Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [150]
Captain Hora called, "Out of the trucks. Everybody out!"
Gillings's head cleared. Right, it was all falling into place, and that was the first problem: Fucking officers! Hora wasn't bad, as officers went, and the men liked him. Something had to be done about that, and quick. Otherwise the RA son of a bitch would have them out working like slaves, trying to save the civilians' arses until fire and tidal waves took them all.
"We're trapped good, Captain," Sergeant Hooker shouted. "Landslides in front and behind. Don't think we can get the trucks out of here."
"Saddle 'em up, Sarge," Captain Hora called. "We'll hike it. Plenty of people up in these hills. We'll go see what we can do."
"Sir," Hooker said. His voice lacked enthusiasm. "What do we eat, Captain?"
"Time enough to worry about that when we get hungry," Hora said. "Go have a look up ahead. Maybe we can get through the mud."
"Sir."
"Rest of you, out of the trucks," Hora called.
Gillings grinned. Damned lucky we didn't get back to camp before Hammerfall. He smiled again and fingered the hard objects in his pocket. The troops hadn't been given ammunition, but it wasn't hard to come by, and he had a dozen rounds. There was plenty more ammo in the trucks.
Would the men follow him? Maybe not. Not at first. Maybe it would be better to let Hooker live. The troops would follow Hooker, and Hooker wasn't smart, but he was smart enough to know there wasn't any point in arresting Gillings after the Captain bought it. No more courts-martial. No more courts. Sure, Hooker was that smart.
Gillings slipped three rounds into his rifle.
It took most of the day. Tim had never worked so hard in his life. He'd paid for his lunch. They dug out the steep parts, then used the Blazer to break trail, used it again to pull the other cars up the muddy road they'd built. The rain continued, although it was now not much more than a heavy drizzle.
Every muscle in Tim's body ached before they were over the ridge. The temporary road didn't have to climb more than a hundred feet, but the road they built switchbacked five times that in length.
When they reached the pavement on the other side of the ruined tunnel, they went in caravan. Four miles beyond the ruined tunnel they came to a ranger station. There were hundreds of people there. A church group, with ninety children and a few college students as counselors and one elderly preacher. Campers and fishing parties had come out of the fire trails and backwoods areas. A bicycling party of French coeds, only one with any English at all, and nobody else spoke French. One large camper which held a writer, his wife and an unbelievable number of children.
The rangers had set up a temporary camp. When Tim's party drove up, they were directed off to one side. Tim wanted to go on, but a green Forest Service truck blocked the way. Eileen stopped and they got out. A uniformed ranger had been talking with Fred Haskins. Now he came over to Tim and Eileen.
The ranger was in his middle twenties, a lanky well-muscled man. His uniform gave him a look of authority, but he didn't seem very confident. "They say you came up the Big Tujunga Road," he said. He stared at Tim. "You're Hamner."
"I'm not advertising it," Tim said.
"No. I don't suppose you are," the ranger said. "Can we get down the Big Tujunga Road?"
"Don't you know?" Tim asked.
"Look, mister, there are four of us here, and no more. We're trying to take care of these kids, we've got parties out getting people in from dangerous campsites, there are mudslides all over, and most of the bridges are out. We didn't try to get beyond the tunnel when we saw it was down."
"And there's nothing on the radio?" Eileen asked.
"Nothing from the Big Tujunga station," the ranger admitted. "Don't know why. We did get something on CB from some people over at Trail Canyon. They say the big bridge is out and some people are trapped in the canyon."
"The bridge is out," Eileen said. "We got across on the old road.