about the fuel train?” someone shouted from the back. It was an engineer, but French couldn’t identify the voice.
“We’re good. I sent word ahead to the new Minot oilers, and they’re anxious to trade. The Addison family oil business grew too big for one boss, so they split into three small refineries. It wasn’t an acrimonious breakup, and they were all trained by the same two Air Force fuel specialists who started the refinery twenty years ago. They assured me in most vigorous terms that they could pump oil out of the ground until the sun burns out.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the hall; the notoriously foul language of the entire Addison clan was a well-known fact, right down to the young. Their penchant for creative swearing was only shadowed by their love of homemade liquor; they didn’t just refine oil for a living. The most legendary hangover of French’s life came after an evening drinking what the Addison family considered a cherry liqueur. French could have easily used the bottle of clear booze to kill demons and, in retrospect, that’s exactly how he felt the next day.
“As you might have guessed, gunpowder is still easy to make, but hard to transport. That’s why I’ve asked the Great Lakes gunners to double our order for the next year. Even with some loss due to piracy and weather, we have dry storage that is easily protected. I would prefer that we rely on our own engineers for the supply, but until we find a more reliable source of sulfur, that isn’t going to happen.” French pointed to Bettina Laswell and smiled. “Betty tells me she’s looking into sources out east, and I know if there’s any nearby, she’ll find them.” Bettina smiled grimly. It was a chokepoint that New Madrid had battled for decades, and he meant to eliminate the need for constant exploration and trade of gunpowder components as soon as possible.
“We’re waiting on Cynthia Pennyroyal’s bunch to show up. She sent a runner ahead to let us know they’ve opened up Louisville,” French said.
A soft gasp went through the crowd. A whole new city being reclaimed meant an influx of goods that were badly needed.
French grinned. “My sentiments exactly. Her scout told us the entire city was untouched, and she’ll give us first crack at anything she pulls out of there. I sent back a list with the runner, but even if they make excellent time, it might be a month before we see them. Could be three if the city is as dangerous as she seems to think.”
“What about the guns? Will they bring any guns?” someone shouted from the left.
“What about tools? We can’t run the mill without new gears, or at least high-grade steel to cut the new parts,” another voice, this one angry, carried from the back.
French saw the speaker was Curt Moscowitz, an engineer who landed in New Madrid less than a year ago. He’d proven worth his weight in gold, designing a mill that made life a hell of a lot easier for the entire town, but the primitive shafts and gears he was using were wearing out faster than they could be replaced. “Curt, your materials are first on the list after what is always first on the list, guns. I sent drawings and a pretty broad description of what we might use. The scout said they were salvaging an old appliance factory, so I’m fairly certain you’ll have a lot of items to work with.”
Curt nodded thankfully and sat down, mollified at the thought that he might make progress with his worst problem.
“Now, about the guns. We traded for more two trains ago. The Patty-Macs”—French indicated the family, who sat stolidly watching the procedure—“already have the new rifles sighted in. We got eleven more 30.06, a pair of Glocks, and three Remington 1100s in twelve gauge. That’s a lotta steel for one train, and before anyone asks, we paid dearly for it, but the weapons are in pristine condition and the ammunition for all three is quite common. We can do our own reloads on all of them,
“We’re good. I sent word ahead to the new Minot oilers, and they’re anxious to trade. The Addison family oil business grew too big for one boss, so they split into three small refineries. It wasn’t an acrimonious breakup, and they were all trained by the same two Air Force fuel specialists who started the refinery twenty years ago. They assured me in most vigorous terms that they could pump oil out of the ground until the sun burns out.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the hall; the notoriously foul language of the entire Addison clan was a well-known fact, right down to the young. Their penchant for creative swearing was only shadowed by their love of homemade liquor; they didn’t just refine oil for a living. The most legendary hangover of French’s life came after an evening drinking what the Addison family considered a cherry liqueur. French could have easily used the bottle of clear booze to kill demons and, in retrospect, that’s exactly how he felt the next day.
“As you might have guessed, gunpowder is still easy to make, but hard to transport. That’s why I’ve asked the Great Lakes gunners to double our order for the next year. Even with some loss due to piracy and weather, we have dry storage that is easily protected. I would prefer that we rely on our own engineers for the supply, but until we find a more reliable source of sulfur, that isn’t going to happen.” French pointed to Bettina Laswell and smiled. “Betty tells me she’s looking into sources out east, and I know if there’s any nearby, she’ll find them.” Bettina smiled grimly. It was a chokepoint that New Madrid had battled for decades, and he meant to eliminate the need for constant exploration and trade of gunpowder components as soon as possible.
“We’re waiting on Cynthia Pennyroyal’s bunch to show up. She sent a runner ahead to let us know they’ve opened up Louisville,” French said.
A soft gasp went through the crowd. A whole new city being reclaimed meant an influx of goods that were badly needed.
French grinned. “My sentiments exactly. Her scout told us the entire city was untouched, and she’ll give us first crack at anything she pulls out of there. I sent back a list with the runner, but even if they make excellent time, it might be a month before we see them. Could be three if the city is as dangerous as she seems to think.”
“What about the guns? Will they bring any guns?” someone shouted from the left.
“What about tools? We can’t run the mill without new gears, or at least high-grade steel to cut the new parts,” another voice, this one angry, carried from the back.
French saw the speaker was Curt Moscowitz, an engineer who landed in New Madrid less than a year ago. He’d proven worth his weight in gold, designing a mill that made life a hell of a lot easier for the entire town, but the primitive shafts and gears he was using were wearing out faster than they could be replaced. “Curt, your materials are first on the list after what is always first on the list, guns. I sent drawings and a pretty broad description of what we might use. The scout said they were salvaging an old appliance factory, so I’m fairly certain you’ll have a lot of items to work with.”
Curt nodded thankfully and sat down, mollified at the thought that he might make progress with his worst problem.
“Now, about the guns. We traded for more two trains ago. The Patty-Macs”—French indicated the family, who sat stolidly watching the procedure—“already have the new rifles sighted in. We got eleven more 30.06, a pair of Glocks, and three Remington 1100s in twelve gauge. That’s a lotta steel for one train, and before anyone asks, we paid dearly for it, but the weapons are in pristine condition and the ammunition for all three is quite common. We can do our own reloads on all of them,
Similar Books
![Of Being Yours[another way 2]](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/458893/thumbs/152x264/of-being-yoursanother-way-2.jpg)
