The Lotus Eaters

Lago Sombrero Ammunition Supply Point (ASP), Balboa, Terra Nova

The facility was soundless but for the roar of a powerful engine and the cries of the antaniae. Under a moonless, overcast sky, beneath a long metal shed that blocked out all overhead view, and surrounded by earthen walls that covered the bunker entrance from ground observation, one uniformed man guided another in driving a blacked out, unnumbered Ocelot infantry fighting vehicle cum armored gun system down a ramp and through wide spread bunker doors. Only when the doors were sealed tight did the first man turn on a light to guide the vehicle to park in its proper place. Under the light, the bunker walls seemed moist, with mold growing in the corners.

"Jesus Christ, Centurion! What is all this?" asked the driver after he'd dismounted.

"Officially, its bunker number 17, Lago Sombrero Ammunition Supply Point," answered the centurion.

"No, no. I mean 'what is all this.' " The driver spread his arms wide to take in the dozen armored vehicles, two of them tanks, that the bunker held.

"Oh . . . that." The centurion gave a friendly smile. "This is a hide for equipment, one of many here at Lago Sombrero and some other places. What does is look like?"

"Like a hide, I suppose. Let me rephrase. Why are we hiding equipment here."

The centurion his head. "Because one never knows when a tercio's worth of armor no one knows about may come in handy."

"Who knows about this?"

"Me, the First Legion Commander, the Penonome Military Academy Commander, Duque Carrera and a few of the staff, and . . . now . . . you."

"I don't think I want to know anything about any of this, Centurion."

"Too late, son. I needed help moving all this shit. Fernandez's group came up with your name as the most closed mouthed man in the First Legion. So here you are. We'll be filling up the rest of the non-ammunition bunkers a vehicle or two at a time for the next couple of years. We also have to come in from time to time to check the vehicles out. Then, too, we have a list of supplies that need storing here. I suppose it goes almost without saying that this has to be our little secret, right?"

"How do I get into these things?"

"Just lucky, son," the centurion answered, "just lucky.

"Look, don't sweat it," the centurion added. "It's all really simple. Every month or so, just before a time when the weather and light conditions are going to be just right, and we know there are no recon satellites or UEPF ships overhead, a new track or two, sometimes maybe three or four, will be delivered to the First Legion. They'll duly issue it and pull in an older track to go in to the depot for rebuild. Except that about fifty percent of the time the 'old' track will have just come out of rebuild, in which case it comes here. And then we prep it for long term storage. Speaking of which, go over to that cabinet and pull out the plastic wrap inside. Then get us a tank of nitrogen from the cabinet next to the first one."

"Nitrogen? Why nitrogen?" The soldier sounded nervous.

"Didn't you ever have any chemistry in school? I said nitrogen, not nitroglycerin. It's not dangerous. We just use it to replace the air around the tracks—after we seal them in the plastic—so they don't rust away."

"Where did you learn to do this, Centurion?"

"Out of a book, boy. Well . . . that and a course run out on the Isla Real."