Survivalist - 12 - The Rebellion (12 page)

His pistol still cocked, Helmut Sturm ran toward the

airfield which had been cleared at the far end of the camp.

The gunships were already beginning to take to the air and he fired toward the nearest of them, the range hopeless, and the effectiveness of his bullets doubtful at best against the armored bodies of the great machines.

He fired—the pistol empty now, the slide locked open.

And he stood, staring skyward, hearing the rattle of small arms fire around him, his right arm hanging limply at his side. He had been betrayed. The New Fatherland had been betrayed. The leader …

He would gather what remained of his forces, what loyal men and officers could be gathered up from this encampment.

And before following the traitorous Standartenfuehrer Mann to The Complex, he would destroy these American spaceships and the men and women with them.

Destroy—it was all he could consider now.

He screamed to his obersturmfuehrer over the beating of the rotor blades above him, “We shall prevail!”

She gat at the breakfast table, leaving the chair at its head vacant as she did always when her husband was away with his troops. At the opposite end, since he was the oldest man in the house, despite the fact that he was a boy, sat her son Manfred.

Helene Sturm looked at his very pretty face. “Why do you stare at me, Manfred?”

“I have become distressed, Mother.”

“You worry concerning your father, then—but I am sure—

“My father and the troops of the New Fatherland shall be invincible, Mother. I am distressed at what I have come to learn.”

Helene Sturm dropped the spoon with which she had been stirring her coffee. “I do not—”

“But you do, Mother. You understand quite well, I am afraid.”

“A boy should not talk thus to his mother, Manfred—I will tell your father.”

“I doubt you would tell my father any of this. For I have followed you, Mother. And I have curiosity concerning the topic of which you speak so secretly with the wife of the

Standartenfuehrer Mann.”

“Frau Mann,” Helene Sturm whispered. “But, but she and I are friends, Manfred.”

“You are not of her station, Mother—there is something besides friendship of which you speak.”

Helene Sturm set down the spoon which she had picked up, it made the shaking of her hand that much more visible. “I don’t—I don’t understand, Manfred.”

“I want more cereal, Mother,” Willy asked.

“Yes, I’ll, I’ll get it.” She started to stand up.

“Willy, you will wait for your cereal.”

Helene Sturm looked across the table at Manfred. “Don’t talk to your brother like that—and don’t talk to me like that either.”

“Then I shall talk to the supervisor of the youth, Mother. I shall tell him what I suspect.”

Helene Sturm stood up—that her hands trembled mattered no more to her. She felt the child—or perhaps there were two as her doctor suspected, but she looked at her son. “You will obey me—as you would obey your father. What I do is none of your concern, Manfred. When your father returns, if you feel that my conduct must be reported on, then tell him. You are my son—you are in my charge. And you are responsible to me, and to your brothers. And to your father. We are your family—not the youth. I am your parent—not the supervisor of the youth. Is that clear to you, Manfred?”

“My primary obligation, Mother, is to the party.”

Hugo, her second oldest son, stood up. “Manfred—you should not speak this way to Mother.”

Bertol, next oldest to Hugo, stood as well. “Yes, you are being bad, Manfred.”

Now Willy stood, apparently his quest for cereal abandoned or forgotten—she could not help but smile as he spoke. “If you talk bad to Momma, I’ll punch you in the

nose, Manfred.”

“Hush, Willy—he is your older brother and you should respect him.”

Willy looked confused. She didn’t blame him.

Manfred stood. “I leave now—to meet with the supervisor of the youth. Your reluctance that I speak with him only confirms my worst suspicions, Mother.”

“You will not leave this house.”

“It is an apartment, Mother—the concept of the private house is an anachronism. You live in the past—you refuse to prepare for the glory that is our future.”

“Manfred!”

He threw down his napkin, stood very erect and straightened his youth scarf about his neck. “I am leaving now, Mother—and in your present physical condition, I should not advise that you attempt to interfere. I, like all members of the youth, revere women who fulfill their biological destiny by providing those who will serve the New Fatherland in the years to come. But my duty is my first concern, Mother.”

He turned as though doing an about-face, then walked from the room. “Mother?” She looked at Hugo. “Yes, darling.”

“Bertol and I—we could try to stop Manfred, Mother.”

“No, he is your brother.”

“Momma, can I have more cereal now?”

She leaned forward and kissed Willy’s forehead. She realized that she was holding Hugo’s shoulders very tightly. “Bertol—fix your little brother some cereal. I must use the telephone,” and she walked around the table and toward the small hallway by the door just as she saw the door close. Manfred was gone.

Helene Sturm’s hands still trembled. She picked up the

telephone. She punched the buttons and made a mistake, broke the connection and replaced the call. “Frau Mann, I am sorry to trouble you. This is Helene Sturm. Manfred— I fear.”

John Rourke swung down from the virtually pommel-less, virtually canteless English-style saddle, to the rocky ground beside the already dismounted Wolfgang Mann.

“We are here, Herr Doctor,” Mann announced, smiling.

John Rourke looked over the terrain before them. A massive valley, lush with rich green vegetation, sprawled before them, gray rocky abutments rising from amid the green, a river coursing through its center. It could well have been paradise.

Or the gateway to hell.

He had the uncomfortable feeling he was about to find out which.

Natalia swung down from her mount, and in the same instant so did Sarah. Natalia asked, “Where is the entrance—from your diagram, I was looking for a peculiar triangular-shaped rock.”

“Ahh, but it cannot be seen from here—we must walk along a very narrow trail. The horses cannot come. I should have drawn the map more carefully. I apologize, Fraulein Major Tiemerovna.”

“Are we coming in through the tunnels with you?” Elaine Halverson asked, still mounted and beside Kurinami who stood holding her animal’s reins.

“John has something else in mind, I think,” Sarah volunteered.

“We discussed this a little last night—because of your obvious non-Germanic appearances, neither of you can enter The Complex. And Akiro already knows his part. Sergeant Heinz will accompany Colonel Mann, Sarah, Natalia and myself. Elaine—you and Akiro will travel with the four remaining enlisted personnel. Captain Hartman has other duties.” Rourke looked up at the four enlisted men—they were still mounted. None of them spoke English. “You’ll position yourselves strategically outside the main entrance of The Complex, either to be a back-up for us or coordinate efforts with the remainder of Colonel Mann’s forces when they arrive. From what the colonel tells us, the tunnels are too narrow in spots and far too treacherous to bring a large body of men with field equipment through. And since you speak some German, Elaine—well, you shouldn’t have any communications problem with Colonel Mann’s men.”

Rourke began untying gear from his saddle as he continued to talk. His pack was already on his back because with the English saddle it had been impossible to tie it on. He removed the pack now. He had left the CAR-15 in his truck, taking instead two M-16 rifles for the heavier volume of fire they could lay down. Natalia and Sarah were each similarly armed and there were several eight-hundred-round containers of 5.56mm ball that would accompany them. He slung the M-16s crossbody now, one on each side, adjusting the position of his musette bag at his left side where it became entangled with the rifle. “If something goes wrong—you and Akiro are gonna have to kinda wing it.” He secured the canteen—one of the round Western-style canteens, blanket covered—on his right side on its strap, opposite the musette bag. He picked up the pack and began securing it into the actual seat of the saddle, the only way it could be secured. Halverson and Kurinami would take the horses with them.

Rourke glanced to Natalia, then to Sarah—both of them

were doing roughly the same with their gear. He looked to Sergeant Heinz. Heinz alone bore a pack, and also two of the Nazi assault rifles.

Their rifles were apparently based on the successful G-3, but utilized a caseless cartridge, similar to those used in the new forty-round capacity Soviet assault rifles. But the magazines were not plastic disposables and the caliber seemed closer to thirty than twenty—all told, from what little he knew of both rifles, he favored the German. Their pistols—Mann alone carried one, a pistol apparently not an issue item for a noncom. And not the P-38 Mann had worn before. Their pistols seemed derivative of the Walther P-5, but with double column magazine enhanced capacity. The bore diameter was smaller than 9mm, closer to that of a .30 Mauser to which the caseless pistol round bore an astonishing resemblance as to shape.

Heinz, beside his feet, had one of the eight-hundred-round boxes of 5.56mm ball. Rourke walked to one of the still-mounted noncoms, taking down from the man the second box. Rourke found himself smiling, wondering if the exalted standartenfuehrer would take turns on the eight-hundred-round box his noncom carried. He made a private bet with himself that Mann would.

“I’m ready,” Natalia said, settling her purse which she had converted into the backpack mode across her shoulders. She picked up first one, then a second M-16, cross-slinging them as Rourke had done.

Sarah stood beside Sergeant Heinz.

Rourke extended his hand to Elaine Halverson, and then to Kurinami, to each of them in turn wishing, “Good luck.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, passing Mann as the colonel issued orders in German to his still-mounted men. Rourke waited now beside the lip of the rocky outcropping which overlooked the valley, Sarah and Natalia flanking him.

“We are ready, Herr Doctor,” Mann announced, taking the ammo box from his sergeant and starting ahead in a long-strided march.

Rourke followed after Mann, smiling—he had won the bet.

Annie thought of her father’s words—be prepared. She had done exactly that. Before leaving The Retreat she had packed with her three useful objects. One was a dark gray skirt that reached to her ankles, which on the surface she realized did not seem all that terribly useful. She had packed it with her few other clothes. The other two objects she had packed in a ziploc bag and secreted under the seat of her father’s comouflage pick-up truck. Both trucks had been stripped of weapons, ammo and gear in the aftermath of her father and mother freeing Natalia.

But the hollow under the pick-up’s seat was never checked. She had waited until dark and gone to it, feeling in darkness under the seat amid the springs and finding the bag.

She sat now on the edge of one of the two cots in the smaller tent beside the tent shared by Michael and Paul during their recuperation.

Madison sat opposite her.

“You have a look in your eyes, Annie.” Madison smiled, buttoning her blouse, then sitting on the edge of the opposite cot and putting on her shoes.

Annie hitched up her slip and began pulling on her over-the-knee woolen stockings—they were black and they were warm and the previous night had been cold. When she had wrapped herself in a blanket to go to the showers that

morning, she had nearly frozen. The weather had again changed and drastically.

She half expected snow from the gray of the clouds.

Annie stood up, her slip falling below her knees. “What look in my eyes?” She laughed.

“A look that says, ‘I have a secret’ is what I mean.” Madison laughed.

Annie picked up the long gray skirt, then started stepping into it, buttoning it at her waist. She found a black turtleneck sweater and pulled it on, straightening the turtleneck and freeing her hair.

She bent over beside her cot, pulling out the combat boots. Her father had planned ahead with that—he had bought several pairs of combat boots in her mother’s shoe size and several additional pairs in sizes smaller and larger. It had worked out, and although she liked to credit her father with exceptional foresight, she realized it had been a lucky gamble. Madison’s feet fit the smaller boots; her feet fit the larger ones.

“What do you have in your boot?”

Annie placed the two objects she had retrieved from the truck on the cot, then raised her left leg, hitching her skirt up above her left knee. “This is a Bianchi leg holster— Daddy used it when he was in the CIA a few times. I took a tuck in each of the elastic bands and it fits just perfectly now.” She secured the two elastic straps, one above and one below her calf over the heavy stocking on the inside of her leg. i

“And this,” Annie went on, raising the wooden and gleaming steel second object, “is an American Derringer Corporation .45 ACP derringer—same caliber as my Detonics Scoremaster. The derringer goes in here.” She settled the derringer in the leg holster, then lowered her foot from the cot and let her skirt drop. “See—don’t see it, do you?”

“A gun—on your leg?”

“American ingenuity, kid.” Annie laughed.

She sat down on the edge of the cot and started getting into her combat boots.

All the time Annie had spent working with the master computer aboard Eden One had turned up dossiers that had all seemed perfect—and hence none of them had been outstanding enough to seem spurious. Hugging her coat about her, and the shawl about her coat, she entered Michael’s and Paul’s tent, Madison behind her.

“You could at least knock, Annie—for God’s sake,” Michael groused. He was sitting up.

“I can tell you’re feelin’ better,” she said, laughing. She went to her brother and kissed his cheek and smiled.