The entrance corridor was perhaps twenty meters in height. Its sides slanted down pyramidically, its walls made of stone, not steel. This was no Hussein-built military bunker to house the Red Guard, it was more like an ancient mausoleum.
Every sound echoed within the great stone space. Along its length, the evening wind off the desert reverberated, creating an eerie howl. The men could hear their own breathing in their ears.
When McDivett and Estevez caught up with Murphy and Simms, the two were standing before a tall wooden entry gate, solid, perhaps two feet thick. Murphy pointed with his g*n to the sand at their feet. The drag-tracks ended abruptly, presumably continuing on into whatever was on the other side of the gate. The men waited for their next order.
But the unusual circumsta
