The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning Read Free

in danger. Driebachs were far, far too dangerous to take the chance that they’d get out. Something had to be done, and it had fallen on Bunker Ten’s Whiskey team to do it.
    Bunker Nine’s Operations Center was, like most bunkers, near the top of the facility. Without active, armed resistance, they would only have the Driebachs to deal with. Bad enough, sure, but lots easier than going down to the other levels. A quick in-and-out to set the destruct, and one of the most dangerous places on Earth would cease to be. What could go wrong?
    “Whiskey team, go!” The order came through his earpiece, and his feet moved without his conscious direction. In his peripheral vision, the remaining members of the team were also on their way, running to either side of the bunker doors. He had time to count to eleven before he’d crossed the hundred yards or so and felt good about his time. It wasn’t everyone who could make that run crouched over and lugging a fifty-pound pack on their back. He’d be glad to drop it as soon as he got the order.
    “Martin, Simmons, check it out!” yelled his CO, Colonel Monterrey. “Cambridge, Everett, keep an eye out!” The colonel touched his earpiece. “Yankee Actual, Whiskey Actual. We are at the door, attempting entry.” The two tech specialists brought in for this assignment ran up to the smaller, featureless personnel door. They then began doing whatever it was tech specialists do with keypad locks.
    Leland had never had much of a head for electronics. His PDA was pretty much the limit of his abilities, and even that bugged the hell out of him sometimes. Within a few minutes, the techs reported back.
    “Sir, this is going to take longer than we thought. They did a real number on this lock when they sealed ‘em in, sir.”
    “How long, Simmons?” the colonel asked.
    “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes, sir.”
    “You have five.”
    “Yes, sir,” the tech said, turning back to his work.
    “Worm,” the colonel said as he walked over to Leland.
    Oh, how Leland hated that nickname. It was so… pedestrian. Someday, maybe one of these yahoos would come up with something better. Of course, the CO could call him anything he liked, and often, “Worm” was the nicest variant. “Yes, sir,” he replied.
    “Prep your gear. If they can’t make it through, I want you to blow it.” No surprise there, since the door was lacking in any sort of exterior handhold or pull mechanism. It opened from the inside and the inside only. The older man leaned in, the smell of his cigars heavy in the air, making Leland’s nose itch. “And just the door this time, eh, hot shot?”
    Forcing himself to remain calm, Leland nodded. “Yes, sir.” You blow up one entryway and you’re branded for life. How was he to know they’d been storing gasoline in that building? He continued grumbling as he pulled the C4 charges out of his pack and prepared them for use on the door, just in case. He didn’t think he’d need it—the techs were good—but the colonel was right: it never hurt to prepare. And it felt good to get the pack on the ground, the straps no longer digging into his shoulders.
    “Eureka,” one of the techs said a few minutes later under his breath. There was a tortured squeal of rusted metal as the retaining bolts withdrew and the door popped open a few inches. Simmons coughed and backed away from the opening. “Sir, we’re in. The air’s bad, and it looks like the power’s out.”
    The colonel nodded. “Prepare for entry. Worm, get your charges set up to collapse this entry. We may need to get out of here in a hurry.”
    Oh, now they were collapsing it? Worm wished this guy would make up his mind. “Yes, sir,” he said.
    The doors were large but set well back into the mountain. He could see a few spots where a well-placed charge could bring down a couple tons of rock and dirt. He motioned to Airman Cockrell, and with her help, they had it ready about the same time the colonel was ready to