Tunnels 03, Freefall

bundles of magazines. He unwound the sacking from one of the weapons and passed it to his father.
    "Another Sten gun. They're all in mint condition," Dr. Burrows said, wiping the grease from the barrel with his sleeve to reveal the perfect sheen of the bluing on the weapon. "Good as new."
    "We could help ourselves to a couple," Will proposed.
    "I think not," Dr. Burrows said, giving his son a stern look as he returned the Sten to him. "Put it back exactly where you found it."
    The next crate revealed similarly preserved handguns stamped with Browning , and many oil-soaked cardboard boxes of rounds and spare magazines. "Browning Hi-Powers," Dr. Burrows said, peering at the handguns. "Follows -- they're from the same era as the Stens."
    "Two-Inch Mortars," Will read, staring at the largest crates in the corner of the room. He moved along to a pile of boxes. Many of them were narrow and contained ammunition, but then he came to some squat-looking crates. On opening the lid of one of these and removing a layer of sacking laid on the top, he found row upon row of hand grenades. He whistled in amazement, and was just reaching in to pick up one when his father stopped him.
    "Don't, Will," Dr. Burrows cautioned. "Better not mess around with those."
    "Huh?" Will frowned.
    "I know it's dry in here, but explosives can become unstable over time. And we don't know who all this belongs to, although it certainly looks like they just left it here."
    "But who? And why?"
    "I don't know yet," Dr. Burrows replied, "but there's enough in her to start a small war." He rubbed his forehead, leaving streaks of black grease across it in the process. "See the little symbol spray-painted on all the crates -- the arrow with the line above it?"
    Will nodded.
    "That means these belonged to the Ministry of Defense... or the army, so this might have been a Government installation, or it might have been something else altogether."
    Will shrugged. "What, like Dr. Evil's secret lair?"
    Dr. Burrows shook his head as if his son was being ridiculous. "No. Anarchists... the far left... or the far right... what have you." He frowned. "But whoever it was, all this looks pretty official to me. They've gone to a hug amount of effort and expense." He blew through his lips in an exaggerated way. "I mean... just the construction of a hydroelectric plant at this depth in the Earth is an incredible feat of engineering, all on its own. And everything I've seen -- the whole installation -- was built to last. I'd put my money on it being..."
    "Yes?" Will pressed him, becoming impatient with his father's musing.
    "...a deep-level military shelter... a fallout shelter... maybe dating back to the Cold War."
    "The Cold War?" Will asked.
    "Yes... it's before your time, Will, in the fifties and sixties. It wasn't a proper war, as you'd think of it... just a load of absurd posturing between America and the Soviet Union, really. But people genuinely thought the world was going to be torn apart by a nuclear war. So each country had its own contingency plans, which included building fallout shelters... even here in England," he said, then turned to go through the door. Will trailed after him, still clutching a Browning Hi-Power pistol. Dr. Burrows was on a roll with his theory, gabbling away ten to the dozen. "And if this is a fallout shelter... that would mean it would be self-sufficient, with its own water supply, and there'll probably be living quarters down here, somewhere."
    They ignored the remaining cabins and cranked open the door at the end of the passage. As it swung back they were greeted by another blast of air. It was dark inside until Dr. Burrows located a row of switches by the side of the door. He clicked them all on with the side of his hand.
    Banks of lights flickered on in sequence.
    "God alive," Dr. Burrows gasped.
    Although the ceiling was at a lower height than the passage, the area was immense. And row upon row of bunk beds were arranged regularly throughout the space.
    "I bet a hundred men could have been billeted here!" Dr. Burrows said.
    Will ran to the first bunk and touched the pillow. Like all the other bunks around him, it was made up with white sheets and coarse brown blankets. "A real bed!" He put his head back and gave a whoop, which echoed through the floor. "I can sleep in a real bed tonight!" Then he was running between the bunks to reach the rooms that lay around the outside, each one with a grey-painted door and a number on it.
    "Showers!"