David Robbins - Cincinnati Run

Blade was relieved the Hurricane was in one piece. There were only two such aircraft at the Freedom Federation’s disposal, and both were essential to maintaining the shuttle service between Federation members.

The Free State of California had worked diligently to ensure the VTOLs were airworthy, and every Federation faction appreciated the critical importance of the pair of technological marvels.

The Hurricanes qualified as the last operational remnants of the prewar civilization’s scientific genius. Although the Soviets possessed a fleet of helicopters, and although California and a few diverse groups or city-states could field functional planes or other craft, there were only the two VTOL’s in existence. Twelve feet in height, 47 feet in length, with a wingspan of 32 feet, the Hurricanes could attain a speed of 600 miles an hour or hover stationary as if they were gigantic hummingbirds. Each VTOL packed a tremendous wallop, consisting of cannons, cluster bombs, rockets, and four Sidewinder missiles.

“Once our pilots have mastered this aircraft, it will become an invaluable weapon in our campaign to defeat the Freedom Federation,” General Stoljarov bragged.

“We’ll destroy it before we’ll allow you to use it against us,” Blade vowed.

“How? With the other Hurricane? Unfortunately, we will have long since vaporized your Hurricane by the time ours begins conducting sorties.”

Blade craned his neck and stared up at the spire. The structure gave the illusion of reaching the starry firmament, an effect heightened by the crystal globe at the peak which was radiating a pale white glow. “With that?”

“What else?” General Stoljarov retorted.

“We have nothing to worry about,” Geronimo said.

General Stoljarov swung toward him. “Why not?”

“Because if the pilots aren’t any more intelligent than you are, they’ll never figure out how to fly the Hurricane,” Geronimo stated, and smiled.

The Butcher’s expression hardened and he pointed at Lenin’s Needle.

“Proceed.”

Blade and Geronimo complied, walking toward a brown door at the bottom of the silver tower.

“For your information, our pilots will master the VTOL easily thanks to the excellent instruction they are receiving,” General Stoljarov said.

Blade gazed at the Hurricane. Their mission had acquired an extra dimension. Destroying the superweapon was just the first step; they must also retrieve the Hurricane or wreck it. Under no circumstances would he let the VTOL remain in Soviet hands. The combination of the superweapon and the Hurricane would render the Soviets unbeatable.

But first things first.

He scrutinized the door ahead, calculating. The entrance to Lenin’s Needle appeared wide enough to admit one person at a time, and promised to present a golden opportunity to make a bid for freedom. His gambit depended on the soldiers. Would one of the Russians enter first or would the troopers follow behind the Warriors? He looked at Geronimo and cleared his throat.

Geronimo glanced at his friend.

Blade winked, grinned, and gave a barely perceptible nod. He watched as Geronimo stared at the door, and Blade was pleased to note the comprehension flitting across his features.

“Frankly, I’m disappointed in the two of you,” General Stoljarov mentioned. “I expected more of a fight out of you. Your reputation is greatly exaggerated.”

“How did you earn your reputation as the Butcher?” Blade queried, hoping to distract the officer with conversation.

“Before I was assigned to head the Laser Research Facility, I was in charge of interrogations for this sector. When we needed answers, I obtained them. Regrettably, many of those who supplied the information we wanted did not survive the interrogation procedure.”

“In other words, you tortured them to death,” Blade said.

“Only the weaklings. Eventually, through word of mouth, the general populace came to regard me with disdain—”

“More like hatred,” Geronimo said, correcting him.

“In any event, their petty concerns are of no consequence to me. I have a job to do and I do it. Professionally. Competently,” General Stoljarov said.

“Don’t forget ruthlessly,” Geronimo added.

“I will relish interrogating you, Geronimo,” the Butcher declared, “as I have few others in recent memory. I intend to give you the deluxe treatment.”

Blade strolled calmly forward, passing row after row of parked vehicles.

He estimated that 50 feet separated him from the door. “I have a question,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Why wasn’t Lenin’s Needle constructed years ago? If this device is so powerful, why did you wait until now to build it?”

“For one reason, and one reason only. His name is Leonid Grineva.”

“Who’s he?”

“Our foremost scientist. He undoubtedly possesses the greatest mind since Albert Einstein. It was Leonid who achieved the breakthrough in cold-fusion-generated laser light. It was he who perfected the technique of controlled projection,” General Stoljarov disclosed. “He completed the designs eighteen months ago.”

“Your leaders must have a lot of confidence in this scientist,” Blade casually commented.

Forty feet to go.

“Their confidence has been justified by his accomplishments,” General Stoljarov said. “The Hurricane and the 757 are but the tip of the iceberg.

For his next demonstration, Leonid plans to obliterate a land target.”

Land target? Blade didn’t like the sound of that.

“And if the demonstration is successful, as we fully expect it to be, we can commence our campaign to eradicate any and all opposition to the expansion of Soviet domination. Within a year this country will be ours.

Within three years the planet,” General Stoljarov asserted.

“Don’t forger Mars and Venus,” Geronimo said.

“Mock me while you can, but mark my words. We will not be denied our rightful destiny. Communism will ultimately prevail.”

Thirty feet.

“Communism will never prevail,” Blade stated. “Dictatorial regimes are their own worst enemies. When you sow hatred, you reap hatred, and the backlash of resentment will wash over you like a tidal wave.”

“What nonsense. This world belongs to the strong, to those who reach out and take it. We are in power because we are the strongest, and we will remain in power because our strength will never fail.”

“Dream on,” said Blade.

“You won’t be around to witness the final outcome anyway, Warrior,” General Stoljarov commented.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Blade responded.

Twenty feet.

“One other thing I’m curious about,” Blade mentioned.

“What is the Hurricane doing here? I know the VTOL was in route from Denver to Miami when it was shot down, so there was no reason for it to be over Ohio airspace. Where was the Hurricane when you fired your new toy?”

“Near Louisville, Kentucky. The pilot was able to bring the Hurricane down in a field a mile from Louisville, and our people were on the scene within minutes. He was a fortunate man. We intended to vaporize the aircraft, but there were still a few kinks in the system then. The laser sheared off a portion of the tail and fuselage, yet the pilot landed safely.

The Hurricane was brought here because the L.R.F. is the most secure installation we have. No one gets in or out without the proper credentials.”

Blade looked back at the Hurricane. “Who repaired the damage to the VTOL?”

“We did, obviously. We wanted the craft airworthy, and we’re not lacking in technical skills. The tail and fuselage were repaired a month ago. We were able to salvage a few compatible parts from old MIGs, and the rest were especially manufactured.”