Doomsday Warrior 15 - American Ultimatum by Ryder Stacy

Author:Ryder Stacy [Stacy, Ryder]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 0821725874
Publisher: Zebra Books

Thirteen

They’d escaped, but Sheransky was seriously hurt. They all could see that once they dragged themselves ashore on a sandy beach. His arm had been ripped open. The flesh was gashed right down the middle from his shoulder almost to the elbow, a good three-inch-deep cut like a butcher starting to make the incision for the flank meats. He was out cold—lucky for him.

Chen took a vial from one of several packets attached to the belt around his waist and mixed it with sea water. Then he smeared the white paste all along the wound. It seemed to form almost a glue within a minute or two. Then he pushed the flesh together, and then wrapped cloth around it, tying it up the length of the arm. The wound seemed to cease bleeding so heavily. Sheransky was now conscious, but not too much, his head rolling back and forth as he moaned softly.

“Easy, pal, you’re going to live. I promise you that,” Rock said, laying a hand on the blond Freefighter’s shoulder. Sheransky’s eyes seemed to clear as he focused on Rockson.

“Yeah, sure I am,” he whispered back through pale tight lips. “I’m just faking it.”

“We’ll have to throw together a drag-rig,” Rock said, looking around the shore and seeing nothing particularly usable. “I don’t know how much traveling our friend here is going to be able to do.”

“Carryyy?” Archer piped up, getting the drift of the problem. “No! Meeee caaarrrryyyy?” He looked imploringly at Rockson as if to say, “let me help out here, pal, let big, strong me make my contribution.” Rock pondered the idea for a few seconds. It would slow them down some, no doubt, but then so would dragging Sheransky on a makeshift travois. Rock scanned the shore back and forth, and then the skies above them. He didn’t want to wait around here either. The Reds—or someone else—could easily have seen their plane go down, seen the chutes descending. There could be troops coming.

“Okay, let’s try it, bigman,” Rock said. “But if he’s too much for you—stop—and we’ll build something.” Archer scoffed at the idea that it would be too much.

“Meee carrrryyy moooosse onnnn baaaacckk.” He chuckled effusively. Rockson would have liked to have seen that particular event. They rigged up a kind of backpack using Sheransky’s Liberator rifle as a seat, and the webbed combat belt. Then Rock threw the whole contraption over Archer’s shoulders, getting the Russian Freefighter up on his back. The thing looked ridiculous, and Sheransky didn’t look all that happy hoisted up onto the near-mute’s back like an Indian papoose. But it worked.

Archer had to lean forward, pulling with both arms at the straps to get the right leverage. But after he tested the whole setup, walking around in a circle for ten seconds, even hopping up and down a few times, it appeared that Sheransky’s 175 pounds, plus another 30 or so of gear, weren’t about to present any major obstacles to a man who had carried a

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