Taber had told them. Calvin rolled the words around in his mind as they slipped downriver aboard the New Cyprus fireboat, a twenty-five-foot pontoon boat with a shallow draft, a long aluminum canopy, and water cannons fore and aft. There was a sliver of moon in the sky, the night clear and balmy. Taber hadn’t been hesitant about any of it, and that was reassuring. “No talking, no calling out, no one left behind, especially not Al Lymon. We slip the mooring lines and tow her out into the stream. If Al’s not aboard, we set her adrift.” Calvin sat at the water cannon in the bow. “Control that cannon,” Taber had told him half a dozen times. “Don’t blast our own people unless there’s no other way to stop trouble. It’s not a damned squirt gun, but it won’t kill anyone, either.” Calvin reminded himself of the advice now, and then he reminded himself that he would have to keep focused here—more focused than he had been yesterday at the Gas’n’Go. Today he had only one job to do—gunner—and he meant to do it well.
What do You think about The Knights Of The Cornerstone?
