The Dying of the Light: Interval

by Kristopher, Jason

  He signaled the men to join him, and pointed toward the bunker, handing one of them the binoculars. As they looked, he yelled over the rushing wind. “Northwest, down the glacier. The vent shafts will be no more than a couple thousand feet higher than the bunker.”

  The others nodded, tightening the straps on their gear and checking their oxygen tanks. It had been a long climb, and they still had farther to go, but things were progressing well, and he was confident that they would make their destination.

  Provided, of course, that they don’t try to drop me down the mountain between here and there. Of course, once they outlive their usefulness… well, I’m nothing if not resourceful.

  Even I get cold, Driebach thought as he lay in the snow, several hundred feet from the cap of one of the ventilator shafts. How much longer are we going to stay here?

  The cap was cleverly disguised as a normal outcropping of rock, and Driebach would’ve walked right past it. It was, at a guess, about three feet across and four high. There was a grill covering the main intake area, but the mesh was fine enough that he couldn’t see inside. At least, not from here.

  Fortunately, one of the eagle-eyed young men with him had noticed some damage to the housing, likely caused by an avalanche or rockfall of some kind. The paint had been scraped off, and once you knew what to look for, the cap was obvious. Now, his cohorts were trying to decide how best to approach it, since none of them were sure if there were any built-in defenses.

  “Well?” he asked the closest.

  The man frowned and answered only grudgingly. “We don’t think it has any external protection, or they would’ve already discovered us. Either it never had any, or it was damaged in the avalanche. There’s probably some internal sensors or booby-traps though.”

  “And?”

  “Well, the simplest way to get rid of them would be to set them off from a safe distance, but the idea is to get down the shaft, not to blow it up. Chances are they wouldn’t use explosives, anyway, as they want to keep the shaft open, too. Nuñez is going to go scout.” One of the men unclipped himself from the safety rope strung between all of them, after making sure his ice spikes were secure. He moved slowly and carefully toward the cap, taking his time and checking for crevasses and other glacial dangers.

  Minutes passed. This is taking fucking forever, thought Driebach as Nuñez finally reached the cap. What the hell is he doing now?

  Nuñez was examining the air intake, peering through the grill of the cap. Suddenly, Driebach’s radio earpiece crackled to life with Nuñez’s voice. “No countermeasures evident, sir. Attempting to open the grill.”

  Driebach could see the man draw a tool from a pocket on his coat. As he reached to unscrew the first of many screws holding on the grill, Driebach had a flash of insight, and clawed for his radio button. “Wait, don’t—”

  The sparks that flew between Nuñez and the cap’s metal grill lit up the mountainside.

  Driebach could smell the cooking meat from his position and he howled in frustration.

  The other men had started to leap to Nuñez’s aid, but their leader held them back, shaking his head. “He’s already gone.”

  Driebach had had enough stupidity for one day, and his anger flared to the fore, erasing all thought of his carefully cultivated persona. “Of course it was electrified! How else would you defend a ventilation shaft that had to stay open? It’s probably even heated, to keep the snow off! Morons! Stay here!”

  The others were only too happy to oblige as he stood up and approached the cap and the charred corpse of Nuñez. He kicked the man’s burnt hand away from the ventilation hood, breaking the electrical connection. This close, his enhanced vision could see past the mesh of the cover, and he cursed again.

  There wasn’t just one vent shaft here, there were sixteen, each only about six inches in diameter, arranged in rows. Of course, this also meant the entire effort was useless. In frustration, he kicked the body hard in the side, and then again, and again, until he was breathing hard.

  One of the men approached him, careful not to get within striking distance. “What now, sir?” he asked, though it was clear from his tone that he already had some idea of what their next steps were.

  “Now?” asked Driebach. He sighed and sat down on a rock outcropping. “Now, they know we’re here.”

  Bunker One

  The Ops technician double-checked his monitor and verified the alarm, then signaled for the Ops Watch Commander. “Captain Potter, sir? I’ve got something, here.”

  Marcus Potter walked over to stand behind the technician, what was left of his weekly ration of coffee in the ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug his children had made for him in school. “What is it, Mr. Waczynski?” he asked, then bent over to take a closer look. “That a ventilation alarm?”

  “Yes, sir, on the number four shaft, sir.”

  Potter took a sip of his coffee, trying to recall why that shaft was familiar to him. “Is that the one damaged last year?”

  “Yes, sir. In that rockfall, sir.”

  “Ah. And now…”

  “Now we’re showing an intrusion alarm, sir.”

  “An intrusion alarm? At a vent shaft? Son, those come out on the mountain somewhere around four thousand feet. I think we’d know if someone was up there.”

  “Yes, sir, but just the same, sir. There was a massive electrical draw… well, sir, something got fried out there.”

  “Show me.”

  “Can’t, sir, no cameras…”

  “…because of the rockfall. Son of a bitch,” finished Potter. He ran a hand across his ever-receding hair, and sighed, swilling the dregs of his coffee in one last gulp. “Remind me to have a chat with maintenance.” He began pacing. “How many of these have we had?”

  “Ever? Uh, let me check, sir.” The technician worked with his software for a few minutes, then looked up, puzzled. “None, sir.”

  “None?” Potter said. He stopped pacing, and grew thoughtful. “Not one? In seven years?”

  “No, sir.”

  Potter went to take a long sip of his coffee, only to remember he’d just finished it. Ain’t nothin’ going right today, he thought.

  “OK, here’s what we’re going to do. Alert Bravo squad to prepare for a patrol up the mountain. Warm up the Blackhawk and get the pilots in gear.” He glanced at the clock and shook his head. “And wake up the colonel,” he sighed.

  Mount Rainier

  South Tahoma Glacier, Above Bunker One

  Driebach looked over at the dimwits who had come with him on this mission, all huddled together planning something. Ways to throw me off the mountain, most likely, he thought. They may not be the brightest crayons in the box, but they can certainly follow orders.

  “Plan B?” he asked loudly.

  They looked around at the noise, and for just a flash of a second, he could see the raw, raging hatred in their faces.

  Right back atcha, guys.

  “Actually, sir, we have an idea,” said the biggest of the bunch. “We want to short out the system, overload it and burn it out.”

  Driebach was speechless. Almost. “Really, genius? That sounds like a great idea. Then what? Then we’ll just slide on down this thousand-plus foot ventilation shaft and infiltrate the base as planned, yeah?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but these shafts are only six inches wide. There’s no way we’re getting in there.” He enjoyed their crestfallen looks.” Besides that, did it ever occur to you idiots that they’re already on their way?”

  “You don’t know that. You can’t.”

  “I know it because it’s what I would do in their place!” He stalked a few steps away and began pacing, trying desperately to think of something else they could do, some other way to salvage the mission. Suddenly, his heightened senses felt a slight tremor in the ice beneath him. He glanced over at the others, but they hadn’t appeared to notice. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the feeling, trying to gaug
e how far away it might be, but the shaking was so slight that he couldn’t tell. And now, it was gone.

  He looked up the slope, thinking it might have been the rumblings of an avalanche, but he could see no massive wave of ice and snow moving their way. So either the avalanche had happened elsewhere, or…

  Or it was no avalanche at all, he thought. He spun around at a new sound that was all too familiar, the sound of blades chopping through the air. It didn’t take him long to spot the helicopter coming fast up the mountain. Damn, I hate being right.

  “There goes your fucking Plan B! Take cover!” he shouted at the others, moving to hide behind the nearest outcropping of rock and snow.

  The others weren’t as fast, and slipped and slid their way into cover as the chopper neared.

  Driebach whispered into his radio. “Hold your fire until I give the order. They may not have found us.” One can only hope, he thought, listening carefully as the sound of the helicopter got nearer.

  The Blackhawk fought the pilot’s control as he flew up the mountain, the seemingly random gusts coming off the volcano making it difficult to fly. The pilot had no doubt seen worse, though, and kept control of the craft. “Approaching target, Lieutenant,” he said.

  Lieutenant Adrian Masters leaned out of the chopper until his harness tightened, scanning the area below with his sun-shaded binoculars. “Ops, Bravo Five, we’re approaching the target, no hostiles in sight.” He signaled for Barrents to take a look.

  The team’s sniper raised his .50-caliber sniper rifle, looking through the scope at the snow and ice below. “No visual, sir.”

  “Bravo, Ops. Approach with caution and secure the area,” Kim said.

  “Roger, Ops,” said Masters, smiling. You’d never have known from the colonel’s voice that she’d only been awake twenty minutes. I love this outfit, he thought. He looked over his shoulder at the other soldiers in the chopper. “Arkady, you got anything?”

  “No, sir,” said Sergeant Arkady Ivanovich, who was scanning the terrain below with his own binoculars. “Not a damn thing, sir.”

  “Contact!” said Barrents, pointing below. “Hostile appears down, sir.”

  Masters spun around and raised the binoculars once more, looking in the direction Barrents had indicated. Sure enough, there was a body lying next to an outcropping of rock. Rock that was strangely warm, according to the indicators built into his binoculars. Must be the vent cap, he thought.

  “Ops, Bravo Five. There’s a body here, right at the cap. Or what’s left of one, anyway. Looks pretty burnt up.”

  “Roger that, Bravo. Anything else?”

  “No, ma’am, not that…”

  “L-T, take a look over there,” said Barrents, again pointing below. “What does that look like to you?”

  “Wait one, Ops,” Masters said, taking another look. “It almost looks like… well, like tracks…” he followed the line of disturbed snow up the mountain to some large rocks, refocusing the binoculars to get a better look.

  “Evasive action, now!” yelled Barrents. The pilot’s training kicked in and he pulled up and away from the mountain, throwing everyone inside against their safety harnesses just as several loud cracks sounded from the slope below. There was a grunt of pain behind Masters, and he turned to see Ames clutching his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers.

  “I’m all right, sir,” said Ames through clenched teeth.

  “Turner!” yelled Masters, but he could see the unit’s medic was already moving to help the injured SEAL. More shots rang out from below as the pilot kept them moving away from the site, making them harder to hit with some fancy flying. Masters was feeling more than a little green when he reported in.

  “Ops, Bravo Five. We have multiple contacts and are under fire.”

  “Understood, Bravo Five. Return fire.”

  “Roger, Ops.” Shots rang out once more, this time from the right side of the aircraft as the soldiers on board returned fire. The crack of the sniper rifle was loud in his ears as Barrents fired once, twice.

  “Two down, sir,” the sniper said. “But there’s something you should see.”

  Lowering his rifle, Masters picked up the binoculars again. “Where?”

  “Two hundred yards up the mountain from the body, sir. I think it’s The Man in Black, sir.”

  Masters found the spot Barrents mentioned, and dialed up the focus on the binocs as the others continued to fire at the targets on the ground. At first, he didn’t see anything, but like looking at one of those 3D pictures that had taken over malls briefly, he suddenly saw it, or rather him. His snowsuit camouflaged him for the most part, but an errant gust of wind blew back the hood long enough for Masters to recognize the grisly visage thus revealed. The one they euphemistically called ‘The Man in Black,’ since they had no other name for him.

  “Ops, Bravo Five. Positive ID on ‘The Man.’”

  “Take him out, Bravo. Whatever you have to do.”

  “Roger, Ops.” The firing had stopped from the others, and he glanced around. Turner was finishing up the patch job on Ames, and he turned to Barrents. “Do you have a shot?”

  “Negative, sir. He’s entrenched up there. Even I can’t make that shot.”

  “What about the others?”

  “I count five tangos down, sir.”

  “So he’s the only one left?”

  “That I can see, sir, yes.”

  “Good. Samuels, can you get us right over those rocks just north of the first body?” he asked the pilot, an idea forming.

  “Yes, sir, provided there’s no one shooting at us.”

  “Do it,” he said, smiling, then pulled a grenade from his pocket. He glanced at Barrents, who was already holding out a grenade from his own pocket, and took it, stowing the binoculars. He looked down, and though he couldn’t see his target under the rock outcropping, it didn’t matter. “OK, Samuels, prepare to get us right the hell away from here. No sense taking chances.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the pilot.

  Pulling the pins on both grenades, Masters counted silently and then dropped them straight down, just above the outcropping. “Now!”

  The pilot rolled hard again, away from the mountain. They were only a few hundred yards from the slope when Masters heard the explosions and saw the blast as they leveled out. There was a round of cheering from the soldiers as they saw the outcropping blasted away and rolling down the mountainside.

  “Ops, Bravo Five. We got him,” said Masters, clapping Barrents on the shoulder as they watched the slope. “He’s… wait—”

  Masters broke off as there were several more loud cracks from below. Not pistol or rifle shots this time, these were deep booming noises. Cracks began appearing in the snow on the slope below them, and suddenly he knew what had happened.

  “Samuels, take us up. Ops, Bravo Five.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Rig for avalanche, Ops. It’s coming right for you.”

  Masters heard shouted commands in the background, and the slow warble of the avalanche warning, then Barnes came back on the line. “Can you get back in time, Bravo?”

  “Negative, Ops,” said Masters as he watched the avalanche picking up steam as it headed down the mountain, carrying the blasted rocks, the bodies, and every other trace of the infiltration team with it. “Seal it up. We’ll wait it out up here.”

  “Roger. Find a place to set down and we’ll be in touch when it’s over. Ops out.”

  “Samuels, take us down. Find a place near the hangar to set down.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Samuels as he reduced the chopper’s altitude. “It’s pretty unstable down there, but I’ll find something.”

  “Good,” Master said, turning to Ames who was leaning against the forward bulkhead. “How is he, Doc?”

  “He should be fine,” said Janet Turner, crouching next to the injured SEAL and collecting her equipment into her pack. “He’ll need some rest and some meds, but I’d expect a full recovery.” She smiled at
Ames. “You’re lucky; it went through and through. Half an inch to either side and it would have shattered your scapula.” The two men looked at her blankly. “Your shoulder blade. Tough to do much of anything with that sort of damage.”

  “We’ll get ya back as soon as we can, Ed,” said Masters.

  “Yes, sir, I know, sir.” Ames closed his eyes and leaned his head back, obviously in pain. Masters moved back to the open door of the chopper as they flew down the mountain, looking at the devastation he’d wrought with just a couple grenades.

  Whole swathes of trees were simply gone, and the snow fields looked as though a giant had tilled them for planting. As they approached the opening of the hangar, set into a relatively flat part of the mountainside, about four hundred feet above the main base door, Masters noticed the snow had only partially covered it. As Samuels lowered them to a rest nearby, he winced, realizing that there was likely quite a bit of snow covering the hangar floor, far below. And, without doubt, some or all of the air crew.

  I am so going to be hearing about this, Masters thought. I wonder if it’s too late to abandon ship?

  Why is everything white? Driebach thought, puzzled by the lack of color. Is this Heaven? Surely not. This feels like a cloud;&hellip

  That’s when the pain began, and he howled. So hard, he thought his throat might tear. He’d never felt like pain like this in his entire life, and he wished for death if only to make the pain stop.

  That’s not true though, is it? You have felt pain like this before, haven’t you, Mr. Driebach?