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Euro Beasley."
"Whose reactionaries?"
"The American reactionaries who fomented civil war."
"Reactionaries! You don't mean reenactors, do you?"
"It is possible I meant that."
"What the hell are Civil War reenactors doing attacking Euro Beasley?" shouted
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Remo.
When no one offered a ready answer, he pulled over to a pay phone and called
America.
"Smitty, Remo. We got the Beasley guy, but something's up."
"I am receiving sketchy reports of soldiers dressed in the uniforms of the old
French Second Empire Army breaching the quarantine line surrounding Euro
Beasley. What can you add?"
"Try Civil War reenactors."
"What!"
"That's what the French radio is reporting."
"It all fits," Smith said in a dull, barely comprehending voice.
"Not to me," said Remo.
"No, I mean the Beasley employees-transportation charges. They entered France
via the Chunnel."
"So what's their game? There's already a Beasley park over here."
"Remo, my reports are the French forces were routed by very strong colored
lights."
"We wrecked those controls before we left."
"I wrecked them," Chiun called from the car.
"The reenactors were obviously carrying their own devices," Smith said
briskly. "Remo, this has gone too far. The Beasley Corporation is controlling
those Civil War units. I have no doubt of that. And what they have done is
nothing less than an act of war."
"Okay, but that's between Beasley and France, right?"
"I do not think that distinction can be made here. In the eyes of much of the
world, the Beasley Corporation is America."
"Every time that idiot Beasley launches a plan, he ends up dragging us to a
hot war somewhere," Remo said bitterly.
"Remo, if you have to kill every Civil War reenactor at Euro Beasley, you will
do this. Do you understand?"
Remo hesitated.
"Remo," Smith said, his voice like flint. "We cannot have a war with France
over an entertainment company's mindless plans for global expansion. I want
you to break their backs to the last man."
"All right."
"And if Uncle Sam Beasley is anywhere in that place, you will render him
completely and totally immobile. Do you understand?"
"You want me to kill him."
"I want him destroyed to the last atom."
"Got it," said Remo, hanging up. He walked back to the car with his eyes
strange, and when he got behind the wheel, his voice was thick.
"We've got our marching orders," he said, pulling away.
"Yes?" said Chiun.
"Waste the reenactors."
"Then we will waste the reenactors. "
"And kill Uncle Sam Beasley forever," Remo added.
"That will be your task."
"Why me?"
"Because you are afraid to do this, and you can only conquer that fear by
doing the very thing that you dread."
And as they drove toward Euro Beasley, Remo knew that was exactly what be was
going to have to do.
He just wondered if he could do it. Years ago he had been one of Uncle Sam's
biggest fans.
TASK FORCE GROUP LEER Marc Moise moved among his Zouaves.
It was the beginning of the second hour of the retaking of Euro Beasley, and
now that the French soldiers and the crowd had been scattered, they seized the
ring of tanks and APCs that surrounded the park. In effect, they were
expanding their sphere of control.
The tank-mounted howitzer and machine-gun barrels that had been pointing
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inward were rotated outward, covering all roads with overlapping fields of
fire.
No one could approach without coming under annihilating fire. And if by chance
a few did, his Zouaves would meet them with an irresistible rainbow of steel.
There was just one problem with all this. It was expressed to him in the form
of a question as he moved among his charges.
"Do we wear our lead masks up on our foreheads or in front of our eyes?"
"Up on your foreheads, of course."
"And if we are attacked and must resort to showing our true colors?"
"Down before your eyes, of course."
The word was passed up and down the line. If attacked, the eye shields were to
be worn on the forehead while defending with howitzer and machine gun. And if
forced to pull back, the masks belonged in front of the eyes.
Marc Moise checked with every third man to be certain they understood their
instructions. But in his heart he wondered about their willingness to kill.
They were, after all, only Creole reenactors who had sided with the California
Summer Vacation Musketeers back in Virginia because they had been offered
reenactment jobs at Beasley U.S.A. Having closed ranks with the Corporation
against the protesters, they had been hired on the spot.
And as they hung off the French military equipment-the first line of defense
against attack-their fezzes askew, their manner excited, they looked for all
the world like cannon fodder. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]