Chapter 2

The only escape route I could think of right now was one that was a long way from safe, but it would get us out of the city if we could manage it. At one time, there had been a rapid transit system heading south in a tunnel under the river. That way was still open as of four months ago, and I had not heard of a collapse of the tunnel or anything like that.

It was used for smuggling contraband not approved by the Church. Birth control devices were the most common commodity, but there were other things brought in that I was just as happy not to know about. The only reason that I knew about the tunnel still being there was because I had been making use of condoms that were brought in that way. I was one of those corrupt officials who looked the other way—I was paid off in boxes of condoms.

Anyway, I headed for the entrance to the tunnel. It was large enough that my armored car could squeeze through if I was careful. I did have weapons and ammunition on board in case I had to fight light arms, but something like an RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) was going through our armor like it was so much cheese. On the other hand, I didn't think that anybody would be so foolish as to use such a weapon inside the tunnel. There would be too much danger of collapsing the whole thing right over all of our heads.

I used back streets that were usually deserted, except by trucks carrying the contraband, so I did not expect to see anybody who would want to stop us. Unless a person happened to hear the ONI transmission, which, as a matter of standard practice, was scrambled so that only official radios could translate the message, nobody would think that this was not a vehicle on official business. Nobody was stupid enough to steal a government vehicle, especially one so obviously military at this one.

At one point, I did have to dodge into an alley when I glimpsed a convoy of official trucks headed our way. I had no idea why they would be using this particular street, but I was not going to argue with them if I could avoid it. I drove almost all of the way to the end of the alley so that we would be hidden in shadow when the trucks got to where they might see us. We lucked out, and the trucks drove on by without slowing down or otherwise giving any sign that they had seen us. The gun turret on top of the armor was painted in the ONI colors, so they might have thought that it was prudent not to see us. Whatever the reason, we were not bothered, and we all breathed a sigh of relief.

We finally made our way to the turnoff for the tunnel, and it was getting toward sundown. This was good, and this was bad. It was good because we were less likely to be spotted by the casual observer, since most casual observers would be looking for supper about now. It was bad because the smuggling took place mostly at night, and we were likely to meet a smuggler or two before we got to the end of the tunnel. If we did meet up with smugglers, a firefight might start simply because we looked like an enemy vehicle. Well, we couldn't help that, so we were just going to have to muddle through.

About half a mile into the tunnel, we had to stop so that Cindy could empty Cathy's bedpan. Yeah, even gut-shot people have to piss. While we were stopped, I had a brainstorm. I had Dr. Carter take a bed sheet from the stretcher and tie it to the barrel of the machine gun sticking out of the top turret. I elevated the barrel as high as it would go, about 70°. I hoped that the white flag would distract the other side long enough for me to get in a word with my bull horn before they started shooting.

It wasn't long before I had a chance to test that theory. We had traveled only about 500 yards farther when we saw some headlights coming toward us. I turned on every one of my external lights, including the top spotlight which I trained on the white flag. The other vehicle killed their lights immediately, but I could see them creeping closer. It was another armored car, and it was pulling a trailer.

As soon as I was sure that they could see us, I used the bullhorn, "DON'T SHOOT! WE'RE NOT YOUR ENEMY. WE ARE ESCAPING FROM THE ONI AND ONLY WANT TO BE ALLOWED THROUGH THE TUNNEL!" I said that a couple of more times, and the other vehicle's normal night-driving lights came on. They drove a little closer, and I heard a familiar voice through their bullhorn.

"IS THAT YOU, PAUL CHAPMAN? IF SO, STEP OUTSIDE AND LET ME SEE YOU!"

Son ... Of ... A ... Bitch!!! That was the voice of Mark Adams, an old friend from our training days. But Mark was dead! He was reported killed in a firefight with smugglers, but his body was never recovered. I stepped out of my vehicle and walked into the light. I heard a whoop from the other vehicle and a man jumped out to run toward me. It was Mark! After the usual greetings, handshakes, hugs, and back slapping, things settled down enough for us to exchange stories.

I told him of my adventures with the Issue Wife thing, and the bastard laughed at me. I'll admit that I was a little pissed at first, but laughed with him when I thought about the situation for a minute. Anyway, his story was that he was sick of the hypocrisy of the Church and the corruption of the government, so he had rigged his own death with some friendly smugglers. For the last 18 months or so, he had been a smuggler, himself, and loving every minute of the fun of tweaking the nose of the establishment. He was also making a shitpot full of money, so he was in a win-win situation. One of the first things he did was to ask me to join his little operation.

I explained about Dr. Carter and Cindy, as well as the recovery process that Cathy was going through, so Mark invited all of us to move in with him at least until Cathy was back on her feet. Hell, we could not have received a better offer, so I accepted on the spot. Hopefully, the hue and cry over us would peter out by the time Cathy was recovered enough to continue our journey. That was going to be four to six weeks, so what better place could we find to sit on our hands? Any small community could always use a doctor, and I could make a little money while we waited for Cathy to get well.

Mark had to move on to make his delivery commitment, so we quickly came to an arrangement. I found a secluded place to park in a service area and left my three companions with the vehicle while I joined Mark for his delivery. When we got back, I would follow him in our vehicle as he drove home. The others were not too happy about this arrangement, but could not think of anything better, since Cathy could not be left alone. I climbed in with Mark and his friend, Phillip, and we headed back toward the city.

It took less than 45 minutes to get to the rendezvous with the customers, and things were progressing as normal. I helped unload the trailer into the van being used by the customers, and that was when it hit the fan!

The customers had gotten greedy and decided they wanted the contraband without paying for it. The first we knew of the change in plan was when Phillip was shot in the head. Mark and I immediately went into combat mode. We were the only ones of the seven people left who'd had any military training, so we were well ahead of our enemy in knowing what to do. We both were wearing our service pistols, .50 caliber automatics, but the enemy was similarly armed, so we wanted to go them one better. I covered Mark while he pulled two riot control machine pistols from the racks in the trailer. Those were kept there on a just-in-case basis.

I did manage to hit one of the bastards who had started all the trouble, but that still left four to contend with. Mark handed me one of the little beauties and we now greatly outgunned the opposition in sheer kill factor. These machine pistols were only a little larger than our service automatics, but had a 100-round magazine and a rate of fire of 600-rounds-per-minute in full automatic. They also had a semi-automatic selector, so we were loaded for bear in that same .50 caliber round that our pistols used. Sometimes, the military can do things right!

The folding shoulder stock would collapse completely so that it was fully out of the way when it was not needed. In that configuration, it was like having a slightly oversized pistol with a 100-round magazine. With that armament, I was willing to take on a mass of civilians, even if they did have guns.

We had a choice of our next step. We could climb into our vehicle and take off. The armor would stop any possible hand weapon, and that was all that the enemy had to use against us. On the other hand, we could go after the bastards who had killed Phillip in cold blood. That's what we decided to do. As the saying goes, our blood was up!

I was lying on the ground to the right of the trailer and Mark was in the same position on the left. The fact that he was left handed made this the ideal situation for us. The four bastards in the opposition were behind their vehicle or on the ground under it. That made them bigger fools than we had hopes for. Mark thumbed his RMP (riot machine pistol) into full automatic and sprayed a line of slugs between the ground and the chassis of the opposite vehicle. From the screams, we knew that he had taken care of three of the idiots with that one burst.

The fourth man finally started to think and took off in a dead run for anyplace far away from two mad men with automatic weapons. Well, we could not afford to let him get away, so we both stitched him some new bellybuttons, but on the wrong side of his body.

Shit! Now we were stuck with four corpses. Fortunately, there was a storm drain just outside the mouth of the tunnel, so we dropped the corpses in there after we had stripped them of any identification or valuables. I was afraid that my friends would worry about me for being gone too long and do something foolish, so I was in a hurry to return to them.