The Tunnel Rats (Coronet books)

by Stephen Leather

  May moved slowly down the tunnel, the crossbow out in front of her. A group of red ants marched purposefully in single file across the floor of the tunnel, out of one tiny hole and into another. She took care not to trample on them as she crossed over their ranks. She squatted down and took a drink from her canteen. A sudden noise made her look back the way she’d come. She grabbed for the crossbow. A bolt was already in place, and she slid her finger over the trigger.

  She heard another noise, then the rustle of clothing. She sniffed softly, moving her head back as she inhaled. She could smell a man’s sweat.

  The tunnel she was in stretched for a hundred and fifty feet behind her. She couldn’t risk turning around to get away because she’d have to expose her back. She crouched down. Ahead of her was a thirty-foot length of tunnel, just big enough for her to kneel up in. It met a T-junction, with larger tunnels running east–west. To the east was a conical air-raid chamber; to the west was a hospital chamber. May had set a booby trap at the entrance to the hospital: a cage containing scorpions, similar to the one she’d placed in the escape tunnel leading from the command centre. Whoever it was would probably continue straight ahead; there was no reason to take the smaller tunnel, the one she was in. She switched off her flashlight, put it on the ground, and waited.

  She heard the man move slowly forward, then stop. May frowned in the darkness. She held the crossbow with both hands. There was no glow at the end of the tunnel, no light to show that he was approaching. Could he be moving in the dark? She dismissed the thought immediately. It was impossible. Even she wouldn’t move through an unexplored section in total darkness: there were too many dangers for the unwary. Although she knew where all the traps were, there were still the snakes and insects to contend with.

  Another sound came from the man’s direction – a high-pitched whine, like a mosquito. She put her head on one side, focusing her attention on the sound. There was another rustling noise, like a sleeve brushing against the tunnel wall. He was moving again. Still there was no light.

  May took her left hand off the crossbow and picked up her flashlight. The crossbow wavered as she pointed the flashlight down the tunnel and switched it on.

  She stifled a scream. Crouched at the T-junction was a monster, a huge insect-like creature with glassy eyes and a bulbous head, looking straight at her. It was holding a knife in its hand. May backed away in horror. She didn’t believe in ghosts or demons – all the horrors she’d witnessed in her life were the actions of men – but this, this was something that could only have crawled out of hell. It had the body of a man and the head of a giant locust, and whatever it was, it could see in the dark. The creature moved towards her, its mouth parting to reveal human teeth. Its blank eyes stared at her, and she could see her own reflection in its stare. She saw the look of horror on her own face, the scarf around her neck, and the crossbow shaking in her hand. The crossbow. She’d forgotten about the crossbow. She put the flashlight on the ground, its beam highlighting the monstrous creature, and aimed her crossbow with both hands.

  As she sighted along the bolt, she realised it wasn’t a monster she was facing, but a man, a man wearing a mask. No, not a mask, something else, something that helped him to see in the dark. She aimed at the man’s chest and pulled the trigger. The man was already moving and the bolt hit him in the shoulder. He fell back against the tunnel wall. May fumbled for another bolt.

  Hammack groaned and lay down on the tunnel floor. ‘Doc, I’m beat,’ he gasped.

  ‘It’s not much further, Bernie,’ said Doc.

  ‘Don’t kid a kidder,’ whispered Hammack. ‘We’re not even up to the second level yet. I’m bleeding again. And I need water.’

  Doc reached over his back and undid the top of his rucksack. He pulled out his medical kit and passed it back to Hammack. ‘Take a dressing out and slap it on the wound,’ he said. ‘And if the pain gets worse, chew on another tablet.’

  Hammack reached for the kit with his good arm.

  ‘I’ll go ahead and bring the Brit back,’ said Doc.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘He’s got water in his backpack. Enough for you, anyway. He had Dennis’s map, maybe he can remember where the well was and we can find water.’

  ‘That’s a big maybe, Doc.’

  ‘I’m going to have to leave you in the dark. You okay with that?’

  Hammack nodded. He rolled over on to his back, opened the medical kit and took out a dressing. Doc waited until he’d put it over his wound before crawling away.

  Hammack rested his head on the floor and sucked in the warm air. Every breath sent stabbing pains through his chest wound. He put his hand up and placed it on the dressings, using pressure to stem the flow of blood. He shivered. He could feel his body temperature dropping, despite the heat of the tunnel. ‘Hurry back, Doc,’ he whispered.

  Kruse gritted his teeth and pulled out the bolt. He probed the wound with his fingers. It was painful but there didn’t appear to be too much damage. He flexed his fingers. The bolt seemed to have missed the nerves and the blood flow was far from life threatening. He’d been lucky, if lucky meant reflexes honed almost to perfection by years of training. A woman had been the last thing he’d expected to see down the tunnels, especially a woman dressed in the black pyjamas uniform of a Viet Cong guerrilla. That was what had slowed him down, kept him rooted to the spot while she’d aimed her crossbow. She must have been surprised too, because her aim had been off.

  He dropped the bolt on the floor and began crawling again. He had to put as much distance between himself and the woman as he could. She had the advantage of range, so in the long tunnels she’d have the upper hand. To be sure of defeating her he’d have to lie in ambush, wait for her to show herself, using the darkness as a cloak. One of the chambers would be the best bet. He could wait in the dark and the beam of her flashlight would announce her presence. Then he could move in close, with the knife.

  Kruse didn’t care who the woman was. All he cared about was that he now knew who he was up against. The fact that it was a woman made it a little more interesting, but he gave no thought as to who she was or why she wanted to kill the Tunnel Rats. Jody Meacher could deal with the questions; all Kruse cared about was his mission – to kill everyone who knew the secret that had lain buried in the fourth level for so long.

  He moved quickly along the tunnel, through a small resting chamber, not even bothering to consult the map. He ducked into a side tunnel, scampering along on all fours, his knapsack rubbing against the tunnel roof. He stopped suddenly as he heard voices ahead. It was Doc and Hammack, talking in hushed voices.

  Kruse crawled forward cautiously. The tunnel he was in merged with another. Doc and Hammack were around the corner. Kruse crept along to the point where the two tunnels intersected, and leaned against the clay wall. He could see along the full length of the tunnel ahead of him, but didn’t want to risk looking around to see where the two men were. In the distance he had a back view of Nick Wright about two hundred feet from the intersection. Kruse tightened his grip on his knife. It wouldn’t take him long to catch up, then he could plunge his knife into Wright’s back without him ever knowing what had happened. He was about to crawl after Wright when he heard someone moving along the tunnel. Kruse backed up, his knife out in front of him. It was Doc.

  Kruse moved further back down the tunnel to where it zigzagged so that Doc wouldn’t be able to see him. He waited until he was sure that Doc had passed the intersection before crawling back into the tunnel. He looked after Doc, only thirty feet away and clearly trying to catch up with Wright. Kruse turned to look at Hammack. The black man was lying on his side, his eyes closed. Kruse decided to go after Doc.

  Kruse moved quickly and easily gained on Doc. He raised his knife and slashed at Doc’s legs. Doc yelped and Kruse stabbed him in the thigh, using the knife as leverage to pull himself up on Doc’s legs. Kruse felt like a cheetah bringing down a running antelope; once it had its claws embedded into the anim
al’s flanks, it was all over.

  Doc screamed in pain. Kruse saw Wright twist around in the tunnel, and grinned. He grabbed Doc’s hair and pulled back the man’s head, waited until he was sure that Wright could see what he was doing, then slashed at Doc’s throat so savagely that he almost severed the neck. Blood spurted over the sides of the tunnel and Doc’s body went into convulsions.

  ‘You’re next!’ Kruse shouted at Wright. He crawled over Doc’s body but Doc’s rucksack blocked his way. There wasn’t enough room to get by. Kruse pounded the rucksack, trying to flatten it down. It was no good. Kruse clawed at the straps and yanked the bloodstained rucksack off Doc’s back. He passed it through his legs then clambered over Doc’s body. Wright had already disappeared around a bend in the tunnel. Kruse sped after him, the smell of blood so strong in his nostrils that it made him giddy.

  Hammack heard a soft scraping sound and opened his eyes. He had no way of knowing how long he’d been lying in the tunnel as he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness. A flashlight beam illuminated the ceiling and he twisted his head back to see who was coming.

  ‘Doc? That you?’

  There was no reply but he could still hear whoever it was crawling towards him. Hammack swallowed.

  ‘Doc?’ His voice echoed around the tunnel.

  The light wavered, then got stronger. Hammack forced his head back but all he could see was red clay. Something fluttered across his face and he flinched. He spluttered and brushed whatever it was away with his hand, but it wasn’t an insect, it was a piece of card. Hammack groped for it and held it in front of his face. It was a playing card and he was looking at the back of it. He knew what it was before he’d even turned it around. An ace of spades. He gave a groan of resignation and closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again a face was looking down at him, the face of a woman. A Vietnamese woman. Around her neck was a black and white checked scarf, the sort that the VC used to wear. Hammack wondered if he was having a flashback, if the medication Doc had given him was producing hallucinations. He tried to speak, but his throat was too dry. Even though her face was the wrong way up, Hammack could see that she was pretty, with a small mouth, high cheekbones, and soft, brown eyes. He smiled up at her. She didn’t smile back. Something flashed at the periphery of his vision. It was only as it sliced through his throat that he realised it was a knife.

  Wright crawled out of the tunnel and emerged into a large chamber. He looked around at the lathes and metal-turning machinery and the stacks of boxes. He was in the ammunition chamber. He turned and listened. He could hear Bamber in the tunnel, coming after him. Wright looked around for somewhere to hide. The boxes were the best bet. They gave him a sudden idea. He climbed up on a stack and took down one of the old oil lamps that hung from the overhead metal beams. He shook it. There was still oil inside.

  His heart raced as he unscrewed the oil filler cap. He yanked open the box that Bamber had prised off last time they’d passed through the chamber and splashed oil over the cartridges. He trickled oil over the rest of the boxes, then dropped the lamp on to the floor and went back to the tunnel. He bent down and peered inside. Bamber was only twenty feet away, and roared as he saw Wright.

  Wright ducked out of the way, then ran to the centre of the chamber and pulled Doc’s Zippo out of his pocket. He flicked it, but it stubbornly refused to light. ‘Come on,’ he hissed, and flicked the metal wheel with his thumb again. There were sparks, but still no light.

  Wright shook the Zippo and tried again. This time it burst into life. He tossed it on to the pile of ammunition boxes and they immediately caught light with a whooshing noise.

  Wright ran to the exit. He turned in time to see Bamber stagger out of his tunnel. He ran across the chamber, towards Wright, his knife high in the air. Wright stared in horror, knowing that he was no match for Bamber in a knife fight. Or any sort of fight, for that matter.

  The top ammunition box exploded in a series of ear-splitting bangs. Wright ducked instinctively. Dozens of cartridges detonated and bullets thwacked into the parachute silk that lined the chamber.

  A pool of flame spread across the floor and the reed mats ignited easily. Plumes of choking black smoke billowed up between Wright and Bamber, and Wright stepped back. There was another explosion as a second crate caught fire.

  Wright bent down and scurried into the exit tunnel. He crawled frantically. A few seconds later there was a third, even bigger explosion, that sent a wave of burning hot air down the tunnel. He crawled faster, coughing and spluttering. After fifty feet or so he turned and looked behind him. There was no sign of Bamber.

  He lay on his back, gasping for air, but started crawling again as soon as he’d caught his breath. He wasn’t sure how much life there was left in the batteries of his goggles.

  He crawled along to the conical chamber which had contained the spiders and rushed through it, just in case they bore any grudges from his last visit. He kept his head down and didn’t look up as he passed through, not stopping for a rest until he’d reached the cinema. He sat on the floor by the white sheet screen with his back to the parachute-silk-lined wall, fighting off the feelings of nausea that washed over him.

  His throat was painfully dry and his nose and lips were coated with thick dust. He took off his goggles and rubbed his face. The rubber seal irritated his skin, but it was still a small price to pay for being able to see.

  He put the goggles back on and crawled out of the cinema chamber. All he had to do now was to find the hatch up the first level, and get through the water in the U-bend. Wright laughed harshly. After everything he’d been though, he figured that this time it’d be a breeze.

  May wrapped her scarf around the lower part of her face and narrowed her eyes against the stinging dust. She had no idea what had caused the explosion in the ammunition chamber, but she could see the after-effects for herself. The tunnel leading to it had collapsed, and the chamber itself had almost certainly caved in. The chambers had been built to withstand bombs falling outside, not explosions from within. She backed away, then twisted around. There were a number of different ways up to the first level and from there she knew of several ventilation tunnels that she could use to get to the surface.

  Wright knelt down beside the water. He slipped off his goggles, dipped a hand into the water and splashed it over his face, taking care not to get any of it in his mouth. He put the goggles back on and rummaged through his knapsack. The plastic bag wasn’t there. He searched again but it had definitely gone. He must have lost it when he’d taken the water bottles out. He cursed. He wasn’t sure how the goggles would stand up to being immersed in water. They were rubber coated, but that didn’t mean they were waterproof.

  He took off the goggles and put them in the knapsack, trying not to think about the dark. He tucked his knife in the back of his belt, all the time keeping his eyes firmly closed, clinging to the illusion that he wasn’t in total darkness, that it was something he’d chosen, that at any time he could open his eyes.

  He slipped his arms through the straps of the knapsack, and felt for the water. He took two deep breaths, then threw himself headfirst into the pool. He kicked, then immediately turned around so that he could use his hands and feet to propel himself through the U-bend. His fingers dug into the wet clay and he pulled himself down.

  The air trapped in his knapsack pushed him up against the tunnel roof and he banged his head, but he kicked with his feet, surged around the bend and popped up to the surface, barely out of breath. He grinned to himself as he climbed out of the water. It had been easy compared with his chaotic first attempt.

  He crawled away from the water and knelt on the tunnel floor, flicking his wet hair from his eyes. He shrugged off his knapsack and felt for the goggles. He fitted them, then said a silent prayer as he switched them on. They clicked and hissed, and after a tense five-second delay they flickered into life. Wright sighed with relief and leaned back against the tunnel wall. He was going to make it. All
he had to do now was to get up to the first level and then find the trapdoor.

  He reached for his knapsack, and as he did, Bamber shot out of the water, his mouth wide open. His shirt was scorched and torn and there were burn marks on his hands and arms. In his left hand he held his flashlight and infra-red goggles wrapped in a plastic bag; in his right hand a wicked hunting knife. Water cascaded from Bamber’s body as he surged forward, his knife raised in the air.

  Wright screamed, holding his knapsack up for protection. The knife slashed into it, slicing through Mickey Mouse’s smiling face. Bamber slashed again and again as he pulled himself out of the water, roaring with each blow. Wright scuttled backwards and kicked out with his feet. He caught Bamber under the chin and the FBI agent fell back.

  Wright threw his knapsack at Bamber and it struck him a glancing blow on his cheek. Bamber slashed down with the knife and Wright felt a burning pain in his left calf. He kicked out again and struck Bamber in the chest. Wright groped behind him, trying to find his own knife. It wasn’t there. It must have fallen out while he was under water.

  Bamber grunted and drew back his knife. It glistened with blood. Wright grunted and drew both his legs up to his chest. Bamber shuffled towards Wright, waving the knife from side to side. Wright lashed out with both feet, catching Bamber in the stomach.

  Bamber fell backwards, his head slamming into the roof of the tunnel. Wright scraped his right foot along the tunnel roof, kicking red clay into Bamber’s face, then kept up the attack, shuffling forwards on his backside and kicking, forcing Bamber back down the tunnel towards the water.

  As Bamber wiped the soil from his eyes, Wright lashed out at the bag in his hand. It fell to the ground and Wright stamped on it, smashing the flashlight with his heel. He kicked it again and heard the lenses of the goggles smash. At last he had the advantage. Bamber couldn’t see.