Rockson’s skull. But Rockson looked at him with his own brand of contempt. To the others the huge Foster 236 looked unstoppable, but Rockson had fought warriors many times stronger and deadlier. And had won every fight.
He waited until Foster was almost upon him, until the ugly scarred face was only inches away, and then he moved. Rockson swung his hips to the side, stepping in on the charging rhino of a man. The hammer swung just past his head, six inches in front of it, as Foster 236 once again cut thin air. Rockson slammed his hand against the shoulder blade of the attacker. At the same instant he kicked the man’s right leg out from under him. The huge body slammed forward and straight down to the concrete floor with all its huge momentum behind it. The man had no time to shield himself from the blow. His face ripped into the ground, smashing instantly into a pulp, as if he had just fallen head-first from a six story building. His teeth and nose ground back into the face. The cheekbones followed. The eyes were slapped back into their sockets as the bone containers around them cracked into pieces. The body twitched violently, shaking and jerking around the floor like a beached whale. The other slaves leaped out of the way, pulling their bedding with them. Then, it was still, as the brain’s nervous system stopped and the heart and lungs ceased functioning. The bloody dead thing lay in the center of the floor wet with thin stabbing streaks of blood.
Rock stood up to his full height and looked away from the meat slab on the floor. “I am Ted Rockson,” he said simply to the workers. “You were saying last night that he would never come to save you. Well I have come! I’m going to get you all out of here, every fucking one of you.”
They stared at him in disbelief. My God, he must be the Rockson to dispatch Foster so easily. The Rockson had come here for them—then they were worth something. The Rockson wouldn’t save worthless slime. His presence filled them with a magical sensation, an emotion they hadn’t experienced for as long as they had memories—joy. The emotion of joy.
“We’re going to fight them—starting right now. An hour or two before dawn—the best time to strike. I need you to help me. In return I’ll blow this whole damned dump to hell. You’ll live like men from now on.”
The slaves looked at him, their minds filled with fear and confusion. Men? They wanted to be men, but could they?
“I can’t promise any of you that you’ll live. But are you alive now? You’ll be striking a blow for every slave in this world. And if the others in this living hell see you, they’ll join in. And with all of us fighting at once, the Nazis will fall.”
He raised his heel and slammed it down into the concrete, making an exploding pistol-like sound.
“Yes, I come,” the intelligent one who had questioned him the night before, said. He stepped forward. Just a sprout of a man, still in his teens. Yet Rockson could see by his hard set eyes, his firm jaw, that he was someone to be trusted.
The Doomsday Warrior reached over and rested his hand on the teen’s shoulder for a second. “By the authority vested in me as Commanding Officer of the United States Free Fighting Army, I appoint you lieutenant—what’s your name again? Your real name?” Rockson asked with a grin.
“Lyons, sir. John Lyons.”
“Lieutenant Lyons. You’ll help me whip things in order.”
“Yes sir,” Lyons said, raising his hand in an awkward salute in Russian, not American style, as the Reds were the only people he had ever seen saluting.
“I guess I’ll come too,” another man spoke out. “My brain was dead, Mister Rockson. What you did to us last night, said to us. You woke me up. I don’t care if I die—I’ve been dead for the last seven years. I—I was a farmer before that,” he said, his eyes misting over for a second. Then he looked up with a fierceness in his eyes. “I’d like to have a chance to
He waited until Foster was almost upon him, until the ugly scarred face was only inches away, and then he moved. Rockson swung his hips to the side, stepping in on the charging rhino of a man. The hammer swung just past his head, six inches in front of it, as Foster 236 once again cut thin air. Rockson slammed his hand against the shoulder blade of the attacker. At the same instant he kicked the man’s right leg out from under him. The huge body slammed forward and straight down to the concrete floor with all its huge momentum behind it. The man had no time to shield himself from the blow. His face ripped into the ground, smashing instantly into a pulp, as if he had just fallen head-first from a six story building. His teeth and nose ground back into the face. The cheekbones followed. The eyes were slapped back into their sockets as the bone containers around them cracked into pieces. The body twitched violently, shaking and jerking around the floor like a beached whale. The other slaves leaped out of the way, pulling their bedding with them. Then, it was still, as the brain’s nervous system stopped and the heart and lungs ceased functioning. The bloody dead thing lay in the center of the floor wet with thin stabbing streaks of blood.
Rock stood up to his full height and looked away from the meat slab on the floor. “I am Ted Rockson,” he said simply to the workers. “You were saying last night that he would never come to save you. Well I have come! I’m going to get you all out of here, every fucking one of you.”
They stared at him in disbelief. My God, he must be the Rockson to dispatch Foster so easily. The Rockson had come here for them—then they were worth something. The Rockson wouldn’t save worthless slime. His presence filled them with a magical sensation, an emotion they hadn’t experienced for as long as they had memories—joy. The emotion of joy.
“We’re going to fight them—starting right now. An hour or two before dawn—the best time to strike. I need you to help me. In return I’ll blow this whole damned dump to hell. You’ll live like men from now on.”
The slaves looked at him, their minds filled with fear and confusion. Men? They wanted to be men, but could they?
“I can’t promise any of you that you’ll live. But are you alive now? You’ll be striking a blow for every slave in this world. And if the others in this living hell see you, they’ll join in. And with all of us fighting at once, the Nazis will fall.”
He raised his heel and slammed it down into the concrete, making an exploding pistol-like sound.
“Yes, I come,” the intelligent one who had questioned him the night before, said. He stepped forward. Just a sprout of a man, still in his teens. Yet Rockson could see by his hard set eyes, his firm jaw, that he was someone to be trusted.
The Doomsday Warrior reached over and rested his hand on the teen’s shoulder for a second. “By the authority vested in me as Commanding Officer of the United States Free Fighting Army, I appoint you lieutenant—what’s your name again? Your real name?” Rockson asked with a grin.
“Lyons, sir. John Lyons.”
“Lieutenant Lyons. You’ll help me whip things in order.”
“Yes sir,” Lyons said, raising his hand in an awkward salute in Russian, not American style, as the Reds were the only people he had ever seen saluting.
“I guess I’ll come too,” another man spoke out. “My brain was dead, Mister Rockson. What you did to us last night, said to us. You woke me up. I don’t care if I die—I’ve been dead for the last seven years. I—I was a farmer before that,” he said, his eyes misting over for a second. Then he looked up with a fierceness in his eyes. “I’d like to have a chance to
Similar Books
