Operation Syria

— 19 —

Banks was tempted to try the climb himself but as the officer in charge, he had a duty to all of them, not just to himself, and he was relieved when Wilkins, the smaller of the privates, spoke up.

“I’ll give it a go, sir,” the lad said, passing his rifle to Davies. “I always liked a good clamber.”

They had to boost Wilkins up onto Davies’ and Brock’s shoulders before he could reach up into the chimney and when the lad pulled himself up, it was a tight squeeze. His body now blocked out most of the aperture at the top, so Hynd switched on his gun light and tried to give the younger man some light for the climb. Wilkins put a foot on the surface ahead of him, his other foot on the wall behind, and then began to shuffle himself upward in a classic narrow space climb.

It was slow going and Banks knew how much strain the lad was putting on his ankles with every move. About halfway up, Wilkins paused to catch his breath.

“It’s going to be tight,” he called down, “but I should get up there okay.”

Banks was already thinking it wasn’t a great idea, for if Wilkins, the slightest of them, found it tight, the broader lads like Brock and Wiggins would have no chance of making it. He was about to call Wilkins back when the lad started climbing again, making better time now. Banks let him continue.

At least he’ll get us some intel as to where the fuck we are.

Wilkins reached the top some minutes later.

“Nearly there,” he called down.

“Don’t do anything daft, lad,” Banks called up. “But see if you can get some pointers as to where we are.”

They heard a scrape as Wilkins pushed himself up.

“There’s a big market square here. We’re in the south-west corner by the look of it and… oh fuck.” There was more scrambling above and Wilkins dropped down the chimney, far faster than he had gone up. “Spiders, sir,” he said as he landed, unsteady on his feet beside them. “It’s infested. Fucking hundreds of them and at least a dozen of yon huge buggers the size of cars.

“That settles that then,” Banks said. “We go back to the room with the statue and try north.”

Kim spoke up.

“If we’re in the southwest corner of the square, we must be close to the synagogue.”

Banks smiled grimly.

“And if the square is infested with spiders, there’s not much point in going that way or even looking for that exit. We don’t have the ammo for a prolonged firefight, so it’s best if we sneak along unnoticed for now. If we manage to maintain a track north, we’ll hit the outer wall at some point. You said that’s how the Persians got in?”

Kim nodded.

“But that was many centuries ago.”

“It doesn’t matter. If the way is blocked and we need an explosion, I’ll get Wiggins to fart.”

He looked up the chimney. It was already appreciably darker up there. Dusk was coming on fast.

When they arrived back at the Mithras statue, Banks took the lead again and led them north, feeling the cool breeze on his face. It gave him hope that he was doing the right thing, although the lack of a backup escape route had him worried; if they met the spiders in these enclosed corridors, they’d be able to hold them off for a few minutes, then it would be all over. The need for a clear escape was uppermost in his mind and he walked ahead as fast as he could while allowing the others to keep up at his back.

The corridor here was worked stone rather than rough rock and that too gave him hope that they might be emerging into a different area of tunneling that might yield better exit points.

He had his rifle in one hand and one of the gas canisters in the other. Having seen the carnage fire could wreak on the spiders and their webs, he had more confidence in that than he had in bullets, although he knew he’d need precious seconds to open the valve and get a lighter to it. The rifle was his backup for that contingency and he kept the light pointing straight ahead as he went quickly along the corridor.

It wasn’t long before he came up hard against another dead end, although this one wasn’t even a room; the corridor simply came to an end at a stone wall with only a small square opening covered in an iron grate at eye height ahead of him. It was a little more than a foot square.

The others came up close at his back as he shone his light through the grate. It showed another, large, chamber beyond and the breeze was strong at his face as he peered through.

He dropped his rifle to his side on its strap, pocketed the gas canister, and put both hands on the iron bars of the grate, pulling with all his strength. It moved, only slightly but enough to give him hope.

“Back up, give me room,” he said as the others crowded around him. “Sarge, Brock, watch our backs. Wiggo, get up here and give me a hand. We’re going through here, one way or another.”

It took several minutes of hard graft but finally the grate began to slide out of its moorings and one last hard tug broke it free completely. They dropped it to the floor at their feet, where it clanged and echoed, ringing like a loud bell in the enclosed space.

Something answered in reply, the rat-a-tat chatter of spiders calling out in unison from somewhere behind them.

“Right, Wiggo, you’re up first. Get your arse through there and cover us, we’ve got trouble inbound,” Banks said. “Davies, follow him through, then Maggie and Kim. The rest of you watch that corridor. They won’t be able to come all at once, there’s not enough room. That’s all we’ve got going for us.”

Wiggins went first through the new hole, scrambling head first, pulling his rear end through with half an inch to spare.

“Good,” Banks said. “If your lardy arse gets through there, the rest of us will have no trouble.”

Davies went through fluidly and athletically in comparison to Wiggins’ scrambling, as did Kim after him. Banks was thinking they were going to get away safely when the sarge spoke at his back.

“We’ve got incoming, Cap,” Hynd said. “Fifteen yards and closing.”

Banks boosted Maggie up and through the hole before turning to look down the corridor. Several sets of red eyes reflected back from the gloom. He retrieved the gas canister from one pocket, his lighter from another, and stepped forward between the other men and the spiders.

“Wilkins, get through to the other side. Sarge, Brock, cover me.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Cap,” Hynd said.

“Buying us time,” he said and walked forward towards the spiders.

He smelled them before he got a good look at them, the acrid and bitter odor stinging in his nostrils. Four sets of red compound eyes looked back at him as he closed the distance. For every two steps forward he took, they took one toward him and soon there were only a few paces between him and the spiders. Moving slowly, he opened the valve on the gas. The spiders chattered at that but didn’t react until he flicked on the lighter, the click-clack of the Zippo too loud, like gunfire in the corridor. It elicited another rat-a-tat response.

One of the spiders proved to be bolder than the others and scuttled quickly forward. Banks stepped up to meet it, applied the flame to the escaping gas, and sent a wash of fire over the thing’s head, which took light immediately. The beast, already burning hard, tried to flee backward. Banks stepped in closer, feeling heat singe his eyebrows and tighten the skin at his cheeks as he sent more flame washing, over the thing’s back this time. It continued to flee from the fire, running directly into the other spiders, which also burned.

Banks dropped the canister as the gas exhausted itself, swung his rifle into his hands, and sent bursts of three shots each into the bodies, which collapsed in ash and flame. The corridor at this end filled fast with acrid smoke, the stench even worse than previously, but the job was done; none of the spiders moved and fire was eating them fast, leaving little but oily ash in its wake.

He turned to head back to the others. Wilkins was most of the way through the hole, with Hynd waiting to go next. Brock had Banks covered, his gun light showing the way back to safety. He had only got halfway back to them when he saw from Brock’s face that they’d got trouble.

Then he heard it, a louder clacking than ever. He looked over his shoulder to see a huge spider scuttle over the burning embers of the others and barrel down the corridor at speed, coming straight for him. It was so large its body touched each wall and its eyes looked like a small throbbing mass of fiery eggs, fixed directly on him.

It came so fast he wasn’t going to have time to turn, aim, and shoot, and he knew he was blocking Brock’s line of sight. He took the only option open to him. He rolled forward, turning and dropping to the floor, his weapon raised, as the spider loomed over him. He put three shots into its belly before it fell on him, knocking all breath out of his body. His ears rang as three more shots followed — Brock, he guessed — then three more as Hynd joined in. He felt wet, gore running over him from the holes in the beast, which now felt a dead weight above him.

Then the weight was gone and Brock and Hynd stood over him, having rolled the dead thing away.

“Do me a favor, Cap,” Hynd said, helping him to his feet. “Save the heroics for when the colonel can see them. They don’t do my auld ticker any good.”

Hynd helped him back to the hole in the wall and boosted him up.

“Get through there before you do yourself, or us, any more mischief… sir.”

He went headfirst, halfway through when he heard Brock call out from behind.

“Here they come again.”

Banks squirmed through the hole, helped by Wiggins pulling from the other side, then immediately stood and turned, aiming his rifle through the gap, adding his light to Brock and Hynd’s. It reflected off half a dozen compound eyes at the far end of the corridor. The loud rat-a-tat clacking meant there were more spiders piled up further back in the darkness.

“Sarge, get through here, that’s an order. On the double.”

He had to step away to allow the sergeant to come through, so he didn’t see what happened next but he could make a good guess; the spiders had noted that Brock was exposed and launched an attack. The sound of Brock’s return fire came loud even through the blocked hole.

Hynd fell head first out of the hole and both Banks and Wiggins stepped forward in unison, their weapons raised. Brock stood with his back to them, firing into a wall of spiders that crawled along the floor, the walls, and even the roof in a squirming mass of thick bodies and hairy legs.

“Get down, lad,” Banks called and Brock went to his knees while the three of them pumped round after round into the approaching spiders. They put down the front rank quickly enough but more quickly moved forward to fill the space. It was the situation Banks had feared; a mass attack in a confined area. They were lucky to have got their people out through the hole.

But that doesn’t help Brock.

“I’m out,” Brock shouted, dropping his rifle and reaching for his handgun. Banks knew it wouldn’t be long before he too ran dry.

The spiders kept coming.

“I’m dry,” Wiggins said and stepped back. Davies filled the space quickly barely missing a beat in the firing. Spider bodies littered the corridor floor, reaching to Brock’s feet now. Banks knew he was down to his last few rounds and was about to step out when he felt warmth near his ear.

“Fire in the hole,” Hynd shouted and Banks ducked as a flaming gas canister soared past his head and through the hole, halfway along the length of the corridor. Brock, thankfully, had the good sense to duck and cover, and Banks looked away as the small tank went up in a roar of flame that set spiders running and scurrying off into the dark distance along the corridor.

Banks wasted no time.

“Private Brock, get through here, right now.”

Brock scrambled into the hole and began inching his way forward. Banks immediately saw he’d been wrong earlier; Brock’s rear end was the equal of Wiggins’, if not even larger, and the private was having trouble getting through.

“For fuck’s sake, man, get through here. Remind me to put you on a diet when we get back.”

He and Wiggins took an arm each and began to pull. They’d almost got Brock all the way through when he let out a yelp of pain. They tugged harder and he popped out like a cork out of a bottle. The front end of a large spider filled the hole where he’d been. Fangs the length of fingers clacked excitedly together.

Hynd stepped forward and put three shots in its eyes. It fell away from them, giving them a sight of a vision from hell — the whole corridor beyond was filled with a mass of squirming, scuttling spiders. Some of them smoldered, some of them were burning and spreading more flame as they tried in vain to find escape. Hynd had a remedy for that too. He lit another canister, stepped forward, and casually dropped it through to the other side of the hole.

“Duck,” he said, smiling.