“Come on,” he said soberly. “Let’s get to work.”
Captain Marvin Kawecki had been lying on the same spot for more than ten hours. He was cold and needed to pee. But he couldn’t stand up. Not until complete darkness had fallen. Because if he did, one of Judge Ramsey’s carefully hidden sentries would spot the movement and kill him. The well-camouflaged hide had been constructed the night before. Now, as Kawecki lay there, he continued to study the area through his binoculars.
Other than the hump-shaped hill through which the railroad tunnel had been bored, the surrounding area was mostly flat and open. A railroad siding was located to the east of his position, complete with an elevated water tank, and a low-lying brick building. And the sentry Kawecki feared most was located high on the walkway that circled the metal tank.
But there were other sentries, too, hidden in clumps of bare-branched trees, in carefully screened weapons pits, and behind the rocks on the hillside in front of him. All of which had been carefully mapped into the notebook that lay to his right. He figured that at least some of the outposts were serviced by underground passageways that led back to the main tunnel. And that was something of an enigma. However, he knew it was there thanks to a pair of rusty tracks that disappeared into a rockslide.
There was no way to know how thick the blockage was, whether it had been caused by a Chimeran attack or was the result of a human effort to create a place to hide. Although Kawecki would have been willing to put some serious money on the second possibility. Ramsey might be a ruthless bastard, but it appeared as if he was equipped with a good deal of foresight, and had been smart enough to make preparations back when such a thing was still possible.
All of which was interesting but less critical than the need to pee. Slowly, careful not to disturb any of the leafless branches around his hiding spot, Kawecki rolled over to face what he thought was the downhill side of his position. Except that the ground was very nearly flat. So he wasn’t absolutely sure that he had it right. And, when the moment came, it was clear that he didn’t. Rather than trickle away as Kawecki had hoped, the urine pooled right next to him. The liquid was absorbed, but the odor remained. And like it or not, he had to roll back onto the damp ground. It took what seemed like a long time for the sun to go down.
Finally, once it was dark, Kawecki had the opportunity to emerge from his hide. Then, having turned south, he elbowed his way forward, where he hit a number of obstacles. He had to crawl around them, pausing every now and then to listen for signs of pursuit before continuing on his way.
Eventually, Kawecki decided it was safe to stand and make occasional use of his flashlight. That was how he found his way back into the ravine that led him south.
“Who goes there?” a voice whispered out of the darkness.
“Bob Hope,” Kawecki answered, as a dimly seen sentry materialized out of the gloom.
“Welcome back, sir. I’ll get Sergeant Pasco.”
Fifteen minutes later, Kawecki was busy wolfing down some hot rations as Pasco and those who weren’t standing guard listened to his report. “We don’t have enough men to force our way inside, much less root Ramsey out,” Kawecki observed. “These people have good security, they’re well disciplined, and they’re dug in.”
“So what are we going to do?” Pasco wanted to know. “Head back to base?”
Kawecki took a swig of hot coffee. “Hell, no. The President gave us a mission and we’re going to accomplish it.”
“Okay,” Pasco replied. “How are we going to do that?”
“I figure Ramsey has neighbors,” Kawecki replied thoughtfully. “And, given the way he operates, at least some of them have got to be pissed. So they have a reason to help us. And there’s another thing, too…”
The fire lit Pasco’s face from below. “Which is?”
“We represent the U.S. government, god damn it! So we’re in charge.”
Pasco nodded. “Sir, yes sir.” But his voice was flat, his face was blank, and it was clear he didn’t believe it. Kawecki wasn’t surprised, because truth be told, he didn’t believe it either.
The team traveled north. It wasn’t long before the difficulty with Kawecki’s plan became painfully apparent. If there were communities other than Tunnel-Through in the vicinity, they were well concealed and, being strangers to the area, the soldiers didn’t know where they were or how to approach them.
So rather than simply blunder around, and possibly wind up in an unnecessary fight, Kawecki decided it would be best to gather intel from the kind of people who knew the area and might be willing to talk. Namely itinerant merchants of the sort they had run into during the trip up from Freedom Base Two.
Of course that took some planning, because the traveling gunsmiths, preachers, and medicine men were a wary lot who went to great lengths to avoid being seen. Still, almost everyone succumbed to the temptation to use established roads at least part of the time. And Kawecki knew many of them liked to travel during the early morning or evening, when there was enough light to see by but less chance of running into trouble. With that in mind, he set up an ambush of sorts next to a long straightaway and resolved to wait until the right sort of individual came along.
A patrol made up of six slouching Hybrids walked past early on. Their lean frames were barely visible through a driving snow. Kawecki let them go rather than run the risk of attracting more. But the better part of a day passed before three humans, all mounted on horses, and leading a string of mules, appeared. A lookout located half a mile to the south had alerted him, so Kawecki shed his gear, with the exception of the Magnum revolver. That went down the back of his pants. He was standing on the badly faded white line with hands clasped behind his neck when the first rider clopped out of the quickly gathering darkness and stopped.
The woman was middle-aged and dressed in a Stetson, a duster, and a pair of cowboy boots. The businesslike M5A2 carbine that was resting sideways across her saddle quickly came to bear. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded suspiciously. It wasn’t snowing anymore, but her words were accompanied by jets of lung-warmed air.
Meanwhile, her companions were spread out to divide incoming fire and sat with weapons at the ready.
“Captain Marvin Kawecki, United States Army,” came the reply.
“There is one?” the woman inquired incredulously. “Yes, ma’am. And a President. He sent us here. And I need your help.”
“Us?”
One by one, the soldiers rose from their various hiding places in the scrub next to the road. The woman’s eyebrows rose incrementally. “Okay, Captain! My name is Meg Bowers. That’s Sam Henry to my left—and Parcel Brown on the right. What sort of help are you looking for?”
Kawecki told her and she nodded. “You came to the right people, Captain. We’re salt merchants, and we sell to everyone except the stinks.”
“Including Judge Ramsey?”
“Yup, but that doesn’t mean we like the bastard. It’s getting dark. Let’s camp. I’ll tell you what I can—and you tell me about this government of yours. If it’s for real, then there are plenty of people who are ready and willing to help.”
The combined groups made camp near an abandoned farmhouse, and by the time most of them went to bed, Kawecki knew all about the community of Haven, and Bowers had a verbal contract to distribute Hale vaccine on behalf of the U.S. government. It was, as she jokingly put it, “a marriage made in hell.”