Doomsday Warrior 02 - Red America (11 page)

But at least the freefighters knew that something was up. Something big! The Reds were bringing large numbers of workers into this Pavlov City, a city that hadn’t even existed until several months ago. And all under President Zhabnov’s personal direction.

“What the hell are they up to?” the intel chief turned to Rockson who sat next to him, a concerned look on his rough-hewn face.

“Something new, that’s for sure. Some damned trick and I don’t like the sound of it at all,” Rockson replied. “I didn’t think that fool Zhabnov had it in him to do any independent thinking. It may well have something to do with the power struggle we know is going on between him and Killov. But what sort of information would he be trying to get from factory workers? All they know is how to survive with nothing. It doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t Rock. At least with the information we have. And I think we got all that officer knew. No one is capable of lying with one of those damned devices strapped to their heads. But look at the numbers—thousands of mindbreakers—tens of thousands of workers being shipped in. What did Lincoln do again, Rockson? You’re the historian.”

Rock’s semi-photographic memory went into action. “Abraham . . . Lincoln, sixteenth president of the United States. His election on an anti-slavery platform divided the nation, leading to the Civil War, which was finally won by the Northern States in a four year war with the Southern States or the Confederacy. After the war he was shot by a mad actor. One of our country’s greatest presidents, an inspiration to read about.”

“What do you make of the name? A coincidence?” Rath asked, stroking his bony adam’s apple absent-mindedly.

Rock thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. The Reds usually use functional names for their projects. There’s definitely a clue. Let’s see, the American workers are slaves—and that’s puzzling—somehow the Reds are going to free them? Doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe something else about Lincoln—” Rath said as he motioned for his assistants to tidy up the area around the chair that the Red officer had sat in, which was now dotted with specks of blood. But Rockson was thinking about burned down Atlanta, Sherman’s march through Georgia in the war to save the Union. The freed black men and women following the Union soldiers en masse, many of them trying to help the bluecoats fight.

“That’s it—fight!” Rock yelled out, startling the intel chief.

“What?” Rath stuttered.

“The Reds want to use the enslaved Americans against us. Who are the secessionists from the Red hegemony—us!”

“Rock are you serious—the mindbreaker has no such ability to control men’s minds, just to destroy them. You’ve seen it all for yourself.”

“Couldn’t it be modified?” Rock asked grimly. “Somehow altered so as to change the memory patterns of a man’s brain, even affect his loyalties?”

“Anything is possible, Rock. I’d be the first to admit that, but it sure as hell would be a hit and miss situation. They’d have to use thousands of workers to get hundreds who could successfully be controlled. And those would most likely be zombies more than real fighting men. This is all guesswork, of course. But, I can’t believe the Reds could have advanced the technology of the mindbreaker that quickly. I know how their science staffs work and frankly, they’re not the brightest or most innovative of minds around.”

“But they don’t care how many lives they waste. Thousands of workers dead means nothing to them, that could be why so many are being shipped in. We’ve got to find out what’s going on in this Pavlov City and find out fast.”

“I’ll call an emergency meeting of the council for tonight, Rock,” Rath said. “I agree with you—this situation calls for some sort of immediate response—before things get out of hand. Good God, we could be seeing American fighting American—another Civil War orchestrated by the Reds.”

Eight

T
he Council of Century City came to order slowly. The democratic process that was adhered to religiously was often loud and boisterous—yet somehow the work got done. The freedom to argue, to disagree were the freefighters greatest legacy from the past glories of America. Something the Reds could never know or even imagine—the taste of liberty. Council President Willis, the head speaker of the council, walked slowly to the front of the meeting hall. Bart Willis, tall, eloquent, the most respected member of the council and at seventy-five, the oldest. He was the son of one of the original founders of Century City—George Willis, an executive with a computer company who had been trapped along with hundreds of other cars and trucks in the tunnel when the bombs hit. Willis often told stories of the early days of Century City to spellbound audiences of children and adults. How it was before they had had all the conveniences of the last twenty-five years—since Dr. Shecter had performed his miracles of science and transformed the underground city into the technologically most advanced of the Free Cities in America.

Willis banged the gavel on the wooden slab of the speaker’s lectern and coughed loudly several times. The many voices talking and arguing around the nearly hemispheric chamber slowly quieted down as the one hundred elected representatives from all the sectors of Century City came to order.

The gray-haired Willis looked down over the now attentive assemblage. “I’m glad to see we’re all so energized tonight.” He smiled wanly. “It will serve as well in the discussion we’re about to engage in. The first item of the evening is Rockson’s report on the mission to test the particle beam weapons. Rock . . .” Willis stepped away from the wooden speaker’s platform as Rockson bounded up the steps at the side of the raised platform three at a time and walked quickly across the stage to the center.

“Good day,” Rock said softly with a slightly cynical expression as he looked out over the upturned faces of the assembly. He and the council members knew each other—friends, adversaries—they fought for the same goals with different intensities and philosophies. Rockson believed that the way to fight back against the Reds was with force—the only message they understood, while many of the council members thought that perhaps some sort of accommodation could eventually be reached with the Russians. That America could be shared by both American and Russian occupying forces. That it was unrealistic to really believe they could kick the Red armies out lock, stock and barrel. Not with such overwhelming forces.

Rockson knew they were wrong. But he treated them with respect—always. They were, after all, all free Americans and their beliefs and the fact that they
could
disagree and think differently was literally at the heart of what separated them from the Red automatons. Tonight, Rock knew that the tide was changing. With the power of particle beam weapon positively demonstrated, the council members could no longer believe that the freefighters did not have the power to effectively fight the Red forces. They did! So today Rockson had a narrow smile and a deep feeling of confidence as he began speaking to them.

“I am here tonight to tell you that the times are changing. What was yesterday is no longer. Many of you have in the past stated that the Russian occupation forces were just too powerful to take on. That we would only invite complete destruction of our Free Cities with nuclear attack if we tried to take on the Reds in full scale battle. Today, ladies and gentlemen of the council, I say to you that we can not only take on the Russian armies—all three million of their troops—from regular army to airforce to KGB Death Squads—that we can not only take them on but that we can win! And we will win!” He banged his fist down hard on the podium stand. Murmurs of approval and disapproval swept through the assembly like waves on a pond. Rock waited a few seconds and then coolly continued.

“We have tested the particle beam weapons. Two of them. Myself and a team of only five men attacked a Russian convoy of nearly one hundred and twenty vehicles including ten tanks, armored cars, support ground troops numbering at least five hundred men, and nearly one hundred of the K-R 7 transport trucks. We attacked, gentlemen, with two weapons, two black beam rifles of the type Dr. Shecter has already spoken to you about. And when we finished nine minutes later, not a vehicle was left standing. And I don’t mean a tire missing or an axle snapped in half by an exploding shell. I tell you, representatives of the people of Century City, that nothing remained. Just smoke and shreds of metal.”

The council members listened in fascination, trying to think already of how to deal with this changed political situation. For things definitely were changed. The entire alignment of doves and hawks on the council would be unalterably shifted. The delegates began plotting how to best alter their beliefs to the reality of the new weapons.

“With just a hundred of these black beam weapons,” Rock continued, “we could literally take on the armies of Russia. And win! The power of these beams is almost inconceivable until you see it for yourself. It is a step beyond atomic weapons, perhaps makes them obsolete. Why, one of these rifles could—could—melt an atomic missile in the air. Not only can we attack against the Reds but we can now neutralize their most powerful armaments—their N-bombs with which they’ve been destroying free American cities at an alarming rate—four in the last two months. We need many more of these particle beam guns. We must find a way somehow to arm all the Free Cities with them. Why just two or three particle beam rifles in each city could give them unlimited power—squads could go out and attack whole convoys, take on entire Red search-and-destroy squadrons. If we could just make more, could just—”

“Impossible, Rock,” a deep voice boomed out from the side of the council chamber. The entire room of representatives turned their heads to the left. “It can’t be done,” Dr. Shecter said, rising from the rear seat on the left, the place he always liked to sit, far in the back, invisible to all while he took in the proceedings. Shecter walked unsteadily, his long thin legs having another of their arthritis attacks. He grimaced slightly as one of his knees nearly went out but his two assistant/bodyguards who always accompanied him reached forward and steadied the scientist. Shecter hobbled up the stairs and made his way to the podium. Rock and he exchanged quick glances. They fought for the same goal, of that Rock was sure.

“My people and I,” Shecter said, addressing the gathering, “have tested these damned weapons every which way. And damn it, we can’t make head nor tail of how the things are constructed. We can’t pry them open without risking complete destruction of the weapon and we can’t figure out the energy operation. It just doesn’t compute,” he said looking down at the representatives. “For the first time in my life I must confess that I’m totally stymied. According to all our calculations the weapon is impossible—it can’t exist.” A few snickers could be heard in the audience. “It must be using some energy source that we haven’t even discovered yet. But as for making them—forget it. I’m sorry Rock, but the only way we’re going to have more of these things is for someone to go back and pay a visit to the people who made them—The Technicians.”

Shecter returned to his seat and Willis took the podium again. Rockson sat down in his front row seat as Willis called Rath, chief of Intelligence, to the fore. Rath seemed nervous, breathless as he took the stand. He was not used to speaking in front of the entire assembly, but these were unusually dangerous times.

“I’ve got some information to reveal that I fear calls for some sort of immediate action. We’ve finished interrogating a captured Russian officer that Rock and his team brought back with them from the attack on the convoy and—under the influence of a mindbreaker that we were able to get our hands on—we’ve found out that workers from numerous Russian fortresses are being rounded up and shipped to Fort Pavlov, a newly erected extremely well-protected Red center some five hundred miles to the east. The officer revealed that there is a plan—Plan Lincoln involving these large masses of workers and thousands of mindbreakers which are also being shipped to Pavlov City by the ton. Something big is going on. Exactly what I don’t know: the officer apparently was not privy to the exact purpose of the operation but I can assure you of one thing—it’s bad. Very bad.” He paused for a moment to see what sort of effect his words were having on the council. Every eye was riveted on him.

“Rock and I talked briefly before the meeting and had a few ideas. Since the plan is termed Plan Lincoln we thought that since the Reds tend to use ironic names for their plans that this might actually have to do with brainwashing and then arming these wretched American pawns to go out and fight the Free Cities—brother against brother—for those of you who know your history—just like our own Civil War of two centuries ago.” The Intel chief paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and his breath.

“Something must be done! I feel that we must use the particle beam weapons and mount an all-out attack on Pavlov City. Stop this horrendous plan, whatever its exact nature, in the bud before—”

“No! No! Absolutely not!” a voice boomed out, reverberating through the chamber. This time it was Rockson. He stood up, all six foot, three inches, two hundred and twenty-five pounds of chiseled mutant muscle and addressed Rath. “You know me, Rath. If anything I’m the man who’s always saying let’s get in there and kick ass. But this time I think it would be a terrible mistake to attack, risking the particle beam weapons of which we have only five, possibly even their capture by the Reds. We don’t even know for sure just what the hell is happening inside this Pavlov City. That theory is a good guess but we both know it’s just bull unless it’s confirmed by hard facts. We’ve got to have some real intelligence on the situation inside those walls before we can even think about mounting any sort of attack. We have to know!”

“Rock’s right,” Shecter piped in from his back seat. “We can’t risk these weapons. They’re too important. If the Reds should get hold of even one at this stage of the game, they might be able to somehow neutralize the beam. For Christ’s sake man, this is the first time in a century that we’ve been handed the possibility of really hurting the Russian machine.”