The Battle for Terra Two Read Online Free PDF Page B

urban America. Tens of thousands were dead, with most of the stunned survivors being herded aboard trains bound for resettlement camps in the Southwest. Those who'd hid, staying behind, learned to fight, turning their turf into death zones for the patrols.
    Urban Corps had been formed in '70, mandated to restore order. Badly mauled by increasingly formidable gangs, UC had taken to merely patrolling turfs' perimeters, guarding the burbs and enclaves from ganger forays.
    Reading it in a briefing book was one thing. Seeing the result was quite another. John sat numbly, watching the passing wasteland.
    Coming to the shoreline, zur Linde turned north to the harbor. "Here we are," he said after a moment, bringing the chopper over the waterfront. John had a fleeting glimpse of a jammed marina, old warehouses upgraded to atrium-lobbied condos and chic market-stall boutiques, now filling with the lunch-hour crowd. Skillfully weaving between the tall office buildings, zur Linde set them down atop one of the twin Fed towers overlooking Government Plaza.
    "Did you see the marina?" he asked later as they sat sipping Rob Roys in a Back Bay plaza dubbed Cinzano Bay. ("All these tricolore table umbrellas make it look like a red-white-and-blue bay.")
    John nodded.
    "I have a thirty-two foot Morganer moored there. If you'd like to go sailing, just let me know. I can fix you up with a date."
    "Does everyone who works here live here?" John pointed his celery stalk at the passersby. Most were well-dressed, with the sleek, easy ways of early affluence. Except for a sharp-looking black woman sitting alone, the few minorities were waiting table.
    "Many of the technos do." Zur Linde munched a handful of macadamia nuts. "Some come in from the burbs, but there's only one open road, an expressway with lots of checkpoints. Sometimes it's mortared."
    "The gangers have mortars?"
    "Not just mortars. Spandaus, claymores, bouncing ju-jus, TOWs." He eyed a leggy Japanese as she passed, blue silk dress slit almost to the waist, gaily colored boutique bag swinging from her left hand. A piece of war booty from occupied Japan.
    The two sat silently, watching that dahlia-blue dress melt into Cinzano Bay.
    "Why is UC headquartered between turfs?"
    "Stupidity. Pride," said the German, signaling for another round. "They built HQ there years ago, just after '68, thinking all resistance was crushed. When the incoming rockets burst that myth, it was decided—by officers in Frederick, Maryland—to enlarge and harden all the regional headquarters, rather than pulling them back, losing face.
    "You've seen the result—the Hospital." He polished off his drink, reaching for the next as it arrived.
    "I have this recurring dream," he said, slouching down in the white wrought-iron chair. "The Hospital is being overrun by dusky hordes. It's night. I'm up on the roof, carnage all about me, machinepistol in one hand, knife in the other—Dietrich at the gates of Leningrad.
    "Turning to Aldridge, I shout, 'It's hopeless, Hen Oberst\ Permission to autodestruct?' "
    Heads turned toward the two soldiers.
    "He just stands there at the parapet, watching wave after wave of gangers surging up the hill in the glare of the arcflares. Finally he says, wonderingly, 'Now I know how Camus must have felt, seeing those ants swarming up from the graves in Algiers.' I always wake up then, soaked, stinking of sweat."
    The German's breast pocket beeped. Annoyed, he pulled out a small paper, inserting the privacy jack. "Zur Linde," he said. The tiny crypto light glowed amber.
    He nodded after a moment. "Understood. On my way."
    Rising, he tucked the device away. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go.
    "No, no," he waved John back down. "Finish your drink, have something to eat—the prime rib's very good— order an end cut. You might want to do some shopping over on Newbury. When you're ready, just go across to our Copley substation and requisition a ride back to HQ. They're always choppers on standby.