Survivalist - 12 - The Rebellion (2 page)

“I—ahh …”

“On January thirtieth, it will be Unity Day.” “One, thirty, thirty-three,” Rourke whispered. “You know this date?”

“All feeling men know this date or should—when Hitler assumed the chancellorship of Germany and the evil began.”

“The leader—he will announce our territorial victories— he will launch our people into the maelstrom by proclaiming that there are traitors in their midst.”

“There are, aren’t there?” Rourke whispered. The cigar was dead and he cast it down into the caked mud beneath his feet, his combat-booted right heel crushing it.

“They are good men, good women—but he will have them publicly executed. One of them—he is Deiter Bern— he wants our science, our technology, our leadership, he wants these elements to rebuild the world, to make it a place where war like that between the superpowers can never again occur.”

“An idealist—and a Nazi?”

“He is a man, Herr Doctor. If I lead those of my men who think as I do openly against the Complex—”

“The Complex?” Rourke repeated.

“Our home,” the standartenfuehrer who spoke of liberty whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse sounding. “If I lead openly against the leader, against The Complex—there will be countless women and children who will die, innocent men as well. But if, if a small group of courageous men could penetrate The Complex, free Dieter Bern, and if one of these men were a doctor, then—”

“Why must one of the men be a doctor?” Rourke asked, lowering the assault rifle.

“I am taking a cigarette. Would you care for one?”

“No, thank you.” Rourke nodded.

He watched as the standartenfuehrerremoved a cigarette case and a lighter from the pockets of his trenchcoat, at last seeing the man’s eyes in the light of the flame—a clarity and strength in their blueness, and a certain tiredness as well. “Deiter Bern is kept in a drugged state, so he cannot get messages from his confinement, so he cannot answer the leader’s charges. But were Bern to be free, to somehow be free of the drugs, then somehow spirited to the Communications Center—then my people could choose. But

today’s date—”

“My daughter will be twenty-eight in four days—it’s the twenty-second today,” and Rourke glanced at the luminous black face of the Rolex Submariner on his left wrist. “In another ten minutes or so the twenty-third.”

“Then in seven days, it will be Unity Day. And Deiter Bern will be publicly executed and there will be warfare instead of freedom.”

“You speak so disparagingly of warfare—yet you are a military man.”

“Some men serve their country, their race, their people—some serve to guard peace.”

“And in return for this help you need?” Rourke asked.

“Those men who are loyal to me would safeguard this area against further attack by the Communists—there are other shuttle craft in the night sky, are there not?”

“Four.” Rourke nodded.

“My other legions have been dispatched to pursue these Soviet troops.”

“And be that much further from your Complex when you attempt the coup.”

The standartenfuehrer laughed aloud. “I am transparent, am I not?” He threw down his cigarette, crushing it under his boot.

“And you can leave a token force in this area to answer radio communications from your extended elements and from your command headquarters, while the bulk of your men return in secret to this Complex place.”

“I am transparent indeed.” The standartenfuehrer laughed again.

“What makes you think—well, in five centuries of technology, your people’s medical skills must be far advanced over ours. Why do you need me?”

“You have wounded—I have a doctor who can help them, who can teach you his secrets, this new medical technology. But I would be recognized in The Complex, as

would any of my officers, the doctor among them. There are many thousands of our people. Were you not to attract attention, you could move about freely until you choose to strike.”

“What does my being a doctor have to do with it? You could easily have your doctor teach someone the procedure of alleviating whatever condition this drug induces.”

“When I learned of these space shuttle craft, I envisioned some sort of doomsday project. And for that, medical technicians would have been included. That you yourself are a medical man is sheer—and may I say fortunate—coincidence. But a medical man was a necessity.

“Why?” Rourke asked him.

“There are many who would free Deiter Bern, Herr Doctor. But none can. Because Deiter Bern is confined in a most special way. He is not behind bars. There is a shackle about his neck, electrical current running through the shackle and through the chain which connects the shackle into the wall. If the electrical current is disrupted in any way, an electronic impulse will be emitted, and the impulse will trigger a capsule which is attached to an electrode, the electrode disintegrating the capsule. Inside the capsule is a synthetic form closely approximating the ancient drug known, I believe, as curare. Once the synthetic curare is released, Deiter Bern will be dead in under four seconds. There is no antidote with which he can be previously injected. The capsule is located in the carotid artery near what my own medical specialist tells me is something called a venus fistula—you know of this?”

Rourke nodded. “You speak English well.”

“Tne officer corps has stringent language requirements. But to further diminish any chances of Deiter Bern being freed, the entrance to and from the section in which he is confined—the only means in or out and my best commandoes have confirmed this—constantly broadcasts an identi

cal electronic impulse. Should the current at the entryway be disrupted, an effect occurs similar to that of the claymore-type mines used prior to the warfare between the superpowers. Thousands of tiny needles the size of slivers which have been positioned at strategic locations throughout the walls and ceiling and floor of the room are released, traveling at such high velocity and of such infinitesimal size that they will penetrate up to a six-millimeter thickness of armor plate.”

“Quarter inch,” Rourke murmured.

“Each needle is tipped with the synthetic derivative of this ancient drug curare. Three penetrations of the needles would be adequate to kill an average-sized man in under thirty-eight seconds.”

Rourke sat back on the rock, setting the rifle down—his hands, the bandages blood-soaked, pained him. “So, let me ask you. The shackle about Deiter Bern’s neck—is it such that it can be slipped away from the location of the implant?”

“This is my doctor’s opinion—yes,” the standartenfuehrer nodded.

“So then the only means to free Herr Bern is to penetrate The Complex, reach the detention area and somehow perform the surgery right there on the spot while he is presumably still under guard and shackled to the wall, without disrupting the current.”

“That is the only way. I understand that once men believed in a being known as God—”

“Some men still do,” Rourke answered unbidden.

“That prayers were offered to this God. It is as if you came in answer to such a prayer. I observed the great daring you displayed there at the Soviet encampment, and later in rescuing the man from the burning helicopter.”

“Paul Rubenstein is my friend. At the encampment, my wife, my daughter, a woman whom I have very much feeling for, a girl who carries my son’s child, two

friends—”

“This is a man who seeks liberty, Herr Doctor—someone with whom I should think you might have a great deal in common. My legions pursue the Communists regardless of your decision, and I personally have no desire to make war upon you. But if Deiter Bern is executed, the leader’s armies will sweep over the earth. Such weapons as you might possess will be useless against us.”

Rourke laughed. “I know—don’t tell me. We’ll be powerless to resist.”

“Yes, but I suspect you might resist at any event. If the Communists have a substantial force and are well entrenched, two corps will not be sufficient to undo them. It is your choice—to aid a potential ally for peace, or to combat and eventually succumb to what I feel is an old enemy and what I fear would be a new one. And then to contemplate with your last breath that these two enemies will fight each other to the death, perhaps until this time all life on this planet is indeed destroyed forever.”

John Rourke lit another cigar, weighing the battered Zippo wind lighter in his hand. “I can’t speak, Herr Standartenfuehrer, for the Eden Project—”

“This Eden Project—”

“The Eden Project—you guessed correctly—was a doomsday mission. That was the code name given it. But I can’t speak for the men and women of the Eden Project. But for myself, Herr Standartenfuehrer—”

“This SS rank—I am a colonel, and proud of that. I am not SS—a party member. I have read the forbidden books.”

“No book should be forbidden except by individual taste or preference.”

“You remind me, Herr Doctor, of some of the men whom I have read of in these forbidden books.”

“Colonel, why don’t you tell those two friends of yours— the one with the assault rifle about ten degrees north

northwest and the other one with that thing that looks like a LAWS rocket—why don’t you tell them to stand down? You keep your pistol—principally because I’d like to see it. And go for a walk with me.”

“It, like your rifle, my pistol is an antique, a Walther P-38. There is a man in The Complex who makes the ammunition. It—the ammunition of those days—is very expensive. But this Walther was carried by my father and his father and his father before him and for generations.”

“It should be quite a pistol.” John Rourke smiled. And he gestured to the twin stainless Detonics pistols he wore. “These are five centuries old themselves—but I wouldn’t call them antiques just yet,” and Rourke slid off the broad flat rock where he had again seated himself—it was damp there anyway. His back was stiff from the weight of Paul Rubenstein when he had gotten Paul out of the burning helicopter. And he was generally sore and stiff from the exertion. It hadn’t been daring, as the German-accented colonel had called it, Rourke thought. It had been necessary. John Rourke extended his right hand. “The name’s John, Colonel.”

The colonel took his hand—the grip was firm, like a man’s grip should be, Rourke thought absently. “I am Wolfgang—I am called Wolf by some.”

“Wolf,” Rourke said quietly.

They released each others hands.

Rourke smiled at the man. “Don’t forget your pals— they could get awfully lonely out here while we’re talking. Or, if some of Dodd’s security people—”

“Dodd?”

“The Commander of Eden One and the overall Eden Project commander. But if some of his people should decide to stray out past the perimeter, well, somebody could get awfully dead too, I suppose.”

Wolfgang Mann’s face beamed with a smile as he called out in German, “Wait for me at the edge of our perime

ter—hurry!”

“P-38’s a good gun, you know,” Rourke began, walking beside the colonel toward the perimeter of the encampment which had clustered around the two returned Eden Project shuttles. “There’s this woman with me—you’ll have to meet her. But we were in this place recently—in fact it was called The Place. And of all the guns stored there, she picked only one additional handgun. A P-38. I was never much of a 9mm man myself—but somewhere back at The Retreat—that’s where I live, you know—well, I’ve got a Walther P-38K. Hell of a good gun, despite the caliber. And in the old days, of course, before The Night of The War, sometimes when I was in the field I couldn’t always get a .45. You know how that can be,” Rourke said quietly. “And so a couple of times, I used a Walther P-5—ever see one of those?”

“No.”

“Shame,” Rourke murmured. “I bet you would’ve liked it.” He stopped walking a moment. “Oh, I’m not trying to be presumptuous. But someone who speaks of freedom and peace—well. Don’t go calling yourself a Nazi anymore. You’re a German.”

Wolfgang Mann didn’t answer.

The helicopter had barely landed. Despite his injurec left arm and the field dressing which was soaked througl with blood, Karamatsov jumped through the fuselage door way to the sandy west Texas earth. He ducked his head but too late, the wind of the rotor blades snatching awa his cap. He dismissed the event, walking on. One of hi subordinates would pick up the cap and bring it to him Antonovitch was beside him in an instant, the cap in hi hands—Karamatsov did not take back the cap immed ately, shouting over the whir of the rotor blades an squinting against the storm of sand which they generate and blew at him, “There is no time to lose, Nicolai. Yo will carry out the following orders.”

“Yes, Comrade Colonel Karamatsov!”

Vladmir Karamatsov altered his course slightly, towar the prefabricated shelter which had been erected as h headquarters. Aircraft landed along the runway his persoi nel had nearly completed carving from the sand in h absence—they would carry men, supplies, synthetic fue “I am abandoning plans for the destruction of the Ede Project at this time. I have never told you,” Karamatsc said, slightly breathless—it was the change in humidi which affected his breathing, he knew. Part of his left lur had been cut away. He began again. “I have never to; you, Nicolai—but I have an agent among the complemei

of the Eden Project—”

“An agent, Comrade Colonel?”

“Yes—placed there five centuries ago in the event that the Eden Project proved to be the insurance against doomsday which I had always suspected. And I was right of course.”

“But, Comrade Colonel?” Maj. Nicolai Antonovitch began. “When you ordered the destruction of the six Eden Project shuttle craft, your agent was aboard—”

“My agent knew the risks. But we shall see what my agent is able to precipitate that may hasten the Eden Project’s destruction. I wish activities of the Eden Project monitored by high-altitude observation craft—see that this is begun, and quickly. Meanwhile—” and he took his cap from Antonovitch, not bothering to replace it on his head, but carrying it in his left hand, slapping it against his left thigh as he walked toward the prefabricated shelter. “Meanwhile, you must see to it that Major Krakovski and his units which prosecute our efforts against the Wild Tribes of Europe are recalled immediately. Immediately. I wish for Krakovski and his forces to join me at once. We mount an attack force against these Nazis which have so brazenly interfered with our strategies.”