by Ryder Stacy
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.”
“And from the sound of it,” Rock added, “this Pavlov fortress is armed to the teeth. The officer said, under the mindbreaker, that this was his second trip there and that they had the place absolutely porcupined with heavy artillery and a full fifty unit helicopter, twenty MIG air force squadron ready for just such an assault. No! Zhabnov or Killov or whoever the hell is hatching this plot is shipping rubles in by the ton and they’re protecting the place wi
th everything they’ve got.”
“Exactly,” Shecter said. “That’s why we can’t risk the particle beams. It would be madness.”
“Or a big strike force,” Rock added. “They’d make mincemeat of anything we could throw at them with that kind of firepower. But someone’s got to go in. One man might just be able to do it. Get inside and find out what the hell is happening, just what their defenses are, and get that information back.”
There was silence in the chamber as all eyes focused on the Doomsday Warrior. “Yeah me,” he said coolly. “I’m volunteering.” Numerous voices spoke out at once in protest, insisting Rockson was too valuable, too important a catch for the Reds.
“I’m the only one who can,” Rockson responded. “I know the way through that section of the country better than any man in this city. I can get in, find out what the story is and get out again.”
“What of an expedition to get more of the black beam weapons from The Technicians?” Shecter asked, somewhat irritated.
“Have Erickson mount a second expedition,” Rock replied. “He knows the way and The Technicians know him. Only this time he can take twenty men and teams of hybrids. They’ve got to bring back as many of the damned weapons as they can. The Technicians had them piled to the rafters in their laboratory.”
The council discussed the proposition to mount a second expedition and agreed to bring it to a vote in a remarkably short time, considering their usual habits of debate. The motion carried. As for Rock’s volunteering to go to Pavlov City—that was a military decision. Although the council members had numerous objections and both Rath and Shecter seemed disturbed about it. As the highest ranking military officer of Century City Rockson himself had the final say. With much trepidation they wished him well. But Rockson didn’t wait around to hear the eulogies; he was already off to Supplies to prepare for the long trek to the brainwashing fortress of Pavlov City. Though he had volunteered for the mission, it wasn’t something he would enjoy. Of that he was sure.
Nine
There were four huge gates to the walled fortress city of Pavlov—one facing each of the four points of the compass. At dawn on October 27, 2089 A.D. in the driving snow, nearly five hundred KGB elite troops under the direct command of Colonel Killov arrived at the East Gate without notice, in their desert halftrack carriers, all coming from scattered directions and converging only within sight of the sixty foot high concrete walls—a maneuver to avoid any attack on the convoy by American freefighters. They found the puzzled fortress guards, high in their machinegun posts atop looming towers, looking down with confused expressions. But all recognized the death’s-head emblem of the KGB on the armored vehicles and especially the crossed falcon escutcheon of the commander himself, Colonel Killov.
Word was sent immediately to the post commander when Killov and personnel alighted and demanded entrance citing Section Six of the Bilateral Agreement between Soviet Army and KGB forces (1999). None of the commander’s staff had heard of such a law but they could indeed find it in the thick Occupation Regulations Manual. “My God, we have to let him in,” the commander, Peshtro, said to his staff. He made a quick call to Washington D.C. where Zhabnov’s personal secretary awakened the president.
“What the hell is it?” he snarled sleepily, pushing the drugged body of a young blonde to the side of the bed as he grabbed the phone.
“Is the Grandfather dead?” Zhabnov asked hopefully, thinking that would be the only reason they would dare wake him before the sun was even up.
“No, no, this is Commander Peshtro at Pavlov City, Mr. President. I’m calling because Colonel Killov and some five hundred men are here at the city walls demanding entrance—”
“What? What the hell are you talking about?” Zhabnov yelled, sitting bolt upright in the silk-sheeted bed. The young girl beside him groaned from out of her drug stupor and then settled back into a relatively blissful unconsciousness.
“They’re demanding entrance, sir,” Peshtro repeated, somewhat nervous at speaking to Zhabnov. “Colonel Killov is citing the Section Six of the Occupation Regulations or something—”
“Section Six, Section Six,” Zhabnov ruminated. “I vaguely remember something about that.” He pushed a button by his bed and a servant came running in. “Quick,” Zhabnov said, “get me my legal advisers right away. I want them here in my room within ten minutes or heads will roll.” The servant ran out whitefaced. He could see that Mr. President was heading into one of his ornery moods.
“Stall them, commander,” Zhabnov blurted into the phone. “Say anything. I’ll get back to you within half an hour.”
“But—” the phone clicked dead.
Back at the walled fortress of Pavlov, Killov was growing impatient.
“Are you going to let us in?” he screamed up at the tower guards through his halftrack P.A., “or must we blow the gates apart?”
“Forgive us, colonel—our orders are not clear,” shouted down the nervous young Red Army lieutenant.
“Then I am giving the order—let us in!”
“Commander Peshtro is on the phone to Washington sir, he—”
“I will give you thirty minutes. Then my men will begin firing. Under Occupation Regulations the KGB has the right, as protector of the Soviet doctrine and enforcer of ideology, to inspect any army fortress at any time. Tell your commander, that fool,” Killov said, his voice icy cold, “that I’m not the type of man who plays games.” He slammed his hand down on the P.A. switch, nearly breaking it. Killov settled back in the relative warmth and comfort of the sixty foot black monstrosity of a halftrack as the snow began falling heavier outside. It was multi-colored flakes, common in the Midwest—purple, green, orange, spinning, dropping like flecks of a rainbow. The head of the KGB watched the gate through a periscope. Zhabnov had undoubtedly been awakened by now, he thought, and was calling in all his advisers. They’ll tell him he doesn’t have a leg to stand on—he’ll have to let me in. In the power politics of America, Killov was about to humiliate the president. His thin white lips, narrow as a pencil line, stretched out into as much of a smile as the KGB commander’s face ever allowed itself.
In Washington D.C. the Oval Office was filled with half-dressed groggy-eyed legal advisers. President Zhabnov, still in his nightshirt, had squeezed himself into JFK’s antique rocker and was tapping on the arms with his fingers, drumming out an impatient beat.
“What you’re telling me, all of you, is that I’m bound by this ridiculous article—nearly ninety years old—to let my mortal enemy—I mean of course, our distinguished leader of the KGB—into my most important fortress of Pavlov City.” Zhabnov looked around at his advisers who wouldn’t meet his angry eyes. “Does this mean he has the right to know everything about Plan Lincoln as well?”
“No, Your Excellency,” hastened Swerdlov, the youngest and brightest of the sorry lot. “He has the right only to enter, station troops, check for possible cells of subversion, which comes down to talking with senior officers, receive adequate food and lodging and care of their vehicles, and in seventy-two hours, depart. He is not required to have access to any classified army documents.”
“What the hell is he up to?” Zhabnov asked aloud. “To destroy Plan Lincoln, or to spy? That’s it. He plans to find out what I’m up to. But he won’t. We’ll let him into the city, but keep an eye on him and all his damn Blackshirts. I’ll have my men trail every one of them, keep on their heels like Goddamned dogs.” Zhabnov got the commander of Pavlov City on the phone and gave him explicit orders about keeping the KGB men on a tight string and to report back to him the moment they left. With that he returned to his bedroom and the girl who was just starting to stir.
The huge East Gate was opened at last and Killov and his men rolled in in their vehicles, sending up waves of smoke from the diesel-powered engines. These damned outland fortress cities aren’t even paved, Killov thought with disgust, contrasting the shoddy look of the place with his own immaculate Denver headquarters. He stared out
the periscope of the lead halftrack. When I am Supreme ruler, much more attention will be paid to modernization of all Russian fortresses in America. If something wasn’t done, the entire Red Army would collapse into dirt and barbarism within a few more years. All of Killov’s men were spit and polished like mirrors, their black collars starched as flat as paper. The colonel demanded nothing less than perfection in everything and everyone around him.
They exited their vehicles once parked inside the fortress and were given quarters, from hovels for the lowest ranks to luxurious suites for Killov and his top brass. Killov was escorted by the commander of the fort and his right-hand men who greeted the KGB leader with huge phony smiles and plastic warmth. Killov smirked at the gestures and the slovenly appearance of the army personnel. No wonder he would win—if these were the fat fools who were his only obstacles to ultimate power. The moment he was inside the suite with the fort’s commanding staff around him, he ordered his own Plan Pavlov into effect.
“Seize them,” he ordered his elite bodyguards, who immediately pulled out their Pushkin 7.2mm service revolvers and lined the six top ranking officers of the fortress and the commander against the wall, disarming them.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Commander Peshtro asked, turning his head toward Killov who stood about ten feet away. One of Killov’s guards swatted the commander in the face with the butt of his pistol, snapping the man’s face back around toward the wall.
“I’m taking over the fortress,” Killov said coolly. “Isn’t it obvious? My, you army types are slow. Tie them up,” he commanded his men. The ranking officers of Fort Pavlov were trussed and bound like so many pigs to be slaughtered and set in the center of the V.I.P. suite. Around the fortress, squads of Killov’s KGB commandos were carrying out their operation with clockwork perfection. The Communications Section were taken at gunpoint, the radio and telephone operators imprisoned, and Killov’s own men took over control of all incoming and outgoing communications. Nerve gas cannisters were hurled into the officers’ sleeping quarters, knocking out all eight hundred and fifty men as they slept. Within fifteen minutes the elite forces had managed to completely take control of one of the most heavily protected fortresses in America.