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"Suspicious Minds"
We're caught in a trap
I can't walk out
- Elvis Presley
None of them particularly enjoyed the job of peeling uniforms off the dead bodies of the Russian soldiers Hopper had killed. Murray in particular made quite a production out of it, making sure Hopper was completely aware of how thoroughly Murray disapproved of his leap to gunfire rather than attempting to explain why three Americans were trying to infiltrate the Russian base.
Finally the task was done, and they set about the even less pleasant experience of putting on the uniforms, trying to minimize the appearance of the bullet holes and the blood stains so they wouldn't be so noticeable. Even Joyce made some faces at that one.
Fortunately, the Russian uniforms managed to mostly fit all of them, although Hopper's was a bit tight, and Joyce's was decidedly baggy. Still, hopefully it was close enough—and it was far better camouflage than their normal clothes would have been. They also found the keys to a nearby small truck in one of the uniform pockets and took that, too. Joyce, being the smallest and the one with the most ill-fitting uniform, was tucked into the back of the truck, while Hopper and Murray rode up front.
Hopper didn't like trusting Murray to take the lead any more than he liked having proved him right that it was a three-man operation. But since Hopper didn't speak Russian, Murray was really the only choice.
They pulled up to a checkpoint in front of a set of steel doors, where a bored-looking man was standing and smoking a cigarette. Murray eased the truck to a stop and smiled at the guy, who asked him something in Russian. Murray responded, and Hopper did his best to sit still and not react and not just shoot the guy in the head to get past this and go save the day already. Murray and the guard started laughing uproariously, and Murray nudged Hopper in the ribs to get him to join in. He managed a faint smile, while the guard, still guffawing, punched a button on the wall and the doors slid open.
Murray drove on through, the doors closing behind them, finally pulling up in the area Dustin had described.
While Hopper scouted for anyone around and found no one, fortunately enough, Murray let Joyce out of the back.
"Why are you talking so much?" she asked him as he helped her out.
"He was nice."
"He was nice?"
"He was a nice guard," Murray repeated.
Hopper rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I mean, we should probably invite him over after all this is done."
"Yeah, I can bake him a casserole," Joyce added as they followed Murray up the stairs.
"Get a six-pack, share some laughs … You know, have a drink."
Murray ignored them both, leading the way to the panel in the floor that Dustin had told them about. He bent down, pulling it up, and the three of them stared down into a very narrow crawlspace, all steel. "Ugh." Murray tore off his hat and dropped it on the floor next to him. "Anyone want to trade jobs?"
Before they could respond, the radio crackled to life, Dustin's voice coming through loud and clear. "Bald Eagle, do you copy? Bald Eagle, I repeat, this is Scoops Troop, do you copy?"
Murray hit a button on the receiver clipped to his shoulder. "Yes, I copy," he said in the long-suffering tone of voice Hopper recognized as his own frequent response to these kids.
"Call sign?" Dustin asked.
With a pained sigh, Murray responded, "Bald Eagle."
"Please repeat."
Hopper couldn't help but grin. God, these kids were a pain in the ass. Brilliant, and about to save the world again, but a pain in the ass.
"Bald Eagle. This is Bald Eagle!" Murray repeated.
"Copy that. Good to hear your voice, Bald Eagle. What's your twenty?"
"We reached the vent. I'll contact you when I need you. Until then, silence."
"Roger that, Bald Eagle. This is Scoops Troop, going radio silent. 10-10, over."
It was strange to be placing his fate—El's fate, Joyce's fate, Hawkins' fate, all of it—in the hands of a crazy conspiracy theorist who lived in a bunker and an equally crazy kid who was probably smarter than all of them put together. Hopper wondered for a minute, if time travel was real, what his five years ago self would say if he tried to explain all this. Since five years ago he was probably too drunk or high to listen, he doubted he would have said anything.
Into the silence after Dustin had signed off, Murray said, "I hate children."
Without waiting for their response, he lowered himself into the ventilation system, making a bit of a to-do about it, in Hopper's view.
Hopper hunkered down next to the open plate, ready to put the cover back on as soon as Murray was fully inside. Joyce bent down to watch. Murray paused and looked up at them. "Remember, if anyone says anything, just—"
"Smile and nod," Joyce finished.
"Good luck," Hopper told him, meaning it. Then Murray disappeared, and Hopper replaced the floor board. He turned to look at Joyce. "You ready?"
She nodded. "Let's do this."
Together they made their way through the Russian installation, trying to walk as though they belonged there. Fortunately, they didn't see very many other people, and those were all too busy to pay attention to another pair of random soldiers.
They found a quiet place to stay while the others did their jobs, and they … waited. And waited. And waited some more, the seconds ticking by like hours.