Behind the pressure of both their shoulders, the door swung open. They stepped out under the bridge. Vickers realized that, since he'd been back in the bunker, he'd lost all track of time. It was early morning, maybe an hour or so after dawn. There was the slightest of chills in the air. Vickers could practically feel the shudder run through Eight-Man as they stepped out from the shadows under the bridge and he looked up at the sky. He remembered his own first speechless shock when he'd first emerged from the bunker.
"Take a deep breath. The first thing you realize is that the air in the bunker's so lousy it's enough to make you insane all on its own."
Eight-Man turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees, just gazing up at the sky. When he looked back at Vickers, much of the dislike and distrust had gone out of his eyes.
"I've been hurting for this."
Unfortunately his euphoria didn't have a chance to last. There was a reception committee. Slaughter was waiting with a brace of MPs and a Cobra gunship. Once again the door gunner was on full, white-knuckle alert. This time, however, the guns were pointing at Eight-Man rather than Vickers. Slaughter, behind his mirrored shades, was particularly hostile.
"What the hell is this, Vickers?"
Vickers made no attempt to stop for Slaughter or the military policemen.
"What's the matter Slaughter? You been out here all night?"
Slaughter barred his way.
"I don't have orders to cover this guy."
Vickers came to an angry standstill.
"For your information, Slaughter, 'this guy' is a big wheel in bunker security and that's about all you need to know. Now…" He glanced back at Eight-Man, who was clearly starting to see him in a different light, and then again glared at Slaughter. "… if you don't have any really serious objections, that Cobra is going to fly us directly to the Desert Inn where I can talk to some people who won't waste time telling me what their orders cover."
Although Slaughter didn't say another word, it was plain that he was having a major culture conflict between his own spotless gung ho and Eight-Man's earrings and ringlets. The door gunner, on the other hand, kept slipping Eight-Man covert and awestruck glances. He was a skinny black kid who looked as though he came from some frost belt inner city and probably made it into the army on a redundancy break. Eight-Man didn't notice either of them. He was too busy looking out of the door. As they passed over the destruction in front of the bunker entrance, Eight-Man's eyes widened. He turned accusingly to Vickers.
"I thought you said there hadn't been a war."
"This was just a local action. The troops who were left outside when the bunker was sealed remembered the Alamo. By all accounts they kept a couple of divisions of regular army rapid deployment troops at bay for ten days before they went down."
"Didn't they realize who they were fighting?"
"I guess they'd bought the package."
Eight-Man scowled. "I guess we bought the package too."
"I don't see how either Contec or the army could commit combat troops to this situation. We only have the sketchiest idea of the internal situation in the bunker. We couldn't take sides."
Victoria Morgenstern was behaving true to type and Vickers was running increasingly low on patience.
"Take sides? You already took sides. I went back into the bunker and did exactly what you wanted in a matter of hours. Nobody will resist your people coming in, in fact you'll be welcomed. All I need is fresh troops to get Lloyd-Ransom out of his bunker within a bunker. The people down there are just about shot."
Morgenstern didn't seem impressed. Neither did Getz, the colonel who was in charge of the Desert Inn operation. They were back in Cabin 17 and Vickers was far from having it his way. Morgenstern, Getz and the aides who surrounded them felt they had both right and reason on their side.
"You have to look at it from the practical point of view. By your own admission, there are close to four thousand people down there loaded to the gills on all manner of mind alterers. It's going to take months to reorient all of them to the real world. What's the point of throwing a lot of fresh, expensively trained people into that environment? You know the principle as well as anyone. You don't request additional manpower when the problem can be solved with the resources at hand."
"I'm afraid of the toll it's going to take of the resources at hand."
"That's not really our concern."
Eight-Man, who hadn't been much help thus far, suddenly glared.
"What you're saying is that you wouldn't be sorry to see these misfit bunker freaks thinned out a bit. It'd cut down on the bill for the rehab and psych we're all going to need when we get out of there."
Morgenstem avoided his eyes.
"I didn't say that."
"But you've thought about it." He rounded on Vickers. "And what about you, man? You sound like you're working for them. Whose side are you on and what are you trying to pull?"
"I'm trying to get us out of the bunker without any more losses."
Eight-Man jerked his head toward Getz and Morgenstern.
"These fucks don't give a damn. They'd be quite happy if we all stayed down there and rotted."
"They want their bunker back."
"But they're not in any particular hurry. If they were, they'd lend us the help."
Vickers cradled his head in his hands. The situation was rapidly approaching the impossible. He'd expected intractable self-interest from Morgenstern but not to this extent. He didn't want to go back to the bunker empty-handed. In fact, he wasn't sure if Eight-Man would let him go back to the bunker empty-handed.
"I need a drink."
"Somebody get Vickers a drink."
Three minutes later a scotch and ice arrived. They seemed to have his number. While he sipped it and cast around for a solution he was acutely aware that everyone was watching him. Suddenly he had an idea. Numbers weren't the only answer.
"If I can't have men, will you give me equipment?"
Morgenstern blinked.
"I don't see why not, within reason." She looked toward Getz, clearly tossing him the ball. Getz hadn't been expecting this.
"I don't know. I can't make any guarantees."
Eight-Man's lip curled.
"What can you do?"
Vickers ignored the exchange. He was warming to his idea.
"If we could blast our way into Lloyd-Ransom's redoubt, we could probably flush him out with only minimal loss."
Getz was guarded.
"What did you have in mind?"
"I was thinking of a Marriot rocket."
Even Eight-Man looked at him as though he were insane.
"A Marriot rocket?"
"Sure, why not? Shoot a Marriot down one of these tunnels and you won't see much more resistance."
"But a Marriot? That ain't no ordinary anti-tank missile. Those suckers can cream a Calvin-class landcruiser. If you let one off in the bottoms you're liable to bring the roof down."
Vickers shook his head.
"Hell no. That bunker's supposed to stand up to a nuclear war."
"The only other alternative is a full frontal assault that could well cost us hundreds of lives. I swear it would be worth the gamble."
Getz interrupted.
"I'm afraid the discussion is academic, gentlemen. I have no intention of giving you people a Marriot rocket."
"What's with you?"
"This business is edging toward madness and I for one don't want to be responsible."
Victoria Morgenstern abruptly demonstrated who was really in command.
"Give him the damn rocket; I'll be responsible."
Getz actually went white and only just avoided sputtering with indignation.
"You can't order me to do something like this."
"Of course I can and you know it. Who do you think's picking up the tab for this affair? You didn't imagine it was the Federal Government, did you? As long as you're here, you're out on loan to Contec."