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You watch as one of the militiamen drags an ammo box and quickly connects it to the HMG, all the while, he quickly runs off and helps another man drag in a box of missiles meant for AA duties, the bunker crew will have to shoulder the duties of nearly all heavy weapons with only half a dozen men. Far below the needed thirty or perhaps even fifty men to man just these weapons. At least the ground crews have to be content that it is not just two men having to man an entire bunker.
Shifting your gaze, it lands upon a freshly delivered crate which houses brand-new custom make rifles, not that advanced compared to what you used to have in the military, but still better than nothing.
Taking one yourself, you look it over, test the newly made rifle before setting it down. “Not bad.”
“We’ve got another five hundred ready to go by the end of the day. We’ll have a backup for everyone involved.” The factory manager informs you as he goes down the list of products he has made.
“What of our munition reserves ?”
“We’re making as much as fast as we can with our limited production capacity, but we need more power to get things into gear. Presuming we are not put under extended stress for months on end, we should maintain our ammo levels to an acceptable level. Beyond that, no promises, sir.”
“Make do with what you have as long as you can. That’s all I ask.”
“Not the first time I heard that, sir.”
“I am sure of that. Thank you.”
With a nod, the man turns around, still looking over the various crates and noting things down.
Looking around, you start to connect to the foreman in charge of the fighter berth, the signal automatically being routed through your communications centre.
“Sir ? Reading you loud and clear.” After a short delay, the foreman comes through.
“What’s the progress on the new Sting squadron ?”
“It’ll be tight, but seems like we’ll make it. Though I must give a word of caution, sir. We had to skip quite a few steps to get the craft flightworthy. And we weren’t able to do all of the safety checks and extensive shakedowns. I make no promises if they have to go for a long time or under exceptionally stressful conditions.”
“Noted. What of ammo ?”
“Low. Stings are especially missile intensive. A couple of volleys from three squadrons ? We’ll be shooting blanks at best.”
“Alright, begin evac procedures, Gotch should have sent you a list where everyone has to go.”
“Aye, we’ve got it, sir.”
“Good luck, out.” You signal the end of the conversation before busily moving to a backroom, where your captains all greet you.
