Weapon Shop

Author: Kyle Bernard <csktech[at]yahoo.com>

Copyrighted: Dec 21, 2002

Category: Crossover

Rating: R

Spoilers: None

Keywords: None

Warning: Crossovers ahead (Yes Plural.)

The Following TV Series or books have been included in the story.

Disclaimers appear at the end with the cast list.

* Buffy the Vampire Slayer

* Stony Man Doctrine

Legalese: All characters with their respective rights, properties, and copyrights are the property of their respective creators, authors, owners, producers, and agencies. These characters are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended or meant, and no money will be made from this story. This story may be copied in its entirety, and may be distributed as long as all copyright information remains.

Summary: Dragan gets a new gun

Based in Tenhawk's Journeyverse this story in meant to compliment his visions. I am not the writer that Ten is and never will be but I count him a friend and thank him for letting me play in his universe and even destroy them once or twice. Big thanks to Nuc for letting me play with Dragan for a short while

Author's Notes: <…> indicates thoughts. //…// Indicates telepathy.

Authors Note Huge thanks to Tenhawk for his help with this and all of my stories. If he didn't let me play in his verse, my life would be less joyful. And as Always to Robert Stevenson, The editor from whom I can never give enough credit to.

Author's Note: Ok cal me anal, but when I read ten's last part I just had to figure out how Andy was gonna make suppressors without destroying the 5.7's. Well this is how he did it. Enjoy.

Saigon, South Viet Nam

Andy and his A-team walked into the joint that was named the service club, but was better known to soldiers as the Lock and Load. The place was full of soldiers on leave, or just trying to escape the hell that war in Viet Nam was.

Six months into his second tour and Andy had pretty much had the load part down pat and tonight he was gonna get loaded and with any luck he would get locked up with a pretty little lady as well. To that point he and the rest of the team arrived in Saigon three hours earlier and they were determined to get shit-faced and laid, no necessarily in that order.

Claiming a table near the door Andy sat his ass down in the chair and began issuing orders. "Smitty," he growled. "You have the point. I want beers, lots and lots of beers."

"Damnit Sarge, I bought last time." Smitty was the medical specialist for the team and generally was liked both within the team, and the local strikers. He was also a scrounger of the first class. "Don't ya think Jimmy should be picking up the slack?"

Andy turned the newest member of the team. "You know he's right, Jimmy front and center." A tall, skinny, redheaded, soldier snapped to attention.

"Suh, I stands ready to do my duty." The thick accent was a mystery to anyone that hadn't become used to it.

"Boys take this as a lesson of military courtesy. Note that he stands at attention, and displays the proper respect for his superiors. Jimmy beer run now."

Yes sir, Sergeant Andy Sir."

The southern soldier wove his was through the crowed bar. When he got to the rough-hewn bar he slapped down an impressive wad of military script and demanded beer. The Asian bartender looked at the young soldier, took his money and pointed out three cases that had been stacked against the wall in the walk in cooler.

Several hours later, and working on the last case of beer the Special Forces team was drunk. Not just plain drunk, they were shit-faced. The bar went strangely quiet when a group of soldiers walked in. A whispered word ran through the Lock and Load, "Mercs."

Mercenaries and Special Forces troopers didn't make for the best party mix. The Green Beret's thought that the Mercs cared little for the people they defended, that money was the only reason that they bothered at all. The beanies were convinced that as soon as they got a better offer, they would switch sides and kill off their former allies. They weren't far from the truth in that belief.

The mercs, for their part, thought the Beenies were Do-gooder Boy Scouts that were ignorant of the way the world really worked. The only thing that they coveted was the helicopter fleet that the Berets had access to: other then that, they wouldn't give them the time of day.

The smart few, the ones still sober enough to know better, left. Those that were drunk, ignorant, or just plain didn't give a fuck, stayed to watch the fun. The tension in the bar became as thick as the cigarette smoke that was hovering just below the ceiling. Trouble was coming, it was just a matter of time, and who would trigger it.

The fuse was lit, when one of the Mercs leaned down and lit his cigarette from the candle at Andy's table. "Thanks," he said as he leaned down. Under normal circumstances that would have been shrugged off by the A-team, These weren't normal circumstances. Andy was drunk, and wasn't in the mood to take shit from anyone, let alone a smart-assed mercenaries.

Andy set his beer down and looked at the soldier of fortune, "No problem," then he grabbed the merc by the hair and slammed his head down on the table so hard that it broke off a chunk of wood. "Ask next time."

Dragan watched as Turner was slammed against the table. He didn't much care for the guy, but there was a certain aura and mystique that had to be maintained. He grabbed the Green Beret by the collar and pulled him off the chair and held him up in the air effortlessly. "Boy," he said, "You just bought yourself a whole lot of trouble."

In a show of strength that few could duplicate, he tossed Andy over his shoulder. "Gentlemen, It's time to teach these boys to respect their betters." The fight was on.

Andy lay against the wall dazed. < Who the fuck was that, > he thought. < I've never seen someone with that much power. > Andy shook his head, trying to clear his vision, but the effort was rewarded with a pulsing headache. "Fuck," he screamed. He slowly made it to his feet, looking for the bastard that had laid him out clean. He saw Dragan over by the door, cleaning up on the Vietnamese hoodlums that preyed on the drunken soldiers.

Andy stumbled over to the Merc, and if his judgment had been a little better he would have realized that none of the blows the gangsters were landing were having any effect at all. It was clear to Andy, even in his drunken and concussed state, that the fight was already lost, so he tried the next best thing; He tried to get in one last good shot. He charged forward like a NFL place kicker and let loose, nailing Dragan right between the legs.

Even an Immortal mercenary had to feel that, and Dragan did. He dropped his current punching bag and turned towards the Beanie. He smiled, "Good shot, too bad you couldn't do it when I was facing you." Dragan cocked his arm back and let go with a right hook that would have sent Andy into orbit if Dragan had used his full power, but this was just a fun bar fight to him, so he took it easy on the guy.

Andy dropped to the floor, joining the rest of his A-team. Before Dragan could order the first beer, the sound of whistles filled the air, announcing that the MP's were on their way. "Grab the Beenies and let's get the hell out of Dodge."

Saigon, South Viet Nam.
Hotel Caravelle

Andy peeled his eyes open; then immediately regretted that decision. The sunlight streaming through the window was blasting him in the face, and the hangover made it feel like he'd just been hit with a bouncing Betty.

"Oh God," he groaned in a tone that only the truly hung over could understand. Andy forced himself to get up and close the blinds before his head exploded or he killed himself to end the misery, whichever was faster. Fortunately for him, the blinds were closer then a weapon. Crawling on his hands and knees he made his way to the bathroom and pulled himself up by grabbing the sink. He blindly reached for the faucets and turned the cold water on full blast, which wasn't even close enough to suit the sickened soldier.

Andy had just managed to get a washcloth dampened and applied to his face when the door to the suite slammed closed, sending Andy into tremors of pain.

"Good morning," bellowed Dragan, as he watched the stranger collapse into the tub. "Hope you're feeling better." Dragan walked over to the tub and started the shower, washing away the stench of beer and vomit, and thoroughly soaking Andy's uniform.

"Oh God," Andy groaned again. Sticking his head under the cascading water, "Who are you," he said, spraying water all over Dragan, "and why did you bother to pull me out of the bar?"

Dragan laughed at Andy's predicament, he been there many time before in his long life, and he couldn't find it in himself to make matters worse. "Unt Uh, you first. Name, Rank, and serial number."

"Konzaki, Andrezj, Sergeant first class," Andy answered automatically, but for the life of him he couldn't remember his unit, or much else for that matter. "Call me Andy, its lots easier."

"Well Andrezj," Dragan pronounced the name perfectly, even down to the polish accent. "Name's Dragan. We pulled your boys out of there, because there would have been questions asked that we prefer that are never asked. The rooms are paid up till Sunday night, so consider this a gift," he smiled, "along with the lesson on getting in over your head that you got last night." Dragan leaned down toward Andy. "Know this junior, you owe me. And I always collect on my debts."

Los Angeles, CA

Dragan stood in front of the run down building wondering just how he would be received. He'd done some checking and he'd been surprised to find that Immortal Arms Inc., was being operated in such a bad part of town. He'd been even more surprised to find that the chief gunsmith was someone that he'd once known. < Ah, > he thought, < the good days. >

Dragan had done some discreet checking with his old contacts in Delta Force and Project Phoenix and the word was that if you needed something special, Terry's Surplus was the place to get it. He was even further surprised when Terry had pointed him to Immortal Arms Inc. < Oh well, time to beard the lion. >

Dragan kicked the door open, only to find him self staring at the business end of a very lethal shotgun. The shotgun obscured the man's face. "Who the fuck are you?" the owner of the shop demanded.

While the buckshot wouldn't kill Dragan, it would sure put him in a world of hurt, so he raised his hands slowly. "Terry sent me."

Andy lowered the scattergun, there was something familiar about the man, but he couldn't place him. Then, in his mind, he changed the hair color, "Oh Shit."

Dragan grinned, "How ya doing junior?

Andy stood there stunned. The only thing he remembered about that R&R was the Merc that had saved him and his team from ending up in the stockade. "Dragan, isn't it?"

"You remembered. How can I not be touched."

Andy rolled back to the counter. "I'm gonna kill Terry, slowly and painfully." He turned his chair around, "What can I do for you?"

"I need a gun."

"Try a gun store."

"No. You misunderstand. I need a gun that doesn't exist. Terry told me you're the only one that can do it." Dragan slapped a rough drawing one the countertop. "I want that gun."

Andy looked over the drawing and the specifications that accompanied it. When he saw the caliber, "I hope you have a lot of money to spend."

The two spent the next few hours talking about the new weapon; it was only after Andy had taken a clay impression of Dragan's hands that the Mercenary headed for the door. He stopped, "You want a down payment?"

Andy thought for a moment. "Naw, if Terry trusts you enough to send you to me, I think I can trust you to pay when the time comes."

The rising sun had just begun to work its way through the cracks in the buildings around the shop when the dirty white van pulled in. Andy pulled himself from the driver's seat into his wheelchair. Rolling backward he felt the slight bump as the chair rolled onto the lift. Flicking the sliding door with his right hand he slapped the power button that would lower the lift to the ground. He stood guard over the van while the lift retracted, He'd already had kids that tried to steal the van and he wasn't taking any chances.

Andy rolled his chair over to the oversized delivery door and punched in his access code. It took the immortal gunsmith two tries to get the code right, which was the only indication that something was making him nervous. It wasn't nerves that had Andy's hand shaking, it was excitement, and excitement at the thought of building a brand new gun, on that had never existed before.

He rolled the chair over to the drafting table, where he'd practically lived for the last two weeks. On the table were the blueprints for the gun that the very odd customer had ordered. Those unfamiliar with guns would be unimpressed if they took a casual look, just another revolver would be their thought. True gun lovers would first note similarities to the Colt Python. The heavy stainless steel construction, the shrouded extractor rod, the oversized trigger, even the porting at the top of the barrel, were the signatures of the classic Colt pistol. But there were differences that would be noted as well. Andy had never liked the sights of the Python, so he'd changed those to ones of his own design. He also eliminated the small cylinder release in favor of the Smith & Wesson style, which was a better design.

The first thing they would notice would be the oversized 5-round cylinder, and wonder what the hell needed such a meaty cylinder. Then they would flick the thumb release and see the size and the length of the bore and then a knowing grin would be painted on their faces. Neophytes would assume that it was just a Double action revolver in a .45 Long Colt caliber. More experienced hand gunners would know why the thing was so large. This would be the first double action pistol chambering the .454 Casull round.

Andy sighed, then grabbed the first drawing and headed over to the crater that housed his supply of titanium. He collected the five blocks that he's specified for the frames, and set to work on the CNC mill.

The purchase of the CNC mill had been one of the few arguments that he and Terry had ever had. Andy wanted to stick with the tried and true method of the classic mill, but Terry had argued that his time could be better spent doing other things. In the end, Terry had won out, Andy simply agreed to it because it was Terry and it wasn't worth fighting over. In his own mind though, he knew that he was right and the he'd probably do it the old fashion way. He smiled to himself as he powered up the mill and checked the cooling bin. < Damn it, when Terry is right, he is really right. >

Andy chucked the first block of titanium in the machine. He double-checked the program that would turn a block of metal into the frame of the new gun. Andy noted the time to completion, < three hours, which will give me time to work on the other project. >

Ever since Xander mentioned that he liked magnesium round better then the silver tips the thought had been simmering in Andy's mind. Unfortunately, The 5.7 caliber would be too small for what he had in mind, but the .454 used a big enough bullet cross-section that it should work. Andy intended to find out.

He started the heaters on the bullet molds and the casting cauldron; mixing in the grayish powdered magnesium with a few choice metals he began the long process of creating a new alloyed bullet. The molds had been chosen after careful consideration. He needed a bullet that was long enough, so that he could make up the difference in the weight between lead and magnesium, yet it couldn't be too long, or he would have to use a compressed load of gunpowder in the case. He hoped to avoid that, compressed gunpowder burned differently then a normal free load but from his initial calculations the figured that a full powered load would have to be compressed. Andy made a mental note to himself to warn Dragan.

Dragan. Now there's a character. If it hadn't been for the fact that Dragan had mentioned Terry, Andy would have never considered working with the man, he gave Andy the willies. That in it self was odd, there weren't many people that could intimidate Andrezj Konzaki, but the odd man was one of the few. The fact that he never flinched at the starting price of 30,000 dollars caught Andy's interest. True, with the development work, Andy would just break even, but he would have parts for 5 complete pistols. Dragan would get the first one. The second, Andy would keep for himself. The third, he would try and sell to some gun manufacturer, and the remaining pistols would be kept as spare parts of the first two guns.

Humming to himself, Andy watched as the metals in the caldron slowly liquefied. Andy watched the temperature gage closely, magnesium's melting point and its flash point were very close and if it ignited, only the Halon system would save the shop and its owner.

Andy poured the heated metal into the molds, thankful that this was only a test run and 100 rounds would be sufficient for the test. He gave the concoction a few minutes to harden back to solid form, then as quickly as he could; he dumped the rounds into an oil-quenching bath.

For the next few hours Andy spent his time running back and forth between the reloading bench and the CNC mill. He had to load a new block of titanium every three hours and the time in-between was spent developing the new rounds. Once the casting was done, the first step was to drill the hollow point cavity even further. That would allow space for the phosphorus, which would be the triggering agent. Then, he carefully mated the cast bullets to a copper jacket that would encase the lower two thirds of the bullet. That was necessary to protect the pressure and the expanding gases from igniting the round prematurely in the barrel. Pressing each of the jackets was more time consuming then Andy would have liked, but there was no rushing when your life, or somebody else's, might be on the line.

Just as Andy picked up that last bullet, the buzzer that signaled a delivery rang. He set the parts back on the bench and rolled over to the door. "Ya," he shouted.

"UPS delivery" was the answer he got. Andy opened the door to find the brown uniform that UPS had made famous.

"What can I do for you?"

"You Andy," he stumbled, trying to pronounce the last name.

"Close enough man. That's me."

"Can you sign here, please? I'll go get the rest." The deliveryman went to the back of his truck and returned with a dolly that carried 4 heavy boxes. "Where would you like them?"

Andy read the invoice as he answered. "Right by the door is fine. Thanks." He ripped the envelope off of the box and tore into it.

Dear Andy,

Andy smiled to himself. He was in for one of Terry's letters.

The weather here is wonderful. Lynn and I went on a picnic yesterday; she is growing into a beautiful girl. She misses her Uncle Andy and wants to know when you will come visit again. You can't blame her; you should see her eyes light up when you call. I know it's hard for her, she misses you more then even I do. I think she has a small crush on her, oh so older, Uncle. Ha ha ha.

Lynn has been tossing hints about wanting a dollhouse for Christmas, but everything I've found is just a bunch of crap. I want her to have the best. I don't care what it costs, please Bro, do me a big favor and find something. I'll Fed Ex you a check, just tell me how much.

Andy laughed out loud. "Like that's ever going to happen." Terry had just solved another problem for Andy. He'd been wondering what to get the little munchkin for Christmas. "Hmm." It was then that he knew what he'd get Terry. One of the Atchison shotguns would be perfect. He'd have to order the parts soon, or he'd run out of time. Andy filed that thought in the back of his mind.

Business is very good, though I have to admit a lot of it was that kid Xander that you sent my way. He bought two of the armored coats, and I think if he could have paid for it, he would have taken that experimental armor that's been collecting dust. You my friend have a very bad habit of collecting interesting people. Oh well, better that then no friends at all I say.

Now to the business at hand: I don't know why you could possibly want silver crosses that have been blessed by a priest, and I'm not sure I want to know, but you will find 60lbs of them in the shipment that I just sent. I can get more if you need them, but give me some warning next time. The priest in Billings was more then a little curious so I think I'll try Father Cranston next time. I haven't met him yet, but Lynn sees him every Sunday, he teaches the Kids Sunday school class. He seems to be a nice enough guy.

Again, Andy couldn't help but laugh. He couldn't even imagine Terry in a church. It just didn't seem to be a possibility. Even if he did go, it was even money that the church would crash down on his head in retribution for all of the missed services.

Well that's it for now. Make sure that you read and sign the financials that I've sent with this letter. That way you can still use the Class 3 and 4 licenses.

Take care, buddy,


Andy spent the rest of the day running back and forth between the forge, the reloading bench, and the CNC mill. By the time all five of the frames were done, he had 100 rounds of the Demon Killer's ready for testing. Also he'd melted the crosses down and had cast a thousand more of the 5.7mm bullets that he was sure that Xander would be calling for any day now.

Andy hadn't lefty the shop in three days. His obsession with gun and his own work ethic wouldn't allow him to leave. When he was forced to, he took short catnaps on the couch in his office and then it was right back to work. His dedication had paid off, the five frame and barrel assemblies were in the furnace being heat treated and all of the internal parts were ready for the first test fit. The only real work left was the grips and he'd decided to contract that job out to Gil, the toymaker who'd made Lynn's dollhouse.

With the pistol nearly completed Andy turned his attention back to the new ammunition. He'd thought long and hard about the Demon Killers and he'd even sat down and tried to figure the ballistics and the pressures involved, he'd decided to start small and work his was up.

Andy decided to load the bullets into .45 Long Colt so he could test the smaller loads for functionality. The maximum round test would have to wait until he finished the pistols, for they would most likely destroy the old Colt he was planning to use as a test gun. He didn't load the phosphorus or the pistol primers into the test loads. That would have been foolhardy, what he was doing was already dangerous enough. < Back to work. >

Three weeks later

Dragan stood at the counter, waiting. He'd never admit it but he was nervous, not a scared nervous, more like Christmas morning nervous. "Bah," he said, scoffing at himself. "Andy," he yelled. "Where the hell is it?"

"Hold your water." Andy rolled into the front of the shop with a polished cherry wood case in his lap. He laid the case on the counter, slowly opening the top. There, encased in black velvet, lay the stainless pistol, shining like an angel's halo. The only thing that broke the sheen was the teak grips that were so deeply polished that light seem to disappear into the grain.

Dragan snatched the pistol up like it had possessed his soul. His fingers fell into the fitted grip without thought and as he pulled the pistol up, it came up on line, the front sight already centered in the rear blade sight. "Holy smokes," he mumbled in awe. "Damn, when can I shoot it?"

Andy took the gun back. "Not till you pass a few lessons." His thumb found the cylinder release and he flipped the pistol open. "First off, it can't be loaded with single rounds. Andy reached down under the counter and pulled out Five rounds that had all been installed on a ring of metal and were held in place by ridges set into the inner diameter. "There weren't any speed loaders available that I could modify to work with the .45 Casull, so I went back to the old moon clip."

"Interesting, why can't I load a single round?"

"Because the cylinder dimensions take the thickness of the moon clip into account, and if you single load them, the gun won't close. I made you 500 clips. You load them like this." One by one, Andy popped the rounds out of the clip and then replaced them by placing the round between the peaks and pressing them downward.

Dragan wasn't sure about that one, < What if all I had was two or three rounds left, > he thought.

The doubt on Dragan's face was all too obvious to the gunsmith. "Look try it my way first, if you really don't like it I can make you a new cylinder, but you'll give up the advantage of a fast reload.

"Ok. We will do it your way for now. What about ammo?"

"Look behind you."

Dragan twisted his body and found an old motor case sitting on the floor by the wall.

"There are a thousand rounds of 250 semi-jacketed hollow points in there. Andy unconsciously rubbed his wrist, I wouldn't do and practicing with those."

"Why not?"

"In a crunch you can use .45 Long Colt rounds, I have a couple of the clips for that caliber as well, I'll toss them in. Muzzle velocity is 2150 feet per second. They pretty much duplicate the hottest factory rounds that are available, seems that bear are one shot kills, one guy reported killing a rhino with three shots, but they are," Andy paused, "brutal. I damn near broke my wrist testing them."


"There's one more thing, well two actually." Andy rolled his chair from around the counter and stopped in front of Dragan. He glanced upwards, "I talked to Terry about you. It seems that you know about the night life that doesn't really belong, if you know what I mean."

"Night life?" Dragan said. Trying very hard not to let anything out that didn't need to be said.

"Night life," Andy said again, only this time much louder. "You know, Vampires, demons and various bad asses that are very difficult to kill. Don't try and bullshit me, I saw the glint in your eyes when I said it."

"Ok, so what."

Andy returned to behind the counter. He dropped five plain white boxes on the counter. "There are Demon Killers."

That got Dragan's attention. He opened one of the boxes and pulled a single round out. Other then the red tip, they didn't seem any different the rest of the ammunition Andy had given him. "Ok what makes these so special?"

"Essentially they are the same, with a few exceptions. The bullet is a 230-grain magnesium bullet with an oversized cavity. That cavity is filled with phosphorus capsule, on top of that is a small pistol primer."

"Ok I get the picture. One round and the vamps go poof."

"That's the idea."

"I can deal with that. What's the second thing?"

Andy smiled. "I won't sell you the gun."

"WHAT." Dragan had been waiting for weeks and now Andy tells him he can't happen. "Why the fuck not?"

Andy broke out laughing. "I won't sell you the gun but, you can rent it for the rest of your life."

Dragan's grin matched Andy's. < He's never getting this gun back. > "Ok, deal."

"One more thing," Andy's voice became deathly serious. "You take care of that weapon, or you'll answer to me."

As he walked out of the store with the gun and the ammo, Dragan turned back and faced the crippled immortal. "Count on it."


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