Survivalist - 15.5 - Mid-Wake Page 35

  “Because of the Cam Ranh Bay naval base?” Rourke asked.

  “Certain persons of power in the KGB and the Soviet

  Navy saw a means of having the ultimate weapon, a weapon their perceived enemy would never know existed. Using Cam Ranh Bay as the operational base, they began constructing beneath the sea the Soviet domes from which you were fortunate enough to escape. The domes served two purposes. The scientific purpose was seen as allowing the Soviets unparalleled research opportunities with geothermal energy, marine studies, and—much like Mid-Wake—research that would prove invaluable in the construction of a large-scale, permanent space station. The defensive purpose was their primary interest, however. Once the domes were complete, they would have a strategic base beneath the sea where existing submarines could be serviced and new submarines that could not officially be counted in strategic arms talks could be built. When it was learned that the Soviets were doing this, h was realized that an effective counter to this base had to be devised, and since Mid-Wake was already in its early stages, Mid-Wake was selected to be the counter to the Soviet base. The United States government couldn’t blow the whistle on the Soviet base without destroying what progress had been made in detente with the U.S.S.R. And, for that matter, without revealing Mid-Wake. Not to mention the sources of the intelligence data which substantiated the existence of the Soviet base. A group of people whose deaths had been faked and were operating only with the knowledge of the President and a few trusted Congressional leaders, but without the authority of law. And the cost for Mid-Wake was in the billions of dollars, yet the research benefits would have paid for the project and actually yielded a profit within twenty years and saved billions in research dollars for the future. So the base was never mentioned.”

  “And after the Night of the War and the Great Conflagration, both Mid-Wake and the Soviet base survived. And for you, the war never ended.”

  “Yes,” Jacob Fellows said quietly.

  “And?”

  Fellows looked at Rourke and smiled. “You’re a percep

  tive man. All right. This is in strictest confidence, Doctor Rourke.”

  “All right,” Rourke nodded.

  “The Soviets used most of their nuclear warheads and lost a number of their submarines during what you call this night of war. We had nuclear capabilities, but very limited, and we were not able to assist our friends and families on the land to any great degree. There was violent submarine warfare and many lives lost, but we could provide no true, direct assistance in terms of resolving the war on the surface. For some time, we played cat-and-mouse games, as the expression goes. But it was discovered we both utilize the same fault in the earth’s crust as our source of geothermal power, what keeps us going here. Both of us. If we destroyed the Russians, with nuclear weapons, we might destroy ourselves. And the Russians have the same data. So we kept our war non-nuclear. For almost five centuries, we kept it that way. Occasionally they would have the advantage, and occasionally we would. But now, all of that has changed. They have produced Island Class submarines with missile-launching capabilities, and they have been mining raw materials for producing bomb-grade plutonium from beneath the sea. We have been forced to do the same. It appears that the Russians are involved in a program which has the eventual aim of retaking the earth’s surface. Our scientists and strategic planners estimate the Russians will not have full capability in this area for several more decades. And, with the recent confirmation that there is substantial life still on the surface …”

  “If they started another nuclear war, the surface environment wouldn’t only be destroyed, so would the oceans. The atmosphere couldn’t bounce back again. It was so weakened. Are you aware at all of the enemy we fight on the surface?” Rourke asked.

  “We have been so concerned with survival, aside from a few brief sorties and some unsubstantiated data, we know very little. The Russians outnumber us. Considerably. Mid-Wake is essentially unchanged since its inception.

  There is the central Hub and six additional spheres which are reached by means of causeways—people commonly call the causeways and the spheres they service ‘tentacles.’ We have never been able to divert the resources needed to expand. The Russians had a primarily military facility when World War III began. We had what was primarily a research facility with some military potential. They were already manufacturing submarines. We were building our first, experimentally, and its primary use was to be research. We have held our own, but never caught up.”

  “On the surface,” John Rourke told him, “we have a situation in some ways analogous to your own, in that we contend with a Soviet power which has spent five centuries perfecting its military machine. The Soviets survived in what is referred to as the Underground City. It was built into the Urals as a massive civil-defense project and was wholly self-sufficient, as we understand, prior to the Night of the War. A man came to that city who is a survivor of the pre-War era, like myself. His name is Vlamdir Karamatsov.”

  “Is?”

  “Yes. I should explain how I’m here, I suppose.”

  “Cryogenic sleep. I know there had been some experiments done concerning its use for deep-space travel.”

  “Exactly,” Rourke told him. “On the Night of the War, the entire United States Space Shuttle Fleet was launched from Kennedy Space Center, which was in Florida. An international astronaut corps was assembled in the years before the Night of the War, ostensibly for training in deep-space flight, but with a secondary purpose in mind as well. That was as a doomsday project. Its name was the Eden Project, but I always thought it would more appropriately have been named as having something to do with Noah’s Ark. Because that’s basically what it was.

  “They would periodically have drills,” John Rourke went one, “where the astronauts would be assembled, board the shuttles, and be put into cryogenic sleep. When the Night of the War came, the President had wisely scheduled a drill, as was policy during periods of height

  ened international tensions. And then, that night, the shuttles were actually launched, and no one knew why until the crews opened their secret orders and learned that this was a project to save humanity and that they would sleep for almost five centuries while the shuttles followed an elliptical flight path taking them to the edge of the solar system and back. The flight crews were to prepare the ships for long-duration flight and then enter their own cryogenic chambers while the computers operated die ships. It was a gamble and the odds against success were enormous, I’d suppose, but in the event that the nuclear exchange actually destroyed all life, it was a gamble worth taking. There were one hundred and twenty people, of all races, male and female, of course. The computers held the accumulated scientific knowledge and cultural data of mankind. Cryogenically frozen embryos of useful domestic animals, birds, and other life-forms went along as well. But the only way the cryogenic process could work—both the Russians and ourselves had been performing experiments in cryogenic sleep—was by use of a special serum.” “What for?” Fellows asked.

  “It was easy to put people into cryogenic sleep—or comparatively so. But the brain would go into such a low level of activity that the subject could not be aroused from the sleep. A sort of living death. So there was considerable interest among the Soviets when the Americans developed a formula which was injected into the sleeper immediately prior to the Sleep. The formula prevented brain activity from dropping below a specified level and, when the sleep chamber’s computer program said it was time to wake up, the sleeper could awaken. Without the formula—cryogenic serum, if you will—cryogenic sleep was nothing more than what I said—living death.”

  “How were you able to utilize cryogenic sleep then?”

  John Rourke smiled. “The details form a rather long story. But in essence, Karamatsov’s KGB people wanted the serum, we had it, they stole some, and we had no more after the Eden Project was launched. Karamatsov was actually out of the picture then. There had been a

  fight and I thought I had
killed him. My error in judgment was unforgiveable. He lived, was taken to the Soviet Underground City in the Urals, and—with the help of some personnel loyal to him and a small amount of the serum and some cryogenic chambers—was able to survive to be awakened after five centuries.”

  “But—how about you, Doctor Rourke?”

  “Major Tiemerovna’s uncle, General Ishmael Varakov, was the commanding general for the army of occupation which invaded the United States and Canada following the Night of the War. Karamatsov was in charge of the KGB for North America. After Karamatsov’s apparent death, the man who replaced him set out in earnest to carry out Karamatsov’s plans and to assume the position Karamatsov had intended to hold—essentially, ruler of the earth. They were completing a facility built into a Cheyenne Mountain site after the Soviets seized it. That was in Colorado. They called it the Womb. Which was exactly its purpose. Aside from arming themselves with all manner of potentially useful devices and weaponry, including particle-beam devices that were to be used to shoot down the Eden Project when it returned, they had amassed a considerable number of cryogenic chambers. After they stole the serum, which was manufactured in a small town in Kentucky by people who I’m certain had no idea what it was they were making, the KGB Elite Corps—which Karamatsov had started and his replacement now commanded—was set to survive the Great Conflagration when the atmosphere caught fire. Their scientists were able to predict the occurrence within a few days. The man in charge of the KGB Elite Corps was named Rozhdestvenskiy.”

  “Wasn’t that Stalin’s real name?” “No, I believe his real name was Dzhugashvili.” “Then how did you get this serum and the cryogenic chambers?”

  Rourke still wished he had the cigar. He didn’t. “Natalia’s uncle, General Varakov, was a decent man. He was only a patriotic Russian soldier doing his job for his

  country, not a butcher. He realized that the KGB Elite Corps planned to dominate the earth and planned to destroy the incoming Eden Project shuttles, which Varakov perceived of as a new beginning for mankind. And, frankly, he was obsessed, as any parent would be, with his niece somehow surviving. She wasn’t really his niece, you see. She was the daughter of a woman he had loved very dearly and lost. And when this woman and her husband died, Varakov raised Natalia as his niece. I think he not only loved her for herself, but because she so reminded him of the woman he had lost. And he was determined that Natalia should live. But he was also affronted at the fact that the cryogenic chambers and the serum that would be used to keep the KGB Elite Corps alive could have been used to keep alive the best and brightest of Soviet youth instead. All of those factors must have swayed him. Because of him, we survived.” “How?” Fellows asked.

  Rourke smiled. “He recruited a group of men from the Spetznas who were loyal to him and were decent men and realized that what Rozhdestvenskiy planned was beneath contempt. They were lead by a very courageous officer named Vladov, a captain. An American officer named Reed, an Army Intelligence guy originally, led the American detachment from U.S. II, the Chambers government.”

  Fellows nodded. “I’m familiar with that from the Gundersen memoirs.”

  “Natalia and myself, Vladov and his unit, Reed and his people—we attacked the Womb. We were able to steal cryogenic chambers and serum. Natalia and I got out alive. Vladov and his people died buying us time. Reed and his people did the same, Reed climbing up onto one of the particle-beam towers to place an American flag there. He was killed in the attempt. We got the cryogenic chambers and serum back to my retreat in the Georgia mountains—”

  “That was a southeastern coastal state, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. A beautiful state. Paradise in many ways. Natalia, my wife Sarah, our young children Annie and Mi

  chael, my friend Paul, they were all asleep. The sky was beginning to catch fire with the dawn. Rozhdestvenskiy had followed us, but his forces were being destroyed by the ball lightning, being burned alive. I did a stupid thing but I’d probably do it again. I thought about Reed and I climbed out through an escape hatch and raised the Stars and Stripes. I just made it in as the fires consumed everything around us. Rozhdestvenskiy was gone. I thought everything was maybe gone.”

  “And so you awakened in five centuries and there was your old nemesis again, this Karamatsov?”

  Rourke nodded. “I used the cryogenic chambers, though. I awakened before the others, and then awakened Annie and Michael and worked with them for five years until I felt they could survive on their own with the aid of what I’d taught them. Then I returned to the Sleep and the children didn’t. When I awoke again, and this time Sarah and Natalia and Paul awoke with me, the children were adults. My daughter, Annie, eventually married Paul. My son found a survival community that had gone wrong and he saved the life of a girl from there. Her name was Madison. They were married too. In the intervening time, I learned Karamatsov was still alive, the Eden Project shuttles returned and were nearly blown out of the sky by Karamatsov’s army, and we made allies with the Republic of New Germany in what was Argentina and the communities of Lydveldid Island, or Iceland. It was during a Soviet suicide raid into the Mt. Hekla community in Iceland that Michael’s wife, Madison, and their unborn child were killed.”

  “Where is this Eden Project now?”

  “For a variety of reasons, they landed in Georgia. They are still there, building a permanent base, rather slowly.” Rourke smiled. “The Germans are helping them. My wife and daughter were in Iceland, and I presume they still are. There’s a German base protecting the Hekla Community. It’s safer. Paul and Natalia and Michael and I were involved with pursuing the Soviet army under Karamatsov. Yon sep.. he—Karamatsov—attemDted to take over his

  own government by means of a gas that was buried before the Night of the War. We were able to prevent that. So, technically, there are two Russian states. It’s possible that the government at the Underground City in the Urals might be brought around to allying with us against Karamatsov. I don’t know. But in any event, Natalia and Michael and Paul and I pursued Karamatsov’s army to China. He wanted the unused portion of the pre-War Chinese nuclear arsenal, and almost got part of it. Natalia and I were walking along the coast, were separated for a bit, and then I heard sounds of a struggle and went to aid Natalia.” Rourke grinned. “It didn’t work out quite as planned.”

  “That’s an amazing story, Doctor Rourke. So—you’ve been fighting this war for five centuries as well.” “But with a little intermission,” John Rourke nodded. “You must tell me—”

  There was a knock at the door, interrupting Fellows. The door opened.

  A tall man, gray hair, militarily erect, books and computer printouts under his arm, filled the doorway. “Our ordnance expert, Doctor Rourke.”

  Rourke extended his right hand. “Forgive me for not getting up—I’m John Rourke.”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Annie Rubenstein’s worst fears had been confirmed. The forces sent to recapture or destroy the gas stolen from Karamatsov were female members of the KGB Elite Corps and female troopers from Karamatsov’s armies. Females were unaffected by the gas.

  She had witnessed the women deploying their forces in the valley below, setting up mortar emplacements and heavy machine guns. The process had seemed unending.

  And then she had seen a flag of truce and over a loud-hailing system from the valley below, a strident-sounding voice had called out in English, “I wish to speak with the Rourke family under the white flag of truce. This is Captain Svetlana Grubaszikova acting under the command of the Hero Marshal Karamatsov. I demand an immediate response!”

  “Sounds like nice girl, doesn’t she?” Annie commented to Maria Leuden.

  “Are we going to talk with them?”

  “We have to—stall for time. Han might have reached the J-7V with the internees, but he won’t have gotten any Germans or the Chinese in to back us up yet. We’ll talk. Stay close to Rolvaag and his dog.” Annie grinned, moving back from the lip of the rise which overloo
ked the valley and crawling along until she would be out of sight from the valley floor, then standing, running to find Ma-Lin, and notify her that she—Annie Rubenstein—was officially taking charge and would negotiate with the Russian woman.

  She found Ma-Lin and had the woman translate for her to the ranking Chinese officer. The man’s face betrayed his displeasure, but he agreed that she should stall for time as much as possible and in order to do that had to confer with the commander of the Soviet forces. Annie didn’t mention the part about officially taking charge, but from his expression again, it seemed he had detected her sentiments.

  She wasn’t about to rip the only slip she had with her, and there were no white towels or scarves, so she stepped into Han’s command tent, hitched up her skirt, and took off her slip to use as a white flag in its entirety.

  When she re-emerged from the tent, Ma-Lin and the ranking Chinese officer were waiting outside. The man spoke, Ma-Lin translating. “Lieutenant Liu wishes that I convey his best wishes for your success, but that I also convey the fact that the ultimate decision here rests on his shoulders.”

  Annie smiled, realizing she was still holding her underwear. She stuffed her slip into her pocket. “You tell Lieutenant Liu that I am well aware of the fact that he is the ranking man here, but by the same token, if any of those gas trucks get perforated by a stray bullet, no man here will be capable of command. I don’t intend to give away the store, just stall for time.”

  Annie walked away, taking out her “white flag” again and slinging her M-16 forward and trying to figure a way in which she could secure the slip to the flash-hider without ruining it. She finally bunched up the edge of the garment at the waist and pushed enough of it through the sling between the swivel and the buckle that she could tie a loose knot to keep it from pulling out.

  There was PA capability on the truck Maria and Michael had used, and Annie climbed into the truck cab and turned the key to power the radio, then hit the PA switch. She spoke into the microphone. “This is Annie Rourke Rubenstein, the daughter of John Rourke. My father has decided that I should represent the Rourke family and other forces gathered here woman to woman in a personal