by Peter Grant
He closed the door and turned to the primitive wood-burning stove set against the wall. No fire had been built in it tonight, despite the chill, and the stovepipe leading up the wall had been disconnected. Swiftly he and Lieutenant Kubicka went to either side of the stove, grasped its handles and lifted it carefully, moving it off the tiled platform and setting it down to one side.
Kubicka knelt and inserted a knife blade into the crack at the edge of the tiles at the bottom corner of the platform. He scraped away the camouflaging layer of carefully ingrained dirt, then levered gently. A wire loop emerged. He pulled it upright, then did the same at the other three corners before folding the knife and returning it to his pocket.
“Ready, Sir.”
Tredegar moved to the other side of the tiles. They each inserted their index fingers into two loops, then lifted. The carefully prepared slab rose out of its socket, revealing the ground beneath the floor of the hut, which was raised about half a meter above it on pier-and-beam foundations.
Tredegar grinned as they carefully set down the slab next to the stove. “Good thing the Bactrians didn’t want to waste money on plascrete slabs for mere prison camp buildings. They left us room to work down there.”
They waited, watching, their hearts pounding with excitement. At the stroke of midnight the soil beneath the opening was suddenly disturbed. The same dirt-colored rod they’d seen in the compound two days before rose a few centimeters above the soil, then stopped as if waiting for something. Tredegar picked up one of his shoes from the floor, reached into the opening and tapped the rod gently with the heel; twice, a pause, once, another pause, then three times. At once the rod disappeared back into the soil.
Again they waited. The next disturbance came almost immediately. More soil and small stones were pushed aside as a larger rod thrust upward. It emerged from the now wider opening with a screwing motion, then was withdrawn, only to be replaced within a minute by a black plastic cap atop what looked like a narrow plumber’s pipe. It rose out of the ground and stopped. Tredegar reached down, unscrewed the cap and took out a small comm handset, a wire trailing behind it into the pipe. He adjusted the volume of the small speaker to a lower setting before pressing the ‘Transmit’ button. Softly he intoned, “Long was the morn of slaughter, long was the list of slain.”
As he released the button, Kubicka whispered, “Sounds like Kipling, Sir.”
“It is. It’s from ‘The Grave of the Hundred Head’, about a firefight on Old Home Earth before the Space Age. The response should be from Siegfried Sassoon’s ‘Absolution’.”
They listened until they heard, crackling softly through the speaker, “War is our scourge; yet war has made us wise, and, fighting for our freedom, we are free.”
“That’s it!” Smiling, Tredegar pressed the ‘Transmit’ button again. “This is Leonidas. Go ahead, over.”
“This is Charon. It’s great to hear your voice, Sir! Over.”
“Less of the ‘Sir’ – stick to code names; but it’s good to hear yours too. What’s our status? Over.”
A chuckle came over the wire. “It was just as Peleus suspected, God rest his soul. They only have anti-tunneling sensors around the fence line, planted ten meters deep. They can pick up digging sounds within a radius of twenty to thirty meters in all directions. That’s enough to detect the sort of shallow tunnel you’d have to make to dig your way out of there, but not nearly good enough to pick up laser rock-cutters carving a tunnel in at a much greater depth. That allowed us to slip through their outer ring of sensors, five clicks out, and avoid all their drone and satellite reconnaissance. Once we were under the middle of the camp, we were far inside the zone where the microphones would hear us cutting a narrow channel upwards to reach you like this. They’re going to have egg all over their faces when this goes down. By the way, where did we come out? Over.”
“You couldn’t have been more precise. You’re exactly on target. Over.”
“That’s thanks to your team of observers. By triangulating on our test probe, they told us exactly where we were and how to adjust our final digging angle. Computer calculations are all very well, but it was great to be able to confirm we hadn’t missed by more than a few centimeters. Over.”
“I can understand that. Please convey my thanks and congratulations to whoever ran the calculations, and the miners who dug the tunnel. They did an outstanding job. Now, what’s the schedule? Over.”
“The tunnel’s already beyond the far side of the wire. The upward shaft is in progress, and should be finished tomorrow. One more day to touch it up and we’ll be ready to go. The last couple of meters of rock and soil will be left for the main event, of course. The team is ready for action. Have you completed your training for everybody? Over.”
“We’ve discussed everything in theory, but of course we haven’t been able to practice anything. Over.”
“That’s good to hear. Given the experience level in there, you should be fine. Base Bravo reports they’re all set as well. Everything will happen simultaneously at both places. I’ll sign off and let the rock-cutters get back to work. Cover the hole on your side, and let’s do this again two nights from now at the same time for a final update. We’ll make our move the following night. Over.”
“Thank you. We look forward to seeing you. Is transport organized? Over.”
“Yes, it is, including secure bases for everyone. We’ve been busy out here. Over.”
“It sounds like it. Very well, we’ll look for you two nights from now. Leonidas out.”
Tredegar switched off the handset and replaced it in the pipe before screwing the cap on again. He tapped it three times with his shoe, whereupon it was withdrawn into the soil once more, leaving a hollow. Tredegar took a small stone that he’d picked up out on the compound and laid it carefully inside the hollow, then flicked loose dirt over it with his fingertips. To the uninformed eye the surface of the soil now looked completely natural once more.
“All right, that should do it. Let’s put the stove back.”
They replaced the slab, lifted the stove back onto it, and reconnected the stovepipe. Kubicka built a fire, commenting with a grin, “It’s all very well using the stove to conceal our new comms setup, but it gets infernally chilly in here when we can’t light it!”
“Never mind. Soon it won’t matter anymore.”
~ ~ ~
It was cold three nights later when the Sergeant of the Guard rousted out four of his detail. “Come on, come on, it’s almost twenty-two. Get out there and relieve the four tower sentries, so they can come back inside and warm up. You’ll be relieved at twenty-four.”
Muttering, moaning and complaining, the four put on their heavy winter-issue outer garb and straggled out into the cold air. Their leader, a Corporal, snapped, “All right, that’s enough whining! Straighten up and try to look like soldiers, damn you!”
“Huh! You’re just a bloody conscript, same as we are, so don’t get so jumped-up and full of yourself!” one of the soldiers retorted.
“You –”
Whatever the junior NCO was planning to say died unspoken as dark figures materialized all around them. Bayoneted rifles were trained unerringly in rock-steady hands, the points of the blades touching their navels. A voice whispered, “Make a sound and all of you die right now. Keep quiet and don’t move, and you might live to see the dawn.”
The four froze in their tracks, mouths agape in astonishment and fear.
“That’s good. Stand real still. Squad!”
Four men moved forward. Stepping behind the sentries, each removed the fur hat and greatcoat from the soldier in front of him and put them on himself.
“On your way.”
The four moved off in the direction the guards had been heading. The Corporal recovered himself enough to turn his head and look after them, only to feel the prick of a bayonet point in the small of his back. “Not a sound!” a voice warned quietly but savagely. He nodded slowly, carefully, trying to convey as sin
cerely as possible his heartfelt desire to keep the intruders happy.
“All of you follow me real slow and careful. Any noise and you won’t live long enough to regret it, let alone make another.”
The raiders escorted the four soldiers out of sight behind the Administration building. Meanwhile, the four who’d taken the sentries’ places marched around the perimeter. Only the four corner guard towers were manned at night, the others standing vacant until dawn. As the party arrived at the foot of each of them, one of their number detached himself from the group and pressed a button at the base of the tower to let the guard on duty know that his relief had arrived. As he climbed the ladder, the others in the relief party went on around the wire. As the security hatch in the base of each platform was unlocked and the replacement was admitted to the guard post, he pulled a handgun and commanded the startled sentry to freeze, or else. Caught completely by surprise, none resisted. They were soon lying face-down on the floor, hands behind their heads.
In the guardroom, the Sergeant glanced at the time display on the wall and frowned. The newly relieved tower sentries should have returned by now. He muttered, “What’s holding up those buggers?” as he brought up another report on the terminal and began to check off the computer-generated boxes. “I’ll have to –”
He was interrupted as the door opened at last. “What kept you?” he demanded without raising his head as the tramp of boots filled the guardroom.
“Mice,” came the sardonic reply.
The Sergeant looked up angrily, about to verbally blast the disrespectful soldier from pillar to post, but the profanities died in his throat as he found himself looking down the bore of a bayoneted rifle. The other guards were also frozen in place, held motionless by the menacing weapons of the black-clad masked men in front of them.
“We’re from pest control,” the man in front of him continued. “We’re here to deal with an infestation. That would be you.”
“W – What do you want? You can’t get away with this!”
“Want to bet?” The Sergeant was silent. “No, I guess you don’t; but I suggest you start hoping and praying that we do get away with it, because if we don’t, you’ll die first. Clear?” The last word cracked like a whip.
“Y – Yessir!”
“Stand up real slow and careful. Pretend you’re very old and very frail, with bad arthritis.”
The NCO obeyed, taking no chances whatsoever. He knew no-one learned to hold a rifle so absolutely rock-steady without a corresponding ability to place its rounds where they’d do the most good – or harm, depending upon one’s position in relation to the muzzle.
“We’re going to flex-cuff all of you, search you, then lock you in the cells until we’ve taken over the rest of the buildings. Don’t get any ideas about twisting or snapping the flex-cuffs, because the edges are lined with nanowire. You’ll cut your hands off at the wrists if you try. As for you, Sergeant, before you join your guards in the cells you’re going to hand over all the keys and account for all the ready-use weapons and equipment. If you all co-operate and don’t do anything stupid, you’ll all live to see the dawn.”
~ ~ ~
The camp residents waited on tenterhooks in their blocks. Everyone had been warned what was about to happen, and exhaustively briefed about their part in proceedings.
At last the loudspeakers crackled. “It’s done! You’re free again!”
Black-clad figures swung open the main gates. Cheering loudly, the exultant former prisoners of war poured out of their blocks, rushing towards their rescuers. The replacement tower guards gathered up night vision equipment and weapons, then climbed down and escorted their captives in the same direction.
Major Tredegar had to force his way through excited groups, hugging friends from the outside whom they hadn’t seen for well over a year, exchanging news, asking for information about other people. At last he emerged through the gates to see a small group of black-uniformed men waiting for him. They snapped to attention as he approached, and their leader saluted.
“Good evening, Sir. I’m Captain Barger, but you knew me as Charon. All secure, Sir.”
“Outstanding! You’ve all done a magnificent job tonight. Any casualties?”
“None on either side, Sir. The off-duty guards in the barrack blocks didn’t want to give up, but we sent in one of our flitterbugs as a demonstration. That convinced ’em real quick.”
“It would convince me, all right, if I were in their shoes. Let’s break up old home week and get the groups organized. We have a hell of a lot to do before dawn.”
It took half an hour to divide the former prisoners of war into their prearranged groups, equip as many as possible with rifles from the prison camp armory, and issue new warm winter clothing to everyone. Most of the prisoners and those who’d freed them drove away in the direction of the reaction force base. They took with them most of the vehicles in the camp, leaving behind several heavy transporters and twenty people.
Those who stayed conscripted some of the former guards to load the transporters with everything in the camp that might be useful – uniforms, weapons and ammunition, spare parts, electronics, bedding, web gear, rucksacks, ration packs and dozens of other items. That done, the prisoners were herded into one of the barracks and secured with flex-cuffs. Those in the guardroom were brought to join them, while the camp’s officers and senior NCO’s replaced them in the cells.
The leader of the raiding party stood in the doorway of the barracks and raised his voice to get the soldiers’ attention. “Listen up! You people changed tactics last year. Instead of killing everyone you caught, you began taking prisoners. That’s why you’re still alive tonight. You didn’t kill our people, so we’re not going to kill you.”
A rustle of relief ran through the guards. Some of them remembered how things had been on Laredo up to the year before, when to be captured by either side was the next best thing to an automatic death sentence.
“You’re crowded in here, but you’ll just have to endure it until a relief force arrives. They’ll be on their way as soon as Headquarters realizes that no calls or messages to this place are being answered. Don’t get ideas about breaking out of this building to send a warning. Look.” He held up a flitterbug in his hand. “D’you notice the black band around its middle? That means it’s a State Security flitterbug. We captured lots of ’em last year when we took the SS Headquarters Building in Banka – what you call Tapuria. Before we blew it to hell, we loaded ’em onto our vehicles and brought ’em out with us. Some of ’em will be flying around outside as soon as we leave.”
He looked around the room. “Anyone leaving this barracks is going to be targeted, and these old-style bugs still use darts carrying a lethal poison. There’s no antidote, unlike the new version that only knocks you out. Get that through your heads. If you leave this building, you die. We’ve programmed the bugs to fly off into the bush after a while and hide themselves; but you don’t know when that’ll happen, so don’t take chances. Stay in here like good little soldiers and wait for your rescuers to arrive. By the time they get here, it’ll be safe to come out. Yes?”
A Sergeant had stepped forward. “What about the relief force? They’re just up the road, five clicks away. They may get here much faster than that. The bugs will kill some of ’em for sure.”
“They’ve got problems of their own. They’re going to be needing rescue as well.”
“Aw, shit!”
“Wait until I’ve left. I don’t want to have to smell it.” The raider’s sally drew reluctant laughter from a few of the guards. “One more thing. We’re letting you live tonight; but if you come after us, now or later, we won’t be so merciful. We can kill you more easily than you can kill us. Look at the statistics since you guys invaded. We’ve killed lots of you for every one of us who died. This is our planet. We know it like the backs of our hands. We’re fighting in our own back yard.
“Most of you are only here until your term of conscription is o
ver. If you keep your heads down, you might live to go home again. We’ve got plenty more of these flitterbugs, and tonight we’ve captured lots more rifles, mortars, missiles and a bunch of other stuff, not just here but at several other bases. We’re as well equipped as you are now. We aren’t going to come after you unless we have to, so don’t you come after us. If you’re ordered to look for us, as soon as you get out of sight of your officers find a hidey-hole, get into it and stay there. Brew up some tea, have a meal, read a book, play cards, whatever. If anyone tries to force you to fight, make sure they have an accident or die in combat. After all, if one of your officers is shot with one of your own service rifles you can always blame us, because we use them too. Don’t let anyone push you into hunting us, because if they do, you’ll be doing the dying – not them. Remember that.”
He stepped back through the doors, closed and locked them, then jogged to the leading transporter. His people grinned at him from the other vehicles as he passed.
“How long to the new entrance?” he asked the driver as he climbed into the cab. “I haven’t been there before.”
“Thanks to this spiffy new road the Bactrians built, less than two hours. The last half-hour will be off-road over rocky ground that’ll hide our tracks. After we get underground, another hour. Those miners used their laser cutters to carve some really useful long-distance access tunnels. We don’t have to expose ourselves so much to drones or satellites, and we’ve angled and booby-trapped all of them in multiple places. No-one’s going to sneak up on us through them.”
“Good. Let’s be on our way.”
As the driver eased the heavily laden vehicle into motion with a whine from its electric power pack, he asked, “What about the others?”
