Judgment Night [BUREAU 13 Book One] by Nick Pollotta

wooden crates containing Claymore mines.
    "My birthday!"
    "K-Mart!"
    We ignored that last remark.
    A table full of Bureau wristwatches was cleaned in a second, with everybody taking spare batteries. Bypassing the full suits of medieval armor and shields, Mindy grabbed a brace of crossbows and two quivers of arrows. One standard, the other marked as Bureau Specials.
    "Bracelets!” Richard cried in joy, displaying a small wooden box. The inside was lined with velvet on which rested six rather plain copper bands.
    "Yeah?” I grunted, slinging a satchel charge of C4 over my shoulder. Damn thing must weigh 30 pounds.
    He seemed surprised at my lack of understanding. “I'll explain later, but these are wonderful! Fabulous!"
    "Great. Take all of them you find."
    "I will!"
    As for sidearms, I chose Heckler Koch 10mm automatic pistols, holding 15 rounds with combat triggers and ambidextrous grips. I decided five cases of mixed bullets was enough, then got smart and added a case of spare clips. I searched for silencers, but didn't find any for this type weapon, until I moved a carton of homogenized oil and there they were. They were acoustical, not material silencers, so I only took ten, along with a box of belts and holsters.
    A third cart had been allocated and the pile of loot grew constantly. Ten cases of assorted grenades, a flare gun and a case of flares, two combo backpacks of LAW and HAFLA rockets, a mixed case of tear gas, BZ gas, vomit gas and garlic vapor canisters, a box of wire garrotes and a bundle of switchblades. We also took a crate of brand new Uzi 10mm submachine guns, as they accepted the same caliber ammunition as our pistols. The laser-guided Thompson machine guns were nice, but they only fired .22 rounds, meant to wound, not kill. Somebody had added a crate of M16/M79 combination rifles, along with cases of ammo and shells. I let them stay. The Kevlar vests we passed over, as our own body armor was better, lighter and we were already wearing the stuff. I only hoped somebody brought along deodorant as this might be a long campaign.
    There was a rack of MR1 Delta Force rifles, and I plugged the cable from the stock into the goggles. The lenses glowed into life and now I saw a crosshair floating in the air before me, and it moved to wherever the barrel of the MR1 was pointed. Nice for shooting around corners, but the battery pack weighed a ton and those damn computerized helmets chafed like a bastard, so I decided to leave it behind.
    At last, I found the Special Weapons cabinet I had been looking for and tore the doors open. Inside were four shelves, three of them empty. Damn. So much for the laser pistols and lightning wands. But there was still good stuff remaining. Snatching a box of Experimental class derringers, I also grabbed a leather briefcase tagged with the symbol for radiation. Pausing, I double-checked to make doubly sure the instruction book was still attached to the handle/trigger.
    "What about this flamethrower?” Mindy asked, pointing to the backpack canister, hose and spray rod assembly.
    "Is it charged?” George asked, fumbling with the lock on a wire enclosed area.
    She kicked it and got an answering slosh. “Yep."
    With a yank, George got the wire gate open and was inside. “Take it. We can always use the thing to toast weenies."
    "Check!"
    "Found the weenies!” somebody added gaily.
    Sighing, I said goodbye to the Wichataw Thunderbolt pistol laying in plain sight on a nearby table. The single shot, bolt action, pistol fired a .569 Magnum Express round that could blow the head off an elephant. But the stupid thing weighed ten pounds and each bullet was an additional pound. Besides, I had never heard of anybody managing to hit their target because of the weapons incredible recoil. I decided to stick to the 10mm and a few grenades.
    Wise move , sent Jessica, busy in a cabinet.
    Triumphantly, George stepped out of the wire cage wearing a bulky backpack, supported by padded shoulder hooks,