.55mm slugs down whistling murder. The chopper guns were capable of firing nearly five thousand rounds a minute. They tore into the dulag mob like the Angel of Death. The huge slugs tore right through the bodies of the untouchables, some of them taking ten, twenty of the three-inch-long bullets in their bodies. They were ripped to shreds as arms, lungs, faces, and hearts were blasted right out of their human containers.
It didn’t take very long. The glass slivers and knives and hooks of the dulags were hardly a match for the death-dealing high-tech weaponry of the Red helios. The vast, screaming crowd was peppered with tens of thousands of rounds. The concrete around the falling bodies was ripped apart in little explosions of dust as the cartridges created countless little craters between the falling bodies.
When the helicopters reached the far end of the square they turned quickly and came back again, sending down a deluge of death. Within two minutes of their initial appearance over the walls not a dulag moved. All were dead. All were not recognizable as men any longer. Their bodies had been blown into a bloody swamp of crumbling flesh which covered the entire square. Not a moan, not a single breath stirred the smoky air. The army of untouchables was now an army of the dead.
Ten
T he two captured freefighters were whisked up the aisle of the huge Illyushin-78 Ramjet and told to make themselves comfortable. There were nearly two hundred seats inside but only they, a dozen guards, and the plane crew got aboard. The stewardesses were bulky Russian women in drab gray suits and low black shoes with their stern potatolike faces. The stewardesses strapped Rock and Archer into their seats at the tail section of the plane. The guards sat in front, behind, and in the seats on each side of them. They were taking no chances.
It was a gut-wrenching takeoff, and it felt as if the jet went nose up the second it left the runway, not leveling off until it reached the stratosphere after about five minutes. The ear-splitting roar of the engines died somewhat as they hit the thinner air high above the earth and caught into the global jet stream. The chunky stewardesses brought them tasty caviar spreads and sandwiches without crusts and good thick rich Columbian coffee, black as a pit. Archer picked up five of the tiny sandwiches at a time and swallowed them down without apparently tasting their delicate subtle flavors from around the world. Rock savored each bite—better than the slop they’d been given in the prison. He still felt a bit weak from the aftereffects of his little pain session. But Archer seemed just fine. After a few loud burps and one fart that threatened to make the guards retreat to the far end of the plane, the big primitive fellow fell asleep, his head plopping down onto Rockson’s shoulder, and he began snoring like a bull elephant.
Rockson was looking forward to the meeting with the Grandfather, wondering just what the cagey premier had in mind. He was intrigued that Vassily had a black servant—with some power—how odd. The man was also, rumor stated, of above average intelligence and read profusely. He knew from his sources that Vassily was of late locked in a struggle to the death with Colonel Killov to maintain his power over who ran America. Suddenly Rock realized the reason for the trip: to be used by Vassily to defeat Killov. But two could play that game, and Rockson was an ace at no-rules poker.
The steel curtains over the windows rolled back, and Rock nearly gasped as he took in the view below. They were in goddamned space itself They were, Rock guessed, nearly twenty miles up, and the curve of the horizon above which stars dotted the sky was slow and beautiful. He had known the Ramjets flew high but this . . .
“Mmmm,” Archer groaned, suddenly rising and unsnapping his seat belt. The guards leaped up, leveling their pistols and Kalashnikovs at the giant, but Archer pointed to his groin and made
It didn’t take very long. The glass slivers and knives and hooks of the dulags were hardly a match for the death-dealing high-tech weaponry of the Red helios. The vast, screaming crowd was peppered with tens of thousands of rounds. The concrete around the falling bodies was ripped apart in little explosions of dust as the cartridges created countless little craters between the falling bodies.
When the helicopters reached the far end of the square they turned quickly and came back again, sending down a deluge of death. Within two minutes of their initial appearance over the walls not a dulag moved. All were dead. All were not recognizable as men any longer. Their bodies had been blown into a bloody swamp of crumbling flesh which covered the entire square. Not a moan, not a single breath stirred the smoky air. The army of untouchables was now an army of the dead.
Ten
T he two captured freefighters were whisked up the aisle of the huge Illyushin-78 Ramjet and told to make themselves comfortable. There were nearly two hundred seats inside but only they, a dozen guards, and the plane crew got aboard. The stewardesses were bulky Russian women in drab gray suits and low black shoes with their stern potatolike faces. The stewardesses strapped Rock and Archer into their seats at the tail section of the plane. The guards sat in front, behind, and in the seats on each side of them. They were taking no chances.
It was a gut-wrenching takeoff, and it felt as if the jet went nose up the second it left the runway, not leveling off until it reached the stratosphere after about five minutes. The ear-splitting roar of the engines died somewhat as they hit the thinner air high above the earth and caught into the global jet stream. The chunky stewardesses brought them tasty caviar spreads and sandwiches without crusts and good thick rich Columbian coffee, black as a pit. Archer picked up five of the tiny sandwiches at a time and swallowed them down without apparently tasting their delicate subtle flavors from around the world. Rock savored each bite—better than the slop they’d been given in the prison. He still felt a bit weak from the aftereffects of his little pain session. But Archer seemed just fine. After a few loud burps and one fart that threatened to make the guards retreat to the far end of the plane, the big primitive fellow fell asleep, his head plopping down onto Rockson’s shoulder, and he began snoring like a bull elephant.
Rockson was looking forward to the meeting with the Grandfather, wondering just what the cagey premier had in mind. He was intrigued that Vassily had a black servant—with some power—how odd. The man was also, rumor stated, of above average intelligence and read profusely. He knew from his sources that Vassily was of late locked in a struggle to the death with Colonel Killov to maintain his power over who ran America. Suddenly Rock realized the reason for the trip: to be used by Vassily to defeat Killov. But two could play that game, and Rockson was an ace at no-rules poker.
The steel curtains over the windows rolled back, and Rock nearly gasped as he took in the view below. They were in goddamned space itself They were, Rock guessed, nearly twenty miles up, and the curve of the horizon above which stars dotted the sky was slow and beautiful. He had known the Ramjets flew high but this . . .
“Mmmm,” Archer groaned, suddenly rising and unsnapping his seat belt. The guards leaped up, leveling their pistols and Kalashnikovs at the giant, but Archer pointed to his groin and made
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