Bey scowled at her. "You better get over there with Homer where it's
safer."
She said evenly, "I've always considered myself a pacifist, but when
somebody starts shooting at me, I forget about it and am inclined to
shoot back."
"I haven't got time to argue with you," Bey said. "There aren't any
extra guns except handguns and they'd be useless." As he spoke, he
pulled his own Tommy-Noiseless from its scabbard on the front door of
the air cushion lorry, and checked its clip of two hundred .10 caliber
ultra-high velocity rounds. He flicked the selector to the explosive
side of the clip.
* * * * *
The plane was roaring in on what would be its first pass, if Bey had
guessed correctly. If he had guessed incorrectly, this might be the
end. A charge of napalm would fry everything for a quarter of a mile
around, or the craft might even be equipped with a mini-fission bomb.
In this area a minor nuclear explosion would probably go undetected.
Bey yelled, "Don't anybody even try to fire at him at this range.
He'll be back. It takes half the sky to turn around in with that
crate, but he'll be back, lower next time."
Cliff Jackson said cheerlessly, "Maybe he's just looking for us. He
won't necessarily take a crack at us."