David Robbins - New York Run

“Including Zombies, I hope?” Geronimo chimed in.

“Including Zombies,” Captain Wargo declared. He tapped the small plastic panel on one side of the rifle, near the stock. “This is a digital readout. Lets you know exactly how many rounds you have left in the gun—”

“Is that because Technic soldiers can’t count without using their fingers and toes?” Geronimo asked, interrupting.

Wargo ignored the taunt. “See these four buttons here? The first button activates the digital counter. The second is for full automatic, the third for semiautomatic. The fourth button ejects your spent magazines.”

“What’s the fifth button for?” Blade queried. “The one on top of the scope?”

Captain Wargo chuckled. “I told you this was tht ultimate in killing power. The button on the scope activates the Laser Sighting Mode.”

“It’s a laser too?” Blade asked in amazement. He’d read a little about lasers in the Family science classes. Laser technology had been extensively employed prior to the Big Blast.

“Not in the way you mean,” Captain Wargo said. “You see this four-inch tube projecting from the top of the scope? It generates a red light, a laser if you will, and this shows up on your targets as a red dot.”

“Red dots?” Blade repeated questioningly.

“Yeah. When you see a red dot on your target, that’s precisely where your gun is aimed. So to hit the spot you want, all you have to do is raise or lower the red dot to the point you want,” Wargo explained.

“It must take the challenge out of aiming,” Cicronimo noted.

“You don’t need to aim with these,” Captain Wargo stated. “The Dakon II does everything for you.”

“Does it wipe your derriere after you’re done?” Geronimo cracked.

Captain Wargo was about to reply when he paused, gawking at the stark vista ahead.

Blade had seen it too. The SEAL was continuing on its course, staying well to the center of the Hudson River, cleaving the water smoothly as it sailed on a southerly bearing into the depths of New York City.

If “city” was the right word.

Any vestige of the former metropolis was gone. The demolished homes and other buildings had given way to a scene culled from a demented nightmare. The ground was parched, scorched, the earth a reddish tint.

Vegetation was completely absent. Piles of twisted, molten slag were everywhere. Small piles. Huge piles. Isolated metal girders still stood here and there, like blackened steel trees amidst hills of melted structures.

Blade scanned both sides of the Hudson, astonished. From his schooling days at the Home, he knew New York City had once been inhabited by millions of people. Something like 15 or 20 million when the war broke out. He could scarcely conceive of every one of them, millions upon millions, being reduced to smoking ashes in a matter of seconds.

Crisped to nothing in the space of a heartbeat. The very idea was mind-boggling.

“How could they do this to themselves?” Geronimo inquired absently.

“They were idiots,” Captain Wargo said.

“Is that it? Is that the only answer?” Geronimo asked.

“What more do you need?” Captain Wargo encompassed both banks with a wave of his hand. “What else would you call someone who would do this? They were fools, because they possessed great power and they didn’t know how to use it.”

“What do you mean?” Geronimo queried.

“If the Americans had been smart,” Wargo stated, “they would have thrown everything they had at the Soviets without warning.”

“What?”

“I’m right and you know it,” Captain Wargo said. “The Americans blew their chance by letting the Soviets catch up to them. The Americans developed a nuclear capability first. They should have used it before anyone else did the same and conquered the world.”

“You’re putting me on,” Geronimo declared.

“I am not,” Captain Wargo responded. “You have a huge library at your Home. You must be familiar with American history.”

“We studied it,” Geronimo said.

“Right. Then you know what happened to the Americans. They let the Soviets produce their own nuclear arsenal, until it reached the point where neither side had a distinct advantage over the other. And look at what it got them! Mutual destruction. No, the Americans would have been wiser to launch a war before the Soviets built their first nuclear weapon.

They could have conquered the globe in weeks and saved themselves a lot of trouble in later years.” He paused. Patton was right all along.”

“Patton?” Geronimo reiterated.

“An American general during World War II,” Wargo said. “He was all for putting the Russians in their place. He never trusted them. But the civilian leaders refused to subscribe to his opinions. They should have listened to him.”

“I’m curious,” Blade spoke up.

“About what?” Wargo replied.

Blade focused on the river, watching for floating logs or other obstacles.

“I’m curious about the Technics. Do you consider yourselves Americans?”

“No.”

“You don’t?”

“Why should we?” Captain Wargo asked. “America is a thing of the past. They had their opportunity and they blew it. It’s up to us, the Technics, to forge a new world from the rubble the Americans left as their legacy. And you can be certain we won’t commit the same boneheaded blunders they did!”

“The Technics have it all planned out, huh?” Blade casually commented.

“You bet your ass we do,” Captain Wargo stated proudly. “Why, by the time we’re through everyone in North America will—” He abruptly paused, glancing at the giant Warrior in consternation. “Very clever,” he said.

“Very clever indeed.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Blade stated.

“Sure you don’t,” Wargo said, grinning. He gazed out at the expanse of river before them. “Let’s change the subject. Why don’t you give me a rundown on the SEAL’s armaments.”

“Again?” Blade asked.

“Humor me,” Wargo directed. “I’ll need to know what to do in case something happens to you.” He smiled wickedly. “Not that we would want anything to happen to you, of course.”

“Of course.” Blade pointed at a row of silver toggle switches in the center of the dashboard. “Those switches engage our offensive weaponry.

They’re labeled from left to right with an M, S, F, and R. The M stands for the pair of fifty-caliber machine guns we have hidden in recessed compartments under each front headlight. When you flick the M switch, a metal plate slides upward and the guns automatically fire. The S is for Surface-to-Air Missile, a Stinger mounted on a rack in the roof above the driver’s seat. A panel slides aside when the switch is pressed and the Stinger is launched. Our Stingers have an effective range of ten miles, and they’re heat-seeking.”

“And what about the F and R?” Captain Wargo prompted.

“The F is for the flamethrower positioned at the front of the SEAL, behind the front fender, in the center. Press the F and a portion of the fender lowers, the nozzle of the flamethrower extends six inches, and the flame spurts about twenty feet. The SEAL must not be moving when the flamethrower is used, or you run the risk of an explosion. Finally, we have the R switch. It’s for the Rocket Launcher secreted in the middle of the front grill. There you have it.”

Captain Wargo was grinning like a kid with a new toy. “Marvelous! Simply marvelous! There’s no way the Zombies will stop us now!”

“Says you,” Geronimo said.

“They won’t be able to stop the SEAL like they did some of our jeeps and trucks,” Captain Wargo predicted.

“Aren’t you forgetting one little fact?” Geronimo queried.