Liberty Run Page 6
“Yes,” Lysenko replied slowly.
“And he’ll supply you with a canteen and some jerky, right?” Geronimo said.
“Yes. So?”
“So a canteen isn’t much of a weapon when it comes to facing a mutate, or any of the other… things… in the woods,” Geronimo declared, suppressing a grin.
Lieutenant Lysenko stared at the trees and brush around them. His forehead furrowed and he chewed on his lower lip. “Surely Blade will allow me to take a firearm,” he said hopefully.
“Nope.” Geronimo shook his head. “Sorry. But it’s not our policy to arm our enemies. We’ve taken prisoners before, and we’ve always let the ones leave who wanted to leave. We’ve supplied them with a canteen and jerky, enough for a couple of days.” Geronimo deliberately pretended to be distracted by a starling winging overhead. He feigned a yawn. “Funny, though.”
“What is?” Lysenko immediately inquired.
“We don’t think any of them ever made it to civilization,” Geronimo mentioned.
“How would you know that?” Lysenko asked.
“We’ve followed a few of their tracks,” Geronimo fibbed.
Lysenko leaned forward. “And?” he goaded the Warrior.
“And they just up and vanished into thin air,” Geronimo said guilelessly.
Lieutenant Lysenko frowned.
“Oh! Wait!” Geronimo exclaimed.
“What?” Lysenko prompted.
“There was one we found. Well kind of. All we located was his torn, bloody shirt.” Geronimo looked away so the Russian couldn’t behold the twinkle in his eyes.
Lieutenant Lysenko began chewing on his lower lip in earnest.
Chapter Four
“You wanted to talk to me?” Blade asked.
“Yes,” Lieutenant Lysenko said, sounding irritated.
The retrieval party had returned at dusk with the radio transmitter.
They had reached the clearing, found the radio, and returned without mishap. Once, in the distance, they’d seen a huge… thing… moving through the trees, but it hadn’t seen them. Hickok, following Blade’s instructions, had carted the radio to Plato’s cabin. Spartacus, Shane, and Bertha had gone to B Block for their evening meal. Geronimo, with Lysenko in tow, had found Blade in the open area between the blocks and informed the Warrior chief that the Russian “wants a few words with you.” Now, Geronimo stood eight feet away, his hands folded behind his back, whistling.
“What about?” Blade inquired.
“You know damn well what about!” Lysenko snapped. “Did you really think you’d get away with it?”
Blade, completely mystified, glanced at Geronimo. He noticed Geronimo seemed to be on the verge of laughing aloud. “Get away with what?”
“Don’t play innocent with me!” Lysenko said. “I know all about it! Geronimo gave it away!”
“Oh, he did, did he?” Blade replied.
“Yes! And I’m telling you now that I won’t leave here without a weapon!” Lysenko declared.
“Is that so?”
Lysenko mustered the courage to square his shoulders and face up to the giant Warrior. “Yes! I cooperated with you, didn’t I? I led your people to the transmitter, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” Blade conceded.
“Then how can you send me out there to die?” Lysenko queried belligerently. “I know you said you’ve give me a canteen and jerky, but that’s not enough! I’ve seen what’s out there! I wouldn’t last two days without a weapon!”
“I don’t know…” Blade said.
“You don’t have to give me one of your weapons,” Lysenko stated. “Just hand over one of the AK-47’s my men and I brought here.”
Blade raised his right hand and scratched his chin.
“Listen!” Lysenko said, lowering his voice and inching closer to the Warrior. “Would you give me one of the AK-47’s if I provided you with some classified information? How about it? The information in exchange for an AK-47?”
“What information could you possibly have?” Blade remarked disinterestedly.
“Something important,” Lysenko answered.
“We already know General Malenkov wants us dead,” Blade said. “And you’ve told us all you know about the spy in Denver. Unless,”—his eyes narrowed—“you were holding back on us.”
“No! I told you the truth about the spy!” Lysenko declared. “This is something else. Something of possible value to you and the entire Freedom Federation!”
“I’ll listen to it,” Blade stated.
“And do I get an AK-47?” Lysenko asked eagerly.
Blade sighed. “Tell you what I’ll do. If the information is of value to the Freedom Federation, you’ll get an AK-47 and all the ammunition you can carry. But if it isn’t…” He let the sentence trail off.
“It will be!” Lysenko promised. He glanced around, then looked at Blade. “We were attacked.”
“Attacked? By who? The Southerners?”
“No!” Lysenko responded, scoffing. “Not the wretched Rebels!”
“Then who attacked you?”
“The Vikings!” Lysenko whispered.
“The what?” Blade replied skeptically.
“Hear me out,” Lysenko said. “Two weeks ago Philadelphia was attacked. As you undoubtedly know, Philadelphia is under our control. It wasn’t razed during the war like New York City. Our naval forces established a beachhead at Philadelphia at the outset of the war, and it was spared a nuclear strike. There are two million people residing there now. We have a major training center there for our officer corps. It’s one of the few cities on the East Coast still resembling the kinds of cities they had before the war. The rest were extensively damaged or obliterated.”
“What’s this about Philadelphia being attacked?” Blade asked, goading the Russian.
Lysenko nodded. “They came in on ships. Wooden ships! Just like the ancient Vikings! There were thousands of them, and they were well armed. The design of their ships might have been antiquated, but their weapons were modern, at least the type prevalent before the war.”
“There were thousands of ships?” Blade repeated doubtfully.
“No!” Lysenko said impatiently. “There were thousands of these Vikings. Our intelligence experts estimated there were no more than fifty ships in their fleet, with about one hundred Vikings for each ship. They came in under the cover of a heavy fog, and they were ashore before we knew it.”
“Where were your ships?” Blade casually asked. “Weren’t they patroling the port area?”
“Our ships?” Lysenko said, chuckling. “If you’d seen the condition of our navy, you wouldn’t ask such a foolish question.”
“In pitiful shape, huh?” Blade said.
“Worse than that,” Lysenko disclosed. “Most of our ships were dry-docked decades ago. We lack the necessary repair facilities, and our manufacturing capability is practically nil. The few functional vessels we did have departed for the Motherland and then never returned. Several other vessels have ventured out to sea over the years, but they disappeared without a trace, just like your prisoners Geronimo told me about.”
Geronimo began whistling a bit louder.
“Tell me about these Vikings,” Blade urged.
“I only know what I saw detailed in the report,” Lysenko said.
“Approximately five thousand of them plundered and pillaged eastern Philadelphia for several hours, before our forces were mustered and pushed them back to the sea. They escaped in their ships, along with hundreds of captives and booty. Over six hundred of our men were killed, and seventy-four officers. I think the report said there were over fifteen hundred civilian casualties.”
“Where did these Vikings come from?” Blade inquired.
“We don’t know,” Lysenko admitted. “We captured a dozen of them, and they’re being held at a detention facility in Philadelphia while the Committee for State Security interrogates them.”
“The Committee for State Security?”
“I recall reading about the KGB,” Blade said.
“Yes,” Lysenko commented proudly. “The KGB will elicit all the information we require on these Vikings, as they call themselves.”
“And as far as you know,” Blade stated, “the Vikings you captured are still alive?”
“So far as I know,” Lysenko responded.
Blade pursed his lips.
“Do I get an AK-47?” Lysenko asked hopefully. He was mentally congratulating himself on his cleverness. It was true the information concerning the Vikings was classified, but he couldn’t see where it was of any value to the Family or the Freedom Federation. They were hundreds of miles from any ocean. And should the Federation undertake to contact the Vikings, the outcome would be dubious. An alliance between the Vikings and the Freedom Federation was inconceivable. Essentially, he had just provided worthless information in exchange for a valuable weapon, a weapon he would need if he was to return to his unit. “Do I get an AK-47?” Lysenko repeated.
Blade nodded. “You were right. This information is important. You’ll receive an AK-47 and all the ammo you can carry. Fair enough?”
Lysenko was beaming. “Fair enough.”
“You must be hungry,” Blade said. “Why don’t you head toward B Block,”—he pointed at the concrete structure—“and I’ll be right behind you.”
Lysenko nodded. “I can hardly wait to leave tomorrow.” He took a step, then stopped. “It will be tomorrow, won’t it?”
“It looks that way,” Blade said.
Lysenko strode toward B Block.
Geronimo strolled over to Blade, and together they slowly followed the Russian, staying about ten yards to his rear.
“He fell for it,” Blade mentioned.
“So I noticed,” Geronimo said, smirking.
“You overheard?” Blade asked.
“Every word,” Geronimo confirmed.
“My compliments,” Blade stated. “I expected him to willingly supply additional information, but I didn’t expect the bit about the Vikings.”
“I did exactly as you wanted,” Geronimo commented. “You should have seen the look on his face when I told him about the alleged bloody shirt we found!” He laughed.
“There was no need to tell him we always allow anyone who leaves to take arms,” Blade said. “He was right about that. No one would last two days out there without a weapon.”
“You’re going to inform Plato?” Geronimo inquired.
“Of course,” Blade replied. “I want you to keep an eye on our Russian ‘friend’ while I go to Plato’s cabin.”
Geronimo stared into Blade’s eyes. “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?”
Blade sighed. “Yep. Plato will call a council of the Elders, and the Elders will decide to send the SEAL to Philadelphia.”
“You don’t have to go, you know,” Geronimo said.
“Yes I do,” Blade said disagreeing. “I’m the head Warrior. It’s my responsibility. Besides, I’ve had the most experience driving the SEAL.”
“Hickok can drive it,” Geronimo remarked. “And I’ve practiced a few times.”
“I appreciate the thought,” Blade noted, thanking him, “but we both know Plato will want me to go.”
“I get the impression you don’t like these extended trips,” Geronimo commented.
“I don’t like being away from my family,” Blade said sadly. “Jenny and little Gabe are my life. I don’t get to see enough of them as it is. These long runs only make the situation worse.”
“You could always relinquish your post and become a Tiller,” Geronimo suggested. “Or maybe a Weaver. You’d be real good with a needle.”
Blade chuckled. “I’d belt you in the mouth, but I need you to watch Lysenko while I confer with Plato and the Elders.”
“Will Hickok and I be going with you?” Geronimo asked.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Nathan isn’t in the best frame of mind right now,” Geronimo explained. “I had a talk with him today. He’s pretty rattled over what happened to Sherry. He might be too distracted to perform effectively.”
“Thanks for telling me,” Blade said. “If that’s the case, I’ll have the Warriors draw lots. The two short straws will go, regardless of Triad affiliation.”
“Like you did when you went to St. Louis,” Geronimo commented.
“You’ve got it.” Blade started to veer off toward the cast.
“Hey!” Geronimo said.
“What?”
“Where do you think you’ll be this time tomorrow?” Cieronimo queried him.
Blade mused for a moment. “Probably the Twin Cities.”
Geronimo grinned. “Your favorite vacation spot in all the world!”
Chapter Five
As it turned out, Blade underestimated. The SEAL stopped for the night just south of what was once Mason City, Iowa. Like many cities and towns, Mason City had been abandoned during the war when the government had evacuated all citizens into the Rocky Mountain and Plains states.
Now, Mason City was comprised of darkened ruins, situated in no-man’s-land, with the Civilized Zone to the west, the Soviet-occupied territory to the southeast, and Chicago far to the east.
Blade had pushed the SEAL the first day. The SEAL had been the Founder’s pride and joy. Kurt Carpenter had expended millions on the transport. Carpenter had foreseen the collapse of mass transportation and the public highway system. Accordingly, he’d provided for the Family’s transportation needs by having a special vehicle constructed to his specifications. The scientists and engineers he’d employed were all experts in their chosen fields, and they’d given Carpenter his money’s worth.
The SEAL was a prototype, revolutionary in its design and capabilities.
The Solar Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle—or SEAL, as it became known—was, as its name indicated, powered by the sun. The light was collected by a pair of solar panels affixed to the roof of the vanlike transport. The energy was converted and stored in unique batteries located in a lead-lined case under the SEAL. The floor was an impervious metal alloy. The body, the entire shell, was composed of a heat-resistant and virtually shatterproof plastic, fabricated to be indestructible. Four huge puncture-resistant tires, each four feet high and two feet wide, supported the vehicle.
Carpenter had wanted additional features added to the transport, and to incorporate them he’d turned to weapons specialists, to hired mercenaries. The military men had outfitted the vehicle with an array of armaments. Four toggle switches on the dashboard activated the SEAL’s firepower. A pair of 50-caliber machine guns were hidden in recessed compartments under each front headlight. When the toggle marked M was thrown, a small metal plate would slide upward and the machine guns would automatically fire. A miniaturized surface-to-air missile was mounted in the roof above the driver’s seat. Once the toggle labeled S was activated, a panel in the roof slid aside and a missile was launched. The missiles were heat-seeking Stingers with a range of ten miles. A rocket launcher was secreted in the center of the front grill, and the rocket was instantly fired if the R toggle was thrown. And finally, Carpenter had had the mercenaries include a flamethrower in the SEAL. It was an Army Surplus Model with an effective range of 20 feet. Located in the middle of the front fender, surrounded by layers of insulation, the flamethrower was activated when the F toggle was moved.
Blade gazed out the windshield at the night. The SEAL’s body was tinted green, allowing those within to see out, but anyone outside was unable to view the interior. He stared up at the starry sky, then twisted in his bucket seat to check out his traveling companions. A console was situated between his bucket seat and the other bucket seat in the front of the transport. Behind the bucket seats, running the width of the vehicle, was another seat for passengers. The rear of the SEAL, comprising a third of its inside space, was devoted to a la
rge storage area for spare parts, tools, and whatever provisions were necessary.
“We’re makin’ good time, ain’t we, Big Guy?” Bertha asked. She was seated in the other bucket seat, her M-16 snuggled in her lap.
“So far, so good,” Blade acknowledged. He glanced at the two passengers occupying the wide seat. “How are we holding up?”
Lieutenant Frol Lysenko was seated behind Bertha. His face conveyed his intense misery. Arms folded in front of him, hunched over dejectedly, he glared at the giant Warrior behind the wheel. “You lied to me!” he whined for the umpteenth time that day.
“No I didn’t,” Blade rejoined.
“Yes you did!” Lysenko snapped. “You promised me my freedom! You said I could have an AK-47 and ammo. Not to mention the canteen and jerky.”
Blade smiled. “I beg to differ. I told you that you would be able to leave the Home, and you left it at sunrise this morning. There are several canteens and five pounds of venison jerky stored in the back of the SEAL. Take your pick.”
Lysenko glowered at the Warrior.
“As for the AK-47,” Blade went on, “we gave you one, remember? It’s not our fault you didn’t want it.”
“Damn you!” Lysenko spat. “What good would it have done me? Sure, you offered me an AK-47 this morning! And you also offered me ten magazines of ammo… but it wasn’t AK-47 ammo!”
Blade shrugged. “I kept my word. I promised to give you an AK-47 and all the ammunition you could carry. I never said the ammo would be for the AK-47.”
“You devious son of a bitch!” Lysenko said.
Bertha glanced at Blade. “Do you want me to bop this sucker for you?”
“No need,” Blade replied.
“I wouldn’t let him talk to me that way,” Bertha commented.
Lysenko made the mistake of leaning forward, sneering. “Oh? And what would you do, woman?” He accented the last word contemptuously.
The M-16 was up and around in the blink of the eye, the barrel rammed into Lysenko’s nose.
The Russian gulped and blinked.
Bertha smiled sweetly, her brown eyes dancing with mirth. “You ever talk to me like that again, honky, and I’ll waste you on the spot. Got that, ugly?”