Nightwatch

Chapter 60

The cave entrance that Jody Glickman led them to was little more than a narrow fracture in the face of a huge limestone bluff. The MPs had to take off their equipment in order to squeeze their way through, and Thomas was the last member of the eleven person party to crawl inside the tight opening. He found himself hunching over to keep from hitting his head on the low rock ceiling, and needed to use his redlensed flashlight to illuminate a long, downward-sloping tunnel that the others were already traversing.

He picked up his pace so that he wouldn’t be left behind, and noted that the air temperature was dropping quickly, and was a good twenty degrees lower than that of the hot summer night outside. It almost felt as if he had just stepped into an air-conditioned room, the temperature continuing to drop as the tunnel opened up into a large cavern. There was a bitter, musty scent to the air here, and Thomas joined their U.S. Forest Service guide and Jay Christian at the head of the column.

“See those brownish-white splotches that cover the ground?”

said Glickman while scanning the cavern’s interior with her red tinted flashlight.

“That’s bat guano. And those small, rust-colored objects that are hanging from the ceiling are none other than the critters who make this cavern their home.”

“I thought bats feed at night,” Christian remarked.

“They do,” replied the naturalist.

“Those little fellows up there are the young, old, or sickly, and you’d definitely know the difference when the entire colony is present.”

The soothing, hollow sound of dripping water could be heard nearby, and Thomas searched the cavern’s dark recesses with his flashlight.

“How much further is that underground river?” he asked.

“It’s a half kilometer at the most,” answered Glickman.

“And just wait until you see the magnificent chamber that we have to pass through to reach it. It alone is worth the trip.”

Ted Callahan had experienced his fair share of explosions in his lifetime, but nothing could compare with the simultaneous detonation of a hundred pounds of C-4. The very earth below seemed to shake, and even with ear protection and his eyes closed, the flash penetrated his eyelids, and his ears still rung from the deafening roar.

Though there had been some initial doubt whether the blast would be sufficient to penetrate the tempered steel hinges of the inner vault, when Ted finally gathered the nerve to leave cover, he found the entrance to the cave wide open. Sergeant Reed wasted little time gathering together his Sappers, and they entered in a tight line formation, with Callahan second from the rear.

Because of the complete lack of ambient light, their NVGs were all but useless. Red-tinted flashlights illuminated their way, and Callahan made certain to keep close on the heels of his Sapper buddy in front of him.

For the first one hundred and fifty yards or so, they followed a good-sized tunnel. Its limestone walls appeared to have been bored out by machine. The ceiling had a good eight feet of clearance, and one could easily drive a large vehicle along the tunnel’s smooth rock floor.

Ever on the lookout for any trip wires or toe poppers, they reached the end of the tunnel without incident. Before transiting the bend of a blind curve. Reed ordered them to form an assault train. This tightly knit formation would allow them to move forward like a single entity, and was a technique that was utilized in the MOUT environment.

From his position near the end of the train, Callahan readied his weapon, a Colt M4 carbine, with an M203 grenade launcher attached beneath the barrel. Because he hadn’t seen real combat since the Persian Gulf War, and then only on a very limited scale, the mere act of chambering a live round and flicking off the safety caused his pulse to quicken.

It was only too obvious that their enemy was an experienced one, armed with weapons stolen from Uncle Sam’s very own arsenal. Since the Vice President was most likely in its custody, they couldn’t go in with guns blazing, and had to proceed with the utmost caution — ever ready to defend themselves, but always on the lookout for a potential hostage situation.

Callahan was in the midst of a series of deep, calming breaths when the assault train began moving forward with quick, shuffling steps. He adjusted his footsteps accordingly, the soles of his combat boots slapping against the limestone pavement in exact cadence with his fellow soldiers.

He was so close to the Sapper in front of him that he could actually smell his sweat, the reflective white cat eyes on the back of his BDU cap practically touching Callahan’s forehead. They were moving quickly now, and as they snaked around the bend, two of the Sappers in front of the train peeled off to sweep the blackened shadows with the barrels of their M16s. The train kept moving onward without them, with the next two point men peeling off at the next bend.

It was as they were in the process of rounding the next blind curve that their progress was abruptly halted by the ear-shattering blast of a stun grenade. This was followed by a deafening volley of exploding rifle rounds, which sent Callahan diving to the ground for cover.

“Sappers, return fire!” ordered Sergeant Reed.

Ted Callahan needed no more prompting to train his carbine’s barrel toward the tunnel up ahead and begin squeezing off rounds. The now nine-man Sapper squad did likewise, and together they poured a devastating curtain of lead into the black void where the ambush had originated.

“Sounds like Doc and his boys are havin’ one hoot of a time out there,” said Dick Mariano, referring to the almost constant outpouring of gunfire that could be clearly heard in the distance.

“Doesn’t the sound of an M16 on full automatic bring back fond memories. Sergeant Spit and Polish?”

From his position standing inside the detention cell, Vince Kellogg didn’t bother dignifying this remark with a reply; his thoughts were focused on the source of these unexpected gunshots.

Beside him, Andrew Chapman was having similar thoughts, with any hopes of a last-minute rescue dashed when Mariano pulled out a .45 Colt pistol from his waistband and pointed it at them.

“How very frustrating it must be for the two of you,” said Mariano as he racked the pistol’s slide and chambered a fresh round.

“To have to die with your rescuers practically knocking on your cell’s door. But such are the ironies of war, compadres

From the rear of the cell. Junior howled out in renewed pain, oblivious to the administrations of his father and sister. This anguished cry served to further infuriate Tiny, who charged the cell’s iron bars and hollered:

“You might be a big man out there with that gun, but I know that without it, you’re nothing but a spineless coward!”

“Such a brave man,” Mariano said, “yet one without any capacity for learning.” He displayed a remarkable lack of emotion as he pointed the pistol at Tiny and squeezed off a single round.

The bullet penetrated Tiny’s left thigh, and he collapsed onto the floor, blood gushing from the wound in such copious amounts that both Amos and Miriam abandoned their patient to rush to his side.

“That should keep the big hick’s mouth shut,” said Mariano, who smirked and pointed the gun at Andrew Chapman.

“I feel generous, Kellogg. You make the call. A shot to the head, or one to the heart?”

“Damn it, Mariano! This isn’t war, it’s an execution!”

Renewed gunfire sounded in the distance, and before the bearded ex-SEAL could respond to Vince’s outburst, Richy entered the tunnel at a full run.

“Skipper,” he managed to say between heaving breaths, “we’ve got us a major incursion. It’s a full squad at least, and Doc’s been hit, along with Traveler and Old Dog.”

“So the gates are wide open, and here comes the cavalry,” calmly observed Mariano. He readjusted the aim of his pistol to target Vince before returning the barrel to the VP.

“It would be a shame to waste a bullet on you two now, especially with help so near.”

Richy was utterly confused by this comment, and he urgently expressed himself.

“Tap ‘em, Skipper, and we can still make the river before the others reach us!”

Mariano appeared to ignore his associate’s suggestion, and instead pulled a key out of the pocket of his black pajamas. He proceeded to unlock the cell door, then beckoned for Vince and Andrew Chapman to join them outside.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doin’. Skipper?”

quizzed Richy.

Mariano answered while roughly grabbing the VP from behind and shoving his pistol into Chapman’s neck.

“Richy, you don’t get paid to think, remember? Now, be so good as to escort Sergeant Spit and Polish here, and we’ll take off for the river, along with the ultimate insurance policy.”