The Militia preparations for dealing with this other machine were ongoing, but we'd already managed to get one sharp shooter in position manning the anti-armor rifle. Thing was, 'sharp shooter' was being generous. There were a few people in the Militia that were damn good shots with a long gun, but very, very, few people on our little slice of Heaven were trained as a Sniper. With people needing to tend to their families and day to day life, we could only afford to keep a few of the best shots manning the gun on rotation.
There was also the matter of position. Over the last few years here on Hale's Moon, I'd scouted out all the best firing positions. I knew where they were, what coverage they had, how easy they were to spot from a distance, how much cover they gave against counterfire. But we weren't positioning the anti-roller gun for me. We were positioning it for the few men and women who'd have to take a spell with it, which had a whole 'nother set of requirements.
We'd set them up with a good deal of visibility, positioned so anyone, or anything, trying to attack them wouldn't have an easy time of it. The spot was ideal for the needs at hand, though not the spot I'd have taken myself. Personally, I'd be another five hundred meters back. But that was me. Any of the folk manning the gun could make a nine hundred meter shot on a man-sized target. But that was the difference between someone who was a good shot using a good rifle, and a trained sniper. At that range, with that gun, I could have taken Ravish's head off with a called shot to either eye socket.
But I wasn't manning the gun.
The machine knew how to move through cover, I gave her that. Had to assume she'd spotted the weapon's position and made some effort to stay out of their lines of sight. Just hadn't realized she'd be able to make it to Fook Yoo's front door without being spotted and shot at.
I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye. A metallic green glint reflecting off a window a moment before she appeared in the Fook's open front door. My fifty was already to hand and half way drawn before she spotted me, and raised what looked like a modified Assault Rifle in my direction. We had our weapons on-target within a few milliseconds of each other, muzzle to muzzle across the gap between my place at the bar and her spot in the doorway.
At this range, the HVAP rounds would, most likely, punch through her shell and make a mess of the brain box inside - the only place I was reasonably sure would take her down. Assuming they actually punched through. And that she didn't shoot first. But she had to have seen where I was targeting. Had to have realized I knew where to shoot her to make it count.
"A silver mechanoid of appearance similar to this unit is known to me in this community. Where is it?" she asked in a soft, sultry, voice I could have mistaken for Raids in tone, if not in inflection.
"Not in the habit of giving up my citizens to an assassin," I replied calmly, finger steady on the trigger, aim point dead on the machine's brain box.
"Very well. You have no more usefulness to this unit."
I could see a change in her expression: a vaguely disconcerting smile that said 'I'm going to enjoy shooting you.'
Not if I shoot you first, ikeike.
Only . . . we didn't. A heartbeat before I squeezed off a round, and, I was sure, several would have come back at me, Fook Yoo's blast doors slammed down between us.
"Ya'll ok, Miss Mayor?"
Bruin Wells had been out of sight, getting some fresh food for the buffet, and shut the blast door when he saw the machine he'd heard about with a gun on me. Level head on that man, to be sure.
"I'm fine, Bruin, thanks. Just need to get more eyes, and more guns, on that Gorram machine."
More eyes - and a bigger gun.
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