Finest Hour (24 page)

“It’s like everyone just vanished,” she said, slowly turning in a circle.

He shrugged. “At least it’s quiet.”

“That’s true.”

“Plus, it’s wide open. Nothing’s going to sneak up on us.”

She thought about that and nodded, apparently satisfied.

They continued ahead, passing by an Airbus A319 with the image of a bobcat on its tail. The airline name,
Frontier
, was painted in metallic gray letters across the fuselage. At a hundred feet in length, it wasn’t a huge plane by any means. Even so, peering up at it from ground level made it seem as big as a B-52 bomber. The aircraft door was closed, and the associated jet bridge had a heavy curtain pulled across it.

“Should we go inside?” she asked, eyeing a narrow set of stairs used for transporting carryon luggage up to waiting customers.

He turned and looked up at the terminal. There were splashes of what looked like bodily waste on the windows overlooking the tarmac.

“Let’s just stick to the runway. We can skirt the airport and come out on the north end. I know for sure that there are a couple of bridges near there.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“You never explained how we’re getting into the tunnels.”

“You’re just now asking?”

She shrugged. “I figured you’d tell me when you had it all worked out.”

“That’s pretty trusting.”

“Someone once told me that you deserved my trust.”

He smiled, recalling Libby, a deaf woman they had traveled with for a short time.

“Well, she was right because I have a plan.”

“I hope it doesn’t require us going back to the White House. That place was a mess.”

“It doesn’t. Not if we can help it, anyway.”

“I know we’re not going in through the Naval Observatory. You made sure of that when you burned it to the ground.”

“One of my finer moments,” he said with a note of pride.

“Okay, so how do we get in?”

“You remember those soldiers we met down in the tunnels?”

“The ones you let get eaten?”

“Yeah, those two.”

“What about them?”

“Do you recall what they said about the tunnels?”

“I remember them saying that the tunnels led all the way to Mount Weather.”

“They said something else too. They said there were entrances scattered throughout the city, places like the Blair House and the State Department.”

“Even so, we’d never find the secret passages.”

“Probably not. But they also said there was an entrance in Union Station.”

“The big train station?”

“That’s right. It also serves the Metro, and if there’s an entrance, it has to be down at that level.”

“I guess that makes sense, but I still don’t see how we’re going to find it.”

“That’s the thing. It should be easy to find. The station already has secure areas, so there’d be no need to hide it like they did in the observatory.”

“You’re assuming that we can even get into those areas.”

He tilted his head as if to say, “Really?”

She smiled. “Sorry, what was I thinking?”

He paused, choosing his words carefully.

“There is one part of my plan that I need to talk to you about but not until the time is right.”

She squinted, studying him with suspicion.

“From your tone, I can tell that I’m not going to like it. Am I?”

“No,” he said quietly, “you are most certainly not.”

Chapter 15  

From the outside, the second igloo looked very much like the first. The only difference was the heavy steel gate that had been added to the rear blast wall, presumably to facilitate easier transport of materials between adjacent buildings.

Mason and the cadets approached in the same manner they had previously, splitting up and circling around from each side. When they finally got inside, they found the structure filled with wooden pallets, most of them stacked high with boxes and crates. It would have taken the rest of the day to conduct a careful search, so they decided to split up and give everything a quick onceover.

Based on their labels, most of the boxes appeared to contain spare parts for the military, although it was impossible to say exactly what they serviced. The most interesting find was a stack of crates stamped
Alexander Arms
. Mason dragged one free and motioned for Cobb to fetch a screwdriver from a nearby pegboard.

 Working his way around the lip, he carefully pried the lid free, the wood cracking as it broke away in thick, dry splinters. Rodriguez and Cobb both peeked over his shoulder as he tossed the lid aside and pulled back a layer of oil-impregnated paper. Beneath the paper lay six semi-automatic rifles neatly framed in the bottom of the box. Each rifle had a 26-round magazine seated in its magazine well and another taped across the back of the buttstock.

Cobb’s eyes grew wide. “Oh my goodness.”

Bowie stepped closer and sniffed the paper that had fallen to the floor. Apparently, it wasn’t particularly interesting, because he abandoned it and wandered away.

Mason lifted out a rifle and released the magazine. It was empty. He checked the chamber. It too was clear. At first glance, the rifles might be mistaken for standard AR-15s, but he knew better. These rifles were chambered in 6.5 mm Grendel, a cartridge designed to be highly accurate out to 800 yards with only half the recoil of a 7.62 mm round. They were heavier than a comparable AR-15, but they also had significantly more stopping power.

“Either of you see any 6.5 mm Grendel ammunition?”

“Did you say Grendel?” asked Rodriguez.

Mason nodded. “Did you see some?”

“I sure did.” Rodriguez hurried across the room, scanning labels. “Here!” he shouted, trying to deadlift a small wooden crate. It tipped slightly, but he couldn’t quite get it off the floor. “Cobb, give me a hand.”

Cobb hurried over, and together they duck-walked the case over to Mason.

He took a moment to study the label and then used the screwdriver to pry off the lid. Inside, they discovered two hundred 20-round boxes of 123-grain 6.5 mm Grendel ammunition.

“Will it fit?” Rodriguez asked, nearly holding his breath.

Mason opened one of the boxes and inspected the cartridges.

“Yes.”

Rodriguez grinned and gave Cobb a high five.

“We just found the mother of all jackpots!”

Despite Rodriguez’s usual enthusiastic flair, Mason thought the assessment was pretty much spot on. A set of hard-hitting assault rifles was a huge step forward for the team.

“Which of you has ever shot an AR-15 or its equivalent?”

“Sir, we all had to qualify with M16s as part of our cadet training,” Bell said, stepping away from the door to better see the rifles.

Mason handed her the first rifle and then passed another one over to Cobb.

“You two should definitely trade up. Rodriguez, it’s your call as to whether you keep the MP5.”

“Are you kidding?” he blurted, already dumping handfuls of 9 mm rounds from his pockets into one of the bins. “I’m not gonna be the only one without a shiny new rifle.”

Mason pulled a third rifle from the crate and handed it to him. While he might have reminded Rodriguez that being familiar with one’s weapon was more important than the actual model, it would have felt less than genuine. The Grendels were beautiful weapons, and with a boatload of ammunition and magazines available, he couldn’t think of a good reason not to swap out.

Each cadet carefully loaded two 26-round magazines. While similar in appearance to standard 5.56 mm rounds, the 6.5 mm Grendel was shorter and fatter. When they had the weapons loaded, everyone turned to look at Mason. Holding the new rifles, they looked less like ragtag cadets and more like real soldiers.

Mason did a quick count of the crates and cases. Eight crates with six rifles each, along with six cases of ammunition, each containing four thousand rounds. All in all, it could mean the difference between the cadets being overrun by a horde of the infected or successfully repelling them.

He nodded to Cobb and Rodriguez.

“You two get the rest of these rifles and ammunition into the truck. Bell will cover you.”

“You planning to watch?” joked Rodriguez.

“Tempting, but I’m going to see if there’s anything else worth taking.” Mason whistled for Bowie to follow him as he took a second pass through the warehouse.

As the cadets grunted and groaned, hauling out the rifles and ammunition, Mason used his flashlight to scan some of the other crates and boxes. The only other interesting find was an olive-drab box stenciled with yellow lettering:
M18A1
,
Qty 12
.

Bowie stepped forward and sniffed the box.

“They’re Claymore mines,” he explained.

The dog tipped his head and stared up at him.

“Trust me. Where we’re going, these things could be useful.”

He grabbed the box with both hands and dragged it over to the door. When Rodriguez and Cobb had finished loading the rifles and ammunition, he had them haul the box of Claymores out to the truck. Something for them; something for him. It seemed only fair.

“Sir.”

Mason turned and saw Bell pointing toward a building in the distance. The structure was about twice the size of the other igloos, but it was encircled by the same thick blast wall. A thin trail of smoke rose from a metal chimney on the roof.

“Could it be the Commandant?” she asked.

“According to Captain Artz, that building wasn’t part of their search.”

“Maybe not, but someone’s in there.”

Cobb and Rodriguez returned, sweaty and breathing heavily. Bell quickly pointed out her find.

“We gotta go check that out,” Rodriguez said, gripping his new rifle. “It could be them.”

Cobb eyed the building but said nothing.

Mason carefully considered their next course of action. It wasn’t as obvious as it first seemed. While they hadn’t yet found Commandant Franks or ammunition for the Browning, they had uncovered enough weaponry to arm the entire Corps of Cadets. Pushing ahead introduced the risk of losing the Grendels. He could, of course, opt to send one cadet back with the truck, but that in turn would compromise the rest of the team’s ability to do a speedy retreat.

Like all tough decisions, it came down to a judgment call.

“All right,” he said, “listen up. I’ll position the truck so that it’s facing back toward the bridge. Then we go ahead on foot as quietly as possible. If things turn ugly, we race for the truck and get the hell back across the bridge. We can’t afford to lose those rifles. Clear?”

Everyone nodded.

Mason climbed in and wheeled the deuce-and-a-half around, positioning it in the road so that it had a clear path back toward the bridge. Loaded, the truck would be slow and heavy, but even so, he felt confident that it could outrun a person on foot. And if it couldn’t, he wasn’t averse to running over anyone who got in the way. He left the keys in the ignition, a calculated risk that no one would abscond with their newfound treasure before they could return.

Once he had everything ready, he nodded to Bowie.

“You’re out in front, boy.”

Bowie stared up at him, confused.

Mason smiled and pointed toward the igloo.

“That way, Cochise.”

The dog let out a short
woof
and started off toward the igloo. The group moved in a staggered column formation, slowly and steadily across the sprawling grassy field. There were no windows along the rear of the building, so Mason figured they had a reasonably good chance of crossing the field undetected. As they approached the blast wall, Bell and Cobb circled in one direction while he and Rodriguez went around the other.

To his surprise, when he peeked around the front corner of the building, Mason saw two men standing guard. Both were wearing wrinkled military fatigues, standing in the shade cast by an awning that extended above the sliding door. Each man carried an M14 rifle equipped with an M9 bayonet.

Mason knew that the M14 had replaced the M1 Garand as the standard issue infantry rifle back in the 1960s. By the 1970s, however, it too had been replaced, this time by the M16 as the military sought to use lighter weapons and ammunition. Even so, the M14 was still manufactured for limited service applications, including competition and sniping. He could only assume that the two men had stumbled across a cache of weapons, much like he and the cadets had. As for the M9 bayonet, it had been around since the 1980s, its seven-inch blade serving as a last resort for matters that became up close and personal.

Bell and Cobb both peeked around the opposite corner, and Mason quickly held up a fist, indicating that they should hold fast. Cobb flashed him a quick salute as both he and Bell squatted down.

“What is it?” Rodriguez whispered, sliding closer and looking past Mason.

“Guards.”

Rodriguez raised his rifle. “I could shoot both of them before they could get off the porch.”

“And if they’re not hostile? How are you planning to explain that to their wives and children?”

He lowered the Grendel. “I said that I could, not that I would.”

Mason studied the men for a moment longer. They were turned toward one another, so he couldn’t quite make out their faces. He did notice one thing strange about the M14s.

“Take a look at their rifles.”

Rodriguez studied them. “They’re not as fancy as ours, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Look closer. What do you see about the ammunition?”

He took another long look.

“What the hell? There aren’t any magazines in their rifles.”

“Correct.”

“That means they’re basically holding spears.”

“It looks like it.”

“Why would they do that? This whole place is filled with ammunition.”

It didn’t make sense to Mason either. After having only searched two buildings, they had already found both rifles and ammunition. Surely these two would have had no trouble finding 7.62 mm ammunition for their M14s.

“Might as well go and say hello,” Rodriguez said, standing up and pushing his way past.

Mason reached for him, but it was already too late. The cadet marched across the front lawn like he was General Patton confronting soldiers who had deserted their posts.