not the only one planning in the cabin, David,” Lyons said.
McCarter smirked. “How’s your work going?” he asked Schwarz.
“Well, since we have the enemy wanting to come to us, we’ll just figure out the best place to draw them in. Lines of fire, dirty tricks to even the odds, all manner of shenanigans,” Schwarz added. “Like at Gary’s place. Remember when the Russians took a run at you in Montana?”
Manning’s lips curled into a slight smile. When elements of the Russian espionage machine had grown tired of Phoenix Force’s interference in their operations, they’d launched an all-out effort to exterminate the group. Two hundred men, from the Spetsnaz and various wet-works agencies, were thrown at Phoenix. The first few skirmishes were not much, but Manning and the others had let the Russians know where to find them in the remote cabin in the Rockies.
There, Phoenix Force had sniper rifles, booby traps and explosive mines set up to turn the assault force into carrion for scavengers. The team survived, and those who’d believed in the old Soviet corruption ways had been taught a very expensive lesson.
“Knowing what battlefield you’ll be facing your enemy on goes a long way toward evening the odds,” Manning observed.
“Evening the odds?” Blancanales asked. “We want every unfair advantage in the book.”
“Truth spoken,” McCarter agreed. “Whoever said cheaters never win hasn’t studied his military history.”
“Any particular gear you bringing on this mission?” Lyons asked.
“I’m missing my old MAC-10, and Rafe loves his Heckler & Kochs, so we decided to split the difference and pack the MP-7. We’ve got suppressors and proper ammo for quiet hits as well as loud,” McCarter explained.
“Yeah, got to love the old tried-and-true T-grip style,” Schwarz added.
Lyons wrinkled his nose. “I’m barely comfortable with the .22s that come out of an M16. But 4.6 mm? That’s only .18 caliber.”
“Well, that’s the thing, Carl. Rafe and I actually know how to shoot,” McCarter answered with a wink. “Plus, everyone we’ve hit with those little .18-caliber bullets has been suitably impressed and hasn’t complained.”
Lyons chuckled.
“Since Cal and I are AR guys, we’re rolling out with these stubbies based on the DPMS PDWs,” T. J. Hawkins added. “Seven-inch heavy barrel AR-15s and a nice little name.”
James smirked. “Technically, it’s not called the Kitty Kat anymore in that configuration.”
“If our founder could have his Big Thunder, then I’m entitled to my Kitty,” Hawkins returned.
Blancanales nodded toward Manning and the weapon he was checking in its case. “Chopped-down Fabrique Nationale FAL?”
“No,” Manning answered. “I’d love to have my favorite battle rifle, but the Mexican army still issues the G-3 in 7.62 mm NATO. Kissinger made a version for me with a thirteen-inch barrel and collapsing buttstock I can fit it into a tennis racket case, yet still have 500 yards of reach for precision shooting. Cowboy made this up from a ‘clean’ Heckler & Koch, like he did with the sanitized Kitty ARs that Cal and T.J. are rocking. No chances of jamming with any of these guns.”
“Nor with the M203 compact he made for my Kitty,” James said. He affected a sneer. “Say hello to my little kitty!”
Encizo rolled his eyes. “And here I thought that world was mine.”
“What happens when you run out of ammo for David and Rafe’s BB guns?” Lyons asked.
McCarter smirked. “The Caballeros Cartel actually has been working with MP-7s or, rather, Brazilian-built copies, complete with ammunition designed for it. And since the ammo and guns are built to spec on cartel money...”
“You can scrounge reloads from the drug runners’ own security forces,” Lyons surmised.
“Bingo,” McCarter said. “That, along with the M16s and G-3s, which already use the ammo for the rest of our teams’ guns.”
“Shrewd,” Blancanales noted.
“We’ve showed you our toys for this trip. What about you?” McCarter asked.
“Well, you know Carl’s feelings on the 5.56 mm NATO that the rest of us haven’t had a problem with,” Schwarz said. “We’re not going to be trying to bust into any smuggling tunnels, or penetrating into a prison, so we can operate with our rifles having longer barrels.”
“Also, a stubby 7-incher isn’t going to put out much murder at five hundred yards like a proper rifle barrel would,” Blancanales said.
“We’re rolling with .300 Blackout rounds in our M16s. We’d have gone with .458 SOCOM, but then we’d be limited to only nine rounds in a magazine,” Lyons added. “And we also want some reach with our rifles.”
“Ever since you had that custom AK made for you on that Lebanon mission, you’ve been wanting an AK-caliber M16 for yourself,” Blancanales pointed out. “And the Blackout was designed to provide that kind of horsepower per bullet, while still being usable in an accurate rifle.”
Lyons nodded in agreement. “Going for punch and lots of punches for everyone sent at us.”
He opened his case. “And my particular Blackout has a box-fed shotgun attachment. Because sometimes you just need the kind of attitude only provided by a 12-gauge load of buckshot or slugs.”
“Doesn’t the M26 just make it too heavy?” Gary Manning asked.
Lyons laughed.
“Sorry... I forgot who I was talking with,” Manning returned. “The second strongest of the Stony Men.”
“Second, eh?” Lyons challenged.
Manning winked, knowing any rivalry or competition between members was in good fun.
“I see you’re jumping on my bandwagon, too, with the revolver,” Lyons noted, catching sight of the handle of Manning’s big Python Plus handgun.
“This hog leg?” the Canadian asked. “I’ve had an 8-shot .357 Magnum for a long time. The trouble is Cowboy can’t seem to hold on to any of his Colt Anaconda frames and clean cylinders long enough to sanitize one for my fieldwork.”
“Glad you finally have one for yourself,” Lyons said with a laugh. “Sorry for hogging them all.”
“You have two with you, right now?” Manning asked.
Lyons nodded. He pulled them both out; one from a shoulder holster, one from behind his hip. One was a big matte-stainless machine with a four-inch under-lugged barrel. The other was a stubbier snub-nosed revolver cast in a dark Parkerized finish. Both had fat cylinders, each holding eight rounds of .357 Magnums, one to be hidden more completely than the other. Though they had the polish and action similar to Lyons’s old .357 Magnum Colt Python, they were converted .44 Magnum Anacondas, cylinders altered to hold an
