"Probably those orbital shots," Mac agreed. "Sink? You hear that?"
"Affirmative. Go on around, Mac. See you at the main
entrance. Good luck!" Sinklar sounded hearty. And why not? They'd just dropped in the Seddi's back door. The rockfall might Just turn out to be a godsend. It would have muffled the mining machine's ferocious noise.
"Let's move it, people! Move!" Mac started down in the midst of the flow of troops. What must have been ten minutes later they were still trotting along. The tunnel seemed endless. A tightness built in Mac's chest.
"First?" The uneasy question came cackling through the comm.
"Here," Mac called, voice tense. "What's up?"
"How do we know we've gone down three levels?"
"Should be a gallery going off to the right." He lifted his IR sensitive map. "Make that a good five hundred meters from our entry tunnel."
"Yeah, well, I think we've gone five hundred meters. and then some!"
"Easy, soldier. Distance will get you in a place like this. And it's all downhill. Fools you. Not only that, we've only got holos to work from. Keep going, take the first right. Simple as cake. Then all you got to do is blow the pus out of the Seddi, take as many prisoners as you can for Sink, and we go home to good food and lots of booze on Rega."
"We're gone," the man assured.
The tunnel echoed and resounded with the tread and shuffle of so many feet. IR showed it warming from the press of bodies, each moving along, muscles adding to the heat, hot lungs spewing out warm air. Mac's eyes kept going to the roof, wondering at the weight of rock over his head. The streets of Rega sure hadn't prepared him for this.
"Still going, Mac," the Section Sergeant called again. "Still haven't found that tunnel."
"Have faith, my friend."
"Section First?" A woman's voice broke in. "We're all in and on the way down. Rear guard just passed the mining machine."
"Affirmative. Leave someone there to keep track of comm for line-of-sight, and welcome to the club!" Mac grinned to himself, as he imagined the Seddi's surprise when they came bolting into the caverns, blasters and pulse weapons overwhelming the unprotected rear.
Foreboding began to build in Mac as he realized he'd
gone far beyond five hundred paces himself. On the point of ordering a halt for reconnoitering, comm chattered: "Got our gallery!"
"Good work, Sergeant!" The pace picked up, the troops hearing the heartening news.
Too many steps passed before he reached the turn. He looked out into a larger cavern, pitch black, apparently unoccupied. The van of the Section had spread out with weapons ready as they looked around. Three passages loomed before them, two of them machine cut.
"Split up, one group for each passage!" Mac decided, staring at the map taped to his arm. Hell, there should only be one tunnel going off the gallery — and that supposedly led into the main cavern and from there to the center exit.
"What do I know about seismics?" he sputtered under his breath. Nothing! Rotted Gods, I hate these damn tunnels! I want out of here where I can die under the sky!
He watched as the command began pressing forward en masse. Well, at least it leveled out here. He looked at his compass, figuring which tunnel ought to lead to the main cavern and noted with satisfaction that the comm squad started splicing cable down all three tunnels.
"Sink?" Mac called, clipping into the cable and glancing at the map. He frowned as he estimated the size of the gallery.
"Go ahead, Mac."
"Something isn't right here." He looked around, seeing the columns of armored personnel hurrying into the tunnels. "This gallery isn't big enough for one thing. For another, the direction is wrong. I mean, it runs—"
A hollow bang sounded from the tunnel they'd exited. The report echoed eerily through the rock to rebound in haunting fashion. "Sink? Do you hear me?"
Silence.
"Come on!" Mac bellowed to his troops, "Back the way we came!"
Only the personnel in the room reacted, stopping dead in their tracks. No one came running back out of the tunnels; a sudden babble of frantic voices clogged his comm.
"Shut up!" he shouted, waving them down. He ran to the tunnel they'd descended. Facing up the long slope he ordered, "Somebody check that explosion out and report."
Turning back to the room, he could see frightened expressions in weird IR reflections from hot faces.
Picking out three of of the closest privates, Mac ordered, "You, you, and you, each of you take a tunnel and stop the advance. Get everybody back here. We lost comm. Communications are only line-of-sight! Now, run!"
Mac looked around, feeling the cold damp air on his face. The place smelled musty. Shaking his head, he bent to the map. All right, settle down, old pal. Find out where in hell we are first.
He studied the galleries on the map, trying to figure out their location. People began trickling out of the tunnels, looking around, whispering to their companions, shuffling nervously and coughing.
"Mac?" a Sergeant First called, trotting out of one of the tunnels. "There's a dead end up there. The tunnel just ends, the roof looks caved in."
Within minutes, the other groups had returned, eyes wary because they'd found the same thing.
"Now, that's just great," Mac whispered, threads of panic weaving into his mind. "Just Rotted great!"
He turned in the crowded gallery, pushing past the throng of worried soldiers to look up the ramp. "Report!" he called.
"Mac?" A voice came down to him, signal broken by the twisting rocky walls of the tunnel.
"Here. 11
"This is bad. I'm looking at a rock wall here. We're cut off from the surface."
Mac suddenly found it hard to breathe. Cut off?
"That's it," one of the young Initiates said, nodding. "They've shut the mining machine down." He looked up from the box he monitored, headphones clapped over his
ears.
"How far?" Staffa crouched in the glare of a light bar. Around him the cavem rock cast eerie shadows back toward where the others waited quietly.
"We didn't miss by much. I'd say no more than twenty meters. Wait. What's this? I'm picking up something.
Sounds like feet. Lots of them. Moving toward the Study Center. "
"Won't be long now." Staffa tugged absently at his beard. He studied the shaped charges where their own mining machine had backed out. Only twenty
centimeters of rock separated them from the Regan-occupied tunnel.
"They are definitely heading downhill," the Initiate grinned. "Looks like it worked."
"That's only one part," Staffa reminded. "We better hope the plastering job holds on that rocked up wall on the main level. "
The Initiate nodded.
"Tell Kaylla they're on the way down. Her listening post should pick them up. That's the weak link. What if one of them touches that wet paint? Hell, it's only plaster between them and the main level!" And if they discovered the ruse, Wilm couldn't hold off all those armored assault troops with his handful of guards.
Staffa paced along the tunnel, nervous, aware that other ears-Regan ears-could be listening just as intently for their movements.
At the Study Center he accessed comm. "Kaylla, how is it?"
Her voice came back hushed. "They're passing now. Seem to be in a hurry. "
"Let the last of them by-give them a full minute-and blow the charge. On your signal, we'll take that mining machine and hold this sally."
"Right. "
He waited, hearing muffled sounds of combat where the outside entrances were being blasted for diversion. So far, no frantic call had come through-the prearranged signal of disaster.
Staffa watched the Initiates pulling back, detonator ready. ','Do you know what the hardest part of combat is?" Staffa asked the nervous scholars, his manner calming, familiar. "Fear?"