Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [223]
They couldn’t spot him at first, then made out the old man as he nonchalantly strolled around the edge of the crowd, heading for the abandoned altar where the weapons lay. No one paid him any heed; all of them were transfixed by Max’s holos of a war-robot being put through its paces, firing weapons, and lumbering through basic infantry tactics.
“He’s going for the guns,” Han whispered. Chewbacca, who had also paused, stood with them, watching the old man’s progress.
“We can’t help him now; he either makes it or not. We’ll wait at the edge of the field as long as we can.” He didn’t know if he was happy Badure was trying for their weapons, feeling naked and helpless without his blaster, or dismayed that the old man was risking his life.
Just then a Survivor sentry, coming in off his post, stepped out of the darkness and nearly stumbled over Skynx. The Ruurian chirped in fear and went into reverse. The guard’s eyes bulged in amazement at the woolly, many-legged creature, then he fumbled for the flame-rifle at his shoulder, crying out an alarm.
A shaggy arm reached out and the weapon was snatched from his hands. Chewbacca’s fist shot through the air and the guard was lifted, stretched out stiff as a post, to fall on the landing field, his left foot quivering.
People on the fringe of the crowd had heard the guard and repeated the alarm. Heads turned; in a moment the shout was taken up by many voices. Han ran, took the bell-mouthed flame-rifle, and slewed it in a wide, horizontal arc. A wash of orange fire streamed over the heads of the crowd. Survivors dropped to the ground, grabbing for their weapons and screaming conflicting orders at one another. Han could hear the shrieking Mission Commander trying futilely to bring order out of chaos.
Badure, having reached the altar, was out of the crowd’s immediate line of sight. He shouldered Chewbacca’s bowcaster and bandoleer of ammunition and began tucking weapons into his belt.
Shots were now being pegged across the field at them. “Keep out of the way!” hollered Han, elbowing Chewbacca behind him. He backed slowly, covering the withdrawal and creating a diversion for Badure. He directed his discharges into the ground between himself and the massed Survivors, making puddles of fire to spoil their aim and sending intermittent streamers of flame over them to force their heads down. A line of tracer bullets chewed up the field a meter or two to his right, and a pale particle beam barely missed his head.
The escapees needed cover badly, but their section of the field was open and offered none. Chewbacca, with sudden inspiration, ran for the gong and, back and arm muscles swelling with effort, lifted it from its support hooks, his widespread arms grabbing it by two carrying handles welded to its back.
The slugs, beams, and flames of the firefight dissected the air. The Survivors’ shots were gaining in accuracy, though they weren’t used to such a pitched battle. Badure, running in a low crouch to work his way back to his companions, was spotted by the crowd. Somebody let fly with an old rocket pistol, blowing up a clot of stone in his path. In a frantic effort to change course, Badure lost his balance, and Survivors’ shots began to converge on him.
Chewbacca grounded the gong in front of Han as he and the others took shelter behind it. Projectile and energy weapons splashed and ricochetted from the shield; whatever the gong was made of, it was very durable material.
Han blazed away at the Survivors to keep them from pressing the attack against Badure. He had been spending the flame-rifle’s ammo recklessly and knew he might soon