Target: Point Zero Read Online Free PDF Page A

gasped. The sharp, handsome features, the grown-out mane, the hawkish face. He knew this man—he’d seen his photograph many times over the years, even before the Big War.
    “You’re…you’re…” he began stammering in perfect English.
    “Never mind who I am,” the voice behind the rifle said. “Who the hell are you?”
    The Wehrenluftmeister gulped hard.
    “I am the commanding officer of the defense forces of this city,” he said quickly. “I was hired to protect it from invasion. I have a ten thousand man regular army division at my disposal, plus another ten thousand militia and mercenaries. My command staff numbers five hundred and one.”
    The rifle moved every so slightly towards him. “Are you the good guys or the bad guys?” the voice said.
    The question momentarily stumped the Wehrenluftmeister.
    “We’re the good guys, ” he finally replied. “The people who hired me are honorable individuals. This city, their city, was in danger of being invaded. I came to their assistance…”
    “That’s what Hitler said before he stomped Poland,” the voice interrupted.
    The comment exploded in the Wehrenluftmeister’s ears. His face instantly turned crimson red with anger.
    “We are not Nazis, sir!” he shouted, even though the rifle snout was now but an inch from his nose. “Though I can assure you you’ll find plenty of that ilk on the other side of the mountain!”
    A short silence descended on the darkened room. The Wehrenluftmeister shifted nervously in his chair. The rifle moved in again.
    “You’re not an American, are you?”
    “Free Canadian,” the Wehrenluftmeister replied. “My name is Orr. Major Stanley, P. Central European Liberation Forces, Inc.”
    “How much you getting paid?” the voice asked.
    Orr hesitated a moment. “Nothing but food and shelter,” he revealed at last. “For the time being, at least…”
    Only then did the rifle barrel move, its snout disappearing back into the shadows. Then its owner stepped forward again. The Wehrenluftmeister looked up, and saw the face once more.
    He gulped. “So…it is really you?”
    Hunter lowered the gun completely, then casually took a seat on the edge of the plotting table.
    “Yeah,” he said finally, “it’s really me.”
    The Wehrenluftmeister took a shaky glass of water. He still couldn’t believe it. Hunter snapped his fingers and suddenly all the lights came back on.
    “Not going too well up top?” he asked Orr.
    The Wehrenluftmeister pushed what was left of the pile of recon photos Hunter’s way.
    “You’re an expert,” he said. “You tell me.”
    Hunter leaned over the lighting table and began studying the pile of photos himself.
    He had to agree with the Wehrenluftmeister. The images did show a rapidly deteriorating situation. Clocks’ defense forces were getting pounded by heavy artillery the enemy had stacked in the mountain crevices high above the trenchworks. Larger, higher gun emplacements were being worked on as well, even as the battle raged on in the pass below. Once these bigger guns were operational, there would be no defense against them. The troops holding the eastern trenches would be quickly finished. It would be a very cold, very brutal way to die.
    “We’d been holding them off before these big guns appeared,” Orr told him. “But now…”
    Hunter studied another set of photos, these showing the enemy’s trenchworks. The fortifications appeared full, sturdy and heavily reinforced, with plenty of reserve stocks lying in the rear areas.
    “Who are these guys you’re fighting?” he asked Orr. “Are they really Nazis? Or just fake ones?”
    Orr just shrugged.
    “Many of them are German,” he replied. “But many are not. They’re part of a larger army which has been steadily moving east for about a year now, taking over large chunks of the Continent in the process. We’ve been able to slow them down, here, but only because of the mountain. They are despicably patient, which tells