Survivalist - 18 - The Struggle by Jerry Ahern

requires considerable testing. Should one of these overload, it will, of course, explode. We have approximately one hundred of the weapons in operational order, none of these the model designed to replace the machine gun. The power packs
    are still a difficulty, but my people are working on it in three shifts throughout each twenty-four-hour period. The solution is forthcoming, I assure you. More of the weapons are being produced daily, and the calibration process is even now being streamlined to meet full production needs.”
    He recalled the Americanism about clouds with silver linings. Here was the opposite case, certainly. “These one hundred weapons which are available to mount on helicopters and armored vehicles. They are fully operational and can be relied upon thoroughly?”
    “That is the only way they leave here, Comrade Marshal. I have full confidence in them.”
    “Where are they?” Antonovitch asked her.
    “Ready for you to examine, Comrade Marshal.”
    “Tonight?”
    “If—if you wish,” and she averted her eyes.
    He had known Karamatsov long enough to recognize deceit and treachery. He knew she was practicing both and decided he would enjoy it. “Tell me, Comrade Doctor. Just how deep are your feelings— loyalty to the State?”
    “There is nothing I would not do, Comrade Marshal.”
    “Svetlana—it is one of the most beautiful of names for a woman. May I call you by your first name—of course, only when we are alone?”
    “I am honored, Comrade Marshal.”
    He doubted the chief science advisor to the Soviet government was all that terribly honored at the prospect of having a soldier’s boots beside her bed. He was being courted, and not by Svetlana Alexsova. He reached out his right hand and closed it over her hand. “Svetlana. Your beauty has captivated me. But, you must know that. I must be obvious.”
    “Comrade Marshal—I—”
    “You are overwhelmed,” he nodded, smiling. It was evident that the Chairman wanted him happy, wanted him eager to serve the Soviet interest. And Comrade Doctor Alexsova was to ensure that loyalty, that enthusiasm.
    There was no need to provide him with some added incentive to serve the Soviet people. It was his life. He smiled. Comrade Doctor Svetlana Alexsova did not know that. And she, too, was willing to serve the Soviet interest. “You have captured my heart, Svetlana. It is very hard, out there, fighting constantly. One loses sight of what ordinary humanity must be like. The loneliness is intolerable.” He had used that speech several times in the past, and often wondered why some intelligent woman did not simply laugh at him when he used it. Certainly this woman should laugh. She did not. “I want to possess you, Svetlana.”
    “Yes, Comrade Marshal.”
    He stood, walked to her desk. She stood. She took a step nearer to him. There was little choice, really. Should he not attempt to seduce her, the Comrade Chairman might suspect disloyalty or homosexuality, in either case disaster. And she was so very beautiful.
    He did not ask if she had a health certificate. She obviously did as did he. “Do you—ahh—do you stay where the other scientists stay, Svetlana?”
    “I have a room there, of course, but I find my apartment in the city more conducive to thought.”
    “Umm—I would like to see it very much. Might I do that? See it?”
    “Yes, Comrade Marshal.”
    “Nicolai, Svetlana—Nicolai,” and he held her hand more tightly. The late-morning meetings would have to wait, as would be expected.

Chapter Thirteen
    The cloud cover remained unbroken as John Rourke piloted the German gunship over the Daito Islands, almost a border line between the East China Sea and the Philippine Sea, toward, the Tropic of Cancer. Paul Rubenstein sat beside him. Rourke’s eyes flickered over the horizon indicator. They were in level flight, but visually it was hard to be certain, the gray of the sky and the gray of the sea blending unnervingly in an effect that