50 caliber. What in the fuck did they think I was going to shoot with this? It was a beautifully done rifle though and even though it resembled the smaller ones I saw at once the action, while still a semi-automatic, was completely different.

I stopped what I was doing, put the rifle back in its spot and pulled out my Blackberry, sending them a question asking what the 50 caliber rifle was for.

"Mammoth," was the only reply.

OK. I figured I could get more out of Argent next time I dreamed him up. I took up my 25 then and gathered ammunition, hearing protection, and shooting glasses plus a few targets, and headed for one of the shooting benches.

After hanging the targets and running the frame out to fifty yards I sat at the firing bench and began sighting the new rifle in. After an hour and a hundred rounds I had more respect for the Alien gunsmith than I'd had before.

The rifle was very accurate and its iron sights were easy to adjust and their adjustments translated nearly exactly to what I wanted in the way of moving the impact point to the point of aim.

I tried the 50 caliber next and even though I'd expected a vicious recoil from the light rifle and enormous cartridge and bullet I wasn't prepared for what it would do to my shoulder.

The butt stock had no pad and no mechanism for dealing with the tremendous recoil and that fucker hurt when I fired it. One shot was enough for me to know something had to be done. I got the Blackberry back out and sent another message.

"Look up recoil and fix the 50 caliber rifle."

I was surprised a little when it just disappeared a few seconds later. I'd had enough shooting for a while anyway and I packed up my stuff and headed back to my cave. The women were engrossed in their lessons again and I saw now Britta, Suleita, and Daleana were spellbound too. At least none of them had put on their thongs or trousers. I walked outside.