Survivalist - 18 - The Struggle Page 3

  “How about Major Tiemerovna?”

  “That’s another story altogether, Jason. I’m no psychiatrist, but from what Mrs. Rubenstein told me, Major Tiemerovna’s a pretty sick woman.”

  “Give me a best guess.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and eyebrows in unison. It looked kind of sexy, Darkwood thought absently. But Margaret Barrow always looked kind of sexy anyway. “It probably started as what you or I would call a psychosis—”

  “I use that word all the time. Tell me in easy to understand words, Maggie.”

  She shrugged—just her shoulders this time—as she perched on the edge of a surgery table. “From what Mrs. Rubenstein said and from my own limited observations, the Major seems to be suffering, among other things, from manic depression, but locked into the depressive state. Like I said, I’m no shrink. She’s a very sick woman. Total disorientation, obviously experiencing hallucinations, catatonic most of the time. There’s nothing I can do for her except monitor vital functions, keep her cleaned and bathed and sedated until we reach port. In layman’s language, she’s gone off the deep end, Jason. And after what she’s evidently been through—some sort of battle, as Mrs. Rubenstein put it.”

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  “And the man?”

  “He’s Captain of Commandos Otto Hammerschmidt of the Republic of New Germany in Argentina. That’s what he said before I sedated him. And he’s got very fast hands,” she smiled. “He’s going to be all right, though.”

  “One of the reconstructed Nazis, huh.”

  “That’s not nice to say, Jason!”

  “Fine.”

  His ship’s company now included a German officer, the daughter of the twice legendary hero Doctor John Thomas Rourke, and a Major in the Soviet KGB who was gorgeous even if she was looney at the moment, both women five centuries old and ‘holding.’

  And the Reagan was farther away from Mid-Wake than he wanted to consider.

  He asked Margaret Barrow, “You wouldn’t like to come to my cabin and celebrate my promotion, would you?”

  She leaned back and rocked on one heel. “How?”

  “I meant maybe just a cup of coffee and some conversation.”

  “You want to be treated for mental illness, too?”

  He smiled. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, Maggie.”

  She smiled back. “I’d blame me if you succeeded. But yeah, I’ll come. If it’s more than coffee.”

  “Are you suggesting we examine and possibly test the medicinal liquor stores to confirm that no chemical breakdown has taken place which might alter its effectiveness?”

  “Who’d you get that line from?”

  “I’ve been studying circumlocution with Sebastian.” And she laughed and came into his arms. Darkwood’s eyes drifted toward Major Natalia Anastasia Tiemerovna. He’d learned firsthand that she was one hell of a woman.

  He looked awav.

  A transponder signal relayed to him, the transponder given to Doctor Rourke when he left Mid-Wake, as an emergency device, the signal picked up on satellite buoys. A terse message from Mid-Wake command to respond. A search that was less than an hour, but seemed like more to pinpoint the source of the transponder. One of those helicopters on the bottom, shot all to hell it appeared. On the surface of the Yellow Sea, two women and a man, only one of them conscious (the young woman) and keeping the others afloat.

  She had her father’s guts, certainly.

  And clinging to them just as dearly as the human beings were the weapons. More antiques, not dissimilar to what Doctor Rourke carried, his Detonics .45s.

  Why was the helicopter shot down? Had the war on the surface of the Earth which Doctor Rourke had told them about and which they had experienced first hand for a brief time heated up?

  The Rourke girl—Mrs. Rubenstein—had seemed past exhaustion, but hadn’t seemed anywhere near to giving up.

  Surface dwellers were strange, certainly, but in many ways they were little different from the people of Mid-Wake. They were driven to survival, and driven by it.

  “What are you thinking, Jason?” Margaret Barrow asked, pushing a little way from him. “It isn’t about me, is it?”

  “No. But it isn’t about anyone else.” He looked at her and smiled. “Are you going to eat the rest of that cake? I mean, it would be a sin to let it go to waste after all the effort everyone put into making it.”

  She turned around, took the plate off her desk, and handed it to him, but she didn’t say, “If that doesn’t take the cake.” He would have.

  Chapter Two

  Colonel Wolfgang Mann, de facto supreme commander of German forces in the field, stood, the tips of his splayed fingers touching to the tabletop, its black mirror finish reflecting a distorted image of him as he spoke. “The Soviet offensive is continuing. I have just received a communique that Soviet forces have consolidated their position in Lydveldid Island, within the Hekla Community itself, and have totally destroyed our base outside Hekla. Soviet troops are apparently massing for another attack on Eden Base. Meanwhile, a small but very mobile force continues to harass efforts in New Germany to resupply forces in the field and, because of the presence of this force, substantial reinforcement of our troops in the field is out of the question. Yet, we have sustained significant casualties. In the same report from our installation outside Eden Base, to which I alluded a moment ago, I was informed that the Japanese Lieutenant Kurinami was reported shot down in battle against the Soviets during a raid on their staging area. Kurinami is missing and presumed dead. As concerns the whereabouts of Frau Rubenstein, Fraulein Major Tiemerovna, and Captain Hammerschmidt, I have fifteen helicopters

  and three J7-Vs in the air over the Yellow Sea searching for the downed gunship or even some sign of wreckage. So far, there is no sign.”

  The Chairman of the First Chinese City rose from his black lacquer chair, several dark bruises visible on his face, his normally patent-leather-looking hair slightly disarranged, his eyes weary. “So many things, Doctor Rourke, have been done by you and your family for our people. I am ashamed I can do no more than offer you what meager resources still remain at my disposal.”

  He had said nothing, everything. John Rourke tented his fingers to keep his hands from trembling. Michael Rourke, Maria Leuden beside him, entered the conference room unannounced. He looked at his son and the German archaeologist. Michael took a seat at the far end of the table, Maria standing beside his chair. Her devotion to Michael bordered on slavish-ness, but Rourke pushed the thought of that away. His son’s relationship with the woman—pleasant, intelligent—was none of his business.

  Paul Rubenstein, his injuries properly attended to, his face grim, softly thudded his left fist against the table as Sarah Rourke spoke. “I think I can speak for my daughter Ann even though her husband is present.” And she looked at Paul Rubenstein, touched her hand to his. “I think Annie and Natalia and Captain Hammerschmidt are alive out there, even considering what my husband told you about Natalia’s present state of mental collapse. I realize that the war effort is for the greater good and I realize you can’t keep combing the same stretch of ocean for them. They wouldn’t want you to. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t want to say it. But I think they’d want me to say it anyway.” She looked down into her lap, or perhaps toward the baby she carried inside her.

  “I may have a potential solution to all of our problems,” John Rourke said so softly he almost spoke in a whisper. “I gave Annie something when she boarded the helicopter. It was a special transponder given to me by the naval authorities of Mid-Wake. It’s the same device issued to their Marine commandos and naval frogmen as part of their survival kits. It has a destruct device built into it which can be activated in the event of capture, of course. But, when used as intended, it’s designed to broadcast a special low-frequency homing beacon that can be picked up by communications buoys the people of Mid-Wake use in much the same manner persons of my era utilized communications
satellites. That frequency is computer monitored twenty-four hours per day. If Annie had the time to activate the frequency, there’s a substantial possibility that the reason no sign of survivors from the crash of the gunship has been found on the surface is that there are no survivors on the surface.” The Chairman said, “Do you imply, Doctor—” “Yes. They may be aboard a U.S. submarine operating out of Mid-Wake,” Rourke answered, cutting him off. “I have no means of contacting Mid-Wake, at least not directly. But if I can have a German gunship, Colonel Mann,” and Rourke looked across the table toward the German commander, “and enough fuel, I can reach the approximate area of open water beneath which Mid-Wake is located. If you can loan me a very powerful conventional explosive—” And Rourke used the word “conventional” intentionally, because he knew the Germans were working on a nuclear device in the event the Russians gained access to such weapons and used them. “A powerful conventional explosive detonated on the surface above Mid-Wake would be bound to be picked up on their sensors. They’ll come to investigate and I’ll make

  contact. If they have picked up Annie and Natalia and Captain Hammerschmidt, I’ll know at once. And, if they haven’t, then perhaps with their help— I don’t know. We’ll keep looking. No matter how long we have to. And their submarines can help. Anyway— But either way,” and Rourke exhaled, studied his hands for a moment, “I may be able to effect some sort of alliance with the government of Mid-Wake. With the aid of their underwater technology we could introduce a wild card—”

  “A ‘wild card,’ Herr Doctor?” Mann queried.

  “Something unsuspected in its true nature, beyond what would be expected ordinarily, Colonel. We could introduce such a wild card into the war against the Soviets and if we used it effectively, knock them out. It’s only a matter of time before Colonel Antonovitch or the Soviet leadership of the Underground City—and perhaps by now with Karamatsov’s death they’re working together—but it’s only a matter of time until someone from the Soviet faction on the surface successfully makes a second contact with the Soviet underwater complex and works out an alliance. These Soviet forces have considerable nuclear capabilities, as we’ve discussed before. If Antonovitch were able to introduce such capabilities as a wild card of his own, we’d lose.”

  “I can provide such a helicopter, Herr Doctor,” Mann volunteered.

  “ItH need amphibious capabilities, and as much as I’d like to strip it of weapons so we’d be able to fly faster and farther between refuelings, we’ll be over Soviet waters much of the time and there’s no telling what we’ll encounter. So, conversely, I’ll need all the weapons we can pack aboard.” He looked at Paul Rubenstein. “Come with?”

  “You couldn’t stop me, John; not even you,” the

  younger man smiled. “Dad—”

  Rourke looked toward his son. “No. You’ll be needed to help Colonel Mann. And to take care of your mother.” Sarah started to speak and he knew what she’d say. Rourke told her, “If I were Colonel Mann, I’d keep a minimal presence in Iceland outside Hekla just to keep the Russians bottled up, then hit their staging area near Eden Base in Georgia. If the Russians can be forced out, the German installation outside Eden Base can become a staging area along the German supply route.”

  “My plan exactly, Herr Doktor,” Mann nodded, lighting a cigarette from his case.

  “And you and the baby will be safer with Colonel Mann’s forces, either here or in New Germany. I’m not about to lose everyone I care for, and even though there’s a substantial possibility for success of the mission, in the event of failure, failure will be fatal.”

  “No, damn it, John!”

  Rourke lit the cigar he’d set on the table beside his tented fingers. “Yes. You’re not coming with Paul and me. It’s too da; ^erous. No purpose would be served by endangering you more than you have been already. It’s dangerous enough just staying here or going to New Germany. I know you want to come and I know why. For the same reason I’m going. But you’re not.” And John Rourke stood up.

  “John!”

  He didn’t look at his wife, simply told her, “No.”

  Chapter Three

  At times, the oppressive gray clouds, already partially obscured by the heavy white flakes of snow which seemed to fall unendingly from them onto the Earth below, were almost totally blocked by squadrons of black-skinned Soviet gunships.

  The drifts lay deeper in the ravine which he followed, and Akiro Kurinami’s movements were slowed because of them; but, on the higher ground, there was the very real danger of being spotted from the air by the still-massing Russian helicopters.

  And time was of the essence. The growing Soviet armada would soon attack Eden Base.

  The distance to Eden Base was more miles than Kurinami wanted to contemplate, but John Rourke’s Retreat was vastly closer.

  At Rourke’s Retreat, there was a powerful radio with which he could contact the German installation outside Eden Base, pass along intelligence on Soviet strength. If the Soviets attacked without the forces of New Germany knowing the heightened numbers in their fleet, the Russians would surely achieve total military victory in what, Before the Night of the War, had been The United States, and Eden Base would be

  overrun. The space shuttles themselves would be destroyed, their computer records seized or, worse still, erased. The frozen embryonic life forms of animals and birds, the botanical cuttings and seeds—much of the future of life on Earth would vanish from the Earth forever. The Chinese, as Kurinami understood it, and the Germans, of course, had used their underground shelters as environmental arks as well as circumstances allowed, as had the Icelandics (spared by a freak effect of the Van Allen Radiation Belts) utilized their network of geo-thermal-powered pockets of civilization within the Arctic wasteland that now blanketed the Earth to well below sixty degrees North Latitude. But nowhere on Earth now, since the destruction of all surface life, did many of the species exist which existed in Eden Project stores, which could be returned to Earth. And the knowledge in the Eden computers was the accumulated knowledge of the centuries and irreplaceable.

  Eden Base had to be saved at all costs.

  And John Rourke’s Retreat was the only hope.

  Freezing cold, hungry, exhausted, Akiro Kurinami raised his feet another time, then another and another and another. In his mind’s eye, he put the face of Elaine Halversen ahead of him, going on ever toward her …

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to leave New Germany, Dodd knew, and these disciples of the dead leader might well be the last he could count on for help until the Soviet offensive was crushed.

  In the uncompleted permanent structures construction zone, a chemical heater providing warmth enough that hoods of parkas could be lowered, Christopher Dodd stood as part of a ragged semicircle around the

  heat source. Damien Rausch, the apparent leader of the Germans, lit a cigarette. Rausch was tall, broad-shouldered, and the muscled neck bespoke strength and fitness. His voice, as he spoke, was a sonorous baritone, the English devoid of any accent as far as Christopher Dodd could detect. “You seem to misunderstand the circumstances, Herr Commander. We were not sent here to this inhospitable wasteland to obey your orders. I have my orders, and with the help of my men shall carry them out.”

  “I was given to understand—” Dodd began.

  “Herr Commander, the ultimate goal of the Nazi movement is not to benefit a self-serving astronaut who wishes to be king over one hundred some people in an otherwise populationless continent.”

  “I have plans, sir!”

  “And so do we, Herr Commander Dodd. And so do we. At the moment, you are part of our plans. The knowledge within your computer banks, certain stored strategic items, these very craft themselves, all have their potential use to the Reich. The very existence of this base further saps the manpower of the rebellious forces under the command of Wolfgang Mann, an asset to our sacred movement in and of itself. You are obsessed with Akiro Kurinami. That you fear so greatly one
obvious racial inferior speaks poorly for your manhood, Herr Commander. No. He shall die. But not at the expense of the greater purpose.”

  It sounded to Dodd as if part of Rausch’s sentence was unfinished or missing and he hesitated to speak lest he inadvertently interrupt. When Rausch spoke no more for several seconds, Dodd asked, “Greater purpose? You mean your revolution.”

  “I mean evolution, Herr Commander. The survival of the fittest. Your Japanese nemesis will die if you are

  correct that he will go to ground at the retreat of the bothersome Herr Doctor Rourke. But only because this fellow’s death serves the greater purpose. See that you serve the greater purpose, Herr Commander. See to that if you value your life.”

  Christopher Dodd shivered. Rausch reminded him of the devil.

  Chapter Four

  Annie Rourke opened her eyes.

  There was a grey half-light all about her, a hum so subtle she could not detect it at all unless she concentrated on it and nothing else.

  The smell of disinfectant.

  She closed her eyes … The gunship. The ocean. Otto injured. Natalia unable to function. From the pocket of the uncomfortable trousers she’d worn, she had taken the signaling device her father had given her, had called a transponder. For centuries, or so it seemed, she fought to stay afloat, to keep herself and Natalia and Otto afloat. And when it was finally ending, they had come. The man with the dark wavy hair, the wolfish smile, and the pretty dark eyes.

  Into this— This.

  She sat bolt upright, a restraint buckled loosely over her waist.

  “Hi. Feeling better, Mrs. Rubenstein?”

  She turned toward the reassuringly feminine voice. A light flickered on, like a small lamp, part of the bed in which Annie lay illuminated, the woman’s face illuminated in it the next instant. Hair more brown than her own, what some called dark auburn, pretty

  grey-green eyes like her mother, Sarah Rourke, had. A full, smiling mouth. She wore a white lab coat, and beneath it a khaki uniform shirt and matching khaki skirt. “You’re, ah—” “I’m Margaret Barrow, remember?” “Doctor Barrow. I remember. How—” “Why don’t I save you the questions and I’ll just give you the standard answers, okay?” Margaret Barrow smiled.