Doomsday Warrior 06 - American Rebellion Read Online Free Page B

standing on the front seat of his jeep some 75 feet ahead. He raised his long curved scimitar, striking as fierce a pose as possible. The golden rubles were slipping from his fingers with every lifeless body that crashed to the ground.
    “Come, come,” Yigmar said, grinning a gold-toothed smile at the inflamed prisoners. “Now is not the time to rebel. If you wanted to fight us, you should have done so on the battlefield. Trip almost over for you now. Just a few more hours—you get food, get places to live, work to do. Not so bad. Many have much worse.” He smiled idiotically at them trying to make it all sound like some sort of idyllic paradise. Not one believed him, but the few seconds of time of his words bought cooled their tempers from the explosive to the boiling point. They settled back into their ranks, their heads bowed in shame and repressed rage as they walked along, their ankle chains clanking loudly.
    They marched through the day, until the sun at last began setting again, falling from the purple blue sky like a silver gull hunting for darting fish just below the horizon. Those of the prisoners who were going to, had died already. The rest seemed to be surviving, Yigmar noted with satisfaction. He had only lost 10 of the original 80—better than usual.
    “We almost there,” he screamed out. “Just hour or two—then food.” He smiled again, though not a man could see the artificially stretched mouth in the semi-darkness. The stars filled the vast skies like a billion little lips all opening and closing, sucking in the waste of the universe. After a time the moon suddenly appeared over a grove of trees, illuminating the road with a merciless light. At last the low walls of the Fortress City of Goerringrad appeared ahead, just as they came over a rise in the road. They could see thousands of lights twinkling in the mild breeze, and could, even from several miles off, hear the sounds of heavy machinery, of engines roaring. The Nazis were working non-stop on building their American headquarters, work-crews going around the clock with giant floodbeams lighting their task.
    In their hunger and weariness, the prisoners prayed that they would get to eat and have a night’s sleep before they would be forced to whatever jobs they would have to work at. God knew what their fate would be, though everyone of them had in the back of his mind the surety that he would escape, once he had regained strength, once his wounds were healed. These were Freefighters, not groveling slaves of the work sectors of the Russian cities. If they could just survive the next few days, weeks, they would get the hell out of here and rejoin their comrades in the hidden cities. Only that thought kept them from ending their lives right then and there.

Four
    T hey were marched up to the steel gates of Goerringrad where four machine-gun emplacements were manned, their huge .55mm muzzles aimed at all four roads that met in front of the fortress entrance. Yigmar showed his papers to the bored officer on duty who walked over and looked the new slaves up and down, making sure they were properly secured, shaking their chains, checking the locks. He would pay if some should escape and cause any harm. But satisfied that they were all incapacitated, he waved the slave convoy through. The other soldiers laughed and pointed at the American prisoners.
    “So these are the fierce American warriors,” one said in broken German-English.
    “Now I know why I was so afraid to come over here,” another laughed. The Freefighters gritted their teeth. They knew this would be only the first of many insults they would endure during their captivity. Rockson’s eyes met the eyes of the lieutenant in charge. The German felt the strangest sensation run up and down his spine as if he had looked into the eyes of death incarnate.
    “Stop! Stop!” he yelled, rushing over to the Doomsday Warrior. “Who is this man?” he demanded of Yigmar.
    “Just a worthless