Doomsday Warrior 02 - Red America Read Online Free PDF Page A

twenty seconds. The mortars landed among the troops trying to find cover among the rocks and blew them into piles of bloody flesh. Smoke and a ghastly odor of death, of burning bone and metal, of boiling blood, filled the air. Some of the trucks at the far end of the valley road began trying to back up, but Detroit and Rock fired nearly a mile and a half down the road and took out the two rearmost tractor trailers. The trucks erupted into fire and toppled over, completely blocking any exit from the trap into which the convoy had driven.
    Chen lay hidden in a grove of red-barked dwarf pines halfway up the mountainside from the Red column. Beams, bullets, and shells from the Red tanks flew past him looking for something to destroy. Suddenly he heard rocks sliding just below him. He peered around the edge of the grove and saw six Red soldiers with submachine guns coming up the slope to outflank the American attack force. With a star-knife in each hand Chen jumped from his hiding place and whipped them through the air at the soviets. One of the five-pointed blades ripped into a Red chest, the other into the shoulder blade. Both exploded on contact, turning the upper half of the two men into a spray of red mist. The legs with no body stood for a second and then crumpled to the ground, suddenly realizing they were dead. The four remaining commando force aimed their subs at Chen and fired but found only air. The martial arts master had flipped backwards behind the pines. As he hit the ground, landing on both feet, Chen whipped out two more of the star-knives and, without stopping his motion, turned and came running out the other side of the grove so that he caught the Reds by surprise from their right flank. He spun the two razor-sharp star-knives which whirled silently through the smoky hillside. Again both made contact with flesh. The remaining two Reds stared in horror as two more of their force were turned into oozing mounds of hamburger. This time Chen came at the two Reds who were left. They tried to lift their submachine guns and fired but missed the leaping, spinning Chinese freefighter. He reached the closer of the Reds, a big red-faced bruiser who sneered and ripped out a foot and a half long bayonet from his pack. Chen feinted to the right and the soldier lunged forward. As the big man came Chen stepped to the left and kicked up with right foot. The leg swung up with lightning speed, catching the Red under the chin, snapping his head back with a loud crack. He fell to the mountainside dead, his spine cracked neatly in two.
    Chen spun as he felt a bead being drawn on him. His years of training, nearly twenty-five of them, had given him extra senses, super fine-tuned perceptions so that he could sense another man’s intention to strike as the attacker himself felt it. He dove forward, rolling down the hill in a ball. He came alongside the firing Russian and knocked him to the ground like a bowling pin. The Russian soldier struggled to right himself, as he reached for his service revolver. But Chen was upon him as the pistol left the holster. He slammed three quick strikes to the man’s stubbly throat, cracking the larnyx, crushing the windpipe. The man threw his hands over his throat, gasping like a fish out of water. He fell face forward, his brain already dead from lack of oxygen. It would take his heart minutes to stop. But already the would-be killer was motionless. Chen surveyed the slope down to the valley road but saw no others.
    Back up on the ledge of the mountain the freefighters didn’t let up their fire for a moment. They swept through the convoy like the tornado of a megastorm. Six men trapping a thousand. Six men destroying over a hundred armed vehicles. Something for the history books.
    Rockson and Detroit fired down the single file line of huge diesels, firing twice at each one. Once into the forward, driver’s cab, then sweeping the beam of purest black across the truck’s side to make sure that all the