Doomsday Warrior 04 - Bloody America (7 page)

The Doomsday Warrior looked quickly around for any cover. He hoped the choppers hadn’t seen them yet. Here, on the very top ridges of an almost barren mountain, they would be sitting ducks. If it had just been Rock and his crew, he wouldn’t have felt so concerned—but with Kim and Langford along . . . If the Reds caught them all, they would have the biggest haul they had ever made. Medals and vodka would be flowing for months. His alert eyes saw the shadow of a cave several hundred yards down the decline ahead.

“Double time it,” the Doomsday Warrior yelled out, wanting them all to feel the edginess in his voice. There was no time to play it cool. The party of Americans flew down the slope and into the dark spiderwebbed cavern. They all prayed that there were no grizzlies or other cave dwellers inside who would want to dispute ownership of the dark rock home. But a quick scan with a mini-flashlight by Chen showed nothing more than some bats seemingly unconcerned, hanging by the hundreds from the back roof of the nearly eighty-foot-deep cavern.

“Defensive alignment,” Rock spat out and the team quickly went into one of their many battle modes that had been worked out and practiced for years. McCaughlin pulled out the folding fifty millimeter machine gun from its satchel over his right shoulder and moved it up to a low rock just inside the cave. Chen took eight of his exploding star-knives from a hidden pouch inside his black ninja suit, fitting four into each hand.

Detroit tightened his grenade bandoliers that crisscrossed his linebacker-sized chest, taking off two of the metal pineapples and gripping them tightly in his black hands. Archer grumbled out an untelligible word or two and slipped his crossbow from around his back. He loaded it with an exploding arrow as he fit five more into the quick-fire mechanism that he had built in just below the steel death-dealer. The team was ready—as ready as they’d ever be.

Rockson edged forward, pulling out his dust-coated field glasses and lifted them to the far sky. He saw what he feared: The choppers were coming straight ahead, right at the mountain peak. There were nearly twenty of them in a V-formation, big MS-20 jet helios, armed to the teeth with missiles, radar, and Rock knew from past experience nearly twenty elite combat troops in each, ready to drop down at a moment’s notice on long nylon ropes. He could see the big Red stars on the sides—signifying Red Army. At least they weren’t KGB. The regular army was usually a lot less enthusiastic about engaging in firefights with the freefighters.

But as the squadron of choppers continued unerringly on its straight course, Rock’s heart began beating faster. They’d been seen—he could feel it. His sixth sense told him that some overzealous asshole aboard one of the craft had been looking through one of the super-scanners or perhaps one of the infrared scopes that could pick up any living thing for miles. The choppers would be upon them within a minute or two. Rock turned around, sliding back into the cave.

“We’ve got problems,” he said, with a slightly sardonic grin. “Big problems.” He glanced over at the pale Langford and Kim who looked back at the man she loved with big blue-green eyes, wide in fear and concern.

“We can take ’em, Rock,” McCaughlin said. “Let me open up the fifty-five. If we can just get a few of the lead choppers the rest will pile up and—”

“Not this time, pal,” Rock said. “There’s too much at stake here. If President Langford should get captured, it would set our new government back for years, maybe decades. The morale of the freefighters would be dealt a heavy blow.” The Doomsday Warrior had already made his decision. He knew they’d protest, but Rockson was the leader and there was nothing that would change his mind once it was made up. “We’ve got to create a diversion. They know there’s someone here, but I’m sure they don’t know how many or who.
I’m
going to be that diversion. It’s our only chance. And I need someone with me—someone noticeable.” He glanced over at Archer who had been listening intently to Rock’s words. The near-mute who could utter only several words understood things perfectly. He grunted back at Rock.

“Archer—Archer come.” The seven-foot-tall man had no fear of death or danger. Besides he owed his life to Rock who had saved him from a gruesome death in a quicksand pit.

“No Rock,” Kim blurted out, jumping up and rushing over to him. “You can’t go out there—you’ll be—”

“I’m not ready to die yet, baby, I promise.”

She flashed angry eyes at him. It was easier for him—he would just be gone—to wherever the dead go. She would be left alone, mourning for him, desiring him the rest of her life. She looked down at the moldy cave floor strewn with bat droppings and closed her eyes tightly, holding back the tears. There was nothing she could do, nothing she could say.

“Archer and I will make sure they see us. There’s some woods down at the bottom of the far side of the mountain. If we can just get inside I’m sure we can loose them. Don’t fire! You hear me. Sit tight! Don’t do a thing, make a peep unless the bastards are actually coming into the cave.” He looked at them sternly, knowing they were itching to get into the fray. “Get to the very back. If the Reds look in here and see nothing they probably won’t even want to search. They hate dark places.”

The men snickered. They all knew of the great courageous fighters of the Red Army—draftees who were zonked out on drugs half the time—just biding their time until they could head back to Mother Russia and out of this godforsaken land where everything was out to kill them.

“Give me some of your grenades,” Rock said to Detroit. “Maybe we can do some jamming ourselves.” Detroit quickly pulled off six of the hardball-sized explosives and handed them to the Doomsday Warrior. Archer walked over to him and slapped Rockson on the back, laughing with a grunt of disdain. “Kill!” Archer said. “Rock and Archer kill!” The rest of the team looked on in amazement. They had never seen the woods creature so loquacious.

“He’s making a goddamned speech,” Detroit said with a smirk.

“Take care,” Rock said, abruptly starting forward with the giant Archer at his side. He didn’t look back. Kim reached forward involuntarily with outstretched arms and then quickly pulled them back, realizing how absurd the gesture was. A single tear formed in the corner of each eye. The Rock team pulled back into the innards of the cavern, lying on their stomachs behind a small drop in the cave floor. They shooed some bats away who moved, setting up sleeping quarters further up in the darkness. The freefighters lay stock-still, their weapons ready. The president and Kim were at the very edge of the back wall. The men would give their lives to protect them.

Out on the steep rocky slope the Doomsday Warrior and Archer began flying downhill. Rock knew there was no way the Red chopper sighters could miss a man as big as a goddamned ox. Archer took huge flying steps, landing every ten feet or so, while Rock took shorter more fluid steps, hardly sinking into the soft pebbly slope before jumping again. The choppers came in from the eastern sky like a swarm of hawks ready to draw blood. Their dim buzz turned into a deafening roar as the twenty helios beelined for the two moving figures.

“Don’t fire yet,” Commander Wilenski in the lead MS-20 ordered through his throat mike. “I want to see what we have here.” The fleet of attack choppers which ironically had been heading toward a suspected Free City that one of their spies had reported, had just happened to catch the freefighters’ movement on their new Kinetic Scanner—one of the few recent technological innovations that Russia had produced—a device capable of picking up any motion over a certain kinetic energy at a range of up to twelve point five miles. The jet helicopters switched off their jet engines and went to rotor blades for lift. Their speed dropped within seconds from nearly three hundred fifty miles per hour to just under one hundred, then down to fifty. Slowly they zeroed in on their prey like a falcon descends on a rabbit.

Rockson turned around in motion and saw the twenty black engines of death just above the peak, coming in on him. Suddenly he dug his feet into the loose pebbles and stopped on a dime. He spun around and pulled the pins on two grenades. Archer, tearing down the slope like some sort of lumbering elephant, saw Rockson’s plan and tried to stop himself the same way. He dug his heels in and flew face forward, traveling another twenty-five feet on his arms and stomach before he could stop. He jumped to his feet with a roar of humiliation and raised his crossbow. Rock released the first of the grenades, flinging his arm forward with the arc of a discus thrower. It soared into the sky straight up the mountainside. Archer sighted on the lead chopper and fired a three-foot-long steel shaft with a small charge of explosive plastique mounted on the tip. It shot through the air with an ominous whistle, moving at nearly two hundred fifty miles per hour.

The freefighters’ weapons made contact with the fleet at the same instant. The grenade detonated just yards ahead of the forward copter, flaming grenade fragments ripping into the fifty-foot craft. A roar of metal turning to liquid and flesh to bloody mud screamed down the slope, sending rocks and pieces of glowing shrapnel in every direction. The chopper burst into a fireball as its munitions section detonated with the force of two tons of high explosive. The fireball reached out in all directions, an expanding circle of fire and metal as sharp as razors. The choppers immediately to the right and left of the leader took bad hits, both bursting into flame, then veering wildly down from the sky.

“Run!” Rockson screamed out above the thundering maelstrom above. Archer heard him and, after quickly slipping another arrow into its firing groove, took off after the Doomsday Warrior. The two freefighters catapulted down the rock-strewn hill toward the sheltering woods below. There were only yards to go. A hail of machine-gun slugs ripped into the dirt just ahead of them, warning the two to stop or die. Rock pulled the pin from another grenade and used his forward motion to suddenly spin and, without looking, fling the sizzling pineapple backward, instantly taking off again. The pilot of the closest chopper saw the motion and twisted the metal bird to the right and up, trying to dodge the explosion. The grenade flew up just below the belly of the soaring Red chopper and went off. The brunt of the blast lifted straight up and into the bottom of the helio severing the fuel line. The MS-20, all ten tons of it, went up in an explosive puff of smoke, almost vaporizing the craft, so intense was the heat of the detonation. The choppers behind it flew forward, now under command of Captain Voshkov, having taken over from the lately deceased Wilenski who had died in the first explosion, Wilenski’s craft just a pile of twisted metal wreckage near the top of the slope.

Rockson and the barn door of a man Archer hit the edge of the woods and tore into the shadows and leafy covering of the trees. We should have a chance in here, Rock thought as he and Archer zipped between the dark trees, ducking their heads beneath low branches. Rock couldn’t help but smile even in the midst of fleeing the Reds. They had already taken out nearly a quarter of the fleet, and the Russians hadn’t bothered to stop and check out the cave. His plan appeared to be working. Small forest creatures flew off around them, squealing and hiding in the thick twisted weeds of the forest as the two Americans ran as fast as their legs could carry them. The further they got from Kim and the president the better. Overhead they heard the loud whir of the copter engines. The Reds weren’t about to give up so easily on this one.

Explosions went off about fifty yards behind them. Sounded like the crews were tossing grenades, just dropping them straight down as battleships of old would drop their explosive canisters to rouse hidden submarines. Rockson heard a loud thud to his right. Archer had caught a branch right in the face as he had turned to catch sight of the explosion lighting up the woods behind them. Rock stopped and reached a hand down for the immense man in his oversized fatigues that were always ripping at the seams. Archer opened his eyes and saw Rockson looking down. He instantly realized how stupid he looked and smiled.

“Come on big fellow,” the Doomsday Warrior said, helping the freefighter to his feet. “It happens to the best of us.” The two of them once again hit cruising speed into the lengthening shadows as the sun began to fall lazily from the ocean-blue sky. Just a little more. Just let them not find us for another five minutes and we’ll be free. Rock was sure of it. The thick trees of the surrounding mountains would make a perfect getaway for them. Ahead was a clearing, lit up with golden light from the warm rays of old Sol. It looked all right. Rockson stopped at the edge of the woods. About a hundred yards of lillies and daisies until the next patch of woods. The Reds seemed to be far behind them, still trying to flush them out.

“Come on.” Rock raised his arm. “Fast!” The two men took off across the open field like jackrabbits pursued by a fox. They had gone about thirty feet when the Doomsday Warrior heard a sound. Something? From above. They both dove to the ground as a large rope net dropped down from the trees. The net hit Archer, tangling his arms then his legs. He fell over on his side, roaring like a wild beast. Rock felt the net fall over his back, and he shot forward wriggling, avoiding entanglement. He reached the edge of it and came to his knees, pulling his .12 gauge shotpistol up ready to spit death.

“Please don’t try that,” a cold voice said. Rock looked up. A Russian officer, a captain with a big red star on his brown cap, was holding a .9mm Special Service revolver aimed right between Rock’s blue and violet eyes. On each side of the officer were nearly ten regulars, their Kalashnikovs pointed at the crouching American. Rock shrugged and let his pistol dangle from his fingers. He stood up slowly as troops tied the net around the furiously struggling Archer.

“Well, now, I may be mistaken,” the mustached officer said with a sneer. “But this looks like the notorious Ted Rockson—the ‘Ultimate American.’ ” He spat the words out contemptuously. “I’ve seen your picture enough on every brown wall in every military headquarters in this filthy country. You don’t look so tough right now.”

“Oh I’m not tough at all,” Rock said smiling. “I’m just a pussycat.
He’s
tough.” Rock pointed down at the snarling and frantically flailing Archer who was trying to rip the net apart with brute strength, hard even for him, with two-inch cable totally surrounding his massive body. Rock’s hands were cuffed behind his back, and he was marched into one of the choppers hidden in a second clearing beyond the next row of trees. Archer was carried in, still bound up in the net on a long metal pole, four men at each end.