American Paradise by Ryder Stacy

Author:Ryder Stacy [Stacy, Ryder]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780821723388
Amazon: 0821723383
Goodreads: 1251596
Publisher: Zebra
Published: 1988-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

At 4 A.M., under the light of a gibbous moon, the five-man attack team made its way along the reeds. The plan of attack was to follow the little stream and stay in the tall grass undetected until they were as close to the Red’s Pleasure Pagoda as they could get.

It was nearly a mile of slow sloshing through knee-high water. Finally, Rockson saw the many-roofed tower silhouetted by white steam from the volcanic fissures beyond it.

There was a red dot glowing and fading at the doorway. “That’s a guard having a smoke,” Rock surmised. “Let’s get to him while the door is still open.”

He and Scheransky walked right up the sloping lawn. Rockson ducked into some bushes and the Russian continued on, making a lot of noise—as planned. Burping and staggering, singing in Russian, Scheransky made himself obvious to the cigarette-smoking soldier. The guard dropped his butt and took his submachine gun off his shoulder. “Stoi,” he yelled.

“Hey pal—let me in,” slurred the Russian Freefighter as if he were drunk. “I, Corporal Scheransky, heard there’s some real good stuff in here.” He continued forward, and the guard muttered, “Who did you say—”

Scheransky, nearly on him, tripped slightly as if to fall down. The guard started to step forward hesitantly. And he raised his submachine gun, just in case there was any trouble. But the trouble came far too fast for him to do a damned thing about it! As the guard concentrated on “drunken” Scheransky, Rock’s arm swung up in a blur from the side. His fist slammed into the man’s jaw, knocking him cold before he could shout a warning. Archer was just behind Rock, and as the Freefighter leader acted, he tore open the door and rushed into the lit interior. The mountain man grabbed a second guard in a headlock with one arm, and he slammed hard twice with his sledgehammer fist into the fellow’s nose. Once would have been plenty—since the nose crushed on the first blow into a bloody pancake. The second punch cracked the whole top row of the Red’s teeth, so they spewed out like dice onto the hard concrete floor.

“Okay,” Rock whispered, as out of the night McCaughlin and Chen appeared. “You two—with Scheransky—will prevent any Reds from coming in and spoiling our party. Archer, you and I are about to become Soviets. Come on,” Rock said, “you know the routine.”

He dragged in the man he’d taken out and pushed him into an alcove. Archer followed suit with his own, much larger, victim. A minute later they emerged, patting down their Russian uniforms so they didn’t look twisted. Luckily the guy Archer had squashed was big—but not nearly big enough. The giant’s jacket shoulders burst out, the chest seams ripped from neck to bottom. But they weren’t entering a fashion show, they just needed enough time to make those who would stop them hesitate.

They bounded up the first flight of stairs. Rockson swung open a steel door and saw an elaborate dimly-lit Japanese style room.

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