Operation Syria

— 20 —

The torrent of noise, flame, and confusion were too much for Maggie’s senses to bear. She stood to one side of the hole in the wall, holding Kim’s hand while the fighting raged. The noise only faded after the sergeant dropped the canister through to the other side. It went up with a flash and a soft whump. Flame came back through the hole, accompanied by high, wild shrieking from the other side.

Then everything fell mercifully quiet.

The silence was only broken seconds later by Brock. The young private had sat down, slumped against the wall.

“Sir, I think I’m in trouble.”

Maggie was first to bend to him and her heart sank when she saw the deep slashing wound at the man’s ankle. It was already starting to blacken at the edges.

Just like Jim White.

Private Davies pulled her gently aside and went to work on the wound but all Maggie could think of was how quickly it had taken White and how much he’d suffered.

Captain Banks stood looking back through the hole, from which black smoke drifted slowly to hang above them.

“All clear, for now,” he said. “Sarge, get the ammo redistributed. I want everybody to at least have a few rounds available in case of emergencies.”

Hynd moved to comply and Banks turned to Davies.

“How’s the lad?”

“It’s a deep one, sir. I got some peroxide in it straight away and I’ll bandage him up good. He’s going to need something for the pain and we’ll need to keep an eye on him until we get him to a real doctor but he should be okay to move out, as long as we don’t have to do any running,”

“Jim White went out like a light within minutes,” Maggie said.

“Toxic shock, probably,” Davies said. “I’m hoping getting the peroxide on it early will prevent that.”

“Aye, and I’ll have some of yon high-class drugs, please, doc,” Brock said through gritted teeth. “It’s like somebody’s pressing a red-hot poker against my skin. I’m hurting bad here.”

While Davies administered to his new patient, Maggie had her first chance to look around this latest chamber they’d arrived in. She could only see what the gun lights showed her but it was obviously another room that had been extensively carved, although these had none of the vibrant paint colors they’d seen earlier. She got Wiggins to train his light on a particular patch that looked more intricate than the rest.

Kim pointed at the distinctive, simple outline depicting a basic carving of a small fish.

“Jewish. 1st century at a guess,” she said. “Hebrew inscriptions, Early Christian imagery. And if I’m reading this right, it’s a depiction of Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus. This is more than important, it’s historically significant. The find of the century.”

“Fortune and glory, Indiana Jones shite?” Wiggins said and Kim smiled thinly.

“Why, Corporal, do you have a whip?”

“Ask me nicely,” Wiggins replied with a grin of his own until Banks put a stop to the banter with a sharp glance that shut the corporal up fast.

Maggie took more pictures while the opportunity was there but it was only a matter of seconds before Banks announced they had to move.

“I have to catalog this,” Maggie said.

“If it doesn’t help us get out of here, it’s hindering,” Banks replied. “You’ll get to come back, if you help me keep you alive for a wee while.”

She dragged herself, reluctantly, away from the carvings and followed behind Banks and Davies, heading out an entrance to the north of the chamber. Kim took her hand tightly again. Brock hadn’t fallen victim to the coma that had taken White and limped along, helped by Wiggins at his shoulder, with Wilkins and Hynd bringing up the rear.

They arrived immediately in another archaeological wonder, a set of chambered catacombs, obviously, to Maggie’s eyes, of the same Jewish period but the ravages of time and looting had not been kind here. Broken sarcophagi lay tumbled along the walls, fragments of skeletons and clothing showing where looters had desecrated the tombs in search of anything of value.

“Bastards,” Kim said.

Banks spoke from the front of the group.

“This is a good sign,” he said. “We’ve reached areas where people have been relatively recently. Keep an eye open; if looters can get in here, we can get out.”

At least the area was free of any webbing and they were able to progress for thirty paces along the center of the catacomb chamber. As they closed on the far end, Maggie saw two exits ahead of them, both little more than darker shadows in the gloom.

“Right goes toward town, left goes toward the outer walls, is that right?” Banks asked.

Both Maggie and Kim replied at the same time.

“Yes.”

Maggie continued, “But there’s no guarantee either way and… ”

Banks put up a hand to stop her.

“I know,” he said. “But we already ken that the town is infested, so we can’t realistically go that way. I’m hoping there’s some way out for us to get to open ground where the chopper can reach us easily. It’s about the only plan I’ve got, unless you’ve got anything better?”

Maggie had no answer to that. Kim held her hand tighter as they went left, into a narrower corridor of roughly hewn rock that sloped gently downward.

It was only a few steps inside before Maggie noticed a smell in the breeze, a vinegary tang. There had been so many noxious smells assaulting her nose and throat in the past hour that it took her a while to identify this new one but once she noticed it, there was no mistaking it.

“There’s spiders around here somewhere.”

“No shit, Sherlock?” Wiggins said at her back but Banks took note and stopped at the front.

“Yes,” he said. “I smell them too. But what choice do we have?”

He turned back and continued onward. After only a dozen more paces, the corridor opened out into another worked area, an empty, cathedral-like space of pillars and arches that was more recent than anything else they’d seen so far. Half a dozen opening led off to the left and right and they could see, right at the edge of the gun lights, a darker, larger opening leading out at the far end to the north. Fresher air came from that direction and Banks led them toward it, upping his pace.

“Late Persian. 4th century,” Kim said. “A storeroom at a guess.”

It was a fine feat of architecture but there were no carvings, no statues and Maggie took some pictures where the light allowed it, more to document their trail than from any archaeological curiosity as they made their way through the large, empty area. It was while she was taking one more photograph that the relative quiet was shattered by a loud rat-a-tat clattering from behind that was immediately joined by others, coming from openings both to the left and right.

Banks broke into a run and they all followed.

When they reached the exit at the far end of the chamber, they found it was a wide and high archway, leading into a man-made tunnel of expertly worked stone, eight feet in circumference. Banks stood aside to let Maggie, Kim, Wiggins, and the injured Brock in behind him. The other four soldiers stood in a line at the entrance, waiting for an attack.

None came, although the clattering rat-a-tat echoed from all the other exits and when Banks swung his aim at the nearest to the left, it showed two sets of the red compound eyes reflecting back at them.

“It’s as if they want us to go this way,” Maggie whispered.

“Aye,” Banks replied. “We’re being herded, like so many bloody sheep.”

She didn’t ask what they might be being herded toward.

I don’t think I want to know the answer.