James Tarr - Dogsoldiers

“Thor, we’ve got to go.”

Thor was on his hands and knees, panting harshly, his eyes stinging from sweat. “I know,” he gasped.

Harris’ breath was harsh in the narrow tunnel. He was ten feet back. They’d been told that was far enough. “I mean now, boss, shit’s probably already popping off.”

“Fuck, I know,” Thor growled. He staggered to his feet. He could sense the bodies stacked up behind him. “Give me some more light up here.”

The tunnel was four feet tall and three wide and had been hacked through the earth by hand with shovels and picks. It stretched for fifty-seven feet from the sewer trunk line to the wall of concrete before him. Four holes had been drilled in the concrete, two high and two low, stuffed with explosive, and sealed over. Wires trailed from all four charges to the switch in the center.

Morris’ people had dug the tunnel, drilled the holes, and set the charges, the last done two days earlier, so the moisture in the tunnel wouldn’t have enough time to affect the wiring or small charges of C4. That just left the four squads of Alpha to get to the tunnel at their appointed time, blow the wall, and get to work.

But nothing had gone right in the move into the city. One section of sewer line that was supposed to be open had collapsed since the last time Morris’ people had checked it. As a result they’d had to do an extra three-quarters of a mile above-ground they hadn’t been planning on, and that had taken them over two hours as they’d had to go to ground to hide from a random patrol that seemed to be circling.

Then, not long after getting back down into the sewer, they’d walked right into an encampment of rag-clad crazy people, apparently, as they’d attacked the lead element of Alpha on sight. Joker was in the lead, and two of the squad’s dogsoldiers had been stabbed in the close-quarters struggle.

One man had died almost immediately, and they’d spent over fifteen minutes trying to save the second, but he finally bled out. They’d nearly killed themselves doing the last two miles at a jog, laboring under sixty and sometimes in excess of ninety pounds of gear each.

Thor had to blink several times to get the sweat out of his eyes. “All the wiring looks good,” he gasped. He carefully grabbed the detonator switch, which was on the dirt tunnel’s floor beside the wall, and began backing up. The wires only stretched ten feet, which didn’t seem nearly enough, no matter what Morris had said. Harris was right behind him, and the remaining twenty-nine members of Flash, Joker, Donald, and Mickey, including Morris’ four loaners, were packed in tight to his rear.

“Fire in the hole, fire in the hole, fire in the hole,” Thor said, but not loudly. Even though he was about to touch off an explosion he didn’t want to give away their position, not that anybody should be able to hear him. “Everybody cover your ears.” He looked at Harris. “I hope to God this doesn’t kill me. You’re up if it does.” He was serious, and Harris knew it. He stuck one thumb in his ear, turned his back to the wall and the charges planted there, looked at the switch, closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and hit it.

The muffled crump behind him barely made his ears ring. At first he thought there’d been some sort of misfire, but when he looked over his shoulder he saw there was now a rough rectangular hole in the concrete wall, the air thick with dust. “Shit, that was it? That wasn’t that bad.”

Rifle up he hurried through the tunnel and jumped down, his boots landing square in the middle of an unoccupied parking space. His weaponlight illuminated a small underground parking garage for the residents of the apartment building. There were only a few vehicles in the garage, which was well lit. He scanned the area and spotted the vehicle ramp angling up, and the pedestrian door for the stairs. He moved in that direction and covered the door as the four squads exited the tunnel one at a time, led by Harris carrying his gear and Thor’s backpack.

Thor grabbed his backpack and lifted it onto the hood of the closest car as the remaining dogsoldiers exited the fresh hold in the wall. “Is that it? Last man? That’s it!” he called out to the other squad leaders. He turned around and fought his way into his backpack, then stood up under the weight. It felt like lifting a small car.

“Go, go, go!” Sanders, leader of Donald, shouted.

The dogsoldiers surged forward, and up. They poured into the narrow lobby in a wave of bodies. There was one soldier in the lobby, late heading to his office post in nearby Echo. He was unarmed, without armor, and the burst of rifle fire that sent him to the floor caused the other residents to scream and scatter.

Thor was one of the last to pile into the lobby. He heard the thud of boots heading up the stairs, and saw heads bobbing down a side hallway as two-thirds of Alpha detachment headed toward the parking garage next door. His back was killing him, he was pretty sure he’d shredded a disc jogging nearly two miles while carrying eighty pounds, and he felt nauseous as he eyed the stairwell door. Then a polite ‘ping!’ grabbed his attention and he looked over to see an elevator door opening. The elderly woman who exited nearly skidded to a stop in her heels as she saw the dogsoldiers before her.

“What are you doing!” she demanded, glaring at them. She was well into her seventies and skinny as a rail, clad in a very classy, well-maintained dress that had to be thirty years old. Thor had no idea if she had mistaken them for Army troops, but he shoved past her into the small elevator.

“You coming?” he asked the three dogsoldiers who hadn’t yet charged up the stairs. “Work smarter, not harder.”

Randa, the number two in Mickey, eyed the small elevator dubiously, then shrugged her shoulders. “Sure, what the fuck.”

As the remainder of the dogsoldiers packed the elevator, Thor looked past a shoulder at the elderly female resident, who appeared very confused. “Making the world a better place, ma’am,” he assured her.

The elevator was not fast, but still they arrived on the seventh floor before the soldiers working their way up the stairs under their heavy loads. The hallway was carpeted, and narrow, and ended in a short T intersection. A gray-haired woman appeared at the end of the hallway as they drew close, rifles up. She stood in the open doorway of the apartment to the right. She had one hand up, and empty. There was a pistol in her other hand, held down along her leg.

“You’re late!” she snapped at them, looking nervous and angry. She was dressed in a uniform shirt and pants—apartment building maintenance.

“Yeah, yeah,” Thor panted.

She pointed at the doors in front of them. “Those are already unlocked.”

“Go!” Thor said, pointing. Everyone knew their place, and men poured past him, two and three per apartment. Thor strode past the woman to find a dead man on the floor of the apartment. He was in an Army uniform, and his throat had been cut. He looked surprised.