Sanchez nodded to Webster to open the door and peer into what lay beyond it. Slowly at first, Corporal Webster opened the door. Small lights had been affixed to the walls of the tunnel every twenty feet or so, dimly lighting the space. The tunnels were like hallways, wide enough for at least two soldiers to walk side by side. They could hear the chattering of machine guns and the occasional voice yelling in Chinese, but the noises were faint, off in the distance.
Webster made his way into the hallway and signaled for the others to follow. One of the fire teams turned right and followed the hallway up a gentle incline, while the group that went left followed the hallway down to the lower levels. Both fire teams made their way further into the fortress to see what they could find. By now, the next squad of soldiers had filtered in and was moving to back them up as well. Slow and steadily, they were advancing further into the mountain fortress.
Even inside the tunnels, Sergeant Sanchez could still hear and often feel the explosions taking place outside. He also heard the chattering of machine guns, though they were softer, muffled by all the rock between them and the outdoors.
After moving maybe five more meters into the mountain, they came to an entrance that opened up into a large cavern. Corporal Webster signaled for everyone to stop and dropped down to one knee. The others did likewise.
Sergeant Sanchez made his way up to him. “What do we have, Webster?” he asked.
Webster leaned in and whispered, “I think we found the ammo depot. It looks like these guys are sorting ammo onto those pushcarts to run them over to different bunkers.” He waved his hand forward.
Peering into the spacious room, Sanchez saw at once what Webster had described. The storage facility there had to be at least twenty meters high, roughly one hundred meters in length and fifty meters in width. While it was dark toward the edges and in the tunnels that connected to the main room, there were at least eight or ten overhead lights. On one side of the cavernous room was a table with four PLA soldiers manning several radios and an old-fashioned phone switchboard. Next to them was a series of maps with different color codes on them.
The adjacent wall had a row of maybe twenty cots set up, with wounded soldiers laid out on them. PLA doctors or medics tended to them, and nearby was a military ambulance. The wounded were being loaded onto it, presumably to be taken either deeper in the mountain or out of it altogether. The vehicle was angled toward a tunnel with a sign written in Chinese that probably said exit, since there was one other opening maybe thirty meters to the left with the same sign, large enough for a truck.
In the center of the room, dozens of PLA soldiers loaded crates of ammunition onto pushcarts, which were then rushed off down a different hallway, presumably to another gun bunker. Another set of soldiers were loading crates of ammo onto an elevator pulley that would bring additional ammo to another layer of bunkers somewhere above them.
Sergeant Sanchez then heard an approaching truck engine and froze. A pair of headlights crept closer to their position from that second tunnel. Sanchez’s heart raced as the noise grew louder and the lights brighter, but the truck stopped. Without seeming to notice any of the Americans, a half dozen soldiers got out and proceeded to help offload more crates of ammo.
Sanchez had seen enough. He knew they didn’t have enough soldiers to take this group on, and if they were going to capitalize on this find, they needed to get the rest of the platoon, or better yet, the company over here.
“We could send squads of soldiers down those tunnels and silence the machine-gun bunkers all over this mountain fortress,” he thought.
“Webster, let’s fall back a bit and hold our position,” he whispered. “We need more troops to take ‘em out.” Webster nodded and scooted back a bit. Sanchez doubled back to go find their lieutenant.
Five minutes went by before Sanchez returned with Lieutenant Fallon and Captain Garcia, who’d brought a platoon and a half of soldiers with them. Captain Garcia sent the other half of the company with the XO down the other tunnel.
Captain Garcia huddled with Sergeant Sanchez further back down the hall. “I talked with battalion before I came in the tunnel,” he explained. “They’re sending another company of soldiers to help us clear this out. They want a report as soon as we know how big this place is.”
“Sir, if I may, when we enter this room, we’re going to have to clear it quickly,” Sanchez rationalized. “I have no idea if they have an internal alarm system. Once we’re in, I suggest we send squads of soldiers down the smaller tunnels, as those most likely lead to other gun bunkers. We can take them out quickly, which will hopefully help our guys on the outside out. But if we’re going to try and go down those two vehicle tunnels, I think we’re going to need a lot more guys. We have no idea how many other soldiers are down them. They might even lead all the way out to the other side of the mountain.”
The captain nodded. “Lead the way, Sergeant.”
A few minutes went by; they went over each squad’s lane of fire and where they were going to move once the shooting started. With everyone briefed, they were ready to execute.
Corporal Webster was the first soldier to emerge from the shadows of the tunnel. He charged forward, suddenly materializing from the darkness. The first enemy soldier to see him froze in sudden panic at the sight of an American soldier inside their fortress. Webster pulled the trigger once, hitting the soldier squarely in the forehead before he could even react. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes, his body resting in a pile of brain matter.
With the first gunshot fired, the element of surprise was over. Both squads of soldiers systematically shot everyone they saw in the cavernous room while doing their best to filter into the entrance as quickly as possible. More and more soldiers ran into the room to join their comrades.
The shooting inside the large room was intense. Nearly a hundred soldiers on both sides fought to the death in the confined space. With speed on their side, the Americans overwhelmed the defenders.
“Webster! Take your fire team and head down that tunnel,” Staff Sergeant Sanchez shouted. He pointed to one of the newly-arrived soldiers and ordered, “Take him with you.”
Webster nodded, and the newbie and one of his buddies ran over to join him.
“I was told you guys needed a flamethrower,” the young kid said with a wicked smile on his face.
Webster and the other soldiers looked at the two of them with fear and awe. While they had watched the vintage Vietnam-era M9-7 flamethrower being used off in the distance, none of them had ever seen one of them up close, let alone had one of them assigned to their squad.
“Yeah, I guess we do,” said Webster with a chuckle. “OK, let’s go. We need to move quickly down the tunnel. We have no idea if they just heard this shoot-out or what.” Looking at his two new guys, Webster added, “I want you guys in the rear. When we need you, we’ll call you forward.”
The two guys nodded, not at all put out that they were bringing up the rear. God forbid they should be near the front during a shoot-out; if their fuel tank got hit, it would blow up, possibly wiping out the whole fire team.
Moving down the tunnel, Webster kept his rifle up and ready. About twenty meters in, they reached the first bend. Corporal Webster stopped and pulled a small pocket mirror out of his pocket. He let his rifle hang from his single-point sling and grabbed the bayonet from its sheath.
“What’re you doing, Rambo?” chided one of the soldiers behind him.