Read Doomsday Warrior 08 - American Glory for Free Online

filling his heart and brain. The image of the ancient myth of Thor who had to but hold his immense hammer to the sky to be recharged by a fusillade of lightning bolts came into his mind. Yes, he was like that ancient fighter. For both of them—when filled with the godlike energy—were unstoppable.
    “Now, first we shall take care of the mistakes that were made last night,” the colonel said, walking to the wide leather chair of the previous Red Army commander of the fort, who was now in chains far below in the sub-basement. The chair was much too large for the ninety-pound body of the madman and he nearly slid out of it, but gripped the arm rests and settled himself.
    “Who handled the transfer of my luggage? Which one of you?” His top six stood in a line on the far side of the mirror-polished wooden desk. Not a one could meet his burning, drug-fired eyes. “Which?” Killov screamed out, jumping up in his seat. “Tell me now—or you all die!” The line parted slightly as the officers backed off on each side from the man they knew to be the guilty party. Backed off, as if he had leprosy, as if just standing near him meant infection—death.
    “Ah, so it was you, Kraskow. And I had thought you were going to work out so well when I appointed you one of my personal staff. When I took a chance on you just months ago. So, even I can be wrong.” Killov looked at the man with false sympathy. “Ah well, it proves that I am only mortal, doesn’t it?” he said with a dark smile. “And perhaps that is a good thing, is it not, Kraskow?”
    The offending KGB’er had not the slightest idea of the proper response. He knew that Killov was toying with him—that though the man spoke softly, his life lay in the balance.
    “Yes, Excellency—you are—mm-m-mortal,” Kraskow stuttered, trying to phrase his words so that they might let him live. “But you are the pinnacle of mortals, the top of the mountain of humanity—so high that the gods themselves feel your power.”
    “How eloquent,” Killov said sarcastically. “Really, I should have had you write my speeches not arrange for my luggage. Again, my mistake.”
    Kraskow relaxed ever so slightly as Killov’s anger seemed to be dissipating. Perhaps the KGB leader, recognizing his intellectual powers, would in fact allow the officer to escape with only minor punishment.
    “Yes, it is true,” Killov said reflectively, “I am perhaps as close as man has ever come to the realm of the gods. It is a heady experience. Would you like to feel it for a moment? What it is like to touch the clouds, to sit in the seat of ultimate power?” He rose, walked to the side of the desk, and pointed toward the seat he had just been sitting in. “Please.”
    Kraskow looked like a man staring at his own grave. “No, really, Excellency, I don’t think that I should—”
    “Sit!” Killov shrieked, his face instantly going from chalk-white to beet-red. He rushed around the front of the desk, grabbed the officer by the arm, and led him back to the large leather armchair, pushing him down in it with the strength of the drugs coursing through his corpse-like arms.
    “There—not so bad, is it?” the KGB commander asked the seated man. “Can you feel the power? Can you feel the energy surging down from the clouds—through the windows—filling your mind with perfect clarity, the vision of the stars?”
    “I’m afraid, sir, that I really don’t—” Kraskow began, speaking so quietly that he could barely be heard. The other officers watched nervously. They knew the depravities of which Killov was capable and although every one of them had murdered or been responsible for whole graveyards of death—there was something about the way Killov looked, the way his face truly did take on the fleshless characteristics of a skull, eyes dark as the empty reaches of space itself—that made them suck in their breaths, made their hearts beat wildly.
    “Perhaps if you were more comfortable,”