Doomsday Warrior 01 Read Online Free PDF

lit up.
    “How, how much?” The legless man leaned back on his stumps and folded his arms across his chest.
    “For you—and I can tell you’re a connoisseur—I’m going to let you slide, my Amerikanski friend. Two rubles and it’s yours. And I’ll throw in a pack of matches—not full, but still has five left.” The worker looked at him, decided and reached a long arm down into a cavern of a pocket in the coat and extracted two sweaty rubles.
    “Here,” he said, handing it over. The cigarette seller handed the man the crisp Marlboro and the matches.
    “Enjoy, my dumkov,” the legless peddler said, smirking.
    “I will,” the worker replied, rejoining the migrating lines of laborers. “I will.”
    Stalinville was one of the larger Russian forts—stretching ten miles in a roughly circular shape, with an electrified wire fence surrounding the city. The Reds had split the complex into four sectors, their own totally separated and secured from the rest by special barbed-wire walls and defensive systems. There was no mixing between the Americans and the occupying Russian forces. The Reds didn’t dare go out into the night. The army had set up whorehouses using American women who were carefully screened, controlled and watched.
    Stalinville was responsible for the five hundred square mile area around what had been Omaha, Nebraska. It was a large, modern fort, one that had been built in the last thirty years rather than at the very start of the Russian occupation. Those were hellholes, barely capable of supporting life on an ongoing basis. They were highly vulnerable to radioactive storms, filled with leaks and holes through which the constant, deadly mists of the poisoned country blew with unceasing vigor, as if to fill their very pores with this glowing death.
    The Russians, even now, a century after the Great War, had to be on their guard against everything. They were more susceptible to radiation over here, for it was much hotter than Russia. Only a few Red cities had been struck after the sneak attack. That was one of the reasons the Russian troops had to be rotated every three years, before their bodies started to suffer irreversible damage. The Stalinville Soviet sector was fed its own constantly filtered air supply, pumped into every Russian room and office. Outside the Red quarters, within the city, the troops would walk around with handkerchiefs around their mouths. And when out of the fort completely, on missions out in the “hot zones,” they wore the full radiation combat gear, including face masks, oxygen packs and heavy quilted suits. Somehow, the American Freefighters seemed almost immune to the rads and the thin air.
    Stalinville was important, not only for her military might which kept the local populace bent under, but for her KGB Operations Center. She was the main fort of this section of the country for the dreaded KGB Blackshirts who appeared from out of the night and dispensed death to whomever they deemed worthy.
    KGB Maj. Gen. Alexi Dashkov sat staring out the polarized window of his fifth-story office at the cactus-dotted plains beyond the fortress, stretching off to the misted horizon. Now the KGB had a new toy in Stalinville—the Mind Breaker. Just recently perfected by their scientists, it was now ready for use on the American resistance that still fought them in the unclaimed lands away from the fort—the mountains, the fog enshrouded valleys, the thick forests. The fools who still fought on would soon face their most formidable enemy. Thus far, they had even withstood torture using the hypnotic blocks that their scientists had taught them. They would only recite nursery rhymes and gibberish, even when excruciating pain was applied. But the Mind Breaker—that was something different, something that would change things. Once they could break some of these rebels, these bandits, and find out where their secret cities lay hidden, the resistance forces all across America could be