Dan And The Bottle Ch 13

Bob Sharpe had stayed behind at Juniper base with a small army of techs and mechanics, and had brought along three truckloads of food and other supplies, along with two small tankers of fuel; one diesel and another of aircraft gas. One of the first things to be unloaded had been one of the smaller diesel generators liberated from one of the Chinese bases, a five hundred megawatt model, capable of powering a fair amount of the base by itself. It was soon hooked into the main power grid of the base, and areas that hadn't been lit up in years quickly came to light.

Rick Jamison looked around the hanger, quietly awed by the amount of activity; young Mr. Coswell wasn't fooling around, and he sure didn't let any grass grow under his feet. He had two teams of mechanics at work, each on a different plane. Both planes were quickly being disassembled, with parts being methodically tagged, tested, and moved to two seperate piles, each one with a sign behind it. One sign read 'Pass'; the other was labeled 'Fail'. The 'fail' pile was depressingly large, while the 'pass' pile was pitifully small.

Coswell came walking up as Jamison was looking over the piles. "Hello, Sir... anything I can show you?"

"I guess you weren't kidding about your expertise, young man. It would appear your people know what they're doing."

Pete puffed up a bit at this... "Well, Sir, as my dad used to say, if you can't do it right, don't do it at all, because a pilot's life is at stake if you do it wrong."

Jamison jerked upright at this; he'd never thought of it that way, but the young man--and his father-- were absoluteley right.

Bob Sharpe came walking up to the two men at that moment, saluting smartly.

"Colonel Jamison, one of my tech boys has made a bit of a discovery. I think you should be there for it, Sir."

Jamison turned to Sharpe, eyebrow lifting as he spoke. "I'm a Colonel, now, am I? When did this happen, Lieutenant?"

Sharpe grinned. "My CO told me that this size of a base would warrant a Colonel as it's Commanding Officer, Sir... I assumed you knew that."

"Well, I didn't, because we've never really made an issue of rank before, but I'll take that under advisement, son... now what's this about a discovery?"

"One of our computer techs was accessing an old databank, Sir, looking for service records of your planes... he ran across a 'top secret' inventory list. It would seem that there is a storage building on this base that isn't listed on any of the official blueprints."

"What?!"

"Yes Sir.... and some of the things listed in the inventory, well... they could be a game changer, Sir."

"How is it that we never found this, Lieutenant?"

"It was meant to be found Sir, but it's existence was only entrusted to a very few people... I'm guessing those people were away from the base during the war, and likely got themselves killed before they could get back here. The entrance is, well... it's kind of disguised, Sir."

"Damn... so where is this 'hidden' storage? For that matter, what's stored there?"

"Just underneath the bunkers your planes were stored in, Sir.... and as for what's in there, well... I think it's best we see for ourselves."

They reached the secondary hanger, only to find that Frank Bergen, the Quartermaster who had brought out the truckloads of supplies and had stayed behind to help with the inventory, already had two big bulldozers hooked up, pulling heavy chains, attached to massive hooks that seemed to be bolted into the floor itself.

Jamison grinned... these boys were in for a huge disappointment; those hooks were just plane tie downs.

Bergen got the nod from Sharpe and spoke into his throat mic, and the two 'dozers revved up their engines, lifted the power take off points their chains were hooked to, and began to inch forward.

With a shreik of metal-on-metal, an entire section of the floor began to move.

Jamison looked on in awe as a long ramp was revealed, angling down into darkness. Well over two hundred feet wide and a hundred feet long, it was big enough to handle any of the planes on the base... with room to spare. He took a step forward, only to be stopped by Sharpe.

"Hold on, Sir... we have to pump out the gas first."

"Gas?"

Sharpe nodded. "According to the record, everything below this point was flooded with Nitrogen gas, to displace the oxygen and preserve the equipment and supplies down there. Walk too far down that ramp, you'll suffocate in a matter of minutes. Here, watch this."

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a miniature flare, used on the runways as a backup, in case of a power failure. These had a two minute burn time. Lighting it up, he tossed it down the ramp... within three feet, it went out.

Sharpe nodded to himself. "No oxygen, no flame."

Jamison looked on, stunned. Ten steps would have killed him.

"Ok, Lieutenant, so how do we get that gas out of there?"

"We're going to pump it out, Sir, and use it to fill up a few hundred compressed gas tanks.... we can use it as a substitute gas for inert gas welding, you see. We try not to waste anything, if we can find some other use for it. We can also re-use this particular gas for food storage."

"Ok.... how long will that take?"

Sharpe shot a look over at Frank Bergen, who was walking over to join them. "Frank, how long 'til we can go down there? A couple of feet an hour?"

Bergen grabbed at his heart; depicting a mock heart attack.

"Sir! You wound me! We're bringing in five big compressors, and about a hundred empty one hundred gallon tanks.... and we've got a few thousand more over at our base, I already called for 'em, they should be here in a few hours. Some of those are over a thousand gallons each. I'll have this whole bunker safe in five, maybe six hours."

Even as he spoke, several massive air compressors were hauled over to the top of the ramp, and long hoses were attached to the intakes... the other ends of the hoses were tipped with what appeared to be big air filters, heavily weighted, on roller carriages, which were subsequently rolled down the ramps into the darkness on long rope tethers.

Bergen looked off to one side, nodding twice, and switches were thrown on the side wall, lighting up the descending tunnel all the way to the bottom, and they watched as the small carriages rolled all the way down. The big compressors were turned on and were slowly allowed to fill.

A small team moved up, filling large upright tanks not unlike welding tanks, then moved these aside for labeling while fresh ones took their places.

"Why don't you gentlemen go have a cup of coffee; I'll let you know when it's safe to go down. This is going to take some time."

"Sounds good, thanks, Frank."

Meanwhile, Jamison was still looking at the huge opening in the floor, muttering "Right under our feet this whole time, and we never even knew it."

Jim Archer grabbed his briefcase, got out of the Hummer and walked up to the warehouse with the two men from the Jackson Hole Rebels, well aware of the riflemen on the rooftop. This would be his first meeting with the commander of these men; he wanted to get some idea of their strength, level of training, and weaknesses, in equipment and training and so forth.

Walking up to the door guards, he saluted smartly and introduced himself.

"Gentlemen, Colonel Jim Archer, Wyoming State Constitutional Militia."

The older of the two men at the door returned the salute, replying "Colonel... I'm Sergaent Bob Sanderson, Jackson Hole Rebels. Colonel Montgomery told us you were coming. Kendall, kindly escort the gentleman to meet the Colonel."

The young man led him inside, introduced them and saluted smartly before turning and heading back to his post.

Montgomery, it turned out, was a rather stoutly built man in his early fifties; he stood up as they approached, and the two men shook hands and sat, assessing each other as the usual pleasantries were exchanged.\

"I understand it was your people who pulled mine out of the fire and patched 'em up... I'm grateful, Sir."

"As I understand it, yours were a big help to mine, as well, Colonel, scouting that Chinese base. I'd call that an even trade."

"Fair enough... though I wish you boys would have let us know before you destroyed the place... there was plenty of equipment there we could have used. We've been having to get our ammo and whatnot one ambush at a time. Leaves us runnin' short most of the time."

Jim grinned. "I thought that might be a problem for you folks.... don't worry about it- I've got two truckloads of ordnance headed this way right now. I got a bit ahead of them, but they should be along shortly. We've taken enough from the bases we've destroyed that we're runnin' out of places to put it."

"Lord, I should have such problems! I've got volunteers that are walking around with clubs."

Jim smiled. 'Not for long.' he thought.

Jim got a state roadmap from his briefcase and spread it on the desk, pointing out the red circles on several spots. "These are the Chinese bases our latest intel has shown us... do you know of any others?"

Montgomery peered closely at the ancient roadmap, taking a few moments to figure out the location of his own small base, then put his finger on it.

"We're.... about... here, right?"

Archer looked closely at the point his finger was on, then took a pencil from his pocket, drawing a small circle on the map and saying, "Closer to here, actually, but close enough."

They were interrupted by the crackle of Montgomery's ancient field radio.

"Sir, this is Sergeant Maxwell, at the front gate. We've got two big trucks, just pulled up. The lead driver say's he's with Colonel Archer. Should we let 'em in?"

Montgomery walked over to his window and let out a small gasp. When Archer had said 'truckloads', he'd been expecting pick-up trucks.

Sitting at the front gate were a pair of thirty foot cargo vans.]

He clicked the mic and replied "By all means, Sergeant, let them in. Kindly direct them to the loading dock. I'll see to it that there are crews to unload them."

Picking up a telephone from his desk, he punched in a series of numbers and spoke into it in clipped tones.

"Corporal Macgruder, assemble two teams of men to unload the trucks that are headed to the loading dock, on the double. Haul everything to the armory. Yes, we're getting resupplied. Thank you."

Jim looked on, amused."Actually, you might want to call him back... half the space in the second truck is full of food packs.... fruits and vegetables, mostly, stuff we've dehydrated and vacuum sealed in foil packaging."

Montgomery just stared at him for a moment, unsure what to say.

"What prompts you to be so generous, Sir?"

"We're all Americans, Colonel.... we look out for our own. Besides, we just harvested a bumper crop. We're running out of room to store the stuff. Quite aside from all of that, I was kinda hoping we could ship some of our current crop of refugees down here, set 'em up in that small suburb a few blocks east of you; they're well versed in farming, and we've been teaching them to handle weapons. Most of them know how to read, too, which is a big plus; a few know how to drive pretty well, and I've already got light pick-ups they can drive. That suburban area I looked over has quite a few vacant lots, where they can set up gardens... by the end of this spring, they can have enough vegetables growing to keep themselves fed, and keep you folks partially supplied... You folks, in turn, can offer them some protection from the Chinese and continue their training and use them as auxiliary troops, should the need arise."

Montgomery rubbed at his chin for a moment, thinking it over. Considering how limited his resources were, having a bunch of people dedicated to growing food would be a good idea, and having more people training to join his Rebels wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, either. This man knew how to cover all the bases, that was for sure.

Montgomery excused himself, citing administrative work to be done, and had the visiting Colonel shown to a small house in the circle of his small base where he could rest and refresh himself.

Jerry Bannon opened another crate, finding another twelve M16s. He grinned... this brought the total to well over two hundred, and there were twenty crates just like this one, still waiting to be opened.... not to mention dozens of ammo cans, each full of spare magazines, and at least a hundred and fifty cases of .223 ammunition.

There were other boxes and crates, too, labeled 'Rocket launchers', 'Grenade launchers', '40MM Grenades', 'Hand grenades', and the Good Lord knew what else. He'd already found four crates full of RPG loads, which was a lucky break, considering he'd been down to less than thirty for the entire base. This Militia Commander was a Godsend.... he was half tempted to walk over to the Colonel's office and kiss the man's ass in thanks.

In the kitchen area of the complex, Glen Paulson looked through the boxes of dried and canned foods in awe.... there was enough food here to feed the entire base for the next half year! Not to mention the things he hadn't had in his inventory in ages.... sacks of flour, cornmeal, sugar--real sugar! Oh, the guys in the mess hall were in for a surprise tonight! He peeled the lid back on an old coffee can, not sure what to expect... Coffee! Actual ground coffee! And there were twenty three more cans, just like this one, in this box alone! They'd used up the last of the coffee they'd taken from a Chinese base over a year ago. With a 'Whoop!' he called out to his two assistant cooks'

"Nader! Jackson!"

Both men came rushing over, with a pair of "Sirs."

"I want you two to go grab hunting rifles, go out and kill me a couple of deer... some rabbits... hell, get a buffalo, if you can find one! We need meat to go along with all of these vegetables! While you're at it, have someone go out to the barns, tell 'em we need as much fresh milk as they can squeeze out, at least thirty gallons, and about ten pounds of butter. Get moving!"

With a chorus of "Yes Sirs!" the two men were off.

Paulson grinned as a thought crossed his mind... the rest of the men might have to wait for the lunch breaks, but he had a big thirty cup coffee maker sitting on the shelf.

'No time like the present!' he thought to himself, as he pulled it off the shelf and plugged it in.

Corporal Jerry Bannon reported to his CO, holding a notebook with four pages of the new inventory brought to them by the Militia Commander.

"To sum it all up, Sir... we could load the men up with enough gear that they wouldn't be able to move.... and we'd still have a boatload of equipment sitting in the armory." he concluded with a grin.

Montgomery smiled. "Very good, Corporal... but let's not let this go to our heads. Standing orders stay in place; we still take every bit of equipment left on our enemy's corpses."

"Yes Sir! Oh, and Sir? Please, thank that Militia Commander for me."

"I already have, son... in fact, I was half tempted to offer him my wife for the night!"

"I know what you mean, Sir.... when I saw some of the stuff he had brought to us, I seriously considered telling my daughter to give him a blowjob!"

Montgomery chuckled at this; he'd seen Bannon's daughter... she had a body most men would kill for.

George and Sherice sat down to dinner with Father John, at the restaurant that they all knew as Mama Maria's.... even though it was now run by a fifth generation descendant of the lady who had originally opened it. Their love had bloomed over the past few weeks, and George had popped the question this very night. He knew that Sherice was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.... and he knew his Martha would approve.

Quite aside from that, she'd just come back from the doctor, from her follow-up appointment-- somehow, impossibly, she was pregnant. It was barely detectable, in fact, Doc Willis had run the test three times to be sure, but it was confirmed.... they were going to have a baby.

They both wanted to get married as quickly as possible. That was the reason they'd invited Father John to split a pizza with them; they wanted to know how soon he could perform the ceremony.

"Ok, John... can we do this next week?"

The priest nodded. "No problem... but are you sure? I mean, truly, unequivocally certain?"

George nodded. "Absolutely... I know that my Martha, God rest her soul, would approve... she'd want me to be happy, and this lady makes me happier than I've been in years."

John looked over at Sherice, raising an eyebrow.

"And you, young lady? Are you sure about this?"

She threw her arms around George's shoulders, nodding.

"Sir, nobody's ever made me this happy, ever. I can't think of any other man I'd want to be with."

"Ok... well, do you have witnesses? A best man? A maid of honor?"

George nodded. "My old crew mate, from the composting crew.... Harry Porter. Sherice, here, wants to ask the woman who freed her... but we're not sure who that was."

John nodded. "Don't worry about it, I think I know who you're talking about. Sarah Jennison. She leads that all-female squad that goes into those kind of barracks, where those Chinese thugs keep their female prisoners. I'll give her a call tomorrow, see if she's willing. I'm certain she will be."

George called his old buddy the next day, who relented after a minimum of wheedling on George's part. He and George had been friends for years, ever since George had noticed his friend's name, and the similarity to a series of children's books and movies, about a boy wizard. They had watched the movies together when they were kids, and Harry had wound up enduring a fair bit of good-natured needling over it.

Of course, whenever anyone asked him where his 'magic wand' was, he reached for his zipper and asked "Do you really want to see it?"

Sarah Jennison sat back and smiled at Sherice. They were having a drink in the same bar where Sherice had found George, nearly a month ago.

"Maid of honor? Hun, isn't that usually the place of the mother of the bride?"

"I don't know... this is my first wedding... besides, my mother isn't here. She was killed by one of those Chinese bastards when I was taken."

Sarah looked away for a second. "I'm sorry... I... I didn't know."

"Honey, there's no way you could have known. Anyway... you're the woman who set me free. I can't think of anyone better. You got me into a new life. You made it possible to get out of there, and set up to find a wonderful man. In a way, you made all of this possible. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have next to me when I marry him."

Sarah nodded... this wasn't the first time she'd been asked to do this. Three other women she'd had a hand in freeing had asked her to stand up with them to date; she couldn't say no to any of them.

Bob Sharpe and Rick Jamison walked slowly down into the now-cleared tunnel, flashlights in hand, reassured by the small, burning road flare that burned at the very floor of the ramp, which was, in fact, much deeper than it looked. At the very bottom, it opened up to a massive chamber; even with half of the lights burned out, they could still see well enough to tell that this was a game-changer.

They couldn't even see the far end; just a line of heavy support pillars vanishing off into the distance.... the entire base must have been built over it.

Bob stepped back out to the foot of the long ramp and clicked the mic on his field radio. "Pete, can you get down here, please? Just drop what you're doing, this is more important."

His radio crackled an instant later. "Acknowledged."

Five minutes later, he stood beside them, jaw nearly on the floor.

"Geez, Sir, why'd you have me waste time on those planes up topside?"

"We didn't know about these." Jamison replied.