That was it. The most important piece of equipment on the mission received no more description or account than Sergeant Franco's boots or Specialist Pearson's gold chain.
Frustrated, she slapped the folder on her desktop and huffed. She knew the Tall Company's representative on-site—that Vsalov guy—probably knew everything about the V.A.A.D., but she also knew he would tell her nothing. That was par for the course; no one at The Tall Company ever provided much help.
Now that's not exactly true, is it?
She did know one person over there who might be willing to talk.
17
Sergeant Franco navigated down the stairs by the tactical light attached to his USAS-12. Scattered emergency lights—a few dim red ones marking exits and even fewer bright spotlights mounted in corners—also helped provide just enough illumination that he and the others could put aside their night vision equipment.
As much as he appreciated them, Franco understood that working lights deep inside an underground bunker that had been quarantined for twenty years suggested more bad news than good.
Of course I'm the guy out in front, that angry part of his mind pointed out. I don't see the major's pet sticking his neck out or any of the “brothers” from the team. No, leave the crap stuff for Franco. Think they'll have my back when the shit hits the fan? Yeah, right.
Regardless of how he perceived things, the sergeant was accompanied by Wells, Galati, and Moss as part of the lead element. The others—Campion, Twiste, Gant, as well as Pearson with his flame unit—waited behind at the top of the stairs on sublevel 5.
Franco brushed aside his thoughts and raised a fist in the air. The scout team crouched in the stairwell. They had arrived at the next sublevel. Another hallway loomed. A variety of light sources—-spotlights and emergency lights—created a confusing pattern of dark and bright ahead. Franco waited for his eyes to adjust.
He pressed against one wall and descended the last two steps, then quickly peeked around the corner, darting his head out and then back. In that short glimpse he captured a snapshot of the hall to the right: doors along the corridor, debris here and there, and a smashed light panel hanging from the ceiling by its electrical cords.
He darted his head out again, this time in the other direction, seeing a set of closed double doors and an elbow in the hall that most certainly led to another passageway.
Franco ran a hand over his face and wiped free a lot more sweat than expected. The lower halls were not as cold as the ones above, for some reason, but still chilled enough that he had not expected to find so much perspiration on his face.
After a moment of consideration, the sergeant flipped open his wrist computer. While the glow for the display was actually rather dim, it felt like a giant beacon giving away his hiding spot.
He used the contraption to double-check their position. If the map was accurate—and he had been on enough missions to know that maps were not always accurate—then the stairway leading down to the next level was constructed into a corner on the far side of this floor, meaning quite a long walk. Not an efficient layout should the complex need to be evacuated, but isolating the stairs on different ends of each floor helped with security and containment, concerns far more important to places like Red Rock than employee safety.
What a second … what's this?
Franco closed the computer and unslung the Searchcam strapped across his back. He clicked a button and extended the pole beyond the rim of the wall. What he saw on the small monitor confirmed what he had seen during his quick glimpses and confirmed that no danger appeared present; the corridor was empty in either direction except for pieces of overturned office furniture, what appeared to be a jug from a water cooler, and a broken fire axe imbedded in a wall.
More important, his computer map indicated a—yes, there it was. Elevator doors set in the wall a dozen steps down the vacant hall to the right.
Franco reholstered the Searchcam.
Major Gant's voice crackled over Franco's headset: "Biggy, what's your status?"
Up until that moment, Ben Franco had not realized how much he despised that nickname. He was not fat, so they must call him that because they were jealous of his strength. Still ...
How about I call you “Blacky,” huh, Major?
Of course, he said no such thing. Instead, he radioed, "We've reached the next sublevel. The stairs end here and a doorway opens to a hall."
Even before he finished his report Franco knew Gant had not heard clearly. There was too much static, even though the major waited only twenty paces behind at the top of the stairs.
"Repeat that, Sergeant."
"I said," Franco started, but he spoke too loudly. He placed a hand over his headset microphone and tried again. "At sublevel 6. Hallway."
Gant may have said something more but Franco did not wait to listen. The last thing he wanted to do was start shouting into his transmitter. The empty halls conducted sound like water conducting electricity. Hell, if it were not for the need for secrecy they could yell to one another far more effectively than using radios. Besides, if the major wanted to know what was up ahead, he could come down and see for himself.
Sergeant Franco proceeded with the next step. Although the contrasting bands of light and dark made hand signals difficult, Wells and Moss were close enough to understand. He used his hands and fingers to dispatch Wells to the far side of the hall then Moss around the corner toward the double doors. Galati, meanwhile, was instructed to hold his position.
As for Franco, he left the confines of the stairwell and crept quickly toward the elevator doors built into the side of the corridor. His boots made a soft scraping sound until he kicked something—maybe a pencil—and it rolled across the floor with a sound that seemed as loud as a jackknifing 18-wheeler.
Franco stopped at the shut elevator and glanced around at his team. Thanks to the glow of an emergency spotlight, Franco clearly saw Moss who had sprinted left when coming out of the stairs and now stood at the corner where a perpendicular corridor led off like a bent elbow. Franco watched as Moss glanced around that corner. After a moment, he turned toward the sergeant and flashed the palm of an open hand over his eyes, signaling that something obstructed his view.
Franco beckoned Galati from the stairs. A moment later he rendezvoused with Franco next to the elevator doors.
"Hold here," Sergeant Franco reversed direction, passed the stairs again, and joined Moss at the corner.
"Too dark," Moss said and Franco saw that he was not lying. After the first few paces around the corner there was nothing to see except for a wall of black; not a single light source.
Franco thought for a second, looked at Moss’s weapon, then whacked the soldier on the back of the head in a move not far removed from Moe slapping Curly. Moss mouthed the words “what the fuck?” but understood when the sergeant tapped the scope on the soldier's M4.
Moss sheepishly raised his rifle and used the infrared site to survey the dark hall. After a moment of searching the black void for heat sources—including body heat—Moss turned to his sergeant and reported, "Clear."
Feeling it was now safe to break silence, Franco said to Moss, "Thanks, dumb ass. Now hump it back up the stairs and bring our fearless leader down here."
Seconds later the rest of the unit came down the stairs and gathered near the elevator.
"We could make our way across this floor until we get to the next stairway down."
Campion, glancing at his own wrist-mounted computer, broke in, "It looks like that would take us through the bioweapons research division."
"So?"
"So," Campion answered, "after twenty years it's possible a vial of anthrax or bubonic plague might have broken its seal. Probably best if we steer clear of that."
Gant said, "This elevator would be a more direct route."
"Going to be a big drop," Campion said.
"One floor," Franco sneered.
"Did you see the blueprints?" Campion came back. "There's
ten feet of rock plus nearly as much concrete between each of the levels. This wasn't built like an office building; it's more like a dressed up mine shaft."
"He's right, man," Wells agreed. "Felt like we went down three flights of stairs and it was only one level."
Gant pushed aside the debate, ordering, "Sergeant, set up a perimeter. Moss, Campion, get these doors open."
While Franco deployed the rest of the team to cover both directions of the hall as well as the stairs they had just left behind, Gant oversaw Moss and Campion as the two used their knives and fingers to pry open the elevator doors. When they did, a smell like hot wires or skidding rubber floated up through the shaft on a cushion of cold air.
Twiste put down his duffel bag and pulled from his utility belt a light stick, which he snapped and dropped down the shaft. The green glow landed atop the elevator car, nearly two dozen feet below.
"Let me get this straight," he said to Gant. "They built elevators that go between only two floors? That's government efficiency for you right there."
"It's for security," Campion answered, either ignoring or missing the sarcasm in Twiste's tone. "Just like the stairwells."
Gant ordered, "We require an anchor and a rope."
"I've got rope," Moss said.
Major Gant thought for a second, glanced around, and said, "There should be electrical or plumbing conduits above the drop ceiling that might make for a usable anchor."
They went to work immediately. It pleased Gant to see his men focused on the task, although he should have expected as much if for no other reason than that the men were not privy to all the horror stories Lieutenant Colonel Thunder had dug up about the place, so they approached Red Rock like any other mission.
The soldiers removed a ceiling tile and tightly tied one end of the rope to a thick pipe. Campion tossed the other end down the shaft.
"Okay, then," Thom said. "It is my turn to go on point."
"Sir?" Campion and Twiste protested in unison.
"Just keep Captain Twiste here and the V.A.A.D. components safe. They are your primary concern. I'll go down first. If all is clear, send down Franco's scout team. If there is a problem, start off for the stairs on the far side."
"Trying to play the hero?" Twiste asked.
"Just doing my part, actually."
Gant moved to the elevator shaft, lowered himself over the edge, and rappelled down once … twice … and was then on top of the car. He used the tactical light on his HK MP5 to search for a roof hatch, which he found and opened. Twenty years of neglect resulted in a horrid squeal from the hinges. He might as well have sounded a bullhorn.
Too late to turn back now.
He shined the light mounted under the barrel of his gun into the opening.
More darkness, no apparent threats.
"We’re good," he said into his headset and looked up at Campion. The interference, however, completely jumbled the transmission, so he added a thumbs up in the beam of the captain's light, which was pointed down the shaft.
Things seemed to be going as good as could be expected. They had penetrated the complex without opposition, despite far too much noise. Once the scout team descended, he would send them through the elevator out into sublevel 7, one floor above the target zone.
Overhead, a soldier descended the rope, his boots scraping off the sides of the elevator shaft and generally coming down in a manner far too clumsy for the major's liking. Gant made a mental note to visit the training grounds for practice, but then he saw who it was: Brandon Twiste with his duffle bag.
"What are you doing? I wanted the scout team first."
"Yeah, I know, but Campion insisted I go next. He practically pushed me down the shaft. Something about protecting the gear and me, and then he said something weird."
"What?"
"He said, 'go away, it's playtime.' Not sure what he was getting at but—"
Gant ignored the rest of Twiste's explanation and radioed, "Captain Campion, what is your status?"
He shined his light up the shaft and saw nothing and was about to reach for the rope when a voice said something over his headset. It sounded like Franco. And it sounded like the word, "movement!"
Then the shouting began, not over the radio but echoing into the shaft from the floor above.
"Movement behind!"
"Multiple targets!"
More shouting, but he could not make out the words through the sound of gunfire. First a solitary shot, then a prolonged volley.
"Thom…"
"Get down into the elevator car," Gant said, grabbing Twiste by the shoulder and moving him to the opening.
"What about you?"
Instead of answering with words, he reached for the rope, but before he could start climbing the entire line—free of its anchor—dropped to his feet.
Overhead a flash lit the top of the shaft like a stroke of lightning and was followed by a jet of flame blasting through the open door above.
"Down! Now!"
He pushed Twiste and his bag through the open hatch and jumped himself just as a burning blast of fire spread through the chute, threatening to singe his hair.
The two landed in the elevator car. Their jump kicked up a storm of dust that made Twiste sneeze, although he barely noticed after banging his head on the wall and doing something painful to his ankle upon landing.
Light, heat, and sound from the battle one story above followed them down, forcing them out the open doors and into the sublevel 7 corridor, where they collapsed on the cold floor.
Thom shook the cobwebs from his head and moved to kneel, sweeping his surroundings with his MP5. The beam from the tactical light illuminated a tight hallway lined with pipes, wires, and smashed lights. In the distance—far away—he spied a red glow. In the other direction he saw a small metal door that looked like it belonged to a utility closet or something similar.
"Listen," Twiste said, although his voice sounded somewhat muffled, as he held a hand against a red mark on his cheek.
"Are you hurt?"
"Smacked my head, maybe twisted my ankle, but," Brandon held one finger aloft. "Listen."
Gant did just that but heard nothing.
"What is it?"
"The gunfire … it's stopped."
Twiste was right. After nearly a minute of weapons fire the battle had faded.
He touched his headset and spoke: "Campion, Franco, report."
Static.
"Anyone, report. This is Gant."
Nothing.
"Maybe we can find the other stairwell and get back up there," Twiste said as he stood.
The idea crossed Thom's mind, but the cold, calculating soldier inside quickly dismissed it. Major Gant saw no alternative. He could not climb up the shaft and, as Campion had said, the only staircase connecting to the level above was a distance away and involved traversing potentially hazardous ground. Besides, his mission parameters dictated that Twiste was the most important human asset on his team.
"Let's move forward. We will have to find a way down to level 8."
"What? Wait a sec, the team is up there."
"We don't know that, Captain," Major Gant said, then started along the corridor toward the red glow in the distance. For some reason he thought it might actually be fires from a high-tech version of Dante's Inferno.
"Hold on a second," Twiste said, taking hold of his arm and stopping his movement. "They can still get down to us, through the shaft."
Thom moved up so close to Twiste that their noses nearly touched. His breath came and went in quick gasps as he said what needed to be said, regardless of how horrible the words tasted.
"Listen to me, Doctor. They could come down that shaft, or whatever attacked them could come down after us. If Campion and Franco are alive, they will complete their mission by making their way to the Red Lab on sublevel 8. It is my intention to do the same, and I will haul you through this nightmare by the collar of your shirt if I have to, but you will move out now."
; Gant held his friend’s eyes and did not blink. Twiste matched his stare for a moment, then reluctantly retrieved his bag. Together they moved deeper into the Hell Hole.
—
Sergeant Ben "Biggy" Franco directed the other members of the team to form a perimeter around the elevator while Gant oversaw Campion and Moss gaining access to the shaft.
Look at them, sticking together: Gant, his best buddy, and his lapdog.
In front of the sergeant stretched an empty hall with doors to either side, most with frosted glass windows, or shattered frosted glass windows.
He knelt behind an overturned desk and kept his gun facing forward. An askew emergency light affixed to a crooked box twenty meters away provided a slice of illumination that cut across the blackness ahead as if a bladed weapon had sliced open the void, allowing light to bleed out.
Franco did not have a good feeling about this mission. While quite capable of moving silently through hostile territory, he was a man built for more direct action, particularly in his upper body. He could bench press more than anyone in the unit—
—including the major's pet, Campion—
—and despite a few extra pounds he had stamina on par with most of the rest of the team.
Except Campion. He'll run circles around you all day long, Biggy. Same with Wells, too, but then again his kind are built for that shit, right?
He removed the black cap covering his head and, again, the amount of perspiration surprised him. His tangled brown hair felt soaked.
Franco surveyed the guards he had dispatched to the perimeter. Wells and Pearson covered the area by the double doors where that pitch black hall elbowed off. Galati stood at the base of the stairs. To Biggy's right, over by the elevator doors, the others worked. Campion had freed a ceiling tile and found a rusting metal folding chair to help him reach a pipe of some kind to use as an anchor for the rope.
What the fuck is taking these idiots so long? It's a goddamn rope, not storming Omaha Beach.
He shook his head in disgust and returned his attention to the empty hall in front of him. Not for the first time, he wondered if anything actually lived down here. The way Gant had briefed the team … the way that wuss Twiste moped around—
Opposing Force: Book 01 - The God Particle Page 16