Free Book Excerpts

“The Trojan Device has the science fiction stylings of Ben Bova mixed with the high octane plot of Matthew Reilly” – Cate Patterson, Pan MacMillan

Excerpt
Chapter 6

Jake Delaney’s oxygen alert system told him he had less than a minute to live.
He had made a quick survey of the tunnel, but other than a few pipes, panels, lights and other bits and pieces on the walls and ceiling, there was nothing.
Then, Delaney remembered the second doorway. The large thin groove in the left hand side of the tunnel. The second panel with the button.
Three loud beeps in his headset shot through his ears.
Thirty seconds.
It was the door or nothing. Surely there would be something in there. Breathing apparatus, oxygen tanks, an elevator back up to Gateway”¦ or he was going to buy it on this desolate rock in space”¦ alone. Not the way for a marine to go out.
Not the way for “Devil” Delaney to finish his career.
Another beep.
Fifteen seconds.
Delaney raced to the door, the panel teasingly close as the seconds ticked away.
Then he reached it. He slammed the palm of his hand onto the flat, round button.
There was a clunking noise, then the door started lifting upwards, impossibly, frustratingly slowly.
“Come on, come on!” Delaney willed the door to rise faster.
Clunk!
The door stopped!
Eight inches above the floor.
Beeeeeeeeeep. The final warning in Delaney’s headset. No time left. Replace your heliox canister immediately.
I would if I fucking had a spare one, lady!
Delaney hit the button again. He pounded it frantically, sucking up the last breath of air in his backpack. His lungs screamed.
He gasped into his helmet.
His eyes widened in terror.
Then, Delaney’s body spasmed grotesquely, and he fell to the ground silent and unmoving.

Gateway was preparing for the worst.
The approaching FAVs were now clearly visible to the naked eye as they rumbled across the red landscape.
Sinclair and Kemp had taken up flanking positions amongst rocks on either side of the ATVs.
Pancho Sanchez sat behind a tripod-mounted M249 squad automatic weapon, just to the left of the group. A box of several hundred linked rounds sat on the ground beside him. He was digging into the dirt with his boots, fashioning a spot to push into for when he needed to support himself against the raw power of the SAW.
Lena and Wells were busy ferrying equipment into the cave. In the event of a retreat they would follow in Jake’s footsteps and take their chances below the surface.
“Make sure you get that transceiver unit into the cave, Wells,” Lena practically ordered the gaunt scientist, who seemed to be dallying, and at this point was only clasping a single silver briefcase-sized box tightly against his chest.
Buffalo Bill and Royce Simms would make the second line of defense at the mouth of the cave to ensure the two scientists would escape unharmed if things turned to shit.
It was decided Corporal Dwayne Foster would act as frontman for the unit to establish first contact with the approaching  Chinese vehicles. Actually, the decision was more of a self-imposed voluntary action by Foster, who always put his hand up first for the hard jobs. He alone would determine their intentions and give the signal for retaliation if required.
He was fairly certain though that they weren’t coming for a friendly chat.
Foster stood several yards in front of the camp facing northeast, directly in the path of the oncoming vehicles.
He estimated they were about three hundred yards away, traveling at twenty miles an hour.
Any minute now”¦
Foster gripped his M4 carbine tightly, keeping it aimed at the ground, but prepared to raise and fire if need be.
No point appearing hostile, he thought. Just keep the weapon down. Get ready to use it, but don’t look ready”¦
Besides, the Chinese were here on Mars for the same reasons as us. To explore, carry out scientific exploration. They had the same right to use a military unit for precautions as we did. I mean, Christ, it’s  an integral part of an away team. Probably just coming over to borrow a cup of sugar”¦ yeah, right.
Foster tightened the grip on his weapon.
At two hundred yards, he could make out the yellow suits of the PLA military space uniforms.
They were basically similar to his own. An extended cold weather clothing system made of modified Gor-tex. Water resistant and insulated for use in extreme cold.
He could see the twelve men in each vehicle now. Two up front, and two rows of five facing each other in back. Apart from the standard vehicle-mounted machine guns, Foster couldn’t see any other weapons.
But why would they send so many?
Kemp, Sinclair and Sanchez readied their weapons.
“Make sure you keep me covered guys,” Foster said into his headset.
“Anything moves and I’ll nail it, Corporal,” assured Sanchez, who was noticeably itching for action. He grabbed the tripod-mounted gun by its two handles and swiveled it left and right, making certain it was free and smooth-gliding.
“That’s what I like to hear, Pancho,” said Foster. “Okay, get ready.”
The Chinese vehicles were less than a hundred yards away now. Foster eyed them carefully, looking for a sign””any sign””that would spell an attack.
Abruptly, they veered apart in a wide arc, now presenting two moving targets.
“Shit! They’re splitting up!” Foster yelled.
“I see it, Corporal,” said Sinclair. “I’ve got the one on the left! A.K., the one on the right is all yours.”
“No problem,” Kemp said confidently. He raised his M4 to his shoulder, trailed the vehicle on the right down the length of the barrel. “Just make one false move, you little bastards”¦” he whispered.
Foster, meanwhile, was trying to keep his eye on both vehicles.
Fifty yards.
At the cave entrance, Buffalo Bill’s view of the oncoming soldiers was hampered by his own ATVs and poorly placed stacks of equipment. He was torn between staying put and moving out into the open, but had enough confidence in his men to let them handle the initial skirmish. It was important, he decided, to remain as backup for the two scientists.
“Keep your heads down and your asses tight, marines!” Buffalo said, attempting to keep in touch at least verbally, if not physically.
“You’ve got that right, Sarge,” agreed Sinclair. His adrenalin was starting to pump hard. It was the one reason that almost had Delaney reconsider him for the team.
A marine’s survival was dependent on the ability to remain calm in any situation. Panic was a soldier’s worst enemy. But, Sinclair had proven himself to Delaney where it counted, in battle on previous assignments. That was all the Lieutenant asked for.
In fact, it was quite possible Sinclair’s excitability was what gave him the edge he needed. The one thing that got him through a fight when it counted. And hell, they all needed an edge.
Thirty yards.
The Chinese APCs were now charging in on a parallel path, about thirty yards apart. Smoke billowed in a bubble above each vehicle.
Then Foster saw it!
At first, just a glint of light in the waning afternoon sun. But it was unmistakable.
One of the Chinese soldiers had lifted a Norinco Type 95 assault rifle off the floor between his legs.
Foster saw another. Then two more!
In a few seconds they had all lifted their hidden weapons.
“Fuck! The bastards are going to”” ”
Crack!
Foster’s faceplate shattered as a bullet slammed into his forehead.
The other marines heard the deafening crack through their headsets, and looked over at their corporal. He was still standing, legs wobbling.
A torrent of thick, red blood spewed from his helmet.
Then Foster’s body crumpled and fell.
“Motherfuckers!” yelled Sanchez.
He engaged the SAW’s firing mechanism and started shooting in sporadic bursts towards first one FAV and then the other. A hail of metal cascaded over the vehicles as they continued their approach. A frenzied firework of sparks shot up from the hoods of the FAVs.
“How do you like that, fuckers!” Sanchez screamed, as he rocked the large gun back and forth, unleashing waves of molten projectiles towards the vehicles.
He seemed to be wreaking havoc against the Chinese soldiers, who leapt from their vehicles and continued their approach on foot. He saw a wall of yellow uniforms rushing towards Gateway.
With all the firing, Sanchez had only managed to take out two of the enemy, whose bodies lay idle in the bullet riddled carriers.
Now, Sinclair and Kemp opened fire against the approaching soldiers.
Crack! Crack!
Kemp watched in amazement as two of the Chinese helmets exploded.
None of the marines had ever witnessed somebody being shot in a pressure suit before. The damage to a human body was both horrific and instant.
Kemp saw a fountain of blood erupt from the top of a yellow helmet. The liquid spurt shot three feet straight up.
“Jesus! Did you see that!” Kemp shouted, not even realizing he was talking aloud.
“Stay focused AK!” Sinclair responded.
Bullets pinged off the rocks all around them.
Small clouds of magenta clay dust puffed up every time a Norinco round struck a rock.
Sanchez was sweeping his machine gun in a wide arc, back and forth. He held the trigger firmly, letting loose a barrage of hot metal.
Several yellow-suited figures turned partially red and dropped to the ground.
There were still fifteen Chinese soldiers alive. Some of them ducked behind rocks, while others continued their ground assault. Somehow, all fifteen made it through the next volley of shots.
They reached the edge of the encampment, running hard, and ducked into a large outcrop of rocks and boulders that were positioned to the left and right twenty feet in front of Sanchez.
Sinclair and Kemp, also positioned amongst the rocks, no longer had a clear field of vision to the enemy troops.
“Where the fuck did they go, Lenny?” screamed Kemp.
“Keep it down, A.K”¦. I’m looking for “˜em,” Lenny replied, trying to keep his cool.
Buffalo added to the conversation. “Sinclair, Kemp, status report, now!”
Sinclair crept down from his rocky perch and weaved through some boulders. “Sarge”¦ we have several targets at close quarters”¦ we””huh? What the fuck was that?””A.K. is that”” ”
“Jesus, Sinclair how many targets do you have”¦ Sinclair”¦.”
There was a short silence, then Sinclair’s voice came back online. “It’s ok”¦ thought there was something”¦ Sarge, we have enemy troops”¦a dozen, maybe more.”
“Lenny, I’m not seeing anything,” Kemp said nervously. He was taking small, measured steps, his eyes fully open as he looked around every rock, into every dark hole.
Buffalo squeezed his rifle hard. “Fuck this”¦ I want you guys to pull back now”¦ pull back towards the cave”¦ Sanchez, keep an eye out for anything, and I mean anything. If it’s wearing a yellow uniform, you fucking kill it, understand?
“Got it Sarge,” Sanchez answered.
Sinclair was about to back up when a couple of yellow flashes streaked past in front of him. They continued running, somehow not noticing he was standing there.
“Fuck this”¦” he said, and began climbing back up to the relative safety of his original position on top of the rock.
Kemp was in an equal amount of trouble now. He saw yellow uniforms dodging around in front and back.
The rocks were a maze.
And now they were all in that maze together”¦

Inside the entrance to the cave, Buffalo turned to Lena and Wells.
“Okay, that’s it! Time for you two to go!” he said. “I’m sending Simms down with you. I’ll stay behind as a final defense.”
Simms spun around.
“Sarge, you can’t be serious! I’m”””
“That’s an order Private. Now get moving!”
Lena quickly set up her radio gear on a large rock, and switched on the transmitter.
“What are you doing?” Wells asked nervously.
“I’m sending a mayday to Spacecom,” Lena said. “With a little luck, if any of us survive this, they might be able to send a rescue mission to pick up the survivors”¦ or at least the bodies.” She started speaking into the transceiver as the others scurried about the cave.
“Are you sure that’s necessary?” Wells asked.
“What?” said a stunned Lena.
“My dear, we hardly need to get Spacecom involved at this point.”
Lena glared at the pale scientist. “What the hell are you on about Wells?”
“It’s just that I”” ”
The pinging of stray bullets ricocheting around the small cave interrupted his protestations.
Simms picked up whatever heliox and other necessary equipment he could carry, along with the remainder of the gear they would need to strap to their suits.
“How much heliox have you got?” Buffalo asked Lena as she packed up the comset.
Lena did a quick count.
“Enough for about two hours each. We’ll leave a bottle here for you.” She said, opening one of the silver briefcases.
Buffalo smiled. “Keep it. I’ll refill from one of the ATVs as soon as we take care of these bastards.”
“And what if you can’t “take care” of those bastards, Sergeant?” asked Lena.
“Then I won’t be needing this oxygen, will I ma’am?”

Sanchez had little time to react as four soldiers moved out from behind their cover in a coordinated move and began firing at him. Sanchez flung himself backwards into the dirt and flattened out.
Small explosions of dust puffed up all around him.
He rolled to his left, and grabbed hold of the machine gun with one hand, pulling the trigger. The Chinese soldiers dived to the ground.
Sanchez fired blindly through the haze towards the rocks. His helmet visor was caked with dust on the outside and smeared with condensation on the inside.
Then without warning his machine gun stopped firing.
He was out of ammunition!
Sanchez could barely make out three blood spattered uniforms laying on the ground a few feet in front of him. A hazy mist of dust had created a curtain between him and the bodies. But something was wrong. There were only three bodies”¦
Where was the fourth?
He reached for the box of MPMG rounds that lay to his side. As he did, he felt something prod the back of his neck.
It was the last thing Sanchez would ever feel. There was a sharp click.
The bullet seared down the barrel of the assault rifle, through his airsuit, severing his spinal cord at the base of his brain. Sanchez’s eyes bulged with a last second realization of what had happened.
His helmet filled with blood.
Sanchez’s body slumped forward over the gun tripod.
Now it was two against twelve.

Sinclair climbed onto the ledge that looked down over the entire encampment. He felt better now he was back above the soldiers who were weaving through the immediate area.
He could see several figures darting through the labyrinth of craggy rocks below him.
Three of the Chinese soldiers were winding through the maze towards his position, single file, guns raised to their shoulders. The one in front signaled the others to split up, and they veered off in different directions.
Sinclair was looking slightly down on them, about five yards in front of their path. He could still see all three for the time being. Fortunately, they hadn’t seen him yet.
Sinclair took aim and fired at the leader of the small group.
The bullet ripped through the soldiers left arm. A rush of escaping gases burst out through the unfortunate soldier’s thermal suit. He doubled over and fell to the ground, gripping his suit in a useless attempt to stop the flow of precious oxygen.
His two compatriots watched in horror for a moment as the life was sucked out of his suit, and blood replaced the escaping air.
Quickly they dodged into the rocks to avoid being next on Sinclair’s list. Now they new his exact location.
The two soldiers split up and encircled Sinclair’s position from either side, like a pair of lions circling their prey.
Sinclair moved quickly from one side of his high perch to the other, trying to keep an eye on the soldiers. He whispered into his mike, “Sarge, Kemp”¦ if you guys can hear me, now would be a good time to give me some backup.”
Suddenly, a burst of gunfire sprayed the rock he was standing on. Puffs of dust flew up all around his feet.
Sinclair spun around.
One of the Chinese was crouching at the base of his position, shooting directly up at him.
“Aghh, shit!”
Sinclair held his M4 over the edge of the rock with one hand, and fired downwards hoping to hit something””anything. A geyser of red liquid exploded upwards, coating his gloved hand in the unlucky soldier’s blood.
There was still one more nearby.
Sinclair couldn’t see a damn thing. He stuck his head out over the rock face to get a better view, and was met by””
A rifle barrel!
Hard up against his face shield.
“Fuck!” he screamed, and jerked himself backwards just as a molten projectile flew out of the gun and whizzed past his head.
The only problem was, Sinclair had now lost his balance.
He continued to fall backwards in one long motion. Backwards over the flat top of the rock tower, and down the steeply angled side. He crunched and cracked his way to the bottom.
Sinclair landed with a heavy thud on a hard flat rock.
He groaned into his mouthpiece, then laying motionless, he slipped quietly into unconsciousness.

Kemp was moving silently through the maze. Left. Right. He darted from boulder to boulder. He could sense the presence of the enemy troops all around him. A marine’s instinct. Barely visible shadows and movements caught in his lateral vision. He noticed a wide natural hole at the base of a towering boulder.
If only he could get to it. It might provide some temporary shelter. Give him time to formulate a strategy, maybe sniper the bastards off one by one.
He maneuvered stealthily past a few large rocks. Turned right, and””
Thump!
He hit something. It was a Chinese uniform!
Kemp and one of the Chinese soldiers had both been moving around the same large rock, and were now facing off.
Kemp looked through the two layers of helmet glass, his and the enemy’s. He was looking right into the soldier’s face. Terrified. Just like his face was right now, he imagined.
They stood facing each other without moving. Neither dared to move. Just waiting to see what the other would do. Neither man willing to give away their next move.
Then slowly the Chinese soldier’s brow began to furrow. His mouth tightened into an angry snarl, and Kemp watched in shock as the young soldier yelled ferociously into his soundproof helmet.
It was odd to be so close to such a display of rage without hearing a thing.
Then Kemp noticed the slightest of movements in his enemy’s arm, but the wily marine had already unsheathed his utility knife during the face-off. He tried not to make it obvious as he raised the knife just above his waist. Keep it slow”¦ steady”¦
Just as the Chinese soldier was about to make his move, Kemp brought the knife smoothly and quickly upwards and plunged it into the soldier at stomach height.
There was a disgusting hiss of escaping air and blood.
Kemp continued watching the man’s face contort with pain. He saw the realization of death in the soldier’s eyes. The same eyes that a few seconds ago had shown only rage. He was staring at Kemp, pleading”¦ wishing this wasn’t really happening and wondering why it was necessary.
Now, when he was about to die, everything seemed so pointless. He gurgled a small amount of blood that began seeping out of the corner of his mouth.
The eyes remained open as the body fell.
The dead soldier’s comrades must have heard his moans of agony, because suddenly they were running towards Kemp from all directions.
“Oh shit!” he said into his mouthpiece.
He ducked as low as he could and began to shoot.
“Lenny! Lenny! Oh fuck”¦ man, help me!” Kemp pleaded.
Crack! One down.
Crack! Crack! Two. Three. He was firing like a man possessed. They fell all around him, twisting, screaming, and bleeding all over the place. Anything to survive.
Just keep shooting.
And he did.
He swept his gun right and left””point, shoot, point, shoot””no time to aim. Kemp was running on auto-pilot, all his training coming to the fore, operating with prescribed movements that had been drilled into him over years of exercises.
Flashes of yellow and red filled his vision. A blur of uniforms and blood”¦ death.
But there were too many.
A wall of searing bullets slammed into Kemp and knocked him six feet backwards. He screamed a futile scream into his helmet mike. He was dead before his body hit the ground.
Now there were six Chinese soldiers left.
And they were moving towards the cave.

Buffalo was alone in the cave entrance.
It was like a spacious foyer, a few scattered rocks at the mouth with very little to take cover behind.
The cave extended back about thirty feet to the descent point where Lena, Wells and Simms had just said their goodbyes.
Buffalo had a reasonably good view of the area immediately in front of the cave, and he figured he could pin the enemy down as they tried to wind their way past the boxes of gear strewn around the ATVs.
Nevertheless, he did move slightly back into the cave””into the cover of darkness, and waited for their approach.
It soon came.
Three yellow uniforms were crawling along the ground under the closest all terrain vehicle.
Buffalo shouldered his M4 and took aim. Fired.
Ping!
The shot was accurate. It entered through the top of the unlucky soldier’s helmet as he crawled across the dirt. His head erupted like a volcano, red foamy brain matter pumping out through the newly created hole in his helmet and skull.
His two comrades, realizing their vulnerable position, hurriedly jumped to their feet and charged towards the cave.
The first Chinese soldier made it approximately four feet before one of Buffalo Jackson’s standard NATO rounds ripped a grotesque hole in his chestplate.
The soldier screamed and twisted in agony as his organs were sucked out into the low pressure atmosphere.
The second soldier ran a few feet further, then did something completely unexpected”¦
Just as Buffalo was about to send him to an early grave, the soldier stood still, dropped his weapon, and raised his arms above his head in surrender.
Buffalo was bewildered.
This was just what the other three Chinese soldiers, who were on a ledge above the entrance to the cave, wanted.
The ploy gave them just enough time to drop down in front of the cave, about twelve feet from where Buffalo stood, with their Norincos at the ready.
“Sons of”” ”
Crack! Crack! Crack!
All three fired in quick succession into the cave. It was sheer luck that none of the bullets hit Buffalo. The Chinese soldiers had taken him by surprise, but in doing so they hadn’t given themselves time to acclimatize to the darkness of the cave.
Now, they blocked the entrance completely, making it even darker.
Then, in a fit of something akin to insanity, Buffalo made a move that was beyond imagination”¦
He lunged forward, rifle raised, and rushed headlong like a locomotive straight into the Chinese troops!
The move made their surprise attack look lame.
They were in complete shock as this hulking giant of a marine barreled down on them with the full force of a football tackle.
Buffalo slammed into them with a bone shuddering crunch.
The soldiers toppled like bowling pins as the large man charged through them like a battering ram, his M4 held across his chest.
One of them was hurled backwards and slammed into the wall of the cave. His head smacked sickeningly against a sharp rock and he fell straight to the ground.
But it didn’t end there.
Buffalo continued running out into the open area of Gateway, gun still raised.
The soldier who had been standing out there with his arms raised, watching his comrades being bowled over by the hulking sergeant, realized he was no longer holding his weapon.
His eyes widened in horror, and in a move Buffalo had never seen in battle before, the hapless soldier turned and ran””
Right into the side of the ATV.
Buffalo kept right on charging at him. He slammed into the soldier with such force, his body left a dent in the side panel of the vehicle. The soldier dropped, his faceplate completely shattered and covered in red goo.
Buffalo stood dazed for a moment, but was soon brought back into reality by more bullets pinging off the panels of the ATV. Now was a good time to make a strategic withdrawal.
He ran past the ATV and ducked behind some rocks. From there, he fired off the rest of his magazine in a frenzied burst.
He saw one of the uniforms change color from yellow to red.
Now he was out of ammunition. Fuck!
And then, the Chinese soldiers made another unexpected move. Instead of coming out after him, they slowly turned and moved back into the darkness of the cave.
They had other plans”¦

Chapter 15

Twenty-one thousand feet above Ayers Rock, the Chinese SU-32 High Altitude Troop Deployment squadron was preparing to release its payload.
The squadron consisted of thirty planes, most of them filled with yellow thermal suit-clad soldiers. Over a thousand in all. Four of the large-scale planes contained vehicles and crates of equipment””the same sort of equipment the great Luhu-class ship carried into Giza.
Inside the SU-32s, lights were flashing, alarms sounding.
Soldiers made last minute checks of their gear, each one leaning forward awkwardly, in obvious discomfort at the bulky PPC powered parachutes strapped to their backs.
The parachutes were HALO, high altitude-low opening design, meaning the wearer could be deployed from a radar-safe height and freefall quickly to the lowest possible release ceiling, effectively coming in unnoticed.
The PPCs also had the added benefit of a powered landing and take off. Each one was basically a fan with a two-stroke engine attached to the jumper’s back, allowing for three hours flight at up to forty miles an hour flight speed.
The lead plane signaled the squadron that the drop zone had been reached.
Slowly, the big rear fold-down door opened. An icy wind blew ferociously into the cargo bay.
Green light filled the rear of the plane.
The soldiers rose to their feet in unison and trudged rearward against the wind in two lines toward the opening.
A man in red coveralls hooked a safety line to an overhead cable and walked down the narrow passage between the soldiers to the end of the plane.
He signaled the soldiers to adopt the ready position for the jump, then made his way back through the men ensuring each one was hooked onto the release line.
The final alarm sounded over the tinny speaker system, and the troops yelled a chilling battle cry as they jumped in pairs out into the troposphere.

Most of the large group of Aboriginals at Ayers Rock had split up and dissipated overnight, and returned to their various tribal groups.
The few that remained were waking up to the morning sun. About thirty men, women and children had camped at the base of the mammoth rock.
Scattered embers from the previous evening’s bonfire still glowed red.
One of the elders was still laying on the hot, hard sand.
He rolled onto his back and squinted his eyes as the bright sunlight struck him in the face.
It was Jardarra. The old man who had spoken of the singing rock to Oliver Benson last night.
As his eyes adjusted to the dawn, he lay still, staring into the wide blue expanse above him. High up, a couple of spinifex pigeons circled lazily. He watched them dreamily through half-closed eyes.
Then abruptly, the pigeons stopped circling, and darted off in different directions.
Jardarra noticed some smaller birds, tiny specks, higher than the pigeons had been. Little specks of yellow”¦
But they weren’t flying””they were falling!
And growing bigger.
The old man strained to sit up. He shielded his face from the sun’s glare to get a better view. The specks were now misshapen blobs. He had never seen creatures like these before.
Some of the other tribespeople began milling around Jardarra. They saw the concerned look on his face, and they looked up too.
One of the men began to recognize the shapes. People!
There were people falling through the sky”¦ but, like nothing he had ever seen.

The first wave of PLA paratroopers switched on their rear-mounted fan engines. The roar could be heard from the ground.
The soldiers, who had been rapidly falling, now powered away spectacularly as the fans kicked in. They quickly leveled out to a shallow decline, speeding through the air at forty miles per hour, and steering left and right with the aid of handles that rolled comfortably over their shoulders and met in front of their chests.
The soldiers were communicating via headsets with earpieces and chin mikes.
The drop leader shouted directions to his men as they approached the steep face on the side of the rock opposite to where the Aboriginals had been.
Jardarra watched as hundreds of the troopers cascaded downwards in a slow-moving spiral that covered several hundred square feet in a perfectly balanced formation.
Each soldier in turn released his chute, powered up his fan, then steered towards the rock face.
Some of Jardarra’s people decided to take a closer look.
A group of fifteen of the fittest young men began running across the hot sand around the rock. They carried boomerangs, nulla nullas, and spears.
Jardarra noticed the men taking off and frowned. He wasn’t particularly happy with this idea. As beautiful as the parachute display had been, something deep inside him, some instinctive warning, told him there was nothing friendly about these people at all.

Twenty miles to the northeast, another force of soldiers was speeding towards Ayers Rock.
Sitting in two rows in the back of a MH47 D/E Chinook helicopter were twenty-four of the most professional, highly-trained, experienced and motivated, battle-tough hardass special forces in the world””the 75th Ranger Regiment.
The Rangers were the elite of the elite army special forces, attached to USASOC, the US Army Special Operations Command at Fort Benning. They had a history of rapid deployment under extreme conditions, infiltration and exfiltration, conducting direct action operations in any location around the globe.
This particular group had been stationed in South Korea, gathering intelligence, offering support to partisans at the border to the north. Their Ranger ready status meant they could be packed up and shipped out within hours, battle-prepared.
The Rangers had swapped their jungle greens on the journey from Korea, and were now dressed in jumpsuits sporting the dull pink and yellow patterns of desert camouflage.
The pilot of the Chinook turned to his navigator.
“How’re we doin’?” he said in a gravelly voice.
The navigator was perched in front of a bewildering array of high tech equipment””TFR Terrain Following Radar, FLIR Forward Looking Infrared, ECM Electronic Counter Measures. He busily pushed buttons and turned dials.
A screen showed the desert terrain to the southwest. Dry river beds and trees and rocks and plains were all shown in bright multicolored graphical images. A large object in the centre, colored in dark red pixels, portrayed Ayers Rock.
The navigator punched a button on the keyboard, and instantly a grid appeared, superimposed over the terrain map. The grid had measurements shown in five mile by five mile squares. Ayers Rock was two and a half squares away.
“Almost there, boss”¦ coupla minutes,” said the navigator.

Twenty paratroopers wearing yellow jumpsuits buzzed across the north face of the rock, then turned sharply under the power of their bulky fans. They flew in like airplanes landing on a runway.
As they hit the ground, they began sprinting to compensate for their landing airspeed, at the same time shutting down their fans and slowly coming to a complete halt. It was a maneuver they had practiced hundreds of times, and was perfect in its execution.
Each one then ran into the shadows of the rock, and watched as others circled down and landed in groups of twenty.
The first few groups removed their powered chutes and took up positions in covered areas amongst the boulders and crags.
The majority of the remaining paratroopers glided down in pairs, each pair physically guiding a large crate or small vehicle attached to a soft landing parachute.
And finally, the last fifty or sixty soldiers remained airborne, circling the region in a wide sweep on their PPCs.
These troops were heavily armed, carrying stingers and grenade launchers along with their standard issue Type-95 Bullpup assault rifles.
On the desert floor, approximately four-hundred Chinese troops were now methodically transferring equipment from the drop zone to the north face of Ayers Rock. The operation had been planned down to the finest detail, each man knowing exactly which crate to carry, or vehicle to move.
At the face, almost directly in the centre, was a crevasse just wide enough to allow a vehicle, a Beijing Jeep, to pass through.
Some soldiers had already gone ahead of the vehicles into a little known section of the rock that had not been accessible to the throngs of tourists that visited the area.
There was no access by road to this part of the rock, and anybody who was adventurous enough to attempt the journey on foot was usually turned away by the Aboriginal caretakers who had declared it sacred ground.
Even if a tourist had made it this far, it was unlikely he would know what the Chinese soldier who was leading this expedition knew.
The soldier had passed through the crevasse into a large open area surrounded by red stone walls rising hundreds of feet upwards, curving inwards to almost meet in the middle at the top, and thereby creating an open seam about a foot wide.
The seam allowed just enough sunlight through to adequately illuminate the natural land bay.
The soldier walked seventy yards across the land bay to the wall furthest from the entry point, and watched as the jeeps continued rolling in.
Behind the vehicles, hundreds of troops guiding boxes and crates and other pieces of machinery on motorized trolleys, and still more troops loaded to the hilt with all manner of weapons followed closely.
Once the area was completely filled with troops and vehicles and equipment, the lead soldier took a few steps up onto a small flight of stairs that had been formed from the rocks. Bizarre symbols and markings in purple””purple rock that had been inlaid on the existing rock””guided the man as he stepped up. It was obvious these symbols weren’t of Aboriginal origin.
The stairs led to a hollowed out section of the main wall. The soldier climbed into the hole and disappeared from view.
Inside the hollow, the soldier reached up and found a small ledge hidden in the darkness above his head. Carefully, he ran his hand along the ledge until he found what he was searching for. Something small, round and flat.
A disk mounted on a panel.
It was a button.

The soldier pushed the button. There was a bone-shuddering clunk! The ground shook, and he ducked out of the small niche and vaulted back down the rock stairway to join the other troops standing in the bay.
All of a sudden, the entire bay began to vibrate.
Around the edges, where the ground met the walls, the sand began to resonate. The vibrations became deeper, more resonant, and the army of men used whatever means they could to stop themselves from falling.
Abruptly, the vibration stopped.
One more loud, metallic clunk.
Then slowly and smoothly, the entire area where they stood, began to sink and lower into the desert floor like a gargantuan elevator platform.

The five US Army helicopters led by the Chinook arrived at Uluru traveling at over one hundred and fifty miles per hour and maintaining altitude at forty feet above the ground.
Their speed and low altitude gave them only a brief advantage though, and within seconds, the Chinese forces hiding amongst the rocks on the main rock face were retaliating, firing with every available weapon.
A dozen vapor trails shot out from the rock towards the choppers, signaling the release of stinger missiles. The choppers peeled off in five different directions, narrowly avoiding the rockets.
Two of the choppers circled around in a small arc, back towards the outskirts of the rock and then stopped where they were, hovering for a moment.
Suddenly, a dozen nylon ropes snaked out from the side of each chopper, and in an instant two dozen Army Rangers and Air Commandos abseiled to the ground.
As the choppers sped off, the men scattered in every direction, taking cover in tufts of tussock grass or behind rocks and trees. Within seconds they were returning fire at the Chinese soldiers.
The Ranger commander, Captain Deveson Greig, took four of his best men aside. “We have to take out those stingers on the rockface!” he shouted above the noise.
Two of the blackhawks were now lending air support to the rangers on the ground. They flew in tandem directly towards the rock, firing their twin six-barrel miniguns.
Tiny explosions shattered the hard rock and sent splinters of shale flying as the guns peppered a forty by forty foot area of the wall.
Captain Greig and his small team rushed directly towards the rock, firing with everything they had.
“Go! Go! Go!” the commander yelled.
Above them, the choppers zoomed in at full speed, firing the whole time until, at the last moment, they pulled up sharply narrowly missing the wall, and skimmed over the top of the huge monolith.
Dozens of yellow uniforms lay scattered and spread over the rocks, covered in blood and dust.
The rangers on the ground moved in closer, stealthily darting from cover to cover, sometimes crawling on their bellies along the ground amidst the tall desert grasses until they were at the base of the monolith.
Behind them, another wave of Rangers closed in.
There were about twenty of them, seventy yards from the rock, taking turns to fire in small groups as another group reloaded, and another group advanced. Yard by yard, they repeated this advancing procedure as they closed in on the Chinese.
Then without warning, came a series of loud gun cracks from nearby.
Six rangers fell to the ground simultaneously, shot to pieces.
Their comrades looked around””then”¦
Up!
Out of the sky, fifty PPC motorized Chinese paratroopers circled above the rangers, shooting down on them. It was like picking off chickens in a chook yard. No cover, no protection.
Then things got worse”¦
Some of the paratroopers were carrying grenade launchers. They were firing down on the vulnerable ground soldiers with grenades!
“Spread out!” Greig ordered his men.
The 75th regiment fanned out wide, dropping to the ground in a single movement, rolling onto their backs. Then they started returning fire. Laying on their backs, they aimed up into the air and picked off the flying Chinese squadron, who themselves now became sitting””or flying””ducks.
One of the blackhawk pilots saw what was happening and decided to join the action.
He sped away from the battle at the rock and flew straight towards the PPC troopers, miniguns blazing.
The powerful guns cut down ten of the Chinese soldiers instantly.
Half of them exploded violently as the bullets ripped through their fan engines and ignited the fuel tanks. The other half were simply ripped to shreds by the searing metal bullets, and plummeted to the desert floor under the power of the engines mounted on their backs.
The blackhawk buzzed through the pack of PPCs, flew a few hundred yards along its flight path, and then turned sharply for a second run.
This time the Chinese were prepared.
Four stinger launchers were raised as the chopper headed back towards the group.
On the ground, the rangers desperately tried to pick off the soldiers who were holding the rocket launchers.
Captain Greig ran forward, then dropped to one knee and carefully aimed upwards.
Crack! One down.
The Chinese trooper’s body started flitting around erratically, driven by the fan motor on his back. Completely out of control, he powered awkwardly downwards and slammed chest first with a sickening crunch into a craggy boulder.
But there were too many paratroopers in the air returning fire. More rangers were hit as the chopper continued speeding in.
Three stingers on the rock. Three stingers in the air.
The ones in the air took aim.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh.
They all fired at the same time. This time the chopper was unable to evade. The rockets slammed into the blackhawk. It exploded in a thunderous ball of heat.
And, in a twist of irony, the momentum of its speed kept the molten mass of steel and fuel moving forward into the pack of Chinese paratroopers, right towards two of the very soldiers who fired the stingers.
The twisted wreckage slammed into the men and carried them downwards, screaming all the way to the ground.
The group of paratroopers became abuzz like a swarm of angry bees, flitting about, darting down towards the rangers, firing their weapons rampantly at anything that moved.
Suddenly, two rockets exploded in mid air. Right amongst the paratroopers. Body parts flew out in every direction. Blood and guts rained down on the Special Forces soldiers who were diving for cover anywhere they could.
The Chinook came screaming in from the direction of the rock, firing another volley of rockets which slammed into another cluster of Chinese soldiers hovering above the rangers.
More explosions.
More body parts.
Only fifteen of this group of sixty PPC troopers remained.
On the ground, the Rangers casualties were less, but still substantial. Of the twenty-four who made the drop from the choppers, sixteen were still alive, fourteen able to continue fighting, not counting the Commander’s primary group.
Those fourteen now made a direct run for the north face of Ayers Rock, dodging the hailstorm of bullets and grenades raining down on them from the sky.
The Chinese soldiers amongst the rocks were pretty much pinned down by two of the blackhawks, which were firing a relentless tirade of minigun rounds in a wide-area pattern, plus Captain Greig’s group who were concealed below, and letting off round after searing round towards the Chinese.
The Chinese scattered themselves amongst the rocks like cockroaches.
A few moments later, the rest of the Rangers hit the wall at full speed, disappearing into the shadows below the Chinese troops. They moved stealthily through the shadows along the wall, and then climbed to a position just feet below the Chinese soldiers.
To the surprise of the Chinese forces, the blackhawks ceased firing and turned away.
What they didn’t know of course, was that this was done to allow the Rangers below to scale safely up the rocks right under their noses to pull off a shock skirmish.
It happened the instant the blackhawks turned away.
As the PLA troops moved out of their cover to see what was happening, and to fire off some chaser rounds, the 75th Regiment rushed upwards through the rocks and let loose with a barrage of assault weapon ammunition.
The assault was instant and decisive.
Most of the Chinese on the rock face didn’t stand a chance as they were hit from below.
A wave of bullets tore through their yellow suits, instantly staining red with blood. The Rangers had to dodge the falling bodies as they continued firing.
The mini-coup was over in less than a minute, the rock littered with dead Chinese soldiers.
At that moment came another loud explosion.
A second Blackhawk had been hit whilst attempting to finish off the remaining PPC troopers buzzing around a couple hundred yards above the desert floor.
The fan-powered paratroopers decided to cut their losses and took off  to the east.
Another Blackhawk helicopter gave chase, flying off into the sun as the Rangers on the rock began their short descent to the ground.

Deep inside Ayers Rock, the gigantic platform was still slowly descending.
Although completely artificial, its appearance was remarkably natural. Sand and small stones covered the entire surface. A few scattered boulders added to the authenticity, easily fooling anyone who might have made it past the native landlords, they themselves not even aware of the rock’s amazing secret.
A secret that had lain dormant for thousands of years.
And now, on this strange moving elevator where hundreds of men in yellow suits stood with machines and weapons were hidden fifteen very curious and very frightened young Aboriginal men who had managed to slip in with the soldiers unnoticed, and were wishing very strongly they hadn’t.

Chapter 26

Delaney, Lena, Buffalo and Sinclair were now in the north section of the tunnel. A catwalk similar to the one they were on earlier extended as far as they could see.
As they walked along its shiny black surface, the water rushed past a few feet below them.
The noise of the rushing water, along with the roar of the giant hydro-turbine blades was almost unbearable. Delaney found himself breaking into a slow jog along the narrow catwalk just to escape the raucous sound.
Lena stuck right behind him. She wasn’t going to let him out of her sight again.
Buffalo and Sinclair found the going a little tougher, which was to be expected considering the extent of their injuries.
They had traveled about a hundred yards when Delaney said, “Let’s keep moving guys. I don’t want to be anywhere near that thing when”” “
BOOM!
A shockwave.
A massive shockwave, practically visible in its intensity, pulsed out from the area directly above the turbine cage, and unfolded itself along the tunnel walls right towards where Delaney’s team was standing.
The catwalk shook violently. All four of them were sent crashing to the deck by the force of the shock.
Delaney shouted back to his marines as they struggled to make their way along the platform.
“Come on, keep moving!” he said.
Then he saw it”¦
Something in the distance, just behind Buffalo’s right shoulder. Something black”¦ it was getting bigger, rapidly.
It was the door to the pyramid!
Blown away by the force of the explosion, it was now hurtling along the catwalk towards them.
“Down now!” Delaney shouted.
He gripped Lena by the shoulders and wrenched her down hard to the platform.
Buffalo and Sinclair hit the deck as the door flew past them at what would have been head height if they were still standing.
“Fuck me!” yelled Sinclair.
The door continued screeching along the catwalk railing. Sparks flew in every direction like fireworks, as the door disappeared into the dark distance of the tunnel.
Delaney was half sprawled over Lena, who was coughing and spluttering from being winded when she was unceremoniously thrown down. Buffalo was clutching his wounded arm as he lay there moaning.
But it wasn’t over yet.
“Oh, shit”¦ get up”¦ get up right fucking now!” said Delaney looking past the others towards the hole where the door had been a few seconds ago.
What Delaney saw was the bright orange glow of a fireball that was about to erupt from inside the chasm.
“Quick, get up!” he said, pulling Lena back to her feet like a rag doll. “Run!”
In a matter of seconds, the four of them were on their feet and running along the catwalk again.
The fireball burst out into the tunnel with a savage hiss.
It scorched the walls near the entrance of the white lobby, and continued out onto the catwalk, chasing them like a seething tumbleweed of flames.
Steam hissed up from the water, as the fireball vaporized the top few inches of the torrent near the turbine.
Buffalo, at the rear of the team, could feel the heat through his thermal suit. It was gaining on them.
“Fuck me”¦ you guys”¦” he shouted.
“We know,” Sinclair acknowledged, trying his best to keep up with Delaney and Lena, who were about twenty feet in front.
The fireball remained strong as it neared them.
Suddenly, it was obvious they couldn’t outrun it. And there was only one thing left to do.
They would have to jump into the rapids.
Buffalo jumped first. He leapt the railing in midstride, and went straight over the edge without a hitch.
Another few seconds and he would have been barbecue meat.
Buffalo hit the water with a great thump, and was immediately tossed about like a cork.
Sinclair had been a few paces in front of his Sergeant. He looked into the water and saw Buffalo tumble past him, arms waving wildly. He couldn’t help laughing as he watched, then realized the flame was about to burn him up.
“Oh shit.”
Sinclair hurled himself over the rail without so much as touching it. He splashed into the water and went straight under. He was soon flapping and spluttering about in the surging water, and looked even more ridiculous than Buffalo.
Delaney and Lena were further along the catwalk, still running from the searing heat.
“Lena”¦ we’re going to have to jump,” Delaney said, sucking in his breath as he ran hard.
“I”¦ I”¦ can’t make it”¦ over that edge,” Lena panted.
She was right. As fit as she was, a maneuver like that was the sort of stuff only trained soldiers or gymnasts could pull off smoothly. If she baulked for a second, or slipped and fell back onto the platform, she’d be caught up in the fireball for sure.
Delaney didn’t have time to argue.
He quickly spun one-hundred-and-eighty degrees to face Lena, and in a mind-boggling move, swept her up in a fireman’s carry, turned swiftly on his heels, and continued running away from the huge ball of flame.
A few more paces to steady himself, and he jerked Lena up in his arms, so that she was now resting on the barrel of his chest and the upturned palms of his hands.
“What are you doing!” she managed to scream.
And then, with a mighty heave, in full flight, Delaney grunted and tossed Lena’s supple body over the railing and into the river below.
A second later, he lunged out with his left leg and caught the rail, then brought his right leg up on top of it, and like an Olympic athlete, dived out over the edge of the catwalk in a perfect swan dive, just as the powerful ball of flames exploded past him.
Now, all four of them were being swept along the tunnel by the current of icy water which surged through the turbine.

The shockwave of the pyrozine explosion had resonated throughout the tunnel. It had fanned out from its epicentre above the turbine, along the walls and through the body of water.
And, in its wake, halfway up the southern end of the tunnel, it had caused something else to occur”¦
The vehicle””the bug””that Delaney had abandoned in a small alcove, was being buffeted back and forth by the ripples of the shockwave.
Slowly, it rocked loose out of its niche in the tunnel wall. It floated barely inches off the floor, bobbing up and down slightly, then back down again under its own weight.
Then, slowly, the force of the rushing water took hold. The bug was jostled about roughly. Back and forth, back and forth.
Suddenly, it pivoted. Its centre of gravity was being shifted into the oncoming current.
And like a small toy truck in a creek, the vehicle was swept along steadily towards the turbine.

Delaney and Lena and Buffalo and Sinclair were also being swept along by the great river of icy water surging through the tunnel.
The four of them were bobbing around madly, trying to keep their heads above the choppy surface.
Delaney watched the blue tunnel lights rapidly flicking past.
The water was pushing them along at a phenomenal speed.
Suddenly, he noticed little splashes of water erupting up all around them. It was like somebody was throwing pebbles into the water.
Then he heard the muted crack! crack! of gunfire coming from further down the tunnel.
They were being shot at!
“Stay”¦ as”¦ low as”¦ you can!” he managed to shout to the others through gulps of icy liquid.
Sixty or so yards in front of them, on the gantry, stood four yellow figures. Each one holding an automatic assault rifle.
“Oh fuck!… how many”¦ of these”¦ fucking guys”¦ are there?” Buffalo spat out.
The bullets continued to splash into the water, narrowly missing the four hapless bodies tumbling along in the rapids.
In a few seconds, the Chinese soldiers would have a direct, very close, line-of-fire at them.
“Under!” yelled Delaney. “Swim as far as you can under the water!”
Lena and Sinclair each took a deep breath and duck-dived as hard as they could.
But borne of some military instinct or comradeship from serving together for so long, both Delaney and Buffalo remained floating above the surface of the water””each knowing what the other had in mind.
“Now!” shouted Delaney.
And then, in unison, Delaney and Buffalo brought their weapons up and out of the water and began shooting towards the walkway.
Before they had a chance to realize what was happening, two of the PLA soldiers were hit with a throng of bullets to their heads. Their skulls burst like watermelons.
The headless bodies defied gravity for a second before toppling over the rail and falling into the torrent.
The two marines sailed past the remaining soldiers, bobbing up and down with the swell, keeping their eyes focused firmly on the catwalk the whole time.
The Chinese soldiers ran along the deck, chasing Delaney and Buffalo, and shooting aimlessly into the water.
As they did, Lena and Sinclair bobbed back up, having run out of breath.
Lena screamed as she came face to neck with one of the dead bodies floating in the water. The body’s arms tangled around her, like a walking-dead zombie trying to grasp at her.
Lena arched backwards and kicked at the body. “Get”¦ the”¦ hell”¦ off me!” she yelled angrily at the headless yellow suit.
Sinclair came to her aid, just as the body drifted past, then suddenly they were being shot at again by the soldiers on the catwalk.
Bullets smacked into the water near Lena’s face and she quickly went under again, struggling to find any more breath in her lungs.
The Chinese soldiers continued firing and running, but were unable to keep up with the fast pace of the rapids. They were about to give up the chase.
Then, just at that moment, everything came to a halt.
There was a hideous crunching of metal, and the water level dropped abruptly as it flowed away towards the runoff tunnels at the northern end.
Delaney and his team found themselves wading in a foot of water.
Everybody, including the Chinese soldiers, looked back down the tunnel curiously. The water had stopped pumping through the turbine.
Or”¦ something was blocking the water.
Crunch!
The sound again. Metal on metal. Grinding, churning.
Lena started to walk northwards. She looked at the others. “What the hell are you waiting for?”
“Uhh”¦ Lieutenant”¦” stammered Sinclair.
“Move Private,” said Delaney. He also began to walk towards the north end.
Buffalo looked up at the soldiers on the walkway, some sixty feet above him. They had the same idea, and were moving rapidly away from the crunching noise.
“Sergeant, will you be joining us any time today?” Delaney asked sarcastically.
There was another horrific metallic crunch.
“Hell yeah!” Buffalo said.

They were practically sprinting. The sort of run you attempt when you have to be somewhere urgently, but you’re completely exhausted. Arms and legs moving in an erratic dance of spasticity.
“How far to the end of the tunnel, Lieutenant?” Sinclair panted.
Delaney looked across at him as if to say how the hell would I know?
“There!” shouted Lena, pointing ahead of them. “What’s that?”
They ran another hundred yards.
And found themselves standing at the nexus of the three tunnels.
In front of them was a small tunnel sloping upwards to a large sealed door. To the left and right were the massive runoff tunnels sloping downwards””deep downwards””into blackness.
There was no sign of the Chinese soldiers.
The floor trickled with an inch of running water.
It’s dripping echoed eerily as it drained away into the depths of the runoffs.
Lena walked a short way into the left tunnel. She shone her wrist light out in front. The tunnel curved around on a wide arc and downwards into total darkness.
“Don’t go too far, Lena,” Delaney warned.
Lena wasn’t planning on going any further. Her feet slipped a little on the smooth surface as she walked back to join the others on the ramp tunnel sloping up to the door.
Lena noticed there was no control panel visible on this door.
Buffalo stepped up in front of it. He raised his hands high in the air, like Moses parting the red sea. “Open Sesame,” he bellowed.
Lena laughed. With exhaustion more than humor. Delaney and Sinclair just shook their heads.
“Okay, that didn’t work,” said Buffalo. “Any suggestions?”
“Look around for a control panel, or a button”¦ anything,” Delaney suggested.
There was another loud crunch in the distance.
“And make it quick,” he added.
The team fanned out in different directions, searching along the walls where the tunnels joined. Their halogen wrist lights formed ghostly silhouettes on the black surfaces.
“Lieutenant,” said Sinclair after a few moments. “You’d better take a look at this.”
“Tell me you’ve found a door switch, Private, and I’ll recommend you for a month’s paid leave when we get back.” Delaney said.
Delaney, Lena and Buffalo joined Sinclair at the apex of the main tunnel and the left-side runoff tunnel.
They focused their lights on the wall near Sinclair.
“It’s not a switch, Lieutenant,” said the young Private. “But it’ll sure blow a fucking big hole in that door.”
They were looking at the explosives Pak’s men had planted earlier.
“Nice job, Lenny,” Buffalo said sarcastically.
“Hey, don’t blame me, I’m just the messenger.”
“Fuck me!” Delaney said. “Everywhere we go, there’s a fucking bomb!”
Sinclair was staring intently at the linked charges. He followed the wires up and across the wall to an electric detonator box.
“Uh oh,” he said.
“Uh oh, what?” asked Delaney.
“Uh oh, we’ve got three minutes until this shit goes off, sir.”

Delaney’s team was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Behind them, some god-awful crunching thing was threatening to come rushing down the tunnel, probably bringing an even bigger torrent of water with it.
In front of them was a sealed door, and two uninviting steep, dark tunnels leading to nowhere.
And right where they stood were enough explosives to wipe out several city blocks, and they had two and a half minutes to decide what to do.
“Any chance you can defuse that thing, Sinclair?” Delaney asked hopefully.
Sinclair screwed up one side of his mouth. “Sir, this thing’ll go off if you look at it the wrong way.”
Delaney looked around in frustration.
Sealed door. Explosives.
Everything always turns to hell”¦
“Fine”¦ they want hell, I’ll give them hell. The Devil’s own brand,” Delaney muttered under his breath.
“What was that, sir?” Sinclair asked.
But Delaney was already moving. Towards the C4 charges.
“Buff’, Private, help me with these.”
Buffalo and Sinclair looked at each other, then followed Delaney’s lead.
“Okay”¦ we can’t touch the detonator, right?” Delaney said. “But, we can move these charges.”
Sinclair thought for a second.
“As long as you don’t sever the connections between the charge packs, you can do what you like with them,” the young soldier said, now beginning to understand what Delaney had in mind.
“Good!” said Delaney. “I figure there’s enough spare wire between these charges to move them from here to that door. Start pulling them down off the wall.” Then he added, “Very carefully.”

They had the C4 in place with just over a minute to spare before the timer was set to go off.
Lena looked at Delaney. “Now what?” she said quietly.
Delaney hadn’t considered the “now what” part of his plan. He thought about it for a second.
“Quick! Down the runoff tunnel!” he shouted to everyone. “Oh, and check your suits and close your helmets up. The oxygen containment field might not be the same at this end of the tunnel. Switch your headsets to their external speaker system, so we can still communicate with each other. ”
All four of them pushed their retractable helmet return buttons, and headed to the right side tunnel and entered its black depths.
The surface was as slippery as oil, and much steeper than Delaney had reckoned. They found it difficult maintaining a foothold on the floor, even with their ribbed boots. It was as if the tunnel had a coating of slimy algae built up from the constant flow of water over it.
“How much further do we need to go, Jake?” Lena asked. Delaney could sense the trepidation in her voice.
“It’s more a question of how far can we go, ma’am,” Buffalo put in.
Delaney focused his halogen ahead into the murky darkness. “Just stick close to the wall and follow the curve around. Those charges are gonna go off any second, so hold tight.”
Lena had been walking further out from the wall than the others.
Suddenly she screamed out.
The three marines turned sharply, aiming their wrist lights in Lena’s direction. She was gone.

Copyright 2008 Jeff Edis. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.