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Eight-Man jerked his head toward Getz and Morgenstern.
"These fucks don't give a damn. They'd be quite happy if we all stayed down there and rotted."
"They want their bunker back."
"But they're not in any particular hurry. If they were, they'd lend us the help."
Vickers cradled his head in his hands. The situation was rapidly approaching the impossible. He'd expected intractable self-interest from Morgenstern but not to this extent. He didn't want to go back to the bunker empty-handed. In fact, he wasn't sure if Eight-Man would let him go back to the bunker empty-handed.
"I need a drink."
"Somebody get Vickers a drink."
Three minutes later a scotch and ice arrived. They seemed to have his number. While he sipped it and cast around for a solution he was acutely aware that everyone was watching him. Suddenly he had an idea. Numbers weren't the only answer.
"If I can't have men, will you give me equipment?"
Morgenstern blinked.
"I don't see why not, within reason." She looked toward Getz, clearly tossing him the ball. Getz hadn't been expecting this.
"I don't know. I can't make any guarantees."
Eight-Man's lip curled.
"What can you do?"
Vickers ignored the exchange. He was warming to his idea.
"If we could blast our way into Lloyd-Ransom's redoubt, we could probably flush him out with only minimal loss."
Getz was guarded.
"What did you have in mind?"
"I was thinking of a Marriot rocket."
Even Eight-Man looked at him as though he were insane.
"A Marriot rocket?"
"Sure, why not? Shoot a Marriot down one of these tu
"But a Marriot? That ain't no ordinary anti-tank missile. Those suckers can cream a Calvin-class landcruiser. If you let one off in the bottoms you're liable to bring the roof down."
Vickers shook his head.
"Hell no. That bunker's supposed to stand up to a nuclear war."
"The only other alternative is a full frontal assault that could well cost us hundreds of lives. I swear it would be worth the gamble."
Getz interrupted.
"I'm afraid the discussion is academic, gentlemen. I have no intention of giving you people a Marriot rocket."
"What's with you?"
"This business is edging toward madness and I for one don't want to be responsible."
Victoria Morgenstern abruptly demonstrated who was really in command.
"Give him the damn rocket; I'll be responsible."
Getz actually went white and only just avoided sputtering with indignation.
"You can't order me to do something like this."
"Of course I can and you know it. Who do you think's picking up the tab for this affair? You didn't imagine it was the Federal Government, did you? As long as you're here, you're out on loan to Contec."
"It's not just a matter of money, it's a matter of authority."
"Everything's a matter of money, Colonel. Now, are you going to give the appropriate orders or am I going to call the Pentagon?"
The colonel's voice went robot as he damped down his fury.
"I'll see to it."
He stood up but Vickers held out a restraining hand.
"Hold it, I haven't quite finished."
Morgenstern looked sideways at Vickers.
"Don't push your luck."
"Why should it stop now?"
"What more do you want?"
"I want two Marriots, one as a back-up, and I want an army crew to fire them. I also think it'd be a very good idea if you sent in an extra twenty or thirty of your people, not as combat troops, just observers, mainly to get everyone used to people from the outside. It's going to be a shock."
"Is that all?"
"You've got to admit that it's only reasonable."
Victoria Morgenstern also stood up. "Eminently reasonable." She looked coldly at Getz. "You have any problems with that?"
Getz all but clicked his heels. His voice was still robot. "No problem at all."
Deep in back of his eyes, though, was the look of a man who, if he ever got the chance to walk all over Victoria Morgenstern, would gleefully stomp with both feet. Victoria appeared not to notice. She actually smiled.
"If everyone's satisfied maybe we can get this thing finished."
A squad from the surface manhandled the number-one Marriot from the elevator. It was twelve feet long and eighteen inches thick, painted black with an orange stripe around the warhead. For ease of handling it was mounted on the most abbreviated version of its launch cradle. The presence of the outsiders had a bizarre effect on the bunker inmates with whom they came into contact. They were afflicted by a diffidence that Vickers would never have expected. They treated them as if they were from another planet. He had actually watched hardened bunker military back away from the first outsiders to enter the bottoms. He realized that the whole bunker was about to go into its second traumatic shock. Losing the world had been bad enough, finding it again might prove to be altogether too much. Vickers began to realize what Eight-Man had meant by rehab and psych. He also realized that it would be a pure arrogance to think that he'd be immune to it. The best he could do was to shelve the worst symptoms until after the bunker was secure. All he wanted to do was to fire the missile and get it over with.
The second rocket was coming out of another elevator. For their part, the outsiders did their best to accentuate the difference between themselves and the people in the bunker. They kept their faces covered with visors and breathing masks as though they considered the air in the bunker tainted and unfit to breathe. Inside the tu
The pair of Marriots was set up just below the edge of the incline. The fire control box had been placed behind a wall of sandbags. With the exception of a handful of troops who remained to keep up a token fire, everyone was evacuated to the upper levels. Those who stayed were issued with heavy duty ear protectors. When a Marriot went off in an enclosed space, the noise would be quite literally deafening. Once the preparations were complete, Vickers and Parkwood crawled up the incline and lay beside the missiles for a final look around. Parkwood still held onto his doubts.
"Are you sure this isn't going to bring down the roof?"
Vickers patted the Marriot. He was starting to enjoy the recklessness of overkill.
"I'm not sure but I'm pretty certain that the odds are in our favor. The way I see it, the missile should punch a hole in the outer wall but not detonate until it's right in the middle of Lloyd-Ransom's apartment complex. There should be enough substructure in there to soak up the blast before it does any real harm."
"I wish I had your optimism."
"Can you think of a better way?"
"No."
"So let's get to it."
On a sudden impulse, Vickers raised himself up and sprayed the tu