Doomsday Warrior 14 - American Death Orbit (6 page)

All of space before them, the stars spread out like a trillion diamonds across the chest of night, Killov thought, half-mesmerized himself. A man could feel either mighty insignificant—or mighty powerful to be up here among the gods’ twinkling eyes. But Killov felt not just equal—but superior to the gods. Perhaps some day he would subjugate even those white flames in the night.

“We are demons at construction work,” Heindricks said. “The Nazi spirit has always been most industrious. And we have had many years to work it all out. It’s the Wheel’s weapons systems—actually making them work
—that
is why we need your expertise, Colonel.”

“Yes, I see. A synthesis of perfect needs—you and I.” He smiled grimly at them and popped two pills before their eyes. “Well, I’ll run your show for you all right. Just get me those scientists I named. Bring them to me—let me bring them into the Wheel—and we will soon make her the mightiest weapon over the face of the earth.” His voice changed to an emotion-charged whisper:
“Yes,
to blacken the face of the earth, to turn it red with fire, and dark, charred coals, with burnt husks of men and buildings.”

The Nazis’ eyes grew bright as Killov wove his hypnotic web of destruction before them. Already they were falling under his dark spell. Already his visions of hell were entrancing them with bloody possibility, superseding their own blood lust with a greater vision of dark power.

Eight

I
t was slow going for Rock and the Dynasoar expeditionary force. The same gray wetness and low clouds that seemed to fly just overhead were both a blessing to the Freefighters in that it made them virtually invisible to prying eyes—and a curse in that it was cold, damn freezing cold. And even the sturdy ’brids had a hard time on the ice-sheened rocks and slippery slopes of the northern Rockies. They came out of the higher mountains and down into foothills only eight or nine thousand feet tall. The lower lands to the east were too dangerous even for such a well-armed force, filled with mutations that made the worm-thing they’d seen back there look like a mosquito.

But the all-terrain vehicles—the “bikes”—which the field equipment science boys had been so proud of when they putted them around the test course a thousand feet below ground, were not quite behaving the same way out here in the wilds. Rock had set half the force on ’brids, half on the high tech bikes, figuring whichever way the odds went, at least they’d come out fifty percent. And already the bikes were having some major problems. Two of them conked out completely after only eighteen hours on the road. The motors couldn’t take the cold and the driving ice rain. The bikes clearly hadn’t been insulated enough for the outer world, it being nice and dry down in C.C.’s subterranean testing grounds.

Maybe next time.

He had the men abandon the nonfunctioning bikes when it became clear after two hours of trying to repair them that it just wasn’t happening. Which meant that they had to dump various non-essential supplies and have the men double up on another one of the vehicles.

There were extra ’brids carrying other supplies, so they could even handle a few more mechanical disasters. But supplies were precious. And if it came down to it, they’d have to give up food and medicines and other such luxuries. For their own lives were expendable. It was the firepower, the space tools—these were the things that had to make it. They were just fodder for the cannons if it came down to it—every one of them. And slowly they were starting, the ones who hadn’t seen heavy travel or combat, to see just what they had gotten themselves into: A hard trek towards death.

Still, under Rock’s firm leadership they made pretty good time considering the damned mechanical failures and the natural elements they were up against. He marched them until their fingers and hands felt like they would fall off—and then marched them some more. He knew the ’brids could take days of it at the slow pace they were going, not even stopping for sleep—as long as water and food bags were attached around their necks in motion. In fact, the animals liked nothing more than a leisurely mountain stroll munching up slow mouthfuls. For a hybrid it was just about the closest thing to heaven. Like eating popcorn in front of the VCR, when there had been such things. But Rock kept an eye on the two whiz kids, using them basically as his “guides.” Meaning map readers. They were not expendable either. The two of them were game enough, that was for damned sure—but they were just kids whatever their brainpower. And he could see after about twelve hours of riding they couldn’t take anymore. Even Rajat’s cocoa-colored skin was turning a shade paler, while Connors’s Irish freckled skin was already into the purplish range.

By day four, they’d covered about two hundred miles, without major incidents other than a few cases of frostbite of fingers and toes which were given extra coverings. But when the shit hits the fan it usually hits fast, spraying out into the world in lightning splatters its heavy enlightenment spray.

Rock was in the lead and he heard it first, a sound like the very earth was ripping itself apart piece by screaming piece. He ripped his glance up to the slope of a snow-covered granite slope to his left that rose up a good thousand feet above them at about a 50-degree angle. For a few seconds he couldn’t see anything as he slowed the ’brid slightly and it jumped around startled.

But as his eyes focused they followed the source of the noise. Far up, at the peak of the mountain above, a white puffy mist was rising, shot up as if under pressure. And it was growing fast.

“Avalanche,” Rock screamed out as he raised his left hand and circled it fast—the team signal for primo #1 trouble coming in from nine o’clock. Though many of the others didn’t, the core men of the Rock team spread out among the force, saw it immediately. They’d been out with Rockson too many times not to know that failure to react instantaneously to dangers meant death. And they’d seen a lot of men die because they froze like squirrels, instead of hopping like mad jackrabbits.

“Move, move!” Chen, Detroit and the others shouted out at everyone as Rock, making sure the two whiz kids had heard him, kicked Snorter hard in the ribs and screamed out epithets.

“Move, you son-of-a-bitch, like you’ve never moved before!” The ’brid tore ahead with the rest of the force slowly accelerating right behind him. Rockson scanned ahead for the slightest sign of any possible shelter. Nothing. The roar above them was growing both louder and more spread out. He twisted his head to the side, having to crane up. The wall of boiling white was about halfway down the slope and gaining fast. It was wide now, a good half-mile, maybe more across. Even from a distance, Rockson could see that it was just chewing up everything on the slope and gobbling it down—trees, boulders, shrubs, a few elk grazing here and there were all sucked into snowy jaws.

“God,” Rock hissed through clenched teeth as he leaned over against the galloping ’brid and urged it even harder. “Please don’t let these men die, this mission fail.” The animal seemed to surge a little faster and Rock saw that ahead for four hundred feet or so they would ride across a straight and snowless patch of gravel and softball-sized rocks. The ’brids could move on that.

He twisted around behind him as soon as Snorter took off as if heading for the finishing gate. The others were spread out too far back. At the rate the avalanche was falling, as far as he could estimate, at least half of them wouldn’t make it. Archer was bringing up the rear, screaming and waving his hairy arms at men and animals alike in front of him. His fierce mountain man visage seemed to be goosing the whole back of the stampede. A thin smile arched across Rock’s mouth. If they all lived through this he’d have to remember to keep Archer shotgun in the future; the guy was a holy terror, all seven foot plus of bearskin-clad ugliness!

He suddenly saw a possible shelter about a hundred feet ahead and to the right—a granite overhang that stuck out a good twenty feet, solid rock that rose up like a wind stop a good fifteen feet in the air. It might stop the avalanche as well.

He made an instantaneous decision and threw his arm up pointing to the right. He reined in Snorter sharply and the big steed, even with his sure-footedness nearly lost his balance stumbling on three legs for a moment. But one of the best things about hybrids was their almost hydraulic-suspension leg systems. They could bounce back up from anything—they had to be able to, considering the terrain they traveled.

Within seconds, the animal was heading down the slope with arching jumping strides more like a goat than a hybrid horse. It’s lead showed the ’brids behind it how to do it, as some of them were new to the combat squad. The all-terrain vehicles had been designed for just such as this and they seemed to have little trouble shooting down the rock-strewn slope. Score one for high tech.

Rock pushed the ’brid to the max, and saw as he looked up that the avalanche had slowed just slightly as it came to a plateau about a hundred feet deep that he hadn’t seen before. But it would only buy them seconds. For even as he watched, the top began spilling over the collecting snow on the plateau and built up like a great towering dune six hundred foot above their heads.

“Faster you fleabag—I’ll give you every bit of sugar in the kitchen supplies,” Rock screamed, half-crazy with desperation. “I swear, just push it, baby, push it.” Rockson pressed against the side of the great heaving steed like he was part of it. Whether his chow offer got the beast going even faster, or it saw the safety of the overhang itself and wanted to get there pronto, who can say. But the mount seemed to suddenly go into overdrive and rushed forward like it was closing in on the last few yards at the Kentucky Derby. Just as the lead horse at a race track can pull the whole track faster if he’s having a great day, Snorter’s speed dragged the entire unit along behind him with a burst of mad energy as Archer’s howling unintelligible screams could be heard coming from the back of the pack.

Suddenly Rock heard the strangest sound, like a great wave suddenly breaking on the beach. He snapped his head back up, trusting Snorter to negotiate the slope on his own as he pretty much was already doing. The dune of snow hanging above was approaching critical mass. It had grown to a good hundred-foot wall of white that had built up like a great dam. And even as he watched in horror, the thing seemed to crest as more snow came pumping down behind it. Suddenly it roared down right over their heads. The whole world seemed to crack with a thunderous sound, making Rock’s ears ring. And a great curtain of darkness descended toward them like the smashing hand of a giant.

Snorter leaped the last ten feet toward safety, then turned sharply to the left running in under the overhang. He flew all the way to the far side, wanting to get as far away from the avalanche as he could, before Rock was able to throw on the brakes. He brought the heaving foam-flecked creature to a stop about ten feet from the far side of the overhang and jumped off the saddle to the ground in a flash.

The two whiz kids were flying into the cave, barely in control of their steeds. Rock ran up between the two pop-eyed animals and threw his hands straight up, making them rear up in a dead stop. He grabbed the reins, pulled them down, and spoke loudly. “Down ’brids down!”

They responded to his commands, and Rock let go, running between the two and patting them slightly on the rumps so they walked forward joining Snorter who was already looking around the rocky ground beneath the darkened overhang searching for food. Rockson ran back along the wall as other hybrids came tearing ass inside.

He saw Detroit, then a few of the techs. Then it was all just a blur. Men, machines, and animals all yelling and whinnying like they were competing in some high decibel contest.

Then the roar of the falling snow seemed to grow so loud that it filled their ears, their minds, their whole bodies.

Their very bones shook as the world above them grew darker and darker, like an eclipse of the sun was taking place. Even as Rock reached the end of the overhang where men were still tearing in, he saw the curtain descend.

There was an explosion of ice and snow and he was thrown from his feet as the pressure wave shot back and forth through the overhang, sending men flying from their saddles and seats. Complete darkness fell over them and Rock felt something smack him in the face like he was being kicked by an elephant.

Then he was in a darkness even blacker than the avalanche-shrouded shelter.

Nine

“A
nyone got a match?” Rock heard a voice asking as he came out of his stupor, lifting his face which had been mashed into the ground, like it was thinking of taking root down there.

There was no answer, just groans and curses here and there. No one was screaming, other than a few ’brids letting out a frantic neigh in the darkness.

Suddenly a light shot on from one of the all-terrains. They could now see through the mist that danced around the inside of the overhang—see that they were trapped. A solid wall of snow and ice had absolutely sealed them in, dropping down around them on all sides. The overhang made of solid rock had protected them from the falling avalanche. But only to create a prison of ice from which they might never escape, Rock realized.

Other lights went on along the inside and everyone rose, dusting themselves off. With the light, and the men talking, the ’brids quieted down a bit. But they sensed that they were in a bad, bad situation.

Rock shouted orders, had them all bunched together at one end, and had blinders put on them to keep the ’brids from looking around too much and getting all excited. Then he gathered all of the Freefighters together in the center of the ice-locked cavern.

“Anyone missing?” he asked, addressing them as they sat with cuts and bruises, blood flowing on a few faces, around him.

“Where’s Harper?” McCaughlin spoke up suddenly, with a tremor in the words. They all looked around. But saw nothing of the missing Harper, one of the techs who had come along to work with the whiz kinds. The Scot’s eyes went down to the ground.