Bunker Ten, page 1
part #1 of Dark Scotland Series
BUNKER 10
J A Henderson
Black Hart Entertainment
Edinburgh. Scotland
First published 2007 by Oxford University Press
Reprinted 2019 by Black Hart
Black Hart Entertainment.
32 Glencoul Ave, Dalgetty Bay, Fife KY11 9XL.
cityofthedeadtours.com
The rights of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been ascertained in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the authors’ imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Cover by Craig Thomson (Thomson art n sketches) and Panagiotis Lampridis (BookDesignStars)
Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com
Bunker 10.
ISBN-978-0-9928561-7-5 (print)
ISBN-978-0-9928561-8-2 (eBook)
What if you went back in time and killed your grandmother before she gave birth to your mother? The problem is obvious: if you kill your grandmother then your mother would never have been born, and you would never have been born; if you were never born, you could never go back in time, and so you could not kill your grandmother. This conundrum, known as the Grandmother Paradox, is often thought sufficiently potent to rule out time travel to the past
Physicist J Richard Gott
For Willie Schmidt
19.59
The Christmas tree was taller than a military cadet and just as green. It had been decorated with old fashioned wooden ornaments, wrapped in thick tinsel strands and dotted with real candles in silver holders.
Seven teenagers sat on the dormitory floor in a ring, ignoring the thin line of smoke seeping under the door. Simon and May-Rose pulled crackers. Barn, Cruikshank and Diddy Dave swapped presents. Leslie and Jimmy Hicks had their arms round each other, paper hats upon their heads, pretending to be the King and Queen of Christmas.
“We’ve run out of Coca-Cola.” Barn thumped his chest. “I need more if I’m going to do the biggest burp in world history. And I totally am,” he added proudly.
“You’re gonnae throw up, ya big balloon.” Diddy Dave draped a clump of discarded ribbons over his friend’s head.
“I’ll get the drinks.” Simon pulled himself up, went to the door and opened it.
The corridor outside was filled with oily smoke, thickest where it rolled across the ceiling in black folds, a churning, suffocating beast. Two dead soldiers in British army uniform lay on the ground, staring sightlessly at each other. Simon put a handkerchief over his mouth, stepped over the bloody corpses and went to the canteen. He fetched a bottle of Coke from one of the tall grey fridges and returned to the party. Shutting the door behind him, he handed the bottle to Barn who took a huge swig and grinned at the others.
“Ready?”
Simon looked at his watch and shook his head.
“It’s eight o clock,” he said sadly.
Jimmy Hicks pulled Leslie close and held her tight. Barn began praying. May-Rose started to cry. Simon screwed his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears.
A high pitched sound, louder than the whistle of a steam train, rose from below and vast white light, bright as the promise of life, enveloped the room and ripped it apart.
At twenty hundred hours on Friday, 24th of December 2019, Pinewood Military Installation exploded.
The blast ripped apart acres of forest and devastated the remote highland valley where the base was located. There were no survivors and no official cause was given for the incident.
Inside Pinewood were 185 male and female military personnel – a mixture of scientists and soldiers.
There were also seven teenagers.
This is the story of their last day.
-Part 1-
Pinewood Military Research Installation
December 24th 2019
18.00 hours – 13.00 hours
There was a little girl, who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead
When she was good, she was very good indeed
But when she was bad she was horrid
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
For Willie Schmidt
08.00
Jimmy Hicks wondered if the army would shoot a fifteen year old. After all, what he was intending amounted to treason.
Hicks sauntered through Pinewood’s complex of corridors, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, a satchel over one shoulder and a book in his hand. He was a tall slim boy, so he slouched to compensate and it made his wavy brown hair flop over his forehead. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was in a military facility, he would have looked like any ordinary pupil on his way to class. Even the colour of the passageways looked right, the same dull industrial beige that adorned so many school hallways.
Jimmy read as he walked. Or he pretended to read, but his eyes kept darting upwards, scanning the ceiling.
There were small security cameras set at regular intervals into the roof and they were just the ones he could see. That was good, though. It meant there were too many screens for the staff in the Operations Room to monitor properly. As long as the boy didn’t do anything obvious he wouldn’t attract attention.
He passed the living quarters and carried on down the corridor. An armed guard at the end of the passage gave a friendly nod and pointed to the book.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Jimmy. No lessons today.”
The guard had no doubt Jimmy Hicks knew this. After all, the boy was a genius.
“Just walking and pondering, Bill. That way I get physical exercise along with my mental simulation.”
“Oh. Right.” The guard glanced at the book cover. Cosmology in Gauge Field Theory and String Theory
“What on earth are you reading?”
“The physics lab was out of comic books,” Jimmy shrugged
“When I was your age I had my head stuck in a Beano,” Bill laughed. His smile faded as he realised how dumb that must sound. The teenager had a security clearance higher than his own.
“Yeah.” Jimmy stuffed the tome into his bag. “Maybe I should get out more.”
“One weekend furlong a month, son, same as me.”
“But I get escorted to Glen Isla Village at the weekend, where there’s nothing but a post office and a couple of farmhouses. You do what you want with your time off.”
“It’s Christmas Eve and I’m here aren’t I?” the guard retorted. “I’m in the army, Jimmy. I don’t have the luxury of doing what I want.”
Jimmy Hicks couldn’t argue with that. He pushed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall.
“How come all Christmas leave is cancelled Bill?” he asked nonchalantly. “Nobody tells me anything in this place.”
The guard had a lumpy red face and a bulbous nose. Put a white beard on him, Jimmy thought, and he’d make a passable Saint Nicholas.
“Nice try, son.” Bill looked around at the empty passageway, then relaxed and let his shoulders sag. “All I know is that something big has come up and now we’re all stuck here. At this time of year we’re operating a skeleton crew as it is. There’s nobody spare to escort you and the other kids home.”
His jowls drooped a little more and he smacked his lips in disapproval.
“I’m sorry you can’t spend the holidays with your folks.”
“If you ever met my parents you wouldn’t say that.” Jimmy Hicks fished a bag of half melted toffees out of his pocket. “Like a sweetie?”
Crusted brown globs stuck to paper dark with wet stains. Bill wrinkled his nose and shook his head.
“I must have been standing too near a radiator.” Jimmy dropped the gooey mess into a stainless steel bin next to the door. It hit the bottom with a loud thunk, for the bin had been emptied half an hour earlier.
But Jimmy Hicks already knew that.
Inside the sweet bag, nestled among the sticky lumps of toffee, was a small transmitter, no larger than a finger.
He had now planted six transmitters between this point and the workstation in his dormitory, all hidden in waste receptacles. He had designed the devices himself to work as a relay booster system. Now, if he sent a wireless transmission from his computer in the dorm, each hidden device would amplify that signal before sending it on to the next. By the time his transmission reached the last tiny booster it would have enough power enough to pull a 747 out of the sky.
The bins would be emptied again at 07.30 tomorrow morning. The rubbish would be compacted and all evidence of the transmitters obliterated. By that time, however, they would have done their job and he would be gone.
Jimmy shouldered his bag and raised a hand.
“Merry Christmas Bill.”
“See you tomorrow pal.” The guard pulled his droopy face into what he hoped was a festive grin. Jimmy waved briefly and strolled back the way he had come. A small smile twitched on the corners of his lips and he turned his face away from the cameras, so the fringe of hair hid the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
Since it contained living areas, level one of Pinewood military base was a low security area, until you reached the far end. There the passageway became a high security zone,
Never mind. The last transmitter was close enough.
So far Jimmy Hicks knew he hadn’t done anything seriously wrong. If the devices were discovered and traced to him, he’d say it was part of a private experiment he was conducting. Top brass wouldn’t believe him, of course. He’d be labelled a security risk and expelled from his studies at Pinewood.
But at least he wouldn’t be imprisoned or shot.
Once he activated the boosters, however, Jimmy would be crossing a line. He’d be interfering with the security of a top secret government facility. He’d be sabotaging a supposedly fool-proof defence system. Most of all, he’d be pitting his wits against some of the finest and most ruthless military minds in the world.
His heart was thumping like a brick-bat but he gave a grim smile.
The challenge was partly why he was doing this. But, if he were caught, the powers that be would never believe his other reason.
He wanted to impress a girl.
09.20
In the cab of the drab, olive truck, Lieutenant Dunwoody opened his sealed orders. The vehicle headed a small convoy travelling north and the lieutenant held the envelope between his knees while he removed the contents.
Inside were a few photographs and a thin file marked TOP SECRET. Dunwoody studied them carefully, memorising the contents.
There was an aerial view of Pinewood, the military installation he was heading for, surrounded by thick forest and ringed by a double perimeter fence. It didn’t look much, just a handful of box-shaped, fortified buildings. According to an attached report, however, this was because most of the base was underground.
Dunwoody glanced at the driver but the soldier was concentrating on traversing a winding highland road not much wider than his truck. The Lieutenant bent over the report again.
Officially Pinewood specialised in virtual technology and, to some extent, this was true. The facility boasted the most advanced reality simulators in the world, designed to put soldiers into combat scenarios and test their reactions. Plugged into one of Pinewood’s virtual settings, an officer might find himself facing hostile tribesman in the Somalian desert. He could be trapped in a war ravaged street by an armed mob. He might be ordered to evacuate civilians from a burning village under heavy mortar fire.
According to this classified report, however, Pinewood researched much more than virtual technology.
Under the base were six levels of laboratories and associated living quarters. Teams at the installation worked on projects as diverse as skin grafting three dimensional mapping and alternative fuel cells. Above ground, all that could be seen were the Administration Offices, the Vehicle Maintenance Depot and a building known as the West Wing.
The West Wing consisted of staff training areas and two specially adapted dormitories. For some reason these dormitories contained children but the report didn’t say why.
Dunwoody mentally filed this unusual information, though it didn’t concern him much. The kind of squad he commanded wasn’t sent out to deal with trivia.
He and his men had been ordered to Pinewood because of a problem in the lower levels, an area so highly classified that the report didn’t say what they would find down there.
And that concerned Lieutenant Dunwoody a great deal.
10.00
Jimmy Hicks was thinking.
He sat on a straight backed chair, in the centre of the dormitory, staring at the wall. Every now and then he twisted a strand of hair round his finger and pulled at it, as if he were coaxing an idea from his head. The other kids ignored him, used to his spells of intense concentration. If it turned out he was having an extraordinary notion then, sooner or later, he’d go next door for peace and quiet. If the idea wasn’t going anywhere then neither would he, and he’d eventually join the conversation.
This particular exchange was about the possibility of time travel. The children in the dormitory were all geniuses. They didn’t talk about mundane topics.
“If ah managed tae build a time machine, ah’d use it tae bet on the horses, know?” Diddy Dave laced thin white hands behind his head, pushing a Burberry baseball cap over his beady eyes. He was a pale, sharp faced fourteen year old, dressed permanently in a shell suit and white trainers. “I’d take the winnings, play the stock market. Afore ye know it, ahm minted. Next stop, a wee island in the Pacific for me a semi-detached in the suburbs for mah maw.”
“Time travel doesn’t work that way.” Simon sniffed, looking up from the formula he was scribbling in a plastic notepad. “Even something as trivial as attending a horse race could have serious repercussions in the future.”
“Dinnae get carried away, man. Ah’d go tae the bookies in Spam Valley, where naebody would rat me oot, know?”
“I’ve no idea what you just said.”
At thirteen Simon was the youngest of the boys, quiet and a little shy, with unruly hair and round glasses.
“Listen, Harry Potter,” Dave pointed a menacing finger at his bespectacled companion. “Ye dinnae grow up on a Glasgow housing estate soundin like you’ve got a mooth full o marbles, know?” He glanced around scornfully at his companions. “You wi yer nose aye stuck in a book and Hicksy, wi his girly hair? Ye wouldne last five minutes where I grew up without getting a smack in the puss.”
He glanced across at Barn who was lying on the floor reading a comic.
“Well maybe the big man could.”
Dave had a point - Barn’s size was truly impressive for a fourteen year old.
“I saw a TV show about Glasgow once.” Barn propped himself up on a fleshy arm and looked lazily at his companions. “I think it was Crimewatch.”
Simon gave a snigger. Barn was a mathematical genius and could calculate incredibly complex equations in his head. But in every other way he was slower than normal children. Often it was hard to tell when he was joking.
“Aye, well maybe.” Dave looked proudly down at his gleaming clothes. “Ye dinnae get togs like these without a bit of thievin, eh? Ahm wearin mair labels than a jam factory, man.”
“You wrap your presents in Burberry paper, don’t you?” Simon grunted.
“Two layers, man.”
“We won’t be getting any presents this year, will we?” Barn said unhappily. “This doesn’t seem much like Christmas.”
“What you bumpin yer gums aboot, big man?” Dave pointed over his shoulder. “We’ve got a tree, eh?”
In the corner of the room was an unsteady looking pine sapling. One of the base soldiers had pulled it out of the forest and dragged it upstairs to the dormitory when he found out the children weren’t going home for the holidays. Now it sat in a cleaning bucket which was too small for its weight, and the children kept the glorified twig upright by leaning it against a filing cabinet. To try and cheer up the bedraggled plant, Simon had hung test tubes filled with coloured liquid from its branches. Unfortunately he only had three to spare.
“We’ve got to decorate this thing properly and get a bigger pot,” he grunted.
“You think I should put up a stocking?” Barn asked solemnly. “I always got a sock filled with oranges on Christmas day.”
“You sure it’s wasnae a sack filled with chocolate oranges?” Dave smirked.
“Sorry Barn,” Simon said regretfully. “If Santa tried to come down a chimney here, they’d shoot him for trespassing on government property.”
The large boy went back to reading the comic, but his bottom lip was trembling.
“Now look what ye’ve done, ya bam. Barn’s in a total huff.”
Simon hunkered down beside him.
“Listen,” he said confidentially. “I’ve been working on a special Christmas present and you’ll see it tomorrow. You’re going to love it. Everyone is.”
“I dinnae want some toilet roll cover that you crocheted yersel.” Diddy Dave launched his cap at Simon who swatted it away. It whizzed past Jimmy Hicks and the boy looked round, startled.
