She shook her head.
Brodie waved Miller over and told him about the bricked-up exit.
Miller said, “I didn’t even know that was there. They could come out anywhere.”
“The mess!” called out a nearby Ranger. They all turned to him. “Saw a bricked-up doorway in the back of the kitchen. Cook said he heard a rumor it went down to the tin men. I thought it was a joke.”
Brodie and Miller exchanged glances. Miller said, “The mess is next to the armory.”
That was what this was. A diversion. They’d just been outsmarted and outflanked by a platoon of D-17s about to gain control of Camp Hayden’s weapons cache.
Miller stood there, stunned. “How do they know?” He looked at Brodie. “How could they know that?
“They know a lot, Sergeant. We need to move.”
Miller refocused and began calling out orders to his men, keeping three of the guys outside the Vault while having the rest pile into the APC. Brodie recognized Staff Sergeant O’Connor as one of the men staying behind. O’Connor started shouting into his walkie for backup at the Vault and the armory, while another Ranger was cycling channels to warn everyone on walkie about the threat. Scott Brodie had used a military-grade walkie in a sandstorm before—despite the degraded signal, it was still usable. Sometimes. Hopefully the word was getting out.
Taylor and Dixon rushed into the APC with Miller. Brodie ran over to Staff Sergeant O’Connor and said, “In the backyard of Roger Ames’s old house, number six, is a pit full of weapons covered by a piece of plywood, about six feet from the perimeter fence. Everyone over at those houses needs to arm themselves.”
O’Connor nodded and got back on walkie as Brodie hustled over and hopped in the APC. The driver peeled away.
Brodie looked ahead through the windshield. The driver had his high beams on, which mostly illuminated sheets of billowing sand as they barreled through the storm. Well, the lights might warn anyone on foot they were about to get run over. It would also alert the tin men.
The APC’s GPS screen said they were headed southeast, but it wasn’t loaded with a map of this secretive base so the guy was careening through the storm the best he could. Maybe they’d know they reached the mess hall or the armory when they crashed into it.
Everything was happening so fast that Brodie barely had time to process. Who was on the other end of that text communication? Spencer? Lehner? Someone else? Klasky had been more technically proficient than Brodie had expected, and someone else might also fit that profile. The real question was, who thought Caroline Dixon was a self-righteous bitch? Might be a long list.
The driver slammed on the brakes. Out the windshield was a concrete wall two feet from them.
Brodie said, “Good reflexes, soldier.”
Miller asked the driver, “This the mess hall?”
“No, Sarge,” the man replied. “I think it’s a supply building south of the armory and a little west of the mess.”
“Good enough,” said Miller. “Let’s move.”
They all jumped out of the APC. The storm clouds were directly above them now, and a bolt of lightning struck the hills to the north, followed by an immediate thunderclap.
No rain. It was a dry thunderstorm. That happened sometimes in the desert. And when it did, things tended to burn.
“Get cover!” said Miller.
They all ran past the APC to the side of the storage building it had almost crashed into. They rounded the building and were on a narrow east-west road that offered the best possible break from the windand sand. The air was thick with dust, but visibility was marginally improved.
They saw shapes running down the road toward them from the west and aimed their weapons.
“Hold your fire!” A Ranger emerged through the haze. He was wearing a large headset over his face with two protruding lenses. Five more soldiers came up behind him.
Miller called out, “Reyes?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“You look like an idiot.”
“Good news, Sarge. You can too.”
Another Ranger ran up carrying a second headset, and Reyes said, “Thermal night vision. Helps us see how they can.”
