Read D for Free Online

more typical of the tabloid press...
    Tony tried to clean off the dust with his shoe. Now he could read the whole headline:
    "Blood Bath in Normandy! American Soldiers Torn to Pieces!"
    What damned Normandy?!
    Logan hunkered down to peer at the paper (he didn't want to handle the dirty thing). To discern the publication date under such poor illumination was difficult, but still,with straining eyes, he managed to do it. Not trusting himself, he reread it again and again.
    June 7th, 1944.
    Impossible, this museum specimen could not have lain here for almost seventy years! But it was not the only strangeness. Tony was never especially interested in military history–no less than journalism history–and, naturally, had no idea, how the front page of the "New York Times" reporting on "D-Day" looked. But he believed that one of the leading national newspapers, writing about the key operation of World War II, would have done it in a more inspiring patriotic tone. Especially since the operation was successful, and losses, in percentage to number of participants, were, as much as Tony remembered from school lessons, not so huge... But here it seemed the story was about total failure and defeat.
    Under the headline there was a photo, unexpectedly sharp for an old newspaper picture. Two American soldiers had dragged their comrade from the water and had already pulled him out waist-high... still, seemingly, without realizing that below his waist there was nothing except entrails trailing from the water. And, judging by his thrown back head and his face deformed by pain, the poor fellow was still alive and trying to shout...
    Was this really printed in the "New York Times?!" And if not, why had this fake been made?
    Logan was unable to read the main text of the article in the dim light. He stood up and began to climb the stairs, with each step going deeper into gloom.
    When he reached the top of the staircase, he stood in total darkness. But there was no option to retreat–Tony wanted to get out from underground as quickly as possible and at any cost–and he moved forward, extending his hands. This time he came across not a silently stiffened figure, but the cold metal of turnstiles. However, to the touch it was not only cold. It was dusty and deeply corroded. Tony had a strong doubt that these turnstiles would respond to his MetroCard; however, he needed to exit, not to enter. Under the pressure of his body, the metal cores turned with a hollow squeak and released him to freedom.
    He slowly moved farther through darkness and after sever al seconds, though trying to go carefully, stumbled against the bottom step of one more staircase. This one probably led to the street; ahead the gloom was not so impenetrable. Tony began to climb again and soon reached the surface.
    But it was not an usual exit from the subway–framed with a metal lattice or a stone border, or hidden in a glazed box, with inevitable green-white or green spheres on each side. It was simply a hole in the earth; the staircase did not reach its edge. It would be possible to assume repairs were under way here if the pit were surrounded with any protection, Tony mused. But there were no fences, barriers or tense yellow tape; only a hole in the middle of sidewalk, as if a trap for night passersby–especially on such a dark moonless night... All right, to hell with this hole and with all lawsuits to be filed against the city by people who fall down here! Tony was immensely glad to get out at last to fresh air, even cold air...
    Cold, yes–as Logan expected (there was no rain, however). But not so fresh. Tony saw through the gloom the outline of buildings, slightly faded by fog, and understood that he was outdoors–but the air around was musty, as in a damp cellar where nobody had entered for fifty years.
    All right. The central part of New York is not an Alpine re sort. The narrow streets of Manhattan, as if cut through a continuous mass of skyscrapers, can smell