Survivalist - 17 - The Ordeal by Jerry Ahern Read Free Book Online Page A

remember?”
    Michael started to nod, realized the mistake too late and winced at the pain in his head, closing his eyes tight against it. “Right— Dad and Natalia— What, ahh—”
    “Doctor Rourke and Major Tiemerovna,” Prokopiev began, “were separated from the rest of us. They were pursued. They have not been seen or heard from since. That is my understanding.”
    “Paul and Otto are looking for them,” Annie concluded. “I can contact them—Paul and Otto—by radio.”
    “I need to sit up—and where are my guns?” Michael sat up and felt as if he would die. The next step would be standing, so he told himself that would probably be worse …
    Natalia could not walk unaided. She walked, but she walked without purpose, wandered, and here, in the high rocks down through which they climbed, to take a false step might be fatal. Rourke alternated holding her hand or her elbow as they moved, Natalia from time to time, mantra-like, chanting his name, at times a haunting smile crossing her lips, as if she were dreaming of something pleasant yet totally awake.
    The grazing wound he’d sustained to his right arm made the arm feel stiff at times, but there was no real pain. The weight of his weapons combined with hers—he no longer trusted her with anything with which she might do herself harm—was considerable. Added to his twin Detonics mini-guns and the two Scoremasters and the 629, her L-Frame Smith .357s and her suppressor-fitted Walther PPK/S, his knives and hers was the weight of the helmets which he could not abandon because of their integral radio sets which might be the only means of extraction for them.
    They kept moving.
    “John…John …John …”
    “I’m here. How could I leave you?”
    “John… John …”
    “You’ll only make yourself hoarse. Please—let’s be quiet together. It’s beautiful here.” Gunfire and explosions rumbled in the distance. “We’re just going for a walk. Hold on to my hand.”
    “John…”
    “I’m here, Natalia.”

Chapter Nine
    “Report coming in now from Hekla, Comrade Colonel.” “Read it back to me, Corporal.”
    “Yes, Comrade Colonel—‘Headquarters Command Code Orange. Operation Storm, Sigma Sector. Advancing against Hekla Cone. Heavy fighting at enemy base outside Cone. Aggregate loss of personnel and equipment thirteen percent over estimate. Continuing advance. Need more air support. —
    “All right—try to get him his air support,” Antonovitch hissed, passing through the communications control center as quickly as he could now before another message arrived. It was going as he had expected, the casualty rates higher than anticipated but as yet not unacceptable.
    He passed through the air lock of the hermetically sealed tent and into the cold late afternoon air, no.coat, only his uniform blouse and the shirt beneath it. He ran his fingers back through his hair.
    The one he wanted to hear from he had not heard from— Nikita Achinski. Once Achinski had attained his objective, then all the madness would stop and victory would be at hand.
    He felt more than heard anything from behind him, turned abruptly toward the communications tent and saw the usually somber face of his adjutant. “Comrade Colonel! Achinski reports a major element of the enemy land forces destroyed, their lines of reinforcement and supply broken—he is
    advancing on the Second Chinese City, Comrade Colonel!” “The missiles? Any word of these?” “No mention, Comrade Colonel—I can recontact—” “No—not yet. Let him go on.” If only, Antonovitch almost
    verbalized, Prokopiev had not been lost …
    The muscles around the reduced shoulder dislocation hurt far more than the flesh around the gunshot wound to his other shoulder.
    Why had Michael Rourke saved his life, Prokopiev asked himself for the hundredth time, perhaps the thousandth time?
    The name of Rourke was one used to frighten the small children of the Underground City, a terrorist and murderer. Was