Free Doomsday Warrior 02 - Red America by Ryder Stacy

of Rockson. The best place to lay a trap for this “Ultimate American” would be Zhabnov’s Pavlov City. Its ten thousand mindbreakers running twenty-four hours a day in attempts at converting vast numbers of workers into fighters would draw the rebel leader.
    “And I’ll be there when he does attack,” Killov mumbled aloud. My KGB has the right to know what the hell Zhabnov is up to anyway. It could affect my chances to ascent to the premiership. For I and only I have the vision—a total empire—total subjugation of all the world. And the complete eradication of all resistance. Vassily was too softhearted to do what was necessary and Zhabnov too stupid. No, it is up to me. It’s my destiny to create the first total world empire that the earth has ever known.
    Yes, he would lay a trap and get hold of the super weapons that Rockson now possessed. They would attack—he knew it. He would lay a trap with elite troops. He had to be damn sure that Zhabnov didn’t get hold of the super weapons. Whoever had them would win the fight of succession that was already increasing in intensity in the Presidium and would soon spread to worldwide confrontations as supporters of the different factions began battling it out. His men had been able to sway ten more pro-Zhabnov delegates to the hastily assembled party summit in Moscow, and tonight a plane carrying nearly fifty pro-Zhabnovs back to Russia from the president’s sex parties would be blown up over Siberia. But still it wasn’t enough. Once Vassily kicked off, and that would be any day now, since Killov had his men feeding poison to the premier in his sickbed in the Kremlin, the struggle for succession would come to a head.
    It would all be decided within the next few weeks. He would win or face execution. He had thought the rotund Zhabnov a total fool—until Captain Yablonski had tried to assassinate Killov two months earlier by lunging at him with a hypodermic filled with cyanide. Mindbreaker probes had failed to reveal who had given the command to him. Yablonski had been under some sort of powerful mind block that literally destroyed his brain when the mindbreaker went to work. But there was no doubt that the order had come from Zhabnov—to eradicate Killov before the ailing premier died.
    The Grandfather was more concerned with the life of some trees than with the survival of the empire—trying to block the use of any more nukes. The man was a throwback—good thing he was near death. And when he finally passes away I will help carry the casket in Moscow as it parades through Red Square as will Zhabnov and the others who are vying for power, and we will all weep crocodile tears. And then the battle of succession.
    He stared out at the snow-covered peaks of the Rockies which now blazed as if aflame from the brilliantly clear rays of the sun. I will rule everywhere. The world—the whole world. But he must have those super weapons. Every thing depended on it. There was no need for advice on this matter. He would order Gernik and the other KGB generals to assemble a joint force of elite fighters with 3-4-5 gas to take over Pavlov City. According to conventions still in effect—three hundred KGB members must be permitted within any army fort without advance clearance or special permission. This would be the battle that would win the world. Like the trojan horse of the ancient Greeks he would get his men in and then . . .
    The rest of the morning and afternoon he made plans for the takeover. Detailed maps and plans of the huge Pavlov City complex were brought into his office. At three o’clock he assembled his top staff and told them of the attack. He himself would lead it. This was too important to leave to underlings. The generals were eager to at last display their power. At last they would be allowed to fight their rivals—the regular Soviet Army. Russian against Russian—it had to happen.
    The meeting had just ended, the last few officers getting final