Dark Reckoning by James Axler

“Fireblast, a blue!” Ryan cursed. “This must be the Quonset hut I saw in the middle of their base!”

“Then we better haul ass,” J.B. answered, releasing the pistol-grip safety of his Uzi. “The sooner we’re gone, the better.”

Rushing to a nearby stack, Ryan grabbed a box and used it to prop open the gateway door. Nimbly, J.B. climbed over some coils of electrical cable and into the forklift. The engine started with a purr, and he maneuvered the vehicle to an empty wooden pallet.

“I’ll drive, you pile on the goods,” he said, trimming the engine and glancing at his wrist chron. “We got seventeen more minutes.”

Working fast, the companions started down the main aisle, Ryan slamming entire boxes of Kalash-nikovs and ammo boxes onto the pallet. A crate of mixed grens was added, and as they turned a corner, Ryan grabbed a field surgery med kit and a bag of mixed detonators and timing pencils. Next, he added two satchel charges of C-4, then tossed another to J.B., who made the catch and slung it over an arm.

Most of the material had no descriptions or invoice listings as to the contents, but that didn’t matter. One of the first things Ryan learned was how to read military code numbers. Often he didn’t even have to read the entire sequence before he knew it was something useful, like food or ammo, or predark crap, like paper clips or uniform rank insignia.

“Grab that,” J.B. directed, pointing to the left. “And we need that, too!”

Lifting a combo pack of LAW/HALFA rockets, Ryan dropped the missiles and drew his blaster in a smooth, lightning-fast move to fire twice more into the shadows. A sec man fell into the light, with most of his face removed.

“Eight minutes,” J.B. reported, grabbing a brand-new can opener off a nearby shelf. There were flashlights on a higher shelf, but they were out of reach without a lot of cumbersome climbing.

“We stay four more,” Ryan stated, “then we leave.”

“Gotcha.”

Pausing at a door, Ryan noted there was a glowing plate set into the wall nearby, exactly like in the more secure rooms of a redoubt. He wasted seconds debating over a quick recce outside, then finally decided against it and moved onward, grabbing a flare gun and box of flares, then a box marked miscellaneous socks. If time had been on their side, the companions would have looted the warehouse down to the floorboards. Silas had to have been compiling these supplies for decades.

“Time,” J.B. announced, and wheeled the heavily ladened forklift toward the gateway.

Ryan grabbed small items off the shelves as he approached the gateway, and two men were almost there when the small door at the end of aisle hissed aside and in stormed a squad of blues led by Sheffield.

“God of the atom, it’s Ryan!” the baron screamed, pointing with his golden blaster. “Chill them!”

“Ram the door!” Ryan ordered, ducking behind a crate of MRE packs, and cutting loose with the Ka-lashnikov, sending the blue shirts scurrying for cover. Instantly, he realized he was at a major advantage. The blues only had wall behind them, so Ryan could shoot with totally immunity. But he and J.B. were surrounded by ordnance and fuel. If the blues hit the wrong thing, the entire Quonset hut would vanish in a megaton fireball explosion of cordite and plas.

Comprehending what the big man meant, J.B. floored the accelerator and slammed the forklift directly into the open doorway of the gateway. In wild tumbling chaos, most of the boxes and crates flew off the pallet and into the mat-trans chamber. His chest aching from hitting the steering wheel, J.B. turned in the seat and added the fury of his Uzi submachine gun to the retreat, giving Ryan protective cover as the man darted from box to crate, then behind the forklift and literally dived into the gateway.

Incoming bullets flying all around them, Ryan took over shooting at the blues, emptying the clip in seconds, while J.B. frantically threw supplies into the chamber. Then the friends shifted jobs again, Ryan moving the supplies while J.B. discharged the Samp;W shotgun. The distance was too great to make the scat-tergun effective against the blues, but the rain of double-aught steel pellets forced them back into hiding.