Freedom Express (39 page)

"Bombers coming in," Hunter called to JT, who was flying next to him.

A few moments later, they saw the outline of four B-57's streaking in over the northern horizon about thirty miles from the ongoing train battle.

"Something tells me they ain't going to be dropping mines this time," JT radioed back.

As he watched the four planes break into two formations, Hunter began to suspect what the bombers were up to. A quick check of his threat-evaluation radar confirmed this suspicion.

"They're carrying Mavericks" was all Hunter had to say to raise an alarm with JT.

"
Christ
, that's all we need," the other pilot groaned.

The AGM-65 Maverick was a TV-guided air-launched weapon that had an unparalleled reputation for accuracy. It was especially effective in piercing protective armor like that on a tank, or a bunker-or a train.

"They're going to try to blast the armor of the weapons cars, open them up like sardine cans," JT said.

"Not if we stop them first," Hunter replied.

As Hunter pulled the Harrier away from a swarm of Voodoos and toward the bombers, he was followed not only by JT, but by two of the Coasters' F-5's who had heard their exchange. Within a few seconds, the four fighters were rushing toward the bombers at full speed.

"We can't let them get anywhere near the train," Hunter called, immediately firing a Sidewinder at the lead bomber. The B-57's pilot was surprised by the rare head-on shot; the air-to-airs were usually shot from behind unless the pilot was one of extraordinary skill. Seeing the tell-tale brown smoke coming right for him, the B-57 pilot put the two-engined bomber into a sharp bank. But it was too late; the Sidewinder caught him on his right wing's leading edge, blasting a hole in the wing itself and seriously damaging his starboard engine.

The B-57 managed to struggle on long enough for its

bombardier to launch two Mavericks. Then it exploded as the flames from its wings reached its topped-off fuel tanks.

Now, even though the mother ship was gone, the Mavericks headed for the train just eighteen miles away, their infrared homing systems taking over.

Hunter immediately assessed the situation and slammed the Harrier into a near-hover. "JT, can you guys handle those three?"

he called over to his friend. "I've got to stop those Mavs."

"Go, Hawk" was the reply.

The jump jet was heading in the opposite direction less than two seconds later.

Fitz was in a state of controlled chaos when several buzzers went off at once inside the Control car.

"
Damn
. . . that's the incoming missiles warning system,"

he yelled out to Crossbow, punching several buttons on the threat-evaluation computer at the same time. A readout quickly informed him that two infrared-guided Mavericks were homing in on the train, their distance only fifteen miles away.

The problem was that the train's own defensive systems-they being radar-controlled Gatling guns which destroyed incoming missiles by putting up a wall of lead that nothing could get through -were being worked ragged by the multitude of smaller TOW missiles being fired nonstop by enemy troops in the hills on either side of the tracks.

The incoming missile warning system was positively

screaming by the time Fitz saw the Harrier streaking directly toward the train. Suddenly, it stopped on a dime and went into a hover about one hundred yards off to the right of the speeding train.

"Mother of God," Fitz cried, knowing at once that Hunter was placing his airplane between the Mavericks and the train.

"Can he possibly get the both of them?"

Hunter was wondering the same thing as he watched the two Mavericks streak right for him, guessing correctly that their infrared homing device would ignore the train and key in on his hot engine.

The two missiles were no more than one hundred yards away when Hunter took a deep breath, counted to three and then opened up with his Aden cannons. Imitating the train's own close-in defense system, he filled the air with a wall of cannon shells and crossed his fingers. . . .

The first Maverick blew up not more than 150 feet from the Harrier-the second one just 30 feet away. The resulting explosions lit up the sky like a gigantic Fourth of July fireworks display; shock waves crashed into the Harrier, and it took all of Hunter's skill to keep the jumpjet from spinning into a nosedive.

"Right on, Hawk!" he heard Fitz screaming through his headphones.

"That was too close," Hunter replied under his breath.

Meanwhile, a short but deadly aerial battle had erupted between JT, the F-5's and the three remaining bombers. Through quick action and flying skill the United Americans were able to shoot down two of the B-57's and send the other one scurrying away, both its engines smoking heavily.

But now Hunter had another problem.

The actions against the bandits around the footbridge, the Voodoos and the Mavericks had depleted his ammunition. And yet the train was just barely two miles into the hellish ten-mile straightaway.

Hunter knew he had to re-arm, or be totally out of the battle at the most critical juncture.

Contacting Fitz, he told him of his predicament. "But what can you do?" the Irishman asked. "There's not a friendly base in five hundred miles."

"I know," Hunter replied. "That's why I have no other choice." Despite a murderous rain of rifle, rocket and cannon fire that was pelting the sides of the train nonstop, he knew his only option was to attempt to land on his platform car.

Now he would really see what this Harrier could do, he

thought grimly. Landing on a small flatcar was difficult enough when the train was stopped; doing it while it was speeding through the narrow canyon bed, under heavy enemy fire would be, to say the least, challenging.

Looking down on the speeding train, he felt like he was watching some immense video game. Everything was moving by so quickly; the air was filled with bullets and rockets, most of them bouncing off the heavily armored sides of the train, but some finding targets. The smoke and missile exhaust alone was enough to obscure visibility.

However, the train crew was fighting back -and in a big way.

Once every ten seconds or so, three or four of the armored railcars would suddenly lift their shutters and let loose all at once with an incredible barrage of their own, usually directed at a concentration of troops on a hillside or hiding beneath an underpass. Then just as quickly, the shutters would be closed again, only to have four more cars do the same thing farther down the line.

Directly above the train, the Cobra Brothers seemed to be everywhere-dogfighting with the pesky Hind gunships, and occasionally taking out a fixed target with their powerful nose cannons. High above it all, JT, Ben Wa and the others were still battling the KKK fighters.

And Hunter knew he had to rejoin the fight.

He located the landing car and got the Harrier in position overhead, matching the forward motion of the train. It was a tricky maneuver, and it wasn't made any easier by the hail of enemy gunfire that was suddenly directed at the aircraft. The train was rounding a bend and was soon to pass through a small grove of trees. Knowing it was now or never, Hunter slammed his thrusters into the descend mode and sent the Harrier crashing to the landing car, just as the front portion of the train passed into the small forest.

To his surprise, he found he'd landed in one piece, the grove of trees giving him the cover he needed to set down, though none too gently. A courageous team of Rangers appeared

immediately. Half of them helped him secure the airplane, while the others fired their heavy weapons off both sides of the car, suppressing some of the incoming fire. Meanwhile Fitz had ordered that the weapons cars on either side of the Harrier platform open up with everything they had once the jumpjet was down.

Hunter and the Rangers quickly secured the plane and then started loading it up with what he needed: fuel, ammo and missiles.

Halfway through the operation, Fitz and Crossbow scrambled out to the platform car. "Just got a message from the Cobras,"

Fitz yelled above the cacophony of gunfire hitting all around them. "They've spotted at least a battalion of cavalry up about a mile . . . looks like mounted Mexican bandits."

"The terrain flattens out right up ahead." Crossbow shouted above the din. "They might be attempting a boarding scene ...

a real one this time."

"Christ . . . that's all we need," Hunter yelled back.

"We've alerted everyone on board," Fitz told Hunter, as the pilot was once again climbing up into the Harrier. "They're expecting hand-to-hand combat within the next few minutes."

"I'll go up ahead," Hunter yelled back, just before closing the Harrier cockpit. "Maybe I can soften them up before you get there."

Then, in a flash of fire and smoke, the Harrier lifted off once again.

Jorge Juarez was sitting in the back of his extrawide jeep, eating a large salami sandwich. "
Geeve
me more mustard," he ordered one of his go boys.

A script girl appeared out of nowhere and shoved three pages of scene information under Jorge's disgustingly dirty bearded chin.

"You're on in thirty seconds," she told him.

He seemed not to notice the cue at first. But then, very gradually, he reached down into the folds of his grossly obese body and came up with a .45 Colt automatic.

"
Amigos
!" he spit out loudly between bites. "Get ready.

..."

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and struggled to get a pair of binoculars up to his eyes. A few seconds of lens adjustment went by before he spotted the train heading down into a slight gulley about a mile from his position, the Harrier jumpjet rising above it. Jorge didn't even have the stamina to turn around and review his troops. Instead he called his second-in command, a bandit officer named Feelth, who was positioned at the rear of the mounted column.

"Is everything ready?" he asked the man.

A quarter mile away, Feelth popped the button on his

walkie-talkie and looked out on the five hundred members of the Mexican bandit cavalry. They were lined up in ten waves of fifty apiece, with no units held in reserve, per Devillian's orders.

"
Si
," he finally replied to Jorge. "We have the white horses up front as you requested. Plus our best-looking riders will also go in first."

"Remind your men not to look directly at the cameras," Jorge chomped as he polished off the huge sandwich. "Any man seen looking at the cameras during the screening will be shot. Got that?"

"
Si
" Feelth answered again.

Jorge took the first bite of another huge salami sandwich and then calmly shot his automatic twice into the air.

"First unit . . .
attack
!" he yelled only slightly louder than his loudest belch.

In an instant the first wave of bandit cavalry was

off-heading down the slight rise and toward the tracks.

"Second unit . . . attack!"

Again, another wave of mounted soldiers were dispatched by his command.

Another bite of his sandwich, another order: "Third unit

. . . attack!"

With that the bandit chief settled back down into the jeep's already weakening seat, his work done.

He continued stuffing his face, practically oblivious to the mounting racket of gunfire, jet engines, the roar of the locomotives, missile blasts and explosions going on all around him. When one of the KKK Voodoos was suddenly shot out of the sky by a Coaster F-5 and came crashing down no more than a half mile from his position, Jorge barely lifted an eyebrow.

So it took him about thirty seconds to realize that his third unit of cavalry had turned around and was now heading straight back toward him in total disarray.

"What is happening?" he managed to burp out before he realized that something was chasing his horse soldiers up the rise and away from the train. Using all his strength, Jorge managed to stand up in the jeep to get a better look. What he saw was the Harrier streaking right behind his rapidly

retreating troops.

"You fuckin' yellow-bellys!" Juarez screamed at them, as they rode right past him in hordes. "Get your asses back here!

You gonna let one airplane chase you away?"

For some of his men, the answer apparently was yes. Juarez quickly ordered his driver to pull back, at the same time calling Feelth on the radio.

"Regroup your last two waves into one," he told the second-in-command. "Have half of them fire at that airplane, the other half get down to the train . . . and
hurry
, the cameras are rolling!"

The last two hundred bandits followed Feelth's quickly shouted orders. Half of them started firing at the Harrier as it swept overhead, blazing away with their rifles, hoping that a lucky shot might hit a fuel tank or another vulnerable spot on the jumpjet.

Just then, five Hind gunships appeared over the edge of the canyon and dipped down into the gulley next to the tracks taking dead aim at the Harrier. Hunter saw them coming and, in an instant, sent the AV-8BE screaming straight into their

formation. Firing frantically at the ducking and diving Harrier, two of the Hind pilots succeeded only in blowing each other out of the sky. Hunter downed two more with his cannons, leaving just one gunship flying. That Hind pilot, suddenly realizing he was all alone, desperately tried to flee and ran the chopper right into the side of the canyon wall. Within seconds the flaming debris from the gunship was raining down onto the bandits below.