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The Barricade
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Lyle continued on his long descent down the ladder, his arms burning with fatigue.
Eventually, he began to hear the sound of more muffled voices echoing up from the depths. He mechanically moved one foot after the other, lost and disoriented in the utter blackness.
And then he stumbled as his foot struck rock, and he stopped, clinging on to the ladder as he recovered his breath.
He tested his footing, unable to see anything. He could hear a quiet conversation, interspersed with occasional laughter, some way off to his left. He fumbled for his rifle, knocking it against the rocky walls as he searched for the flashlight beneath its barrel.
With a click, the light illuminated the shaft, temporarily blinding him. He took a moment to focus, then shone the light around.
He found himself at the entrance to a low opening, branching off from the shaft. There was a constant low moan of wind issuing up from it. He bent over, struggling to move his rifle in the confined space, his backpack clanging noisily against the metal ladder. Gingerly, he shone the flashlight into the dark opening.
“Hello?” he called out, his voice cracking in the stillness. The sound of quiet conversation continued unabated.
Lyle stood there for a moment, not knowing if he dared to go on. He looked longingly back up the ladder, and thought that he could just make out the faint glow from the soldiers’ cave. He cursed quietly, and ducked into the low opening.
He found himself in a rough tunnel. His flashlight waved about as he struggled on, casting confusing shadows, so that he stumbled and caught his helmet on the uneven stone. He was bent almost double in the confined space, and it felt as though every step was taking him further away from safety.
He almost gave in to his sense of rising panic, and was just about to stop and turn back when he heard a familiar voice a little way off.
“Is that you, Green?”
Lyle almost cried out in relief.
“Yes, yes, it’s me,” he replied, his voice no more than a high-pitched croak.
“We’re over here,” came a low call, and the faint light of a flashlight blinked on momentarily.
Lyle staggered forwards, tripping over the rocks in his eagerness to get to the others.
The tunnel opened outwards and upwards until it was almost six feet in diameter. The floor was smoother here, curving up to the walls in what appeared to be an old watercourse. There, in a huddle, were four soldiers: Carparso and the big man, Boris, as well as two soldiers he recognised as being the squad’s sniper team.
They all sat against the sloping wall, legs stretched out in front of them, their weapons resting across their laps. They must have been sitting there all this time in complete darkness, thought Lyle, because the moment he approached them, the nearest one cursed loudly, holding his arm up over his visor.
“Hey! Get that goddamn light off me!”
“Sorry,” muttered Lyle, pointing the flashlight away and further down the tunnel. He saw that the four men were huddled at the foot of a metal barricade. It appeared to be a few panels from a habitation module, hastily welded together and secured across the tunnel with bolts driven into the rock. There were small gaps around the panels where the steel didn’t fit the rough walls, and it was through these that the mournful wind blew. Other than that, there were just a few supply crates and some ammo boxes, with various used charge packs littering the floor.
“You got a good supply of rifle packs in that oversize rucksack of yours?” muttered one of the men nearest to him. Lyle thought that he remembered the man’s name was Webb but couldn’t be sure. He stopped himself before he turned his flashlight on him to get a better look.
“Sir?” he asked nervously.
“We could be stuck here for a week, and you’re lighting up the place like you think it’s goddamn Christmas,” grumbled the man in a low voice.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”
“Go easy on him, he’s just a kid,” came Carparso’s weary voice from the shadows. “Hey, Green, sit yourself down, and kill the light. You might need it sometime later, and you don’t know when we’ll next get resupplied in this place.”
Lyle stumbled over to the line of men. He went to sit down at the end furthest away from the barricade, but an angry grunt from the big man, Boris, made him get back to his feet.
“Don’t worry about Boris,” laughed Carparso. “He’s claustrophobic.”
The other two men let out quiet snorts of laughter. The big man remained silent in the darkness.
“Come and sit down here and turn that damn light off,” muttered Carparso. “All I can see is purple spots in front of my damn eyes.”
Lyle slumped down nervously. He looked about, still unwilling to turn off the only illumination in the tunnel. He inspected the rusty metal barricade. He was right beside one of the gaps against the wall. It was only six inches or so wide, but it was enough to unsettle him with thoughts about what lay beyond in the darkness.
With a heavy heart he switched off his flashlight.
There was a long and brooding silence, broken only by the soft moan of the wind.
Lyle felt the panic rising inside him once again. The others beside him were silent and unmoving, and in the total darkness, he started to doubt his mind, wondering if they were really there at all. Without any visual reference, all he could focus on was the moan of the wind and the rhythm of his heart pounding in his chest.
A sudden sound beside him split the silence, and Lyle physically jumped off the ground in shock. There was a brief pause, and Lyle thought that his heart would stop before the rest of the group burst into hysterical laughter.
“Aw, man, that’s disgusting!” laughed Carparso. “Was that you, Dee?”
Lyle felt the man’s shoulder shaking beside him.
“Hell no! It was too big! Had to be Boris!” laughed Webb further down the line.
“That’s going to stink your suit out! I bet your visor’s misted up, Boris!”
“It was DeGregorio,” came an angry growl from the end of the line. Then he added, “If it was my wind, you’d all be dead by now.”
He chuckled quietly as the others continued to joke amongst themselves, their hysteria slowly subsiding.
“Hey, Green, you eaten yet?” asked Carparso. Before Lyle could answer, he felt a ration cartridge drop into his lap.
“What’s on the menu today?” he heard DeGregorio mutter.
“Same crap as every other day,” replied Carparso absently. There was a rustling of packaging as the four men expertly unwrapped and fitted their ration cartridges in complete darkness. Lyle fumbled with the small box, unable to locate the feeding nozzle, hindered by his thick gloves.
“Mmn, is this beef casserole?” mumbled Webb, through a mouthful. “Or a packet of horse sick?”
“Man, what I’d give for just a plate of solid food,” grumbled DeGregorio. “If I could get at this goddamn packaging, I think I’d eat that.”
“Probably taste better,” muttered Webb.
“Boris is the only one that likes this crap,” laughed Carparso, his disembodied voice echoing in the darkness.
“I’ve had worse,” came back the big man’s deep growl.
Lyle cursed quietly as he fumbled with the carton.
“You okay there, Green?” asked Carparso. “Here, you’ll soon get the hang of it.”
Lyle felt Carparso reach over and take the ration pack from him.
“Just feel around the pack until you find the tab,” he muttered. “Then pull out the feeding tube, and hold still.” He felt Carparso’s hand run down the side of his visor until he found the intake valve on the side of Lyle’s helmet. There was a quiet pop and Lyle felt the feeding tube brush against his cheek. A pungent smell of food filled his helmet, and he sucked hungrily at the mouthpiece. He hadn’t realised just how long it had been since he had eaten, and he greedily swallowed down the cold, liquified meal.
“Mmm, just like mother used to make,” muttered DeGregorio sarcastically as he finished his meal. There was a quiet pop as he removed the feeding straw from the valve and replaced the cover. Then, there was a clatter as he tossed the empty pack across the tunnel. “Hell, my mother was a shit cook.” He laughed quietly.
“We went for over four weeks once without opening up our suits,” muttered Carparso in an absent voice as he thoughtfully ate his meal. “Four weeks of eating gloop and pissing and crapping in a bag. Jeez, you smelled bad when they finally opened you up, Dee.”
“We all smelled bad,” grumbled DeGregorio in the darkness.
“Yeah, but you smelled worse.”
Their laughter died away once more to silence.
“We might be stuck in them longer yet, the way that storm looked up top,” muttered Webb. “They’ll never get a ship through to send replacements. These storms can last for weeks.”
“Who told you that crap?” muttered DeGregorio. “It’ll blow over in a day at most, then they’ll send a ship.”
“Control won’t even know where we are,” sighed Carparso. “Radio didn’t get through before the storm hit, and the captain won’t risk using it again until he’s certain it’ll work.”
“This close to the null zone I don’t think he’ll even attempt using it again. Once is enough. Don’t want to push our luck. I say we’re on our own until another foot patrol comes to relieve us.”
“They’ll send a scout ship,” murmured DeGregorio.
“Maybe, maybe not. Not this close to the null zone.”
“What’s the null zone?” asked Lyle hesitantly. He fumbled to remove his ration pack in the darkness, then set to work getting the drinking tube to pop up on the other side of his helmet. He took a long gulp of bitter liquid then flipped the straw back into place.
“The null zone?” came Carparso’s low murmur in the blackness. “It’s just the name for all the electrical interference over the battle plain. We flew over it a few times on a recon, looking for a place to set down near the Divinity, but it was way too hot. Almost fried our ship’s systems – we were lucky to get out in one piece. No, we’re going to have to go in on foot if we want to get at the Divinity. Not a chance of comms getting through all that either. A man would have to be mad to set foot in that valley.”
Lyle could almost feel Carparso grinning beside him in the darkness.