Doomsday Warrior 17 - America’s Sword

by Ryder Stacy

  Four

  That evening, around crude kerosine lanterns spread out on a huge square table, about fifty men sat with deeply pensive expressions on their faces. Men whose eyes all looked like they had just been given a glimpse of hell, and would just as soon not have seen it. Not when it was their own wives and children, their own homes that had been squashed to human paste and ripped, destroyed, pummeled out of existence.

  “So what’s the worst of it, Dr. Shecter?” Rockson asked as the rest of the top science, military and intelligence brass of the city listened intently.

  “Well, we’ve thrown everything into a computer as all readings and data are coming back,” the white-haired, pipe-smoking Shecter, genius of Century City’s futuristic projects, said. Over the last thirty years, invention after invention had spewed out of him. People depended on Shecter for solutions. “We already know the medical casualties. Out of a population of what was last recorded at 45,678, we have at least nineteen thousand dead and another ten thousand wounded. The rest of the population is in basically good shape . . .”

  They all shook their heads for the hundredth time since they had met to figure out what to do about the future of Century City.

  “But in its own terrible way, the loss of equipment—though it’s cruel to say it—is even more of a catastrophe,” the chief scientist went on to say, with total surety in his voice. “The quake ripped our power generators, and our transmission equipment has been cut to shreds. Connectors, coils, magnets, all ruined. We’re running on emergency right now,” he said, “for the hospitals, air pumps, pure water and a few other vital areas. Otherwise the city is virtually in the dark. To get C.C. functioning again must be our priority number one objective. My computer men can draw up a list of needed supplies and we can send to the neighboring free cities for—”

  “I think we should devote our main energies to defense,” General Trasner spoke up firmly from across the dust-coated conference table, which had been set up in a meeting room that had been cleared of debris. “We’re extremely vulnerable right now. If attacked by anything from Reds to cannibal hordes, we would have some real problems.”

  “Medical is the first priority,” Surgeon Landers raised his voice. “I must represent the sick and wounded who need constant attention, blood transfusions, food . . .” They all began speaking at once, until Rockson spoke up, his voice booming over theirs for a moment. Although each man had an ego as big as the sun, all deferred to Rockson. The Doomsday Warrior was a name known throughout America; he was the shining hope for the starving masses at the mercy of the Reds. His presence was no less powerful in real life as it was in the growing legends around his deeds.

  “Let’s first assume that all our needs will be met to the extent that they can,” Rockson said. “As military commander of the city and top-ranking man in command—in the President’s absence, I can guarantee that with help from other cities.” He felt that his voice would be for the moment the guiding one. “But Dr. Shecter’s right. It’s energy that runs a city; without it this whole place is just a cave. And it will only get worse without power. Without power, we’re back with the animals.”

  “Exactly my point,” Shecter said, banging his pipe down hard on the table so their heads all jerked nervously. “We can’t sustain this place, perform the necessary medical treatments or keep our defenses without power. Already we’ve lost a lot of information on computer. There were dupes of some of it, but information that took many years to develop is irretrievably gone. Much of the city’s internal structures and foundation are in danger of further collapse as well, unless vital support work is done—foundations, beams put in. That requires power for charging the battery-powered heavy moving and lifting equipment. Those that weren’t crushed, that is.”

  Rockson raised his hand, a deadpan look on his grime-encrusted face. “We were up in Pattonville not too long ago and found a huge supply depot there. I put it in the report delivered to Rath and your R.D. boys. It was filled with some heavy stuff, even bulldozers, and acres of shelving filled with every damn thing you’d need to rebuild a city. Lots of electrical conductors; cables too; and generator parts,” Rock said, looking at Shecter expectantly.

  “Then let’s do it,” Dr. Shecter said, banging his palm with a thunderous slap on the table, sending up a little cloud of dust that hadn’t quite been cleaned off. It seemed to wake everyone up to 100 percent, as eyes flew open from the sound, all of them fearing for an instant that another quake had struck.

  “I propose that Rockson gather an expeditionary force of men and hybrid pack teams, head to this supply depot at Pattonville and get their asses back here quick.” Shecter said this firmly, without any further ado. There was a time for debate, and a time for just doing it!

  “There are only about fifty good combat-hybrids in the stables right now,” Ingersall, head of supplying all outside missions, spoke up nervously. “A lot got killed in the quake. A lot were taken out in recent missions as well. It hasn’t been a good year all around,” he said with a sardonic edge in his voice. “This would leave us nothing more than a few dozen combat ’brids in fighting trim for other missions and emergencies. Besides, the whole city should vote on—”

  “No!” Shecter spoke up, slamming his pipe again as if showing he couldn’t stand equivocators. “A man has to know what to do, and then do it. The ceilings are falling down! There’s no time.”

  “The Good Doctor and our esteemed Mr. Rockson are right,” Colonel Rath spoke up. The hawk-nosed man was head of security and intelligence in the city. He and Rockson had often not gotten along, to say the least. But they respected each other. And now Rath was on Rock’s side! “We’re not going anywhere! If someone attacks us . . . we’ll damn well fight our asses off from here. There’s too many wounded, too many potential disasters waiting to happen all over C.C. for us to evacuate at this moment. It’s out of the question. Anyway, there are several hundred hybrids of lesser stock, the kind that do loading and transport work. So, it’s not like there’ll be nothing with four legs left in this miserable wreck of a place!”

  “Well, I guess this is still a democracy even if we’re in Red Mode trouble,” Rockson spoke up. “So I know everything will go much better if we vote on it, rather than my commanding it! As C.C.’s top military officer, you all know I am mandated by Constitution to take the power if I have to.”

  They voted quickly and 43 to 7 agreed to send Rockson’s team to Pattonville.

  “Thank you for your confidence,” Rockson said, meeting each of their eyes for an instant as he looked around the table.

  “Then it’s settled,” Dr. Shecter said with a grin and a soft clap of his hands together. The man knew how to make pleasant noise when he wanted to. “I guess, without being pushy, you’ll be leaving in the morning,” Shecter said, looking at his watch.

  “Yeah, I should be able to get some sort of squad together with my usual team of officers heading it with me. Supplies will be the hard part. Light and fast is how we must travel.”

  “Just give me a list by midnight—I’ll have it all for you by six in the morning,” The Quartermaster, Higgins, spoke up. “That’s a promise.”

  “Okay then, I’m going to head out of this meeting and the rest of you can work out your end of this mess. We’ll do the best we can, push the ’brids to their limits—and ourselves to our limits. That’s a promise.” Rock turned and walked out, down the rubble-strewn corridor. He made a brief surveillance of what was occurring now in the city. Using the three working mini-dozers that had escaped destruction, and sheer arm power, citizens formed long lines and passed debris into large piles in the central square, to be used or thrown out later. Rockson felt these people were the most courageous and uncomplaining people he’d ever known. His people. And not for the first time since the day he’d walked into the city as a frightened teen fleeing from the death of his family, Rockson felt like he belonged, and he had pride to be part of them all.

  Two of the levels had been clea
red, though the dust lingered everywhere.

  He gathered up his elite squad who were still doing search and rescue op’s all over the city and told them of the mission. The men at first seemed reluctant to give up their searching, as there were clearly others still buried in hell-holes of collapsed rock and cement. But Rockson told them that their journey was the most important mission there could be for the city.

  He at last had his whole unit together: Chen, the martial arts master of the city, maybe even a better fighter than Rockson, though the Doomsday Warrior had never put it to the test. Detroit, the ebony-faced Freefighter who wore a bandolier of grenades. McCaughlin, the big Scotsman who was a deceptively strong and fast fighter beneath his outer folds of fat. Archer, a near giant with the strength of five men. And Sheransky, the newest member of the team, a Russian defector who had already proved his loyalty, and smarts, more than once.

  “You dudes will have to do more than just combat duty this time round,” Rockson addressed them as they stood among the ruins. “We’ll be bringing thirty men with us. But they’re not exactly used to this kind of mission outside the city. They’re green as fresh trees for what we’re going to go through to get way over to Pattonville. So that means that each of us will be responsible for eight to ten men. I want them organized. Keep on them. I want no casualties.”

  “Yeah, okay, Rock,” a few voices spoke up.

  “OFFFICCCEEERRR,” Archer said with his finger on his mouth, as if the idea held infinite possibilities. The others looked at each other and laughed heartily.

  “Hey, men, Archer will be an officer on this mission! All kidding aside, the guy knows every leaf and punji-stick trap, every killer animal’s scent. He’ll scare the shit out of the recruits too, that’s for sure. They won’t have time to get scared about whatever tries to eat us. So go easy on Archer—understand?” He looked at them hard, as there wasn’t time to play around at all.

  “Understood,” they answered, with a little more enthusiasm this time.

  “Then I want you all to get it together. You’ve five hours. Quartermaster Higgins will help you with outfitting the raw recruits. But as you can see—it’s speed, men. This mission is going to be a blur. We’ll meet at the North Chamber prep-stable at 0600. Catch the early light, get a good move through the mountains. Questions?”

  “No sir,” Chen said firmly for all gathered. “We all know how to proceed. You go do what you have to.”

  Rockson saluted them to show they were on military time now and they returned the gesture. Even Chen, who was second in command. He gave Rockson the role of leader on all combat missions. Back in the city, they were equal, according to the latest council rules. But when moving fast and deadly, there could only be one chief.

  “Rockson?” a young, pimply man came running up almost as soon as Rockson hit the corridor, while the rest of the team tore-ass in all directions to prepare.

  “Yeah,” Rock replied as he watched the puffing teen who was doing messenger duty between different rescue operations. Much of the intercom and other communications equipment were out.

  “Message from Dr. Shecter! Please see him immediately in Level 14—the test chambers.”

  Rock made his way up the ramp system to Shecter’s science lab level. The signs that pointed out the way to the various floors and functions of Century City were mostly down, though a few hand-lettered ones had been hastily put up. Still, just about everyone who lived in C.C. knew where everything was, by the time they were six. The directions were more for outsiders—tourists!

  “Ah, so glad you could make it,” Dr. Shecter said, as Rockson came into his office. “I know you’ve sure as hell got a week’s worth of prep to do overnight.”

  “Right on that,” Rock replied. Shecter was the only man on earth he would have gone out of his way to see at this moment, as a matter of fact.

  “How’s the foot?” the head scientist asked, looking down at Rockson’s slight limp.

  “Not too bad,” the Doomsday Warrior replied. “Got it all taped up, another antibiotic/pain shot. I’ll be okay. Mutants heal well.”

  “Well, some of my advanced med and field crew—and myself, I must add—have come up with something for you, Rockson. A few finishing touches and—presto voilà.” He pulled a pair of strange-looking boots from the side of his desk and slammed them down on the top. “We got your foot measurements from med—and made the heels and soles a little more symmetrical. So, you should have more symmetrical balance, even with the cast on.” The cast was only a half-inch thick, but Rockson had been feeling the off-centeredness of it. He knew it wasn’t good to show the slightest bit of weakness in the wasteland. The weak, the wounded, they were the ones attacked first.

  Rockson sat in the chair on the other side of the desk and tried them on. The boots felt good, snug and strong, like his usual field boots. He stood up and walked around.

  “They feel damn good. How about the rest of the team?”

  Shecter coughed and rose up a bit unsteadily with the aid of a cane which he used these days. The man was getting on. Rockson was going to miss him, more than he dared admit. In many ways, Shecter had been his mentor, his teacher, his—father.

  “My field tech crew is loading up the mission force with every goddamn bit of junk we’ve been able to salvage: synth-medicines, reflector blankets, insta-food, liberator rifles and, ammo-up-the-diodes! You send one of your men around here later and—”

  “Okay, okay, doc,” Rockson laughed. “I’ll get the lowdown in your brief! Thanks, Mr. Einstein,” he said. “Hang in there, pal, keep everyone digging. I’ll be back faster than a rad snake can take down a rat. And thanks for the kill-boots.”

  Five

  They left on the dot of their departure time; the force of thirty-five and Rockson. A whole shitload of ’brids tethered together sent up a cacophony of braying as they came into the purple-dawned sky from the gray shadows of C.C.’s embarking chamber, squeezing one at a time through the camouflage-slit.

  “Take it slow,” Rockson yelled back from his lead ’brid, Snorter, probably the fastest animal in the city. “And that goes for the rest of you,” he said firmly, glancing around hard at Chen, Detroit, McCaughlin, and Archer, who were keeping a sharp eye on the unit’s men. Sheransky took up the rear of the trail. The blond Russian was paranoid enough to think something was going to leap from behind every tree.

  Rockson could see that the recruits were excited, their eyes wide with fear, but also full of good humor. They all smiled and looked more like kids on a picnic than grown men about to engage in the battle of their lives. Rockson knew at least half of them weren’t coming back. Those were the odds. The Doomsday Warrior felt responsible for every one of the fuzz-faced, unkempt Freefighters. They were as green as you could get. Slow, they’d start out real slow. Rock would let everyone calm down, the ’brids too, and then he’d build up a little speed. But he vowed to keep a tight grip on this whole hastily assembled force. It was too unwieldy already with the ’brids’ wandering out of line, the men not really concentrating on danger as they breathed in the thick, pungent perfumes of the pines and gazed around as wildlife went rushing through the brush.

  It was a beautiful morning, and a clear one. There was just a band of thin green strontium clouds high above, that shimmered like the rings of Saturn. One of the legacies of the old world, a remnant that its atomic fires had left behind for man to deal with, even a hundred years later. Rockson had pretty much grown used to the rings of radioactivity in the upper atmosphere. But this one looked meaner, more vibrant and glowing than most he’d seen. He spun around in his saddle for the tenth time in the last two minutes to check the men.

  “Relax, Rock,” Chen, riding behind him, said as he caught the Doomsday Warrior’s nervous face. “The men are sitting tight on the newbies.”

  “Green is green, Chen.” Rockson replied with a snort. “We’d better keep an eye on them, and that includes you, or there will be a few missing by tonight.”

&nb
sp; “Gotcha, Rock,” Chen said, shutting up. He could see his field commander wasn’t exactly in the friendliest of moods.

  Rock’s eyes were bloodshot, barely open. He hadn’t slept since the collapse, and his body and mind were begging for rest. But they’d barely begun the journey. There wouldn’t be sleep until night. His mind drifted back to trying to get a snore or two in one of the emergency sleeping chambers, a whole half floor of which had escaped the holocaust. It must have been three in the morning that Rona had come in. Just like that; no knock, no nothing. And she was all over him right away. Like a wildcat in heat. She just didn’t want to let go.

  It seemed to be like this more and more, as Rona just couldn’t bear to let him go off on another mission where the probabilities grew higher with every departure that he wasn’t coming back. Not that he could blame her. She wanted to be his wife, have a child. She’d told him that fact again, whispering in his ear as they had made love . . .

  “Rock, look out,” Chen screamed out, pulling the Doomsday Warrior from his erotic reveries atop the half-ton animal. Rock suddenly saw a huge branch coming in at chest level. It would take him down like a bowling pin hit by a death ball. Rockson’s senses were suddenly on full alert as he swung himself fast down over the ’brid’s right side, hanging there like a trick rider. They passed safely under the tree as Chen and the others had the troop ride around the thorned branch of the rare “Swat-Elm.” A tree that disliked people coming too close. It was one of the many nasty mutations from the Great War’s radiation.

  “Sorry about that,” Rockson said sheepishly, as Chen came riding up after they’d all passed around it. “I was, uh, thinking—”

  “Come on, Rock,” Chen said with a narrow grin. “You just gave us all this big lecture on survival out here. And then you’re in dreamland. Let’s get it going. You of all people should know there’s no time for dreaming.” Chen was playful but there was an element of seriousness. Rockson was in just too important a position to allow his concentration to slip, not for even one moment. Rock got the message and took a cold swig of water and then two mega-caffeine pills. Within minutes, he swore he could feel the caffeine moving through his blood and sort of opening his eyes a little wider, making his brain feel like there was something going on inside.