Read Online Survivalist - 22 - Brutal Conquest by Jerry Ahern - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jerry Ahern
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atmosphere was richer now than it had been a century and a quarter ago, largely due, of course, to German-led, efforts in regreening the South American rain forest lands. And, although the population of the earth had doubled and redoubled many times over, there was still comparatively little industry and the air was very clean.
The result was, as the sun began to set, that Michael Rourke could see so far into the distance he could almost fantasize seeing the mountain where The Retreat, the only home he had ever really known, was located.
He knew that was physically impossible, however.
But a thought of home, even though that home was now a museum controlled by enemy forces who wished to kill him and his entire family, was still of comfort, however ephemeral. And he thought, specifically, of Natalia. His father had taken the news of his and Natalia’s liaison so well it was almost scary. But his father was, after all, John Rourke. Natalia. To lose Natalia was something of such import Michael Rourke could not comprehend it, nor did he try. Perhaps John Rourke had never thought
of Natalia in that way, never considered her “his woman,” therefore … therefore, what?
Michael Rourke missed Natalia more than he could ever have thought possible after the death of his wife, Madison.
And he would never see Natalia or anyone he loved again if he did not get out of here.
Michael assessed the situation. He was still being viewed as Martin Zimmer. That would not last. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Croenberg, the SS major general, already saw through him.
If Deitrich Zimmer were to suddenly arrive, that would be it.
To get away from the building, he could overpower a guard and steal a gun, or he could just walk out. After all, as Martin Zimmer, it was his building to command, as were the guards. And the information he had in his head concerning the impending attack on Pearl Harbor as a prelude to war was vital. That information had to be transmitted to Allied Intelligence so the attack could be foiled and, hopefully, the war forestalled.
Michael Rourke had the uncomfortable feeling that history was repeating itself, but at a much accelerated pace. A World War II-like beginning to what might be World War Last ….
James Darkwood walked alone along the street, the buildings surrounding him like towering mountain pinnacles. He had been born in Mid-Wake, raised and schooled in the Hawaiian Islands, only returning to Mid-Wake for the Naval Academy and his specialized Naval Intelligence training.
A place like Eden, now the oldest surface city on Earth, still amazed him. There were a comparative few tall buildings in New Honolulu, but not this obsession for a terrestrially bound aggregation of synth-concrete slabs to reach into the sky.
He thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. He was alert to any sounds in the gathering darkness that might be at all out of the ordinary. His face was not known here in Eden City, nor was there any reason to suppose that anyone might take even the briefest second look at him, but he was still operating in enemy territory.
There was considerable pressure exerted, even at the Naval Academy, for him to enter the submarine service. He was even offered a berth aboard the new Reagan.
The United States Nuclear Submarine Ronald Wilson Reagan, Jason Darkwood’s ship, was the most decorated vessel of the Mid-Wake fleet. There were two submarines to bear the ship’s name in the intervening one hundred twenty-five years, none of them (because it was peacetime) approaching her glorious record.
This latest vessel, James Darkwood feared, might have the chance to prove herself … and quite soon.
She was, officially, a “Submersible Carrier Vessel Navy,” an aircraft carrier with the ability to operate above or below the surface, like a spacecraft of the ocean, enormous, fast, and deadly if need be.
If he ever became anything but a landlocked sailor, he’d love to serve aboard her.
But
The result was, as the sun began to set, that Michael Rourke could see so far into the distance he could almost fantasize seeing the mountain where The Retreat, the only home he had ever really known, was located.
He knew that was physically impossible, however.
But a thought of home, even though that home was now a museum controlled by enemy forces who wished to kill him and his entire family, was still of comfort, however ephemeral. And he thought, specifically, of Natalia. His father had taken the news of his and Natalia’s liaison so well it was almost scary. But his father was, after all, John Rourke. Natalia. To lose Natalia was something of such import Michael Rourke could not comprehend it, nor did he try. Perhaps John Rourke had never thought
of Natalia in that way, never considered her “his woman,” therefore … therefore, what?
Michael Rourke missed Natalia more than he could ever have thought possible after the death of his wife, Madison.
And he would never see Natalia or anyone he loved again if he did not get out of here.
Michael assessed the situation. He was still being viewed as Martin Zimmer. That would not last. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Croenberg, the SS major general, already saw through him.
If Deitrich Zimmer were to suddenly arrive, that would be it.
To get away from the building, he could overpower a guard and steal a gun, or he could just walk out. After all, as Martin Zimmer, it was his building to command, as were the guards. And the information he had in his head concerning the impending attack on Pearl Harbor as a prelude to war was vital. That information had to be transmitted to Allied Intelligence so the attack could be foiled and, hopefully, the war forestalled.
Michael Rourke had the uncomfortable feeling that history was repeating itself, but at a much accelerated pace. A World War II-like beginning to what might be World War Last ….
James Darkwood walked alone along the street, the buildings surrounding him like towering mountain pinnacles. He had been born in Mid-Wake, raised and schooled in the Hawaiian Islands, only returning to Mid-Wake for the Naval Academy and his specialized Naval Intelligence training.
A place like Eden, now the oldest surface city on Earth, still amazed him. There were a comparative few tall buildings in New Honolulu, but not this obsession for a terrestrially bound aggregation of synth-concrete slabs to reach into the sky.
He thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. He was alert to any sounds in the gathering darkness that might be at all out of the ordinary. His face was not known here in Eden City, nor was there any reason to suppose that anyone might take even the briefest second look at him, but he was still operating in enemy territory.
There was considerable pressure exerted, even at the Naval Academy, for him to enter the submarine service. He was even offered a berth aboard the new Reagan.
The United States Nuclear Submarine Ronald Wilson Reagan, Jason Darkwood’s ship, was the most decorated vessel of the Mid-Wake fleet. There were two submarines to bear the ship’s name in the intervening one hundred twenty-five years, none of them (because it was peacetime) approaching her glorious record.
This latest vessel, James Darkwood feared, might have the chance to prove herself … and quite soon.
She was, officially, a “Submersible Carrier Vessel Navy,” an aircraft carrier with the ability to operate above or below the surface, like a spacecraft of the ocean, enormous, fast, and deadly if need be.
If he ever became anything but a landlocked sailor, he’d love to serve aboard her.
But
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