World War IV: Empires Read Online Free PDF Page B

the camp greedily, every man eager for his turn. The cries of anguish brought a smile to Rodion’s face as he paced through the governor’s house in the Northwest capital. He knew he would burn the entire city eventually then rebuild his own, but for now the accommodations were to his liking.
    Rodion enjoyed the fact that he was in Dean Mars’s home. He relished sleeping in his bed, drinking his ale, and eating his food. All that was left was to kill the man himself, and his occupation would be complete.
    The battle had been a landslide. The swords and powdered rifles of their enemy did little against the AK-47s Rodion had provided his men. Fires still burned in the north, torching the dead in massive piles that dotted the battlefield. As much as Rodion enjoyed the cold, the warmth from that fire was better than any tundra he’d set foot on.
    And the fires would continue to burn the farther Rodion marched his men south and then to the east, taking the entire continent, killing anyone that opposed him and enslaving any too craven to die by his hand. The foundation for his empire had been laid, and he would raise it higher, one corpse at a time.
    “Lieutenant!” Rodion roared from inside the house, and a round-faced officer burst through the door, bringing with him louder screams from the women in the streets.
    “Yes, General?”
    “Send word to Delun. Tell him the Northwest is ours, and we require ships to keep the port.” Rodion had received no word from his ally for nearly a week. And he knew the Mars governors would return with the might of their fleet, and when they did he would be exposed on the coast.
    The wooden floorboards creaked with every step of Rodion’s heavy boot. The house had been left in haste, clothes discarded, dishes dirtied on the tables and counters. A painting of the governor and his wife hung in the living room. Rodion picked it off the wall, nearly tearing the canvas in the process.
    “General!” One of the officers hurried into the house, clutching his side as he caught his breath. “General, we’ve found one of the governor’s advisors.” Two soldiers dragged an elderly man into the living room and tossed him on the ground. His face was covered in soot and dust. He spread his liver-spotted hands across the floor and struggled to push himself up. The soldier kicked him in the ribs impatiently. “Up, you dog! You stand when facing the general.”
    Rodion took a few steps forward while the man still lay on his back, gasping for breath and clutching the point where the soldier had kicked him. “You work for the governor?”
    “I’m… a teacher.” The words left between wheezed breaths.
    Rodion raised his brows, setting the picture down gently. “And what do you teach your governor?”
    “History.” The old man pushed himself to sit upright but then collapsed once again after a quick gasp. He writhed on the floor, his face twisted in pain.
    “Pick him up,” Rodion said, and the two soldiers lifted the professor onto a chair, where he hunched over, still unable to sit straight. Rodion towered over the old man and could see the aged skin where hair no longer covered his head. “What history have you taught the governor?” But the old man seemed to only be able to focus on controlling his own breath. Each wheezing gasp was accompanied by a light whine. “He left you behind to die. And he will not be able to come and save you. Tell us what you know, and I will promise you a quick death.”
    The professor looked up, his eyes on the patch of sickle and stars on Rodion’s arm. He reached his hand up and pointed, his finger wobbling up and down. “Those symbols have been beaten before. They do not provide you with any immunity.” The finger dropped, and he leaned back in the chair.
    Rodion snatched one of the rifles from his men and pressed the end of the barrel into the professor’s skull. “This will immunize me against defeat.” He placed his finger on the trigger. “You