Red America by Ryder Stacy

Author:Ryder Stacy [Stacy, Ryder]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780821714195
Google: DuZmAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 1599503425
Goodreads: 2163907
Publisher: Zebra
Published: 1984-08-01T00:00:00+00:00

Eleven

The Central Processing Hall of Pavlov City was a madhouse. Prisoners or volunteer workers, as the Reds euphemistically called them, were continuing to be brought in from all around the Midwest. Every hour brought more of the workers and lower dredges of society—“garbage” people, thieves, beggars, the lowest of the underclass—into Pavlov City. The entire city was a factory, a factory for turning docile American workers into killing machines for the Reds. Colonel Killov, now in control of the fortress, allowed the processing to continue at full speed as he himself had not yet decided the final outcome of his takeover of the brainwashing center. With KGB guards stationed at strategic spots, the Red Army troops continued to process the new prisoners and funnel them into the mindbreaking building.

The workers were transported in by truck, chopper, and freight jet and fed through Main Processing—a football-field-sized concrete walled building where the workers were photographed, given a set of gray clothes, and tattooed with an electric branding iron on their shoulders. The Red guards continued to tell them they were being trained for working with special machinery which would bring them increased benefits and privileges. Few of the workers really believed this but had little choice as armed troops were everywhere. Besides they had already given their souls over to the Reds years before in their youths when they had learned that obedience meant life, disobedience meant death. So they went willingly into the mindbreaking machines.

Chaplin-47 had been trucked in from the Russian fortress city of Trotskyville where he had been unceremoniously hauled from his cot in the middle of the night and stuffed into a Red diesel truck that joined a convoy carrying thousands of other workers. He was unloaded just inside the gates of Pavlov City and herded into the processing hall. He was frightened and showed it, his squat face, nearly chalk white, his narrow lips pursed tightly as he clamped his teeth together hard. He wasn’t a large man, about five feet four inches and not that strong so he wasn’t sure just what the Reds wanted with him. Most of the other Americans in the hall were bigger. His life in Trotskyville had not been pleasant but somehow he felt that what lay ahead would make his alleyway cardboard home soon seem like a paradise in comparison.

“You!” a guard said, pointing at him. “Over here!” He pulled the slow moving Chaplin-47 through a checkpoint and onto a line of workers who were standing stark naked. “Take it off!” a second guard said, walking up and down the hundred man line of nude flesh.

“You mean my clothes?” Chaplin-47 asked trembling.

“No, your head if you don’t move, idiot,” the guard shrieked, walking up to the worker. He pushed him rudely with the butt of his Kalashnikov in the chest. “I said take it off and throw it onto this belt over here.” He pointed to a swiftly moving conveyor belt which took all the clothing of the captives and carried it away to two thousand degree furnaces.

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