“Brains,” John corrected.
“What?” Talawat asked.
“‘Pick your brains’ is the proper term.” John smiled and, rather than explain further, returned to answering the question: “Can’t do mines…”
Talawat perked up. “Mines? How would undermining our def—”
“No,” John interrupted him, “not mines in the traditional sense. These are…a small explosive and shrapnel are placed just beneath the ground. When a man or vehicle walks over, they trigger the device, which either kills or maims them.”
“A pit trap that explodes…” Talawat said, seeking clarification.
“Kind of. But making the triggers would be another drain on your skilled manpower, so I don’t think it’s a good idea… Plus, they’re a nightmare to clean up afterward.”
Talawat shook his head. “Ah. The manpower issue is a greater problem in the short term.”
“Command detonated, though…” John mused, thinking about the time they’d had an explosives expert out to blow a landslide from one of the county roads he’d been trying to clear.
“Command detonated? What is this?”
John, knowing he lacked the language to convey his thoughts, looked at Bertram, who translated: “An electrical charge is generated all along a circuit. The charge ignites powder in the charges it comes into contact with, exploding it.”
“No triggers?”
“No. Well, kind of. But just one or two. And while the dynamos will need a lot of copper wire, they aren’t all that complex. Your people can spin wire faster than anyone else I’ve seen down-time, and I remember enough from the design TacRail was implementing for blasting to help out.”
“How big a charge can we set off?”
John shrugged. “Big as you want, I guess. Biggest problem is they’ll be one-shot weapons. Well, that and the farther you are from the dynamo and the more of charges you put on a circuit…Oh, and the longer you wait for lots of men to get into the area of effect, the more likely the wire might get cut or the circuit fail from something going wrong…”
“That’s a lot of ands…” Bertram said.
“And if any of those ‘ands’ happen?” Talawat asked.
“No boom,” John said, appreciating the man’s razor-sharp focus.
“Hmm…Shrapnel from the ground just becomes so much hard rain. Could we use something lighter?”
“Like what?”
A shrug. “Oil? Perhaps?”
“I guess so, but then you have to make sure it ignites.”
Talawat nodded thoughtfully but didn’t say anything more for almost a minute.
John, thinking the gunsmith was trying to figure out a way to tell him the idea sucked, said, “Talawat, I don’t know. It’s probably not worth the time and effort to experiment with it.”
Bertram waggled his head. “I don’t know, John. Might be a horrible surprise for an enemy, especially if placed at the base of the wall while men were trying to climb.”
John shrugged. “What do you think, Talawat?”
“Shit,” Talawat opined, in a near-perfect West Virginia accent that startled a laugh from both Bertram and John.
“Don’t—” John gasped, but another burst of laughter made him cut off.
“Don’t what?” Talawat asked, smiling impishly.
“Please don’t say that in front of Ilsa.” John shook his head, wiping away tears. “She’ll have my head.”
Talawat’s smile lost none of its brightness. “I will be sure to watch my language, John. In the meantime, do you think you could draw a diagram of this, what did you call it, ‘dynamo’?”
“That’s it, yes. And if you want me to, sure.”
“I do. Even if your exact idea does not work, I may be able to think of other uses for it.”
John nodded. “If anyone can, you will. You have to be one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.”
Talawat ducked his head, cheeks above his beard darkening as he looked at his feet. “You do me too much honor.”
“No, I do not, Talawat. Your work is outstanding, and if we are going to win, it’ll be because of you and your people.”
Talawat turned abruptly away. “My thanks, John.” Wiping his face, the gunsmith said over his shoulder, “I will go now. Please send the diagram on when you can.”
John looked at Bertram, who shrugged and turned to lean on the crenellations. “Will do, Talawat. Hope I helped.”
“More than you know, John, more than you know,” Talawat called.
John stood up and joined Bertram at the parapet. He leaned elbows on the hot stone and looked out over the plain to the south.
“Think we can win, Bertram?” he asked, watching a patrol ride south.
“I do, John,” Bertram said without taking his eyes off the horizon. “Why do you ask?”
“I guess I can’t help but think we’re in way over our heads.”
“Might be. But we have the tiger by the tail now, so there’s not much to do but hang on.”
“True enough.” John turned around and folded his arms across his chest. He watched Talawat walk from the shadow of the ramp that accessed the upper defenses. “Sure am glad that guy’s on our side.”
“Talawat?” Bertram asked.
“Yep.”
“You were right to compliment him,” Bertram said.
“Just telling the truth…”
“But it’s nice to hear someone say, anyway.”
John cocked his head. “Doesn’t seem too comfortable with compliments.”
“Perhaps not.” Bertram sniffed. “But comfort is one thing, appreciation another. He’s being worked rather hard.”
“Too hard, you think?”
“Oh, I doubt it!” Bertram chuckled. “I’ll wager he’s the happiest he’s ever been.”
“Happiest?”
“Look, back before the Ring of Fire, when I was at university, I had befriended an incredibly intelligent and accomplished fellow. The rest of the students, my other friends, we all knew he was destined for great things. He wasn’t wealthy, though, and needed a patron. Thing was, he hated the nobility and most other wealthy people generally struck him as grasping and lacking in vision. For these and other reasons, he was unable to find a patron. As a result, his ideas languished or failed for lack of money to fund his experiments.”
“Oh?” John asked, unsure where Bertram was going with this.
“The last thing he said to me was that he wished he’d found a king or duke or even a merchant to serve, so that he could use the wealth and access such
