Bunker: Boxed Set (Books 4 and 5)

by Jay J. Falconer

  Rusty smiled. So did Dallas.

  Victor pointed across the clearing, in the direction of the stockpile. “Why are we only putting them on this side? Don’t we need them on both?”

  “Can’t all be the same. I’ve got something else planned for the other side. It’s important to keep the enemy guessing. Plus, I’ll need a safe path to the middle when the time is right, and that’s not easy to do with a minefield of toe-poppers.”

  “I can do it,” Rusty said.

  Bunker hesitated before he spoke. “Do what?”

  “Install the bullets. Just show me how.”

  Bunker shook his head. “It’s too dangerous, Rusty. If you drop one in too hard, it’ll take your hand off.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Rusty said. “You gotta let us do something.”

  “You will. I promise. Just be patient.”

  “When?” Victor snapped before looking around the meadow. He pointed at Albert, Dustin, and Burt across the way, setting up one of the cable wheels. Apollo was close to them with a shovel, digging in the dirt. Stephanie was holding one of the pressure boards they’d made at Tuttle’s. “Everyone else has something to do. Even Miss Sugar Tits.”

  “Hey, let’s not use that kind of language,” Bunker snapped. “You need to show some respect, young man. Or haven’t you learned anything since your talk with the Sheriff?”

  “When are we gonna get a turn?” Dallas asked before Victor could answer.

  Bunker looked at him, his face red from scolding Victor. “When we rig the trees. I’ll need you three for climbing. There’ll be plenty to do then.”

  “That’s something, I guess,” Victor said in a defeated tone.

  “I can do this, Jack. I really can,” Rusty said. “I’m not some kid, you know. I’m old enough to vote and join the Marines, like you did.”

  Bunker paused, but didn’t say anything.

  Rusty continued. “You can’t do all this by yourself. You really need to trust me. My grandfather called it delegation. Something a good leader does.”

  Bunker exhaled an extended breath, his eyes lowering to the ground for a few seconds before they came back up. “Okay, let’s assume I let you do this. How would you do it without blowing your foot off?”

  “By carefully putting the bullets in the holes, like you said. Just don’t drop ‘em in, right? Seems easy enough.”

  “Not what I meant. What about the order? You can’t walk around here without a plan. Otherwise, you’ll forget where you’re at and step on one you’ve already primed.”

  Rusty shrugged, looking smug. “I start at one end and work my way across. How hard is that?”

  “It’s not that simple, Rusty. I’ve seen trained Marines forget where they left off and get hauled away on a stretcher.”

  “Couldn’t we just create two or three long rows spaced like twenty feet apart? Then set the toe-poppers one at a time from left to right so we know where we’re at. Like mowing the grass.”

  Victor broke his recent silence. “What about using rocks to mark the rows? That way we know exactly where they are. The tall grass will cover them up so the Russians won’t see them until they’re right on top of them.”

  “Hey, that’s a good idea, isn’t it?” Dallas asked in a confident tone, seeing the pinch in Bunker’s eyes loosen. “Yeah, I can see it in your face. That is a good idea.”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. But it’s still very dangerous. I’m not sure I’m comfortable making the decision here. Maybe we should go ask the Sheriff and Mrs. King for their input.”

  “Shit, she’ll never go for that,” Victor said. “Everyone knows she’s afraid of her own shadow.”

  “I thought you were the man in charge?” Rusty asked.

  “Yeah, Bunker. Grow a pair,” Victor added, sounding amused.

  “Well, technically, the Sheriff’s in charge,” Bunker answered.

  Victor laughed, shaking his head. “Come on, dude. Everyone listens to whatever you say. Even Burt. If you say it’s okay, they will, too.”

  “Please, Bunker. You gotta let us help,” Dallas said.

  CHAPTER 42

  Several hours later, Bunker picked up one end of a rotting log, while Burt took the other. They could have used a third pair of hands to support the weight in the middle, but Bunker thought they could manage on their own.

  Burt walked backwards through the forest, looking over his shoulder as the distant sound of a chainsaw buzzed the air. Dicky was hard at work near the entrance to the meadow, cutting down a handful of selected trees. Apollo was up on the ridge with the TrackingPoint rifle, keeping watch on the valley below.

  Hopefully, the three boys were paying attention to what Dicky was doing. Bunker needed them engaged in something new. Not just to learn from the former lumberjack, but to keep busy until it was time for the trio to start climbing trees.

  Despite Stephanie’s strong objection, Rusty had done a masterful job with the toe-poppers, adding confidence to his budding manhood. Bunker figured Mayor Buckley would be proud of his grandson’s bravery, assuming the man survived the stabbing by Kenny King. Bunker still hadn’t told Rusty about the incident, deciding to wait until the time was right. It was a conversation he didn’t want to have. But eventually, he’d need to sit Rusty down and go through it all.

  “Where do you want it?” Burt asked as they hauled the dead tree into the clearing.

  Bunker peered to the left, drawing a visual line from Stephanie King’s position to an intersecting point where they were headed. She was standing in the grass thirty yards away, with one of the cable spindles hidden at her feet. Her position marked the interior edge of the booby traps. “Keep going. I’ll let you know when we’re there.”

  “The booby zone,” Burt said, laughing after glancing at Stephanie with an amused look on his face. “In more ways than one.”

  Bunker couldn’t help himself, letting out a snort as they continued another twenty feet. “Right there. That’s good.”

  Burt stopped his feet and dropped his end of the log. “Looks like we’ll need a few more if we want two on each side.”

  “Actually, that’ll be too obvious for a trained eye. We don’t want it to look like a marker, so we’ll just use two more. One positioned on the end of this log, and another sitting perpendicular near the entrance. That way I’ll know which side of the logs is safe.”

  “Good idea. No perfectly straight lines,” Burt said, pointing at the tree line. He traced an imaginary line with his hand from the edge of the meadow to his feet. “Maybe we should remove the sunflowers through here as well.”

  Bunker was impressed with the man’s quick thinking. “I like that idea. Their absence will be a marker of sorts.”

  “And it won’t look too obvious to a trained eye, like you said.”

  Bunker decided to educate the bulging mechanic. Not only to share knowledge, but to help pass the time. “We called them Combat Hunters in the Corps. Their job was to survey the area ahead and look for anything that didn’t belong, or looked out of place. Those guys saved a lot of lives, especially in urban settings where Haji liked to plant IEDs. Whether it was a mailbox out of place, some discoloration in the cement of a sidewalk, a bicycle that didn’t belong, cars riding low on their suspension, or whatever, you had to be alert. Those booger-eaters were damn clever.”

  “I can’t imagine walking into an area like that where everyone wants you dead.”

  “It got the blood pumping, that’s for sure. After a while, you get addicted to the adrenaline high.”

  “Probably changes a man, too.”

  “Roger that. Though sometimes not for the better.”

  “Well, just so you know, we all appreciate your service,” Burt said, walking next to Bunker as they headed back to the trees. “I would have signed up outta high school, but my old man needed me at the shop. So that’s what I did. Been there ever since.”

  “Good choice,” Bunker said, thinking about the man’s short temper and lack of phys
ical fortitude. “You’re obviously good at it.”

  “Thanks. But still, there are times I think I should have done my part.”

  “We all have our callings, Burt.”

  “Did you ever have second thoughts? You know, when the bullets started whizzing past your head.”

  “Sure. But honor and duty kept me moving forward, right until I was due to rotate out. Then I knew I was done. It wasn’t even a question at that point,” Bunker said, avoiding the details about the shit storm that happened after being assigned on special mission for an unscrupulous Army major.

  “Can you imagine if Albert had tried to join?” Burt said, laughing through the words. “Especially the Navy.”

  “Probably wouldn’t have gotten very far. The recruiters I know are always trying to make quota and would lie through their teeth to get grunts to sign up. But even they would have turned him away at the door.”

  “If he could even get through the door,” Burt quipped. “I’m guessing Dustin would have been rejected, too. My right leg weighs more than that guy.”

  “It’s possible he could’ve made weight. It all depends on which branch of service we’re talking about. They each have their own physical standards, so he might have squeaked by.”

  Burt grabbed his midsection with both hands, squeezing at the roll. “I guess I’d have to lose a few pounds myself.” He let go of his flab, then brought his arm up and made an impressive curl with his bicep. “At least these guns can still bring a little thunder.”

  Bunker held back a snicker. He could’ve matched the man’s display and then some, but didn’t want to embarrass his only helper available for this part of the operation.

  Burt’s abdominal core looked like a squishy donut. His attempt to show off his powerful arms looked ridiculous—and lazy. “I know I’m new in town, but don’t remember seeing a fitness gym.”

  “Because there isn’t one. Besides, I prefer the dumbbells in my office anyway. Can pump out a few sets when it’s slow in the shop. Don’t need all that other shit,” Burt answered, starting the trek up the hillside. “Seems like a total waste of money to me. We all know people don’t go there to work out. They just wanna stand around and gossip. I’d probably end up punching somebody.”

  * * *

  Albert made his way through the brush to Bunker’s position, carrying the camo-colored backpack he’d put together back at Tuttle’s place. He kept his hands on the carrying strap, purposely avoiding the smear of axle grease that had transferred to the zipper pouch along the top.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Bunker asked, taking the pack in one hand.

  “Yep. Was able to get four of them done.”

  “The list only called for three.”

  “I know, but I had enough aluminum powder for make a fourth. Figured having a spare might just come in handy. Explosives are easy.”

  “But discretion is hard,” Bunker said, his tone sounding rehearsed. “I’ve got that microscope you wanted. Remind me later. It’s in my pack.”

  “Awesome. Thanks. I’m sure everyone is anxious to get Cowie back in the ground where he belongs. Talk about ripe.”

  “I thought we talked about that on the radio?”

  “Yeah, we did. But some of the females got upset. Wasn’t my place to argue.”

  Bunker held quiet, opening the pouch and looking inside. His focus lingered longer than Albert expected.

  “Not enough axle grease?” Albert asked him, wondering if the numb expression on Bunker’s face indicated a problem. “The specs didn’t indicate how much.”

  “Actually, it looks perfect,” Bunker answered, pausing for a beat. “Tube socks?”

  “It’s all Tuttle had. Found them in his hamper. I looked, but there weren’t any clean ones in his dresser.”

  The corner of Bunker’s mouth turned up in a smirk, stopping just short of a smile. “They’ll do. I’m sure the Russians won’t mind.”

  “I also made a few adjustments to the mix.”

  “What kind of adjustments?”

  “I juiced up the temperature a bit. Something with a little more sizzle, if you know what I mean.”

  “TH3?”

  “Yep. Tuttle had the material on hand, so I thought, what the fuck? Might as well.”

  “Looks like I picked the right man for the job. It’s good to see you use those chemistry skills for the greater good.”

  Albert ignored the fake compliment. It was actually a carefully worded slam. He decided not to address it, keeping his tone light and friendly, as if he didn’t notice the insult. Keeping Bunker in a good mood would help with a question he needed to ask, but first a little setup was needed. Something smooth and transitional. “Say what you want about the old coot, but he took prepping seriously. If you need something, I’m sure he has it.”

  Bunker snorted a half-laugh. “That man really should’ve written a book. He had it covered, that’s for sure.”

  “No doubt,” Albert said. It was time to ask the question he’d been saving. “Speaking of material, I was wondering if the baggie I gave you came in handy?”

  “Actually, I was able to get past the checkpoint without it,” Bunker said, locking eyes with Albert. “But I’m not giving the shit back, if that’s where you’re going with this.”

  Albert hesitated, needing to spin Bunker’s accurate guess. He did want his pound of Clearwater Red returned, but upsetting the infamous Bulldog wouldn’t help. He decided to wait for a better time to ask for his ice back. Maybe even steal it when Bunker wasn’t looking, assuming the man lived through what was coming next. “Nah, keep it. Not much of a market left for it anyway.”

  Bunker leaned in close, his eyes coming to an even tighter focus. He spoke in a charged whisper, spittle flying from his mouth. “Just so you know, Tin Man, I buried it deep in the forest where nobody will ever find it. I don’t want that crap falling into the hands of the kids around here. Now or in the future. Am I making myself clear?”

  Albert held up his hands, keeping them out to the side in total surrender. “Perfectly. It’s cool, dude. What I gave you is all there is. Wasn’t time to make any more. I swear.”

  “Because if I see so much as a single red crystal within fifty miles of town, I’ll gut you from your balls to your neck, and feed your fat ass to the buzzards.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Apollo stood at the base of a towering pine with his head craned, keeping an eye on Dallas as the kid shimmied up the trunk. The boy could climb, working his way up the tree with ease.

  “Monkeys got nothing on him,” Dustin said from Apollo’s right. “Damn, he’s good.”

  The widest part of a triangle-shaped red, white, and blue bandana slid around the boy’s neck. It landed on the front of his chest when he angled his body up and around the next branch.

  Apollo wondered if the scarf from Tuttle’s place would work itself loose before Dallas would need it at the top. If it did, they would need a way to get it back up there to protect his lungs.

  Dallas stopped his ascent to fiddle with the string of plastic quart-sized bottles hanging on a short rope from his waist. His hands worked the homemade cargo around a troublesome limb before he continued the climb, his face showing no sign of fear.

  “He’s getting awfully high,” Stephanie said, holding her hands out as if she was planning on catching the young man if he fell.

  “He’ll be all right, Steph. Just needs to take his time and plan his route,” Apollo said. “It’s obvious he’s spent a lot of time in trees. I know I did when I was young. Of course, that was long before my investment in bagels and pancakes.”

  “Among other things,” she quipped, glancing down at his gut. “But we all have our vices, now don’t we, Sheriff?”

  Apollo didn’t take offense at her callous remark. It was just her stress talking. It’s not every day you find yourself part of an advance team preparing a meadow for a deadly battle against an overwhelming enemy—one with enough manpower and weaponry to wipe you out
in a heartbeat.

  Nobody had said the words since they arrived, but they were all thinking it: Bunker had better know exactly what he was doing. Their lives depended on it, and so did the lives of everyone in town. One miscalculation and they’d all draw their last breaths.

  Bunker and Albert stood at the base of another pine twenty yards away. Apollo estimated their tree was the tallest one in the area, which was probably why Bunker had selected it first when he scouted trees.

  Height was a key. So was clearing a path between it and the ambush area, which is exactly what Dicky had done with the chainsaw earlier. The lumberjack made quick work of the felled trees, chopping them into manageable segments for Burt and Bunker to carry away. Luckily, the other pines they’d targeted didn’t require as much prep work, keeping the hauling requirements down to a minimum.

  Victor wasn’t as agile as Dallas, but he showed the same lack of fear, his hands and feet working in concert to carry him higher in the taller tree.

  “What about this one?” Victor asked Bunker, pointing above his shoulder. He, too, had a dangle of plastic bottles hanging from his beltline.

  “Keep going, I’ll let you know.”

  Rusty had been assigned to the stockpile where the lone remaining Land Rover was parked. Most of the horses were secured there as well, their reins lashed to a triple-wrapped band of paracord that had been strung between two stout trees.

  Rusty was busy readying the next payload, his capable fingers threading the paracord through the handles of each bottle before wrapping them around. He’d need to string ten more sets before the trees on both sides of the clearing were prepped and ready.

  Dustin brought a hand up to his nose and sniffed it. “Jesus,” the skinny former deputy snorted, turning his head away.

  “What’s wrong?” Apollo asked.

  “Can’t believe I can still smell those frogs. I’ve washed my hands a bunch of times and they still stink.”

  “Trust me, that’s not the worst smell around here,” Apollo said, rolling his eyes.

  “That’s for sure,” Stephanie added, shooting a glance in Burt’s direction. “Thanks for giving him something to do, far away from here.”