Doomsday Warrior 14 - American Death Orbit (14 page)

The door was still ajar, held open by the stone he had lodged between it and the frame. He opened it slowly and looked inside. Nothing—they were still undetected. He didn’t know why he kept feeling such a presence of danger. His heart had been beating wildly for hours now. It was the mission, the incredible importance of it—and the utmost likelihood that they would still fail.

“Unload your ’brids,” Rock ordered them in the purple dawn darkness. They’d have to take all the supplies down the rail tunnel by hand. The ’brids had done their work, they couldn’t fit through the narrow exit door anyway. They had the gear down in minutes. Rock led them inside and pointed down the wide cylindrical firing tube. Chen took the lead, rushing about twenty yards ahead, star-knives ready in each hand just in case. Within ten minutes of their reaching the mouth of the tube, every man was in except for Rock, Detroit, and two combat men with heavy machine guns who he had set up to guard their flank.

“Come on, Detroit,” Rock whispered, “let’s get these animals headed in the right direction.” They gathered the tethers of the hybrid horses that were left and took them back over the rise three hundred feet back.

The ’brids were all trained to head back to Century City where they knew food and warmth were waiting. Besides they were extremely intelligent animals in their own right. It seemed to be instinctive—they possessed an uncanny sense of direction and location.

The two Freefighters took off all the gear—saddles, reins—from the steeds as it wasn’t fair to send them out riderless with junk hanging all over them. A bridle or saddle caught in a branch could mean death. When they were all stripped, Detroit and Rock smacked them hard on their flanks and sent them down the back of the slope. The ’brids tore off at full gallop with Snorter, Rock’s mount, in the lead.

“So long, boy,” he said in a sad whisper, wondering if he’d ever see the loyal animal again. Damn, he was getting sentimental in his old age. Should they have waited to see if the spaceship could be started before losing their only transport?

“Come on Detroit, let’s aim for the fucking stars,” Rockson said when the last of the animals was out of harm’s way.

“Aye, Aye, Captain,” Detroit smirked back in the now quickly lightening sky. The two men headed half-bent over along the plateau to the launching tube. Detroit came right behind Rock, his twin bandoliers of grenades shaking in their holders like eggs trying to hatch.

Perhaps it was because they hadn’t had any problems in a few days that there had to be one now; a bad one. And suddenly there was a shout from far below, and even as Rock crouched lower he knew they’d been spotted.

He glanced over the side keeping his head as low as possible. It was one of the guard towers, nearest the ledge they were on. One of the assholes down there had decided to be a real hotshot this morning and scan the slopes with binoculars, spotting the tardy invaders as the dawn splattered down in earnest, pink paint mixing onto a blue canvas.

The guy was screaming and waving his arms, and even as Rock watched—his face growing pale—the bastard aimed his machine gun up at the hill and began firing. He was a good seven hundred feet away so Rockson wasn’t too worried about losing his brains, but the whole camp was awakening now, men starting to pour out all over the place. Like a bunch of mad red ants. And as numerous.

“We’ve set the fireworks off, that’s for damned sure,” Detroit said, suddenly stopping in his tracks. “Check out the power of this bionic arm,” the ebony-faced black man laughed as Rock stopped just before the entrance to the launching tunnel. Detroit ripped off a grenade from his chest and gripped it in his right hand as he pulled back hard. The arm looked normal, even with most of it showing from out of the rolled up olive green sweatshirt. But it wasn’t normal. It was a machine arm, a bionic arm, a creation of Shecter’s bio boys—the first one actually.

When Detroit had lost the arm in a duel with martial arts assassins, Shecter had used the latest technology in C.C. and made him a new arm, with wires, sensing devices, computer chips, and fake synth-skin that looked like the real thing—and wore better. The thing was a miracle.

Detroit pulled back the arm like he was going to throw a discus and then whipped the arm forward suddenly. It moved like a catapult, so fast Rock couldn’t really see it. Suddenly the grenade was soaring out over the camp. It came down just at the base of the tower on which the guard was firing and went off severing one of the struts. The entire structure began to topple over as the screaming inhabitant went flying out of it arms and legs flapping like he was trying to take flight.

Detroit ripped off two more pineapples and threw them down into the gathering barbarians and then turned running to join Rockson who stood at the door as he heard the explosions down below.

“They’re on to our location,” Rock said angrily. “That means they’ll be coming up looking to take us all out—maybe before we get the fucking ship going. Or maybe they’ll just roll boulders in front of the exit doors. Damn.” He smacked his hand into his palm. Two combat men—heavy machine gun crew—were waiting just outside the doorway as they always took up shotgun—just in case.

“Listen, men,” Rock said, turning to them as they started to lift up their equipment. “I got something real nasty to ask you. I need someone to stay out there, set up a post, keep these bastards off of us—and stop them from barricading the front of this tube here.”

“You got it, man,” Simpson, the oldest of the group said, with a thumbs up. A young blond guy named Jaspers also said, “I’m it!”

“But—that means you two won’t be on the ship. We can’t stop to pick you up—you know what I’m saying?”

“Never liked the idea of space travel much,” the younger Jaspers cracked, Rock had fought alongside his father who had died before his eyes three years earlier. “Came on this mission to kick ass—and help out a little.”

“All right,” Rock said softly letting his hands rest on each of their shoulders for a moment. These two might easily be walking to their deaths—and they knew it. But tough-guy grins were pasted over both their faces. “Get away, if you can—catch up to the ’brids . . .”

“No problem,” Simpson said. Jaspers nodded.

“Now, you gotta set up away from the entrance here because when the ship comes out, it’s going to be spitting fire. Take the machine gun over to that ledge—see it—maybe three hundred feet to the left. Should give you covering fire down over the whole valley. Just keep them off us until we’re out of there—or we blow up—and then split. Knowing hybrids they’ll stop to eat after a few miles of galloping. You might very well be able to snag a few and make your way back home.” Remembering the torture he had seen down in the camp, he added, “Just don’t get taken alive! Now
go!”

They waved their hands like it was nothing, saluted, and took off running low to keep below the lip of the ledge above which hundreds of slugs were pouring, lugging their heavy caliber submachine guns.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Rock said, slamming the entrance door closed and latching it. The opening of the tube was still closed—and he prayed they would be able to manipulate it from the control complex a mile down the tube.

The men ran like they were possessed, making good time once their eyes adjusted to the low light. By the time they reached the Dynasoar spaceship, the doors were already opened and men were loading the supplies up the ramp. Rockson walked in with his eyes wide. It was like being inside a dream. A high tech stainless steel
Starship Enterprise
that made Century City look like a log cabin by comparison.

The NASA space program had clearly been the peak of man’s technology—before the quick decline caused by the Nuke war cancelled it out.

“What’s happening?” Rock asked Chen, who he saw directing some of the combat troops to stow their gear in storage bins and get strapped into horizontal seats that sat in rows.

“The whiz kids got the whole show on the road,” the Chinese martial arts master said with a grin, a rare show of expression, but he was clearly impressed by the two brains.

“They got the door to this sardine can opened—and then immediately tore up to the pilot’s chamber. Told us to just get stowed, strapped in, and let them know when you got here.”

“Well, I’m here, and I’ll tell ’em,” Rock said sharply. For some reason it pissed him off that the whiz kids were giving orders, and that everything seemed to be proceeding so smoothly—without his presence. He was becoming an old battlehorse wasn’t he?

Rock grinned as he realized how dumb it was. If the brain-duo had leadership ability, more power to them. C.C. needed men like that. Hell, America itself did, if it was ever going to rise from the ashes. “Where are they?”

“Just follow the red arrows, Rock,” Chen said, as he looked back down toward the ramp searching for the two machine gunners. “Where’s the machine gun crew?”

“They’re not coming,” Rock said simply and followed the yellow brick road. The ship was well laid out and he had no trouble reaching the front of the long thing. Tubes and dials and things the functions of which he couldn’t even begin to fathom filled all the walls and ceilings while endless doors sat off to each side. Whatever the hell the rocket did—it sure as hell seemed capable of doing it to the hilt.

He came to a circular door and searched around for seconds before finding the electric eye which made it open in a flash sliding to the side.

Inside the “cockpit,” more like a mobile home, Connors and Rajat sat side by side, madly turning dials, punching buttons, and shouting out readouts to one another.

“How’s it going, Rajat?” Rock asked, knowing instinctively that the Indian teen was the dominant force of the two, was the Einstein of the team. Shecter had told him he thought the youth might in fact be smarter than Einstein or Hawking, that some of his theories on Time/Space Physics were beyond even Shecter himself.

“We’ll be ready for takeoff within five minutes,” the startled-eyed brown-skinned sixteen-year-old said, without even taking his eyes from rows of numbers that were flashing by.

“You’re kidding,” Rock said, “You’ve been here ten minutes, if that!”

“Fourteen and a half minutes,” Rajat replied, this time turning to give Rock a quick grin. “We trained for this mission when it was purely hypothetical, to be able to fire up the ship in under a half-hour. We hadn’t assumed hostile fire. I think we’ll come in under that.”

“Any problems? What about the tunnel opening—it’s—”

“No problem.” Connors said, pointing toward a button to the right. “It’s built into control panel within the ship—to open the exit doors. It had to be. In case of nuke attack they couldn’t count on anything but themselves in here. When we’re prepared to launch—we’ll open by remote.”

“Or so the blueprints say,” Rajat added with a sarcastic laugh which Rockson didn’t like at all.

“I’ve got full nuclear power,” Rajat said triumphantly as he saw a red light turn green, “and minimal leaks in the passenger area!”

“Attention! This is the control module,” Rajat said as he pressed a button and spoke into a built-in mike on the immense beeping and blinking panel that spread across the front of the cabin module.

Again Rock felt his stomach tighten from the déjà vu precociousness of it all. “We will be taking off in exactly four minutes,” Rajat’s high-pitched boy’s voice stated. “Please make sure you are strapped in securely as directed. If there are any problems would group leaders contact me immediately? Thank you and we wish you a pleasant flight. No smoking until we reach the ionosphere.”

Even Rock had to grin at that one, his heart slowing down a little as he saw the kid really had the makings of a tremendous leader—if he could make men smile in the midst of such imminent danger.

“Why don’t you strap in here?” Connors said, slapping a seat about a yard to the right of him. “I’m sure you want to get a bird’s-eye view of the whole event, and learn the controls.”

“The door—” Rock said, as he strapped himself in, used to hearing the door close securely behind him at C.C. Old habits died hard.

“It’s shut,” Rajat said, hitting a row of buttons on the console. “Everything’s sealed tight as a can now. We’re on internal air supply and full life support.”

He pressed another button and Rockson gasped. For the whole front of the nose cone above the control panel suddenly pulled back to reveal thick super-hard glass enabling them to see straight ahead. Looking ahead through the eight-foot wide, foot-high curved slit of “glass,” Rock could see the launching tube railing stretching off ahead until it disappeared in the dimness.

“You sure everything is ready to go?” Rock asked as he pulled the seat strap tight and it clicked into position.

“Like I say, the whole process is pretty much automated. Again, they didn’t want to saddle whoever flew the sucker with a lot of junk to do. The whole point of this dream ship was speed and power. The systems readouts all say everything works—even after a century. It’s been in a sealed environment—and self-renewal systems were operating. We’re going to have to trust it. There’s no way to open a bird like this up and check it out. It would take weeks—and I doubt we could even figure out half of it.”

“Well, I’m in your care, Captain Rajat. What are we waiting for?”

“Just waiting until the tube exit door reads open,” Rajat said, bending forward and checking it. “Yup, she’s on green.
Let’s boogie.”

Nineteen

“R
eady?” Rajat asked.

“I’m ready, you ready?” Connors replied, somewhat nervously.

“Ready, ready,” Rock barked as he saw that neither of them really wanted to push the “go” button. Neither did he. But that didn’t mean
shit.
Rajat placed his thumb over the fire control ignition, closed his eyes, and pressed down. The Asian genius was still a kid beneath his super mentality. Rock had to remember that.

Suddenly the whole ship shook with powerful vibrations, like they were being shaken in an earthquake. There was a roar like a volcano erupting next door, and then smoke exploded out from behind the rocket and shot up its sides, billowing out ahead so the launch tube grew instantly thick with blackness and visually impenetrable.