The Lotus Eaters by Tom Kratman Page A

cruel . . . maybe even double jeopardy. I think they ought be retired for 'service to the Legion.' "
    "Your pigs," Sitnikov shrugged. He walked to the next bunker. "Now it gets interesting. Look for yourself."
    Carrera saw that, curiously, there was a wire mesh over the open portal and that behind the mesh were stunned but otherwise healthy porkers. He looked inside and saw no exposed rebar. He walked around front and confirmed that, yes, there was a pitted crater about where there had been one on the first bunker. For the moment, he withheld comment.
    "This next one," Sitnikov said, pointing, "was another tungsten penetrator. You'll find the pigs are mostly healthy enough."
    Carrera walked over and looked again through wire mesh. As the Volgan had predicted, those pigs weren't even stunned.
    "All right, what's the trick?"
    Now Sitnikov placed his box on the ground and opened it. From it he withdrew a number of two to three inch colored plastic shapes, a tetrahedron, a square, a pyramid, a cube, a sphere. These he placed on the ground, then reached in again and set beside them a small, plastic soft drink bottle.
    "Those are the tricks," he said. "For the last two bunkers, plus the one you haven't seen yet, we placed these more or less randomly in with the concrete as we poured. They have the effect of breaking up the shock wave from HEP, of providing space where concrete can go when displaced by a penetrator, and of muting the concussion from a hit or near miss with high explosive."
    Carrera mused on the concept for a half a minute, then pronounced, "Clever . . . but I've got some questions," Carrera said.
    "Shoot, boss."
    "What the hell are these projections of concrete all around the base of the bunkers?"
    "The technical term is 'rafts.' Basically, they help keep the bunker from flipping over from a near miss from a big shell or bomb."
    "Are the plastic fillers expensive?"
    Sitnikov shook his head. "Cheaper than the concrete they displace."
    "What's the cost of a bunker?" Carrera asked.
    "About five hundred legionary drachma for the base structure, exclusive of NBC filters, electrification, labor for camouflaging, and such."
    "And you want to put how many up?"
    "We still haven't finished completely surveying the island for defense. Right now, my best guess is that we need about fifty-four hundred of these, plus maybe another six hundred that will cost several times more to house redundant tank turrets, plus thirteen—twelve more, plus one we've already built—underground shelters of very large size that will cost considerably more than the other six thousand, together, plus . . ."
    "Show me."
    * * *
    The elevator fell and fell, lifting stomachs mouthward. To reach it, Sitnikov had driven into a tunnel that led right into the side of Hill 287.
    "We put up the first one," he explained, "in part by using the budget you gave McNamara to build a secure facility for the precious metal. He and I had a little chat and agreed that we could kill two birds with one stone. So you have your secure vault, and you also have a very deep and strong fortification."
    How many floors down is it?" Carrera asked.
    "It's more than fifty meters from the surface, though still above sea level. There are twelve floors, each with about four hundred square meters of working and living space. You could house a cohort in it, more or less comfortably. Though this one is modified from the base design in order to serve as a command and control station, with service support and a small infirmary.
    "We can put up to six, including this one, under this hill," Sitnikov continued, as the elevator slowed to a stop. "Here, they'll be safe enough from a direct hit even from the really deep penetrators the FSC is developing. Well . . . provided it's not a nuke, anyway.
    "Should some enemy try the other approach, an offset hit to create a camouflet, a large hole beside the bunker to collapse the foundation, we've left a considerable space between the