Read Online Survivalist - 21 - To End All War by Jerry Ahern - Free Book Online
Authors: Jerry Ahern
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planet, the logic from a military standpoint is impeccable.
“Mid-Wake,” Rourke went on, “has historically fielded a smaller fleet, and its submarines have no such nuclear delivery capability. Our only prayer in the event the Soviets elected to utilize SLICBMs against us would be the Mid-Wake fleet taking out the Soviet fleet. The chances for effectively accomplishing this task without one missile or an entire missile battery being launched would be so low as to be incalculable.”
“Are you saying, then, Dr. Rourke—John—that we have lost before the war has begun?” Wolfgang Mann asked, his voice strange-sounding.
“No,” John Rourke told Mann, Dieter Bern, and the other Germans. “I’m saying—we’re all saying—that we need to strike before they can strike. And, even at that, our chances for success are very slim. That’s the reality of the
situation. The Soviet presence near Mid-Wake in the Pacific has become the wild card, gendemen. If the Soviets of the Underground City can manipulate things so there is a coordinated offensive incorporating land forces and the Soviet submarine fleet, we’re in very deep trouble.”
Chapter Eleven
This had to be the crucial meeting, because it was being held in the official hall of the triumvirate—three very tired-looking old men—the rulers of this Soviet civilization beneath the surface of the Pacific Ocean.
Nicolai Antonovitch sat at the conference table, his eyes drifting over the gray-black marble walls and toward the long desk that dominated the far end of the vaulted chamber. Pillars—of marble or whatever the substance was—supported the roof structure. The desk was empty now, nor did anyone sit behind it. When he had first come here days ago, and after days of negotiation there on the surface, first on the platform, then inside one of the monstrously sized Soviet submarines, he had seen the three men.
They reminded him of Party officials from five centuries ago, the men who had worked behind the scenes and behind the backs of the leaders who had realized the absurdity of global war. And they reminded him of the leader of the Soviet Underground City.
Possessed by their own ability to wield power, they were its prisoners.
Here, Soviet society had crumbled to almost a Stalinist military dictatorship. And the citizens had been relegated to the status of workers within a colony of ants or bees.
No one here besides him had ever seen an ant or bee, because no one here remembered the old days … had endured cryogenic sleep carrying him from the horror of the present to new horrors in the future.
He had once been a loyal Communist and in his heart still believed in Communism. It was the men who practiced it, who ruled through it, who were the ones that corrupted it. But, did not mankind corrupt all that it touched?
And Antonovitch suddenly wondered what he was doing here.
He had come for the sole purpose of effecting an alliance that would bring about the destruction of mankind. He knew that, just as surely as he knew that if he did not do this thing, the next man behind him would forge the alliance in his stead.
And the woman, Dr. Svedana Alexsova.
She sat opposite him, chatting gaily with the Soviet military leaders, and each night slept in his bed. But he would not, at least in the figurative sense, turn his back on her. She served the State and herself. He was only her tool.
Behind the desk the wall of marble was smooth, but he knew that set within the wall was a door, all but seamless. And he watched for the three men to emerge from that portion of the wall now.
And then the final round of talks would begin.
They would share the power, thus dividing the Earth that would be the spoils of this war to end all wars forever, because there would be no one left alive to fight another war. The situation would have been humorous in a black comedy sense, a group of vile little boys planning to divide a ball into segments after playing and winning a
“Mid-Wake,” Rourke went on, “has historically fielded a smaller fleet, and its submarines have no such nuclear delivery capability. Our only prayer in the event the Soviets elected to utilize SLICBMs against us would be the Mid-Wake fleet taking out the Soviet fleet. The chances for effectively accomplishing this task without one missile or an entire missile battery being launched would be so low as to be incalculable.”
“Are you saying, then, Dr. Rourke—John—that we have lost before the war has begun?” Wolfgang Mann asked, his voice strange-sounding.
“No,” John Rourke told Mann, Dieter Bern, and the other Germans. “I’m saying—we’re all saying—that we need to strike before they can strike. And, even at that, our chances for success are very slim. That’s the reality of the
situation. The Soviet presence near Mid-Wake in the Pacific has become the wild card, gendemen. If the Soviets of the Underground City can manipulate things so there is a coordinated offensive incorporating land forces and the Soviet submarine fleet, we’re in very deep trouble.”
Chapter Eleven
This had to be the crucial meeting, because it was being held in the official hall of the triumvirate—three very tired-looking old men—the rulers of this Soviet civilization beneath the surface of the Pacific Ocean.
Nicolai Antonovitch sat at the conference table, his eyes drifting over the gray-black marble walls and toward the long desk that dominated the far end of the vaulted chamber. Pillars—of marble or whatever the substance was—supported the roof structure. The desk was empty now, nor did anyone sit behind it. When he had first come here days ago, and after days of negotiation there on the surface, first on the platform, then inside one of the monstrously sized Soviet submarines, he had seen the three men.
They reminded him of Party officials from five centuries ago, the men who had worked behind the scenes and behind the backs of the leaders who had realized the absurdity of global war. And they reminded him of the leader of the Soviet Underground City.
Possessed by their own ability to wield power, they were its prisoners.
Here, Soviet society had crumbled to almost a Stalinist military dictatorship. And the citizens had been relegated to the status of workers within a colony of ants or bees.
No one here besides him had ever seen an ant or bee, because no one here remembered the old days … had endured cryogenic sleep carrying him from the horror of the present to new horrors in the future.
He had once been a loyal Communist and in his heart still believed in Communism. It was the men who practiced it, who ruled through it, who were the ones that corrupted it. But, did not mankind corrupt all that it touched?
And Antonovitch suddenly wondered what he was doing here.
He had come for the sole purpose of effecting an alliance that would bring about the destruction of mankind. He knew that, just as surely as he knew that if he did not do this thing, the next man behind him would forge the alliance in his stead.
And the woman, Dr. Svedana Alexsova.
She sat opposite him, chatting gaily with the Soviet military leaders, and each night slept in his bed. But he would not, at least in the figurative sense, turn his back on her. She served the State and herself. He was only her tool.
Behind the desk the wall of marble was smooth, but he knew that set within the wall was a door, all but seamless. And he watched for the three men to emerge from that portion of the wall now.
And then the final round of talks would begin.
They would share the power, thus dividing the Earth that would be the spoils of this war to end all wars forever, because there would be no one left alive to fight another war. The situation would have been humorous in a black comedy sense, a group of vile little boys planning to divide a ball into segments after playing and winning a
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