Survivalist - 18 - The Struggle (4 page)

Paul Rubenstein, his injuries properly attended to, his face grim, softly thudded his left fist against the table as Sarah Rourke spoke. “I think I can speak for my daughter Ann even though her husband is present.” And she looked at Paul Rubenstein, touched her hand to his. “I think Annie and Natalia and Captain Hammerschmidt are alive out there, even considering what my husband told you about Natalia’s present state of mental collapse. I realize that the war effort is for the greater good and I realize you can’t keep combing the same stretch of ocean for them. They wouldn’t want you to. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t want to say it. But I think they’d want me to say it anyway.” She looked down into her lap, or perhaps toward the baby she carried inside her.

“I may have a potential solution to all of our problems,” John Rourke said so softly he almost spoke in a whisper. “I gave Annie something when she boarded the helicopter. It was a special transponder given to me by the naval authorities of Mid-Wake. It’s the same device issued to their Marine commandos and naval frogmen as part of their survival kits. It has a destruct device built into it which can be activated in the event of capture, of course. But, when used as intended, it’s designed to broadcast a special low-frequency homing beacon that can be picked up by communications buoys the people of Mid-Wake use in much the same manner persons of my era utilized communications satellites. That frequency is computer monitored twenty-four hours per day. If Annie had the time to activate the frequency, there’s a substantial possibility that the reason no sign of survivors from the crash of the gunship has been found on the surface is that there are no survivors on the surface.” The Chairman said, “Do you imply, Doctor—” “Yes. They may be aboard a U.S. submarine operating out of Mid-Wake,” Rourke answered, cutting him off. “I have no means of contacting Mid-Wake, at least not directly. But if I can have a German gunship, Colonel Mann,” and Rourke looked across the table toward the German commander, “and enough fuel, I can reach the approximate area of open water beneath which Mid-Wake is located. If you can loan me a very powerful conventional explosive—” And Rourke used the word “conventional” intentionally, because he knew the Germans were working on a nuclear device in the event the Russians gained access to such weapons and used them. “A powerful conventional explosive detonated on the surface above Mid-Wake would be bound to be picked up on their sensors. They’ll come to investigate and I’ll make

contact. If they have picked up Annie and Natalia and Captain Hammerschmidt, I’ll know at once. And, if they haven’t, then perhaps with their help— I don’t know. We’ll keep looking. No matter how long we have to. And their submarines can help. Anyway— But either way,” and Rourke exhaled, studied his hands for a moment, “I may be able to effect some sort of alliance with the government of Mid-Wake. With the aid of their underwater technology we could introduce a wild card—”

“A ‘wild card,’ Herr Doctor?” Mann queried.

“Something unsuspected in its true nature, beyond what would be expected ordinarily, Colonel. We could introduce such a wild card into the war against the Soviets and if we used it effectively, knock them out. It’s only a matter of time before Colonel Antonovitch or the Soviet leadership of the Underground City—and perhaps by now with Karamatsov’s death they’re working together—but it’s only a matter of time until someone from the Soviet faction on the surface successfully makes a second contact with the Soviet underwater complex and works out an alliance. These Soviet forces have considerable nuclear capabilities, as we’ve discussed before. If Antonovitch were able to introduce such capabilities as a wild card of his own, we’d lose.”

“I can provide such a helicopter, Herr Doctor,” Mann volunteered.

“ItH need amphibious capabilities, and as much as I’d like to strip it of weapons so we’d be able to fly faster and farther between refuelings, we’ll be over Soviet waters much of the time and there’s no telling what we’ll encounter. So, conversely, I’ll need all the weapons we can pack aboard.” He looked at Paul Rubenstein. “Come with?”

“You couldn’t stop me, John; not even you,” the

younger man smiled. “Dad—”

Rourke looked toward his son. “No. You’ll be needed to help Colonel Mann. And to take care of your mother.” Sarah started to speak and he knew what she’d say. Rourke told her, “If I were Colonel Mann, I’d keep a minimal presence in Iceland outside Hekla just to keep the Russians bottled up, then hit their staging area near Eden Base in Georgia. If the Russians can be forced out, the German installation outside Eden Base can become a staging area along the German supply route.”

“My plan exactly, Herr Doktor,” Mann nodded, lighting a cigarette from his case.

“And you and the baby will be safer with Colonel Mann’s forces, either here or in New Germany. I’m not about to lose everyone I care for, and even though there’s a substantial possibility for success of the mission, in the event of failure, failure will be fatal.”

“No, damn it, John!”

Rourke lit the cigar he’d set on the table beside his tented fingers. “Yes. You’re not coming with Paul and me. It’s too da; ^erous. No purpose would be served by endangering you more than you have been already. It’s dangerous enough just staying here or going to New Germany. I know you want to come and I know why. For the same reason I’m going. But you’re not.” And John Rourke stood up.

“John!”

He didn’t look at his wife, simply told her, “No.”

At times, the oppressive gray clouds, already partially obscured by the heavy white flakes of snow which seemed to fall unendingly from them onto the Earth below, were almost totally blocked by squadrons of black-skinned Soviet gunships.

The drifts lay deeper in the ravine which he followed, and Akiro Kurinami’s movements were slowed because of them; but, on the higher ground, there was the very real danger of being spotted from the air by the still-massing Russian helicopters.

And time was of the essence. The growing Soviet armada would soon attack Eden Base.

The distance to Eden Base was more miles than Kurinami wanted to contemplate, but John Rourke’s Retreat was vastly closer.

At Rourke’s Retreat, there was a powerful radio with which he could contact the German installation outside Eden Base, pass along intelligence on Soviet strength. If the Soviets attacked without the forces of New Germany knowing the heightened numbers in their fleet, the Russians would surely achieve total military victory in what, Before the Night of the War, had been The United States, and Eden Base would be

overrun. The space shuttles themselves would be destroyed, their computer records seized or, worse still, erased. The frozen embryonic life forms of animals and birds, the botanical cuttings and seeds—much of the future of life on Earth would vanish from the Earth forever. The Chinese, as Kurinami understood it, and the Germans, of course, had used their underground shelters as environmental arks as well as circumstances allowed, as had the Icelandics (spared by a freak effect of the Van Allen Radiation Belts) utilized their network of geo-thermal-powered pockets of civilization within the Arctic wasteland that now blanketed the Earth to well below sixty degrees North Latitude. But nowhere on Earth now, since the destruction of all surface life, did many of the species exist which existed in Eden Project stores, which could be returned to Earth. And the knowledge in the Eden computers was the accumulated knowledge of the centuries and irreplaceable.

Eden Base had to be saved at all costs.

And John Rourke’s Retreat was the only hope.

Freezing cold, hungry, exhausted, Akiro Kurinami raised his feet another time, then another and another and another. In his mind’s eye, he put the face of Elaine Halversen ahead of him, going on ever toward her …

It was becoming increasingly difficult to leave New Germany, Dodd knew, and these disciples of the dead leader might well be the last he could count on for help until the Soviet offensive was crushed.

In the uncompleted permanent structures construction zone, a chemical heater providing warmth enough that hoods of parkas could be lowered, Christopher Dodd stood as part of a ragged semicircle around the

heat source. Damien Rausch, the apparent leader of the Germans, lit a cigarette. Rausch was tall, broad-shouldered, and the muscled neck bespoke strength and fitness. His voice, as he spoke, was a sonorous baritone, the English devoid of any accent as far as Christopher Dodd could detect. “You seem to misunderstand the circumstances, Herr Commander. We were not sent here to this inhospitable wasteland to obey your orders. I have my orders, and with the help of my men shall carry them out.”

“I was given to understand—” Dodd began.

“Herr Commander, the ultimate goal of the Nazi movement is not to benefit a self-serving astronaut who wishes to be king over one hundred some people in an otherwise populationless continent.”

“I have plans, sir!”

“And so do we, Herr Commander Dodd. And so do we. At the moment, you are part of our plans. The knowledge within your computer banks, certain stored strategic items, these very craft themselves, all have their potential use to the Reich. The very existence of this base further saps the manpower of the rebellious forces under the command of Wolfgang Mann, an asset to our sacred movement in and of itself. You are obsessed with Akiro Kurinami. That you fear so greatly one obvious racial inferior speaks poorly for your manhood, Herr Commander. No. He shall die. But not at the expense of the greater purpose.”

It sounded to Dodd as if part of Rausch’s sentence was unfinished or missing and he hesitated to speak lest he inadvertently interrupt. When Rausch spoke no more for several seconds, Dodd asked, “Greater purpose? You mean your revolution.”

“I mean evolution, Herr Commander. The survival of the fittest. Your Japanese nemesis will die if you are

correct that he will go to ground at the retreat of the bothersome Herr Doctor Rourke. But only because this fellow’s death serves the greater purpose. See that you serve the greater purpose, Herr Commander. See to that if you value your life.”

Christopher Dodd shivered. Rausch reminded him of the devil.

Annie Rourke opened her eyes.

There was a grey half-light all about her, a hum so subtle she could not detect it at all unless she concentrated on it and nothing else.

The smell of disinfectant.

She closed her eyes … The gunship. The ocean. Otto injured. Natalia unable to function. From the pocket of the uncomfortable trousers she’d worn, she had taken the signaling device her father had given her, had called a transponder. For centuries, or so it seemed, she fought to stay afloat, to keep herself and Natalia and Otto afloat. And when it was finally ending, they had come. The man with the dark wavy hair, the wolfish smile, and the pretty dark eyes.

Into this— This.

She sat bolt upright, a restraint buckled loosely over her waist.

“Hi. Feeling better, Mrs. Rubenstein?”

She turned toward the reassuringly feminine voice. A light flickered on, like a small lamp, part of the bed in which Annie lay illuminated, the woman’s face illuminated in it the next instant. Hair more brown than her own, what some called dark auburn, pretty

grey-green eyes like her mother, Sarah Rourke, had. A full, smiling mouth. She wore a white lab coat, and beneath it a khaki uniform shirt and matching khaki skirt. “You’re, ah—” “I’m Margaret Barrow, remember?” “Doctor Barrow. I remember. How—” “Why don’t I save you the questions and I’ll just give you the standard answers, okay?” Margaret Barrow smiled.

Annie laughed a little. “Okay.”

“Fine. You’re aboard the U.S.S. Ronald Wilson Reagan, the finest attack submarine in the Mid-Wake fleet. You’ve been asleep for about ten hours. Frankly, I thought you’d sleep longer than that. The man who was in charge of the team which pulled you out of the water is the Captain of this ship. He’s Captain Jason Darkwood, just promoted while you were asleep, as a matter of fact, from Commander. Major Tiemerovna’s condition is unchanged. Physically, I can say she is resting comfortably. Mentally, that’s another question. Captain—ahh—Hammerschmidt right?”

“Right.”

“His injuries weren’t so severe as you might have feared. He won’t be swimming any marathons for a little while, but he should be up and around soon enough. He’s built tough, it appears. How do you like that for technical medical jargon, huh? Your father’s a doctor. I was the one who first worked on him when they brought him in, Sam Aldridge is the black Marine Corps Captain. You met him.”

“I remember. I remember Daddy telling me if it hadn’t been for you he wouldn’t have lived.”

Margaret Barrow shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “Patients always say that kind of thing about doctors who administer emergency treatment. All I did was keep him breathing until the real pros at Mid-Wake could take over. Your dad had the best. But he’s a good guy. How’s he doing?”

“I hope he’s alive. He and my husband—they were trying—aww—” She felt a little lightheaded.

“Hey, Mrs. Rubenstein,” Doctor Barrow said, putting a hand gently against Annie’s chest. “You’re gonna wear yourself out and that’s no good for anybody. Why don’t you sleep a little more.”

“Annie.”

“What? Ohh—all right. I’m Maggie,” and Margaret Barrow smiled and stuck out her right hand. Annie took her hand. It wasn’t any kind of silly feminine handshake, but strong, like shaking hands with a man.

“Maggie. We’ve got to get in touch with my father and my husband. And the German authorities and—”

“Look, I just fix people. Communications isn’t my department. But if you rest for a little while longer, I’ll make sure Captain Darkwood gets down here to sick bay and then you can tell him. Everything’s his department. Okay, Annie?”

Despite herself, Annie Rourke Rubenstein smiled, pushed her hair away from her face and neck, and leaned her head back on the pillow. She closed her eyes, but just to humor Maggie Barrow …

“I’ve plotted your course along the Izu Trench, Jason. We should be roughly off the coast of Iwo Jima within three hours traveling as we are.”