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"I think it was a defense against firefights."
"What?"
Uchitel nodded, the facts trickling back into his mind. "It was called radar
, Barkhat. It was a way of seeing great distances and watching for enemies.
There were many such installations along the coasts. I have read that such
buildings stood where the Sakhalin and Kamchatka lands were. But they were "
he hesitated, seeking the expression that he'd read
Da
, they were 'primary objectives' for the nukes. This one must have been
missed."
"Should we go look, Uchitel? Might there not be much gold?"
"Imbecile! Would there be gold after a hundred years? They were not places of
wealth. No. Let us ride on by."
"Perhaps we could camp there if the buildings are safe."
Uchitel considered it. "Perhaps, brother. Perhaps we can."
"And watch for enemies," added Urach, who'd come in time to hear the latter
part of the conversation.
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"Our enemies are all ahead of us. We need no radar to tell us that."
"None behind?" asked Urach.
"
Nyet
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," replied Uchitel, forcefully. "If there were, then they stayed back in
Russia.
They will never be a threat to the Narodniki."
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILES behind the Narodniki, Major Gregori
Zimyanin was leading his group of one hundred mounted militia. They were at
the foothills of the Alaskan Range, spread well out, the horses picking their
way carefully through the torturous mountain terrain.
Aliev, the Tracker, was a little ahead of them, waving them forward. Zimyanin
had deliberately held up the crossing of the Bering Strait, hesitant at the
enonnousness of what he was doing, and uncertain whether the party would
approve.
But now that he was closing in on his prey, some three or four days behind, it
was time to press forward at all speed. As his horse crested a rise, the
officer's heart filled with pride.
This might be just the beginning.
Chapter Thirteen
THE CRUCIFIX WAS BLACKENED and seared by the fires from the heavens.
Icicles hung in the crevices around the twisted, tortured form nailed to the
metal cross. The fingers were gone, so were the tips of the thorned crown,
melted away a century back. The flesh of the crucified Christ was satin black,
like the wing of a crow, polished by the ceaseless wind to a velvet
consistency.
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It stood bolted firmly to the tottering remnants of what had once been the
side of a small brick church almost under the haunting shadow of a mountain.
Its twenty-
thousand-foot summit was permanently obscured by snow spume and chem clouds.
Around the crucifix, kneeling on the sharp stones, were about twenty people,
most of them women. They wore dark clothes wrapped around them in layers,
giving them a funereal appearance. Their leader, a tall skeletal figure with
wild eyes and long black hair, was standing in front of them, facing the
crucifix.
"Blessed are the nukes," he called.
His congregation responded, "And blessed shall be the fallout."
"Blessed is the punishment of the Dark Lord."
"And blessed are the nails of his hands and his feet."
"Blessed are the long chill and the many rads."
"Blessed be both the short heat and the long cold," came the response.
"We wait thy coming. Lord."
"Aye, we await thy black visage."
"Then shall we be released from bondage and into eternal life among those in
the bunkers below."
The man turned then to gaze out at them. "In this place, tainted by the blood
of many, shall we stay until He cometh to lead us to salvation. Amen, amen,
,amen."
"Amen," pattered the others, rising one by one.
At that moment they heard the distant sound of engines, throbbing and whining
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off to the south.
ANCHORAGE WAS GONE.
They stopped the three buggies and got out on a bluff overlooking the sullen
expanse of gray-green ocean. J.B. and Ryan checked their maps, glancing at the
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compass for bearings. There wasn't any doubt.
What had once been a sizable city had totally disappeared.
"Nukes," said J.B. tersely, his sallow face showing no emotion.
"Yeah," agreed Ryan Cawdor. "Nukes. Must have wasted all round here, hot-
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