Survivalist - 12 - The Rebellion Read Free

And Deiter Bern will be publicly executed and there will be warfare instead of freedom.”
    “You speak so disparagingly of warfare—yet you are a military man.”
    “Some men serve their country, their race, their people—some serve to guard peace.”
    “And in return for this help you need?” Rourke asked.
    “Those men who are loyal to me would safeguard this area against further attack by the Communists—there are other shuttle craft in the night sky, are there not?”
    “Four.” Rourke nodded.
    “My other legions have been dispatched to pursue these Soviet troops.”
    “And be that much further from your Complex when you attempt the coup.”
    The standartenfuehrer laughed aloud. “I am transparent, am I not?” He threw down his cigarette, crushing it under his boot.
    “And you can leave a token force in this area to answer radio communications from your extended elements and from your command headquarters, while the bulk of your men return in secret to this Complex place.”
    “I am transparent indeed.” The standartenfuehrer laughed again.
    “What makes you think—well, in five centuries of technology, your people’s medical skills must be far advanced over ours. Why do you need me?”
    “You have wounded—I have a doctor who can help them, who can teach you his secrets, this new medical technology. But I would be recognized in The Complex, as
    would any of my officers, the doctor among them. There are many thousands of our people. Were you not to attract attention, you could move about freely until you choose to strike.”
    “What does my being a doctor have to do with it? You could easily have your doctor teach someone the procedure of alleviating whatever condition this drug induces.”
    “When I learned of these space shuttle craft, I envisioned some sort of doomsday project. And for that, medical technicians would have been included. That you yourself are a medical man is sheer—and may I say fortunate—coincidence. But a medical man was a necessity.
    “Why?” Rourke asked him.
    “There are many who would free Deiter Bern, Herr Doctor. But none can. Because Deiter Bern is confined in a most special way. He is not behind bars. There is a shackle about his neck, electrical current running through the shackle and through the chain which connects the shackle into the wall. If the electrical current is disrupted in any way, an electronic impulse will be emitted, and the impulse will trigger a capsule which is attached to an electrode, the electrode disintegrating the capsule. Inside the capsule is a synthetic form closely approximating the ancient drug known, I believe, as curare. Once the synthetic curare is released, Deiter Bern will be dead in under four seconds. There is no antidote with which he can be previously injected. The capsule is located in the carotid artery near what my own medical specialist tells me is something called a venus fistula—you know of this?”
    Rourke nodded. “You speak English well.”
    “Tne officer corps has stringent language requirements. But to further diminish any chances of Deiter Bern being freed, the entrance to and from the section in which he is confined—the only means in or out and my best commandoes have confirmed this—constantly broadcasts an identi
    cal electronic impulse. Should the current at the entryway be disrupted, an effect occurs similar to that of the claymore-type mines used prior to the warfare between the superpowers. Thousands of tiny needles the size of slivers which have been positioned at strategic locations throughout the walls and ceiling and floor of the room are released, traveling at such high velocity and of such infinitesimal size that they will penetrate up to a six-millimeter thickness of armor plate.”
    “Quarter inch,” Rourke murmured.
    “Each needle is tipped with the synthetic derivative of this ancient drug curare. Three penetrations of the needles would be adequate to kill an average-sized man in under