The Wheel of Iron

The vast city was magnificent, but a real fortress requires artillery, not just gazing. Down on the concrete floor rested a forgotten metal caster wheel unbolted from some old furniture. It dared to lie stationary! I marched straight up, seized the swiveling steel bracket with both hands, and braced my armored boots against the gritty concrete. One massive heave—creak! The ball bearings groaned, spit out a fleck of dried rust, and yielded. A full clockwise rotation! I struck a defensive pose atop its curved metal guard. The perimeter battery now answers to me.