Bunker: Boxed Set (Books 4 and 5)

by Jay J. Falconer

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  “If they assume they are dealing with untrained civilians, then yes. Just like when the Soviets invaded Afghanistan. They thought they were taking on a bunch of helpless sheepherders,” Bunker said, snickering. “You know, it used to piss me off that the rest of the world viewed America as nothing more than a bunch of fat, lazy people. I never thought that perception would come in handy, until today. The Russians will never expect any of this. But the timing has to be spot-on. And it all starts with the Sheriff,” he said, pointing at the far side of the meadow, “and that entrance.”

  “Where is he from here?” Rusty asked, his eyes in search mode.

  Bunker pointed to the left. “Straight up from end of the trench. See that thick green bush by that oak tree? To the right about ten yards.”

  Rusty took a second before he answered. “Oh yeah. I see him.”

  Bunker picked up the gas mask at his feet. “One last thing. If the wind shifts, use this and get the hell out of here. Keep low until you get to the horses.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be okay. Just worry about yourself. Your number one job is to get back to camp safely. Understood?”

  Rusty nodded but didn’t say anything, his eyes in full attention mode.

  CHAPTER 47

  Bunker made his way to the left, working across the hillside to the next sniper. Burt was manning the second station, his hands inspecting the stack of reserve magazines. He, too, had one of the AR-10 rifles from Tuttle’s place. “Any questions, Burt?”

  “Just one,” he said, striking a Wyatt Earp pose with the butt of the rifle on his right hip, barrel pointing toward the sky. His eyes, face, and chin looked ready, but Bunker knew from experience that appearances could be deceiving. Usually when the mayhem starts. “When do I get to kill me some of them Russians?”

  “Soon. I just need to make sure everyone is ready up here, then I’ll get this party started. It’s imperative that you keep your position hidden until Apollo sets off the charges.”

  “Easy pickin’s,” Burt said, turning his eyes to Apollo’s position. “The Sheriff better take good care of my rifle over there. I’m gonna expect it back in one piece.”

  “He will. Thanks for working with me on this. I know it’s not what you wanted, but we all have a job to do.”

  “I hope you realize, Bunker, I could’ve done Apollo’s job without breaking a sweat. It ain’t rocket science, you know. Just push them red buttons, then aim and shoot at whatever comes out of the smoke.”

  Bunker went into spin mode, needing the brute to remain committed to the mission. False praise is almost as powerful as fake confidence when you’re manipulating a short-tempered man with severe ego issues. “I never had a doubt, Burt. Not for a second. But I need you here, to keep an eye on the Mayor’s grandson.” He swung his attention to Rusty’s position, twenty yards to their right. “You’re a lot more mobile than Apollo.”

  Burt laughed. “That’s an understatement. Has he ever heard of a salad?”

  Bunker ignored the comment. “If this shit goes sideways, I need you to make sure Rusty gets back to camp in one piece. We’ll figure out a Plan B later. You with me?”

  Burt straightened his posture with his shoulders back, almost looking the part of an honorable recruit. “Sure, I can do that,” he said. “But what if the kid don’t listen to me?”

  “He will. I made sure he knows you’re in charge.”

  “He’d damn well better,” Burt said, bending down to pick up the gas mask he’d been assigned. “What if they have these as well?”

  “They won’t. Troops hate to lug them around unless they’re expecting a gas attack. Which they won’t. They think they’re dealing with a bunch of backwoods farmers.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Burt said, putting the mask down. He adjusted the rifle in his grip. “But either way, I’m taking out my share of Russians. Fuck ‘em.”

  * * *

  Dicky was next. The burly man was busy digging into sniper’s nest number three when Bunker arrived. He, too, was armed with an assault rifle, only his was an AR-15 chambered with 5.56 rounds stuffed into a thirty-round magazine. His reserve stack of ammo stood taller than Rusty’s. Smaller rounds meant less damage with each shot, but Bunker was sure his friend could handle it. The quietest of men are usually the most focused and, by extension, the most dangerous. For the enemy, that is.

  “Any questions, Dicky?”

  “Just one. What if the charges fail?”

  “Then this is over before it starts.”

  “I can probably shoot some of the Tannerite from here,” he said, holding the rifle in a shooting position with his right eye behind the scope. “As backup.”

  “You could, but that won’t help with the entrance. The TNT along the front must blow first; otherwise, the rest of our plan is useless.”

  “In that case, what about the others?” he asked in a terse tone, looking at Burt, then Rusty.

  “I think you already know.”

  Dicky flared an eyebrow, looking sure of himself. “Focus on the Mayor’s kid first.”

  “Copy that. I told him to do whatever you said, so get him outta here and keep him safe. The Sheriff and Burt can fend for themselves. We’ll rally back at Tuttle’s place.”

  “What about Dustin?” Dicky said, looking in the opposite direction. Dustin had been assigned to sniper position four, halfway between Dicky and Apollo. “Ten bucks says he’s outta here the moment the Russians show.”

  “I’ll go see where he’s at. But I needed to check in here first.”

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Never had a doubt, my friend,” Bunker said, letting a thin smile take over. It vanished as soon as his thoughts turned to Dustin. “Now scarecrow on the other hand...”

  “I’ve been watching him. He looks a little nervous. I think he misses his boy Albert.”

  “Probably,” Bunker said, letting out a short chuckle. Dicky was the quietest man in the group, but when he did speak, it was always memorable. “That’s why I’m chatting with him last. He’s the weakest link.”

  “Which is why you gave him the 30-06,” Dicky said in a matter-of-fact tone, his expression indicating he agreed with the decision.

  “He’s not gonna hit much, anyway. No reason to waste one of the true assault weapons.”

  Dicky nodded, his voice turning to a whisper. “Anything he takes out will be a bonus.”

  Bunker slapped the big man on the back, friendly like. “Great minds think alike, brother.”

  Dicky hesitated, his face indicating there was another question coming.

  “I know that look,” Bunker said. “Come on, out with it.”

  “You said before about them wanting to take you alive, but how will you know for sure?”

  “Well, the obvious clue will be if they start shooting as soon as they see me.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. We packed the Land Rover pretty full.”

  “I doubt that’ll happen.”

  “But what if it does?”

  “Then I won’t feel a thing.”

  “How can you be so callous about all of this?”

  “It comes with the job. You get used to it,” Bunker quipped. “But in all seriousness, our strategy is sound if everyone does their job. If something goes wrong, you know what to do.”

  “Get Rusty back to Tuttle’s.”

  “There’s plenty of food and supplies there, plus we fortified the place.”

  Dicky stood frozen. Still unsure.

  “Look, I know you have your doubts, Dicky, but that’s normal. I’ve got my share, too. Even though military strategy is rarely sound, it’s always predictable. To a fault. First, they’ll send the tanks in, then the infantry, then command will arrive once the area is secure. The key will be how the tanks approach. If they slow about halfway and spread out wide, that’ll indicate I’m right. They’ll send the infantry ahead next to cover me on mult
iple fronts, with the tanks hanging back on overwatch. Then it’s hook, line, and sinker, my friend.”

  “What if the tanks don’t spread out?”

  “Then they’ll stay in triangle formation and take the offensive. At that point, I’ll have to make some adjustments before Apollo does his thing. I can’t let them fall back into a hedgehog.”

  “Hedgehog?”

  “It’s a three-sided defensive formation where the tanks back up to each other like a pinwheel, with their cannons pointing out in three directions. It’s done to protect their six and give them 360 degrees of coverage. If that happens, we probably lose. I’ll surrender at that point.”

  Dicky nodded slowly. “Okay. Got it. Thanks.”

  Bunker realized the big man wanted it straight, not sugar-coated. Full disclosure was obviously important to him. “Are we good?”

  “We’re good.”

  “Then I’d better get moving. Daylight’s burning.”

  Dicky held out his hand for a shake. “Been a pleasure, Jack.”

  “Likewise.” Bunker took the man’s enormous palm in his. “I don’t say this often, but I want you to know, you would have made one hell of a Marine.”

  * * *

  “How you doing?” Bunker asked Dustin when he reached the skinny man’s position behind an eight-foot-tall rock.

  “I’m not so sure about this,” Dustin answered with shortness in his breath. His left shoulder was leaning against the turquoise-colored boulder, whose size and shape was roughly that of an outhouse.

  Its surface was pitted, as though someone had used it for target practice—a few thousand rounds’ worth. It also had a recessed groove running north and south, probably from centuries of erosion. It reminded Bunker of the edge along an almond shell—one that’s cracked and ripe enough for picking.

  If he were a fictional giant, he could finally end that dreaded Almond Duty once and for all by wrapping his arms around the boulder and squeezing it. It would split in half down the middle, freeing the bounty inside. The bounty being the end of his nightmares.

  The giant rock was the best cover in the area—large enough for stickman and a few friends to hide behind during a firefight. It was also the most logical place for a sniper to hide, which is why he didn’t want Rusty assigned to it. The Russians might blindly target the rock, assuming any of them could see well enough to do so. It wasn’t that Dustin was expendable, just older. Old enough to stay low or bug out if the Russians targeted his location. Plus, his skinny frame would give the enemy less to shoot at. An unlikely bonus, but a bonus nonetheless.

  “I hope you know, I totally suck at shooting,” Dustin said, with the bolt-action rifle slung in front of his nonexistent chest. His hands were holding the weapon with a light touch, almost as if it were toxic.

  Bunker waited for the man’s eyes to find his before he spoke. “You’ll be okay. If it gets too intense, this boulder will protect you.”

  “What if I miss?”

  “Then you miss. It happens. More than most people think. That’s why we call it spraying and praying. But remember, we have four snipers, plus Apollo on the TrackingPoint. I’ll be down below doing my thing, so all you need to do is keep firing until every target you see has been neutralized. We have plenty of ammo.”

  Dustin kept his lips silent, his eyes bursting with terror.

  “But please, verify what you’re shooting at before you pull the trigger. If it doesn’t have a Russian uniform, then aim somewhere else.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t shoot you. I’m not that stupid.”

  Bunker was a little surprised the man caught his meaning so quickly. Maybe Dustin’s mind wasn’t as crippled with fear as Bunker assumed. “I appreciate that. You’ve got your mask and you know where the horses are, right?”

  Dustin shot a glance at the top of the hill behind him. “Yep. One for each of us.”

  “Don’t be a hero, Dustin. If my plan falls apart, get the hell outta here and head back to camp. That’s where we’re all gonna meet.”

  Dustin nodded. “The rally point.”

  Bunker put a hand on the skeleton’s shoulder. He squeezed it twice. “You’ll do fine. Control your fire and verify your targets. If we all do our job, we’ll get through this.”

  “Thanks,” he said, his tone still unsure.

  “You know you could’ve left with Albert?”

  “I thought about it, but I wanna help. I really do. I just can’t keep my hands from shaking.”

  “Just hit what you can. The scope’s all set.”

  “Head shots, I assume. Like in Call of Duty on the Xbox.”

  “Actually, I’d suggest you aim for their stomachs. That way you should hit something, whether you’re a little high or low.”

  “That makes sense. Stomachs, not heads.”

  “Remember, those 180 grain bullets go out at 2,700 feet per second. They’ll deliver a truckload of force when they reach the target.”

  “What if I only hit part of them or something?”

  “It won’t matter. These rounds can take down a seven-hundred-pound elk, so they’ll handle a pudgy Russian, no problem. Wherever you hit them, they’re gonna feel it.”

  “Elk, huh?”

  Bunker let out a fake grin, needing to stoke the man’s confidence a bit more. “Oh, yeah. I’m pretty sure the 30-06 has killed more elk than any other cartridge on the planet. It’ll do the job, if you do yours.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’m sure you will. We all have the utmost confidence in you. By the time we’re done today, all the vodka in the world won’t help the assholes who come marching in here. They’ll wish they never set foot in our neck of woods.”

  “Focus. Do my job. Control my fire,” Dustin said in a mumble, nodding with each phrase.

  “I need to get into position. Any questions before I go?”

  “No, not really. But that towel you wanted is in the truck. It’s behind the driver’s seat on the floor. Almost forgot to tell you.”

  “Good, I’ll grab it with the radio. Anything else?”

  “No. I’m good, I think.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Stephanie King couldn’t steady her breathing as she navigated the Land Rover over the uneven terrain. Air flowed in and out of her chest in short, rapid spurts, making her lightheaded in the process. The disorientation was getting worse with each roll of the tires, the blobs and flecks popping up in and out of her vision. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear them.

  She wasn’t sure what was happening, but didn’t think it was the anxiety from driving the truck over the dangerous back roads. No, it was something else. Something inside her gut, twisting her intestines into a knot. It felt like she’d swallowed a grapefruit whole. The constriction was intense, making her want to throw up.

  A half a mile later, Stephanie decided she couldn’t take it anymore. She jammed on the brake and brought the ride to a stop on a steep incline.

  “What are you doing?” Albert asked from the front passenger seat.

  Stephanie kept her foot on the pedal to keep the vehicle from rolling backward. “Do you know the rest of the way?”

  “You want me to drive?” Albert said, pointing a sausage finger at his chest.

  “I’ll do it,” Victor said, his voice energized. “I’m an excellent driver.” His butt was forward in his seat, with his hands pressing on the back of Albert’s seat.

  Stephanie ignored Victor’s comment. She put the shifter into neutral and engaged the parking brake. Her vision cleared an instant later, but the shortness of breath continued. She cracked the driver’s door open, hoping the fresh air would help.

  “You’re not getting out here, are you?” Albert asked in a sarcastic tone, his eyes locked onto the steep angle of the hood.

  Stephanie slid out of the truck and set a course around the back of the truck. She carefully landed each step on the rocks lining her path to Albert. The soles of her shoes slipped twice, but she made it to her destinat
ion safely.

  The fat man rolled down his window. “What are you doing, Steph?”

  Her respiration calmed a bit, reinforcing her will to do what was in her heart. “I gotta go back. I need you to drive the boys the rest of the way.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that without breaking an ankle?” he asked in that obnoxious voice of his.

  “Improvise, Albert. That’s what I’ve been doing.”

  “I see that,” he said, sticking his wide cheeks through the open window, peering down at her feet.

  “It’s a little slippery around back. Just take it slow.”

  Albert didn’t say anything.

  “Or you could try sliding across the seats. Either way, I need you to get the boys back to camp.”

  “Nah, I’ll walk around,” he said, using the handle on the inside of the door.

  Stephanie took a step back as the door swung open.

  Albert stepped out, locking eyes with her. This was the first time he looked at her and didn’t make her skin crawl.

  “Are you sure about this, Steph?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. If I don’t make it back to Tuttle’s, tell my son I love him. And I’m sorry.”

  “Okay,” Albert said in a tentative, condescending tone. “If that’s what you need me to do, I’ll do it. But I gotta ask, Steph. If this is that dangerous, why the hell are you going back?”

  “Because I have to. I’ve got this feeling in my stomach that the guys need me. Like their lives depend on it or something. It’s hard to explain, but I’m sure of it. In fact, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she said, planting a kiss on the Albert’s overly round cheek. She wasn’t planning to ever touch the man, but her heart made the decision and her lips obliged.

  Albert froze for a second, looking stunned. When his expression cleared, he said, “You can’t do this. He’s not worth it.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “No, he’s not. I knew Bunker back in LA. He’s not who you think he is. He’s a stone-cold liar.”

  “I know he has a past, Albert. We all do. But sometimes, all someone needs is a second chance. Or someone to believe in them.”