Dinosaur Wars: Earthfall
Page 62
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In comparison to the catastrophe of the night before, the new day was kind to Matthew Davis. The Kra had not attacked his column since the showdown at the bridge. He had even managed a few hours of sleep in the back of his Humvee as it raced south along the highways of Wyoming and Colorado. Now, as morning turned to afternoon, he sat in the passenger seat slightly refreshed and thinking over his situation. The Kra certainly had the speed to overtake them but hadn’t reappeared. The action at the bridge must have made it impossible for them to follow or convinced them close pursuit was too dangerous. No matter what had caused their reluctance, he knew he wouldn’t breathe easy until he was underground again at NORAD. Even then his hopes would be bleak. With most of his force lost there was little he could do against the enemy from this point forward. The Kra had won. He knew that in his heart. How many times, he wondered, would he wish he had considered Dr. Ogilvey’s offer? Could that old nut case really have arranged a truce? Would the Kra have bargained away their tactical advantage? The only question now was how long the Kra’s mopping-up operation would last. Davis was determined it would be as long and painful as he could make it for them.
He thanked his lucky stars when Cheyenne Mountain came in sight and his Humvee led the little column up the charred approach road to the tunnel entrance. He could hear the whine of hydraulics, a third of a mile deep inside the tunnel, opening the massive iron doors to admit him. He spoke into his radio handset. “Okay, blast door controller, be ready to seal off the facility as soon as we get in.”
“Roger,” the static-filled reply came back.
While the convoy paused at the outer guard station, Davis looked nervously around the base of the mountain. He felt a heightened sense of danger. While on the highway, he had taken comfort from the convoy’s movement and a notion they could get away from any pursuers. But with the vehicles moving slowly into the confines of the tunnel, things were different. As the checkpoint soldiers waved the column through and his Humvee entered the shadow of the tunnel he spotted a metallic glint several hundred yards away among the scattered boulders.
“I don’t like being bunched up like this,” he muttered to his driver as the column followed his Hummer in with the tank on watch at the rear. The thing on the hillside had looked too much like what he feared most—a Kra fighting machine crouching behind a boulder. Was his imagination going nuts on him after too little sleep and too much worry? He couldn’t say.
Just as the tunnel cut off his view of the mountain, an explosion rent the air behind him. Davis wheeled around to see one of the two Bradleys engulfed in flame. Worse, he saw flashes of laser fire coming from every conceivable angle—an ambush! The tank’s gun roared but Davis couldn’t see the shell’s effect as his Humvee raced deeper into the tunnel.
In seconds his driver pulled up to the internal checkpoint beside the outer blast door. Davis leaped out, ran to the entry guard station and shouted at the soldier positioned there, “Get that door closed!”
“Already closing, sir,” the man replied. Indeed Davis could see the door moving inward although with agonizing sluggishness. In the meantime the two other Humvees rolled past him and stopped in a pullout area by the blast door, their crews leaping out and rushing through the narrowing opening. Then came the second Bradley, followed by the tank. The Bradley flew toward the checkpoint at a dangerous speed. Just when its driver should have hit the brakes, it took a laser round from one of the Kra machines. Davis watched in dismay as sparks and flame erupted from the top of the Bradley and it accelerated as a result of the explosion. It careened into the half-closed blast door, tipped over on its side, and exploded into flames squarely in the opening.
“Oh my God, no!” Davis moaned as the mangled door ground to a stop against the Bradley.
The last vehicle rolling was the tank. It stopped near Davis with its commander, Crom, staring in disbelief at the Bradley and the ruined entry door.
“Can you push it out of the way?” Davis called to Crom. A moment later the tank rammed the wreckage of the Bradley but it was too firmly wedged and there was no time to do anything else. Four Kra machines were coming down the tunnel toward them.
“You’ve gotta hold them here, son,” he shouted at Crom, “until we get the inner door sealed.”
Despite a hail of laser fire, Crom smiled grimly and saluted him. Davis found a small gap beside the blazing Bradley and squeezed himself in as the lieutenant called orders to his gunner and the tank’s turret swung to point its cannon at the enemy. The first approaching Kra fighter sent several bursts of laser fire ricocheting off the skin of the tank, but the tank’s gun roared in reply and the Kra machine exploded. The gun boomed again as Davis slipped inside and ran for the inner door, which by now was three-quarters shut.
Crom sealed his hatch and watched through the commander’s gun sight as Quinn fired a round into another Kra fighting machine. It was a direct hit and the machine exploded. But as it fell backward in flames, two more immediately stepped forward to take its place, firing laser bursts that ricocheted off the tunnel walls. The tank’s cannon roared again, and again an enemy fell. But now Crom saw something bad—really bad. Smoke was rising from his tank. They had pulled into the tunnel nose-forward and swung the turret around to face the rear. This left a weak spot exposed at the back of the tank, the engine compartment. The lighter armor there had been pierced by a laser shot. Now Crom nervously eyed the black smoke billowing up ever more heavily. The enemy temporarily ceased its fire, maybe reconnoitering after losing three machines. But when Crom saw orange flames rising up in front of his gunsight he knew it was all over. If his crew didn’t bail out quick, they’d be toast—literally.
“End of the line, boys,” he called out. “Abandon the vehicle.”
The other crewmen climbed out their exit hatches and he followed, jumping down to the pavement as flames roared out of the engine compartment. “Come on,” he shouted. “Let’s move it before she blows.”
The crew scurried through a narrow gap between the burning Bradley and the blast door. As Crom went in last, the tank’s fuel reservoirs ruptured and a huge fireball filled the tunnel behind him. There was no time to gawk at the spectacle. Someone shouted that the inner blast door was almost closed and they rushed to it, squeezing in just as its gap narrowed to the point where a man could barely force his chest through. Seconds later the door slammed tight and Crom leaned against it, panting and eyeing his crewmates. He could hardly believe they were all with him inside NORAD, unburnt and in one piece: his driver, his gunner, his loader and—he breathed a sigh of relief—himself.
A female Air Force security officer stood in the whitewashed concrete hallway. She saluted and said, “Welcome to NORAD, sir.”
“Glad to be here,” Crom replied, still amazed he wasn’t burnt or crushed to jelly by the door. “Can you show me where to get a weapon to defend this place?”
“Yes, sir,” the airwoman replied.
PART FIVE: The Most Desperate Hour