The Tunnel Rats

by Stephen Leather

  '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 earsplitting 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.

  Wright picked up the bag full of broken metal and glass and slammed the end against Bamber's head, again and again, whipping it back and forth.

  Bamber tried to stab him with the knife but Wright easily evaded the blows. Bamber cocked his head on one side, listening intently. Wright held his breath so as not to give away his position, but he realised that Bamber was listening for the buzzing of his infrared goggles.

  Wright pulled the flashlight out of the bag and stabbed the end of it into Bamber's face, grinding the broken glass into his cheek. Bamber cried in pain and Wright brought the flashlight down on his nose with a satisfying crack. Bamber put his hands up to his broken nose and fell back into the water. He disappeared under the surface, head first. Wright crouched over the water, the flashlight raised like a club, waiting for Bamber to reappear, but after half a minute the ripples had subsided and the surface was as flat as a mirror. Wright counted a full two minutes in his head before lowering the broken flashlight. He turned and began to crawl along the tunnel, looking over his shoulder every few seconds, just in case. He'd hit Bamber hard, but he was reasonably sure that he hadn't him hit hard enough to kill him.

  May undid the trip wire. It was connected to a small bamboo cage containing two venomous snakes that she'd bought from a dealer in Saigon. She crept by the cage, which she'd set into the tunnel wall, then retied the trip wire. The three Americans who'd come down the tunnel were all dead. She'd killed Ramirez and Hammack herself, though the man in the strange headset had beaten her to Doc Marshall. Still, she'd managed to place an ace of spades on Marshall's corpse. That had given her no small satisfaction. There were two men still in the tunnels: the man in the goggles and the other man, whom she hadn't yet seen. Neither concerned her. She'd completed her work in the tunnels and was now intent on getting back to the surface and out of Vietnam.

  The tunnel she was in was relatively tall and the roof arched, so that she was able to run along it providing she kept her upper body thrust forward and her knees slightly bent. She cradled the crossbow in her hands as she ran, a bolt in place even though she didn't anticipate meeting anyone. The two men were the other side of the collapse, and one had probably died in the explosion.

  She reached the end of the tunnel and paused for breath in a resting chamber large enough to hold six men. A slight breeze came from a small hole close to the roof of the chamber. May turned her head towards it and let it play over her face.

  As a child she'd crawled through ventilation tunnels, despite her father's warning that it was dangerous, that they weren't built to such a high standard as the chambers and the communication tunnels. She had grown since then, but she knew that she would still be able to crawl up through the ventilation tunnel, all the way to the surface. It would be a tight fit, and she would come out almost half a mile from her pick-up truck, but it was still the quickest route out. She drank the last of her water, then stood up and pushed her crossbow into the hole. She used both hands to get a grip on the hard clay, and heaved herself up.

  The green flickering image faded and the buzzing of the infra-red goggles became suddenly fainter. Wright had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The infra-red image had been getting steadily worse over the past few minutes, but he'd tried to convince himself that he was imagining it. Now there was no doubt. He couldn't see more than ten feet ahead of him and his field of vision was fading fast. He crawled faster, wanting to take advantage of what little life remained in the equipment, but he'd barely managed twenty feet before they failed completely. Despair washed over him and he beat his hands on the ground.

  He ripped off the goggles and threw them down. He cursed himself, he cursed the tunnels, and he cursed Jim Bamber. He started to hyperventilate and fought to steady his breathing.

  'It's okay,' he whispered to himself. 'It's one straight tunnel. A walk in the park.' He started to crawl forward, groping ahead with his fingers, staring ahead with unseeing eyes. 'A walk in the park,' he repeated, though he could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

  Gerry Hunter opened the front door. 'Hey!' he called. 'Hiya, honey!' Janie shouted from the kitchen. 'We're in here.’

  She was standing by the dishwashing machine. Sean was helping her to load it.

  'Hiya, Sean,' said Hunter, dropping his briefcase next to the kitchen table. 'How was school?’

  'Okay,' said Sean. He closed the door of the machine and rushed out of the kitchen. Hunter watched him go.

  Janie kissed him on the cheek. 'He'll get used to you,' she said, and slipped her arms around his neck. 'I'm pleased to see you.' She kissed him on the lips. 'But you're late.’

  'Yeah, Nick's in trouble.’

  Janie held up her hands. 'I don't want to hear any more,' she snapped.

  'But--’

  'No, Gerry. He's out of my house, he's out of my life, I don't want to talk about him.’

  'You're over-reacting, Janie.’

  'You didn't have to live with the man, Gerry. With his moods, his nightmares, his fixation with work. You didn't get woken up in the middle of the night to find him downstairs playing his bloody mouth organ.' She stamped her foot. 'Damn him, damn him for never leaving me alone.' She turned on her heel and stormed out of the kitchen.

  Hunter groaned and took off his coat. He was finding it harder and harder to deal with Janie's mood swings. When he first met, her he'd thought that the break-up of her marriage had been Nick Wright's fault, but the longer he spent with her the more he realised that Janie was far from the catch she first appeared. She was moody, spoiled and selfish, and while the sex was terrific, she was impossible to live with. In fact, Hunter had made it a point not to live with her. She'd given him a key, and he often stayed until the early hours, but he was never there in the morning. He always left before first light, partly because he didn't think it fair on Sean, but partly because he didn't want to make a commitment to Janie which he might have to break.

  He switched on the kettle, then took his mobile phone out of his briefcase. He tapped out Wright's number. To his surprise, after half a dozen rings, it was answered by a laconic male voice.

  'Nick?’

  'What?’

  'Nick? It's Gerry.’

  'Gerry who?’

  It wasn't Wright, Hunter realised. He checked the number with the man. He was one digit out. He apologised for bothering the man, and redialled, taking care to press the correct buttons. It rang out for a while, then he got the recording again, asking him to leave a message.

  Wright probed forward with his fingers, testing the dirt ahead for trip w
ires. He had no idea what he'd do if he did touch something. What could he possibly do in the dark? He would have no way of knowing what sort of trap it was. Bamber had mentioned snakes, and Doc had said there had been a scorpion trap down in the escape tunnel. What would he do if he touched a snake or a stinging insect? He could feel blood trickling from the ? wound on his calf each time he moved his left leg but he blanked * the pain from his mind, focusing all his attention on the tunnel ahead of him.

  He had no sense of time passing, no way of knowing if it was day or night outside. He couldn't see his watch, so for a while I he'd tried to mark the passing of time by counting. He'd given up after reaching three thousand. Three thousand seconds was fifty minutes, almost an hour, but he couldn't tell how far he'd crawled during the time he'd been counting. At least his infrared goggles had held out until he reached the upper level. He would never have been able to get up from the second level without being able to see the trapdoor. 1 A sudden thought gripped his heart. What if the trapdoor had been replaced? What if Chinh had found the entrance and had put the hatch back? Maybe Wright had already crawled under the trapdoor and was now heading away from it, crawling to oblivion, to a waterless, lightless, lonely death. He shook his head. No, the kitbags were in the tunnel. To miss the hatch he'd have to pass the kitbags the Americans had left. All he had to do was to crawl until he reached the kitbags. Unless Chinh had taken them, figuring he was better off stealing what they contained than waiting for Bamber's half , of the hundred-dollar bill. He pushed the thought out of his I mind and began counting again, ticking off the seconds as he I crawled.

  May squeezed through the last section of the ventilation tunnel. She could feel the breeze on her face, stronger than before, and hear the sound of birdsong and running water. She pushed the crossbow ahead of herself, then pulled with her arms and wriggled with her legs.

  She burst through a veil of spindly white tree roots and hauled herself out into the sunlight. The tunnel opened into the wet clay of a riverbank and some six feet below muddy water rippled past. She slid down towards the river, but grabbed on to a rock and swung her legs to the side until she managed to get a grip on the slippery clay. She dragged herself up and lay on her back on the bank, gulping in lungfuls of clean, fresh air.