"That saved a wretch like me—"
Sarah made herself join them, her own children silent, crying. "I once was lost—" she murmured...
The grave was covered with rocks Annie and Michael had gathered, rocks of all sizes and colors, quartz types Sarah recognized— she had tried jewelry making once as a hobby— and others she couldn't. Bill Mulliner, an M-16 in his right hand, another slung cross-body across his back, stared away from them, at the grave, Sarah thought.
"Don't know if David Balfry got hisself away," Bill's voice came, still choked sounding. "With Pete Critchfield away and all, though— there should still be a Resistance left, leastways— we'll find him. Find a safe place for you, Mrs. Rourke— and for Mom."
"Yes, Bill," Sarah answered.
"We can find 'em" Bill Mulliner said.
Sarah said nothing— there was no choice with Soviet troops all throughout the countryside. And there was nowhere else to go, anyway. "Yes, Bill," she said again... Chapter Three
The almost cylindrical-shaped coffin emitted a blue light— a ghostly light, Colonel Nehemiah Rozhdestvenskiy thought. He stared at the cylinder, the form inside it, the myriad lights on the console attached with electrical conduit to it. He turned to the man beside him. "When will you know, Dr. Vostov?"
"You realize, colonel," the white-haired, white-coated man beside him began, removing his glasses, gesturing with his pipe, "that testing under field conditions is the only real way to evaluate—"
"You realize, Comrade Doctor, that to test under actual field conditions is totally impossible."
"This has not escaped me, Comrade Colonel." And Vostov looked away.
Rozhdestvenskiy could see his own and the doctor' s reflection in the glass between them and the swirling blue lights of the coffin-like object. "Perhaps if more of the details surrounding this Eden Project affair of the Americans were made available to me—"
"You have been given, Comrade Doctor, as much of the scientific data as concerns the Eden Project as we ourselves have—"
"Then perhaps," and he turned to face the doctor as he saw the doctor's reflected image on the glass, turning to face him, "Comrade Colonel— perhaps you have not the sufficient data yourself," and Vostov's eyebrows raised, the man replacing his glasses. "If the Americans placed such faith in this, this Eden Project, they evidently knew something which we do not, something perhaps we should know in order to achieve the success you so desire—"
"The subject was a volunteer, was he not?"
"The man in there? A volunteer given the choice of participating in the experiment or immediate execution— yes. I suppose he could be called a volunteer, Comrade Colonel."
"His life signs?"
"We do not know what to expect— of course they are not normal. I developed the serum— I have tested the serum— with only some success. Never on such a complex mechanism as the human body."
"His physical condition was perfect, was it not?" Rozhdestvenskiy asked.
Vostov smiled, removing his glasses again, sucking at his pipe, as if phrasing his answer— like a professor before a classroom of dolts, Rozhdestvenskiy thought. "No physical specimen is perfect. Even yourself, colonel. I have seen your medical records, all of the KGB Elite Corps medical records. Your weight and blood pressure and all other factors are perfect for your age, your physical size. You yourself are as close to a perfect physical specimen as one might wish to be."
Rozhdestvenskiy smiled. "But?"
"But— perfect as you are, have you never had a cold? A sudden mysterious and lingering pain, which then vanished? If we understood the human body perfectly, our task would be a simple one. If dormant cancer cells were present in the subject, for example, would the process trigger their activity? And, of course, the obvious question which has so beleaguered our previous research in the Soviet scientific establishment. A living body and a dead brain are useless."
"I asked you— you have not answered me," and Rozhdestvenskiy returned his gaze to the cylinder beyond the glass, the blinking lights, the bluish haze emitting from the transparent upper portion. The cold, blue-seeming face inside. "When will you know?"
"I shall attempt to discover the answer you seek— shortly. Very shortly."
Rozhdestvenskiy sighed. "Shortly. The Womb— work here goes on apace, the weapons and supplies coming in. Should your experiment fail—"
"Then we shall not," Vostov smiled into the glass, the sucking sound of his pipe audible in the otherwise total stillness. "We shall not be able to worry, hmm?"
Rozhdestvenskiy continued to stare at the man inside the cylinder. "Live," he mentally ordered him.
Chapter Four
Teal picked up the rifle, then handed it across to Rourke. Rourke looked at it briefly. A Whitworth Express— Interarms had imported it— and the caliber was as Natalia had guessed,
.357 H&H Magnum. The scope cost more than the rifle— a Kables.
"Odd combination," Rourke smiled, setting the rifle down on the metal conference table.
"Bought the rifle— had it custom stocked— like that barrel bedding. The thing would print minute of angle at two hundred yards with an el cheapo scope on it. Figured the rifle was fine—
needed a better scope. My son was in Germany— he picked up the Kables for me when he was on a leave— that was—" And Teal stopped talking.
Rourke cleared his throat, finding one of his dark tobacco cigars, lighting it in the blue-yellow flame of his Zippo. "I, ahh— I understand a lot of our people survived over there— still fighting the Russians— maybe Retch is still alive."
"Yeah," Teal nodded, licking his lips, looking away. "Yeah— maybe— maybe he is."
Rourke exhaled the smoke, watched it drift upward, then dissipate.
"See— ahh— we don't know much here. Like you said about this new thing— U.S. II. And Sam Chambers being President— last I knew he was filling a new Cabinet post— science and technology."
"He was the only one left."
"How is he— I mean— a— a— a good President?"
"He's got problems— he's trying his best," Rourke told him honestly.
"You sure we can trust her?" Teal asked, looking at Natalia sitting between them, then at Rourke.
"I am Russian— I don't want your people to have any more weapons. But I don't want either side to use any more. I'm his friend. You can trust me until I tell you that you can't," she answered for Rourke.
"Seems fair," Teal shrugged. "Anyway— nothin' top secret about it. See— the Night of The War, like you folks call it— well. Ever heard of EMP?"
Rourke nodded.
"ENP?" It was Rubenstein, from Rourke's left.
"EMP," Teal corrected.
"Electro Magnetic Pulse," Rourke added.
"A detonation sends shock waves through the atmosphere— the bigger the detonation and the higher up it is, the greater the shock-wave effect, roughly," Natalia said, looking past Rourke at Paul.
"Mustn't have been too big or you folks woulda known about it," Teal said, his eyes moving, shifting from Rourke and past Rubenstein toward the other side of the conference table, where Cole sat, his two troopers stationed outside the bunker with the bunker defenders. "Wiped out all our communications— destroyed the printed circuitry in all our aircraft— nothing got off the ground after the first scramble. I don't even wanna think about those guys up there— suddenly, all their electrical systems go out— no communications— they—"
Teal fell silent for a moment. "We got the communications restored after a while— scrounged up all the old vacuum tubes I could find and with Airman Raznewicz we made up a working radio. Couldn't reach too far with it though. Got several of the helicopters and a dozen fighters to where they'd work. Figured we'd at least have something our guys could use when we got help. But, ahh—" Teal lit a cigarette. "Got plenty of these— the BX just sent a shipment in day before it—