War of the Sun Read Online Free PDF Page A

under protection of the United Americans, troubles up north had forced most of the troops to withdraw, leaving a vacuum which was quickly filled by various outlaws and other assorted lowlifes.
    Yet as disturbing as Wolf viewed the place, it had, alas, an irresistible draw.
    He knew this temptation well.
    He had, in fact, secretly visited the place alone, not a year ago, shortly before the titanic battle against the Super-Nazis. Now the decadent, wicked memories of the clandestine trip filled his head with a mixture of unbearable guilt and indescribable pleasure.
    Sin City could be best described as a real-life pornographic movie.
    Soon after his arrival in the modern-day Gomorrah, he’d stumbled into a place called the Q Club. Here he saw a brutal reenactment of nothing less than an Aztec human sacrifice. A beautiful young Indian girl, nude and in a drug-induced trance, was led to a block of stone at center stage. As she was bound to the stone, a robed and masked figure entered the stage, attended by several more Indian girls. As the club’s sound system blasted a deafening, rhythmic beating of drums, the robed figure danced and cavorted lewdly with his attendants. The beat of the drums increased in intensity. Smoke poured from some hidden source near the stage. As it had wafted out over the audience, Wolf had recognized the sickly-sweet aroma of opium.
    He got up to leave but found his way out blocked by the crowd craning to get a better look at the stage. Their expressions feverish, their eyes glazed, the crowd pressed against him in the packed, suffocatingly hot room. A roar of approval went up around him, and he had involuntarily turned back toward the stage. There he saw that the robed figure had pulled a large dagger from under his cloak. He advanced toward the bound woman as his attendants rolled on the floor around him, their naked brown limbs twisted together in a variety of sex acts.
    The drumbeats reached a crescendo and, horrified, the captain saw the robed figure raise his dagger high above the helpless girl’s chest.
    Wolf turned away and forced his way through the drooling, entranced crowds. He never did find out if the ceremony was real or not.
    He found himself next on a dimly lit street, sweating, trembling from the bizarre experience. Almost immediately he was surrounded by an army of prostitutes, all of them beckoning to him, shouting out specialties and promises of low prices. Meanwhile, other hookers were servicing confirmed customers in the shadows. He saw one on her knees in front of a wizened old man. She turned slightly toward him and he saw that she was missing an eye. Her one good eye winked grotesquely at him as she gestured for him to take his place beside her customer.
    He turned and staggered down the street, the night quickly turning into a garish blur. He wandered from scene to scene of incredible depravity, somehow compelled to witness the darkest and most ugly of human behavior. It was as if he needed to confirm what he knew to be true about man’s ultimate nature.
    But sometime during this nightmare of ecstasy, he was either slipped or secretly injected with a powerful drug, possibly even myx.
    He woke up the next morning in a seedy hotel, lying atop a young girl dressed like a Dutch maid, right down to the wooden clogs. She was still breathing when he fled.
    He spent the whole night alone on the bridge, his conscience wracked by both horror and lust.
    Finally the sun came up, and the neon explosion on shore began to fade away. At 0600 hours, his staff reported that thirty-three men had successfully jumped ship during the night, and seventeen of them were still missing.
    Those that survived returned penniless, some missing their shoes, and even their pants. Several were victims of bad or tainted drugs. One of these had to be carried aboard by his exhausted shipmates. He was raving incoherently, caught in the violent grip of a drug-induced psychotic attack. Before he could be restrained