Freedom Express (6 page)

"Would you do me a favor, Louie?" he asked. "Name it," St. Louie said. "After we pull out tomorrow, can you have a couple of your best guys keep an eye on Mr. Devillian and keep me posted?"

St. Louie looked down at Devillian and his gang and caught a stronger whiff of the trouble in the air.

"You got it, Hawk," he replied.

The thunderstorm descended on Football City just after midnight and continued unabated until dawn.

Lightning lit up the sky for hundreds of miles around; thunder crashed with the volume of thousands of bombs going off at once. Yet there was no rain. Not a drop fell on the city or the two-mile-long armored train that waited in its station.

Hawk Hunter saw none of this display of Nature's ferocity. He was deep asleep in a penthouse suite provided by Louie St. Louie. But just as the city was being thrashed by the night storm, its air becoming saturated with ozone and negative ions, so too parts of Hunter's psyche were being filled with a different kind of ether.

Several months before, he had provided the bulk of testimony that led to the conviction of the ex-vice-president of the United States on charges of high treason. During this public trial, it was proved beyond all doubt that the ex-vp had conspired with the Soviets to start World War III. The traitor, having barely survived wounds suffered in an assassination attempt just minutes after his conviction, was now in protective custody in a hospital-prison secretly built in Nova Scotia, Free Canada.

Hunter's testimony for the trial had been drawn out in a most unusual way-by hypnosis. In a marathon twelve hour session, Hunter spoke from a deep hypnotic trance about his participation in World War III and how it eventually altered the outcome of the conflict itself. The trance was induced by one Dr. Jocelyn Leylah, an attractive psychologist who specialized in hypnotic regression.

After the trial and just before the startling events at the Los Angeles train station Dr. Leylah had contacted Hunter with a request that he partake in another one of her experiments. Fascinated by Hunter's extraordinary sixth sense, the doctor wanted to test his capacity for subliminal learning through self-hypnosis.

Although Hunter already knew a few hypnotic tricks of his own, he was understandably skittish about anything that might tinker with his own, unique psyche. So he was very reluctant to partake in the doctor's experiment - at first. However, a weekend spent in the country with the pretty psychologist changed his mind. He agreed to take her specially programmed tape recorder and an extra-long playing tape cassette and promised to listen to it while he was asleep one night.

And this was the night.

Hunter had no idea what was on the tape -after all, that was the key to the whole experiment. Theoretically, several hours of information would be pumped into his memory while he slept. If he remembered all or any of it over the next few weeks, then the experiment would be declared a success. If not, then it would be back to the drawing board.

As an extra added feature, the tape contained a hypnotic suggestion that would supposedly totally erase his knowledge of the experiment. The doctor claimed that when he woke up the next morning, he would simply remember playing the tape as a way to relax. Everything concerning the subliminal-learning experience would be forgotten, hidden away deep in his subconscious.

Hunter didn't believe any of this would even happen, but a promise was a promise-especially to such a pretty lady. So on this night, after he retired to the suite, Hunter hastily set up the recorder, put on the cotton-lined headphones and let the special tape play. The first hour was nothing more than the recorded sounds of waves crashing against a beach. This was to lull him to sleep though at this point he needed no inducement. The many days of labor getting the
Freedom Express
ready, combined with the half dozen beers he'd consumed at the game, were enough to send him to dreamland in five minutes.

So as the Wingman slept and the thunder and lightning crashed outside, his subconscious was subjected to a steady stream of subliminal data.

It would be some time before he would realize that the unusual experiment would save his life. . . .

Hunter's customized Harrier jumpjet sliced through the early morning fog and quickly rose above the
Freedom Express
as the two-mile-long train pulled out of Football City and headed westward.

During the night, the troops under Catfish Johnson's command had loaded onto the train. Numbering nearly twelve thousand men, the army was composed primarily of the UA 1st Airborne Division, complemented by two battalions of Football City Special Forces Rangers, the force that had gained a place in post-World War III military history for their bravery during the first battle for Football City.

Thanks to Toomey and Ben Wa's mission to Texas, the Cobra Brothers and their famous Cobra attack helicopters also were aboard.

Hunter was very appreciative to have the Brothers along for the ride

-not only were their high-tech Cobra attack helicopters among the most deadly rotary aircraft ever built, but no one alive could fly them any better than the Cobra Brothers, who were not really brothers, but simply bonded together by their skill and experience. To handle the insectlike Cobras, two other platform cars, similar to the specially designed landing car for Hunter's Harrier, had been outfitted with landing pads for the choppers and had been placed toward the middle of the train.

The commanding officer of this small but renowned flying unit was Captain Jesse Tyler. He and his old friend, Captain Bobby Crockett, had been freelance chopper pilots in the days before the Football City war. Since then, the two pilots and their gunners, Lieutenant John "John-Boy" Hobbs and Lieutenant Kenny Baxter, had worked almost exclusively for the United Americans.

They had returned to their native Texas for a short rest when Toomey and Ben Wa located them and recruited them for the train adventure. Actually, the recruiting part had been pretty easy. The minute Tyler and Crockett heard about Hunter's plan, they eagerly endorsed it.

The Cobra Brothers' role would be to stay close to the train, flying short reconnaissance missions and driving off any would-be ground attackers. Toomey and Ben Wa, with their A-7E Strikefighters, would join the F-4X's of the Ace Wrecking Company in hopping from one landing field to another as the train made its way across the country, trying their best to stay within striking distance in case they were needed. In addition to being the overall aerial commander for the journey, Hunter would stay in touch with the other jet pilots as well as fly his daily scouting missions. In this role, he felt like an old-time trail scout who rode on ahead of the wagon train.

Before heading westward along the first day's route, Hunter took the Harrier back over the train for one last look. He dropped down to five hundred feet and put the jumpjet into a slow, forward-moving, near hover.

Buzzing the entire length of the train in this manner, Hunter took a grim satisfaction in what he saw: dozens of cars carrying antiaircraft guns, assorted assault weapons, banks of heavy machine guns, recoilless rifles, long-range cannons and SAM missile batteries, all of them inside special "turtle" armored cars that could cover up in case of trouble and then open automatically when it was time to go on the offensive. Mixed in close to the middle were the two cars carrying the ferocious-looking Cobra attack copters. Then, came the fifty-foot-barreled monstrosity called Big Dick and then the dozens of three-piece mini-fort cars that would be dropped off at scheduled intervals.

Hunter swung the Harrier back toward the west and contemplated the dark clouds that were ominously forming out there. For once, he chose not to be impressed by the omen.

It will take more than a few leftover air bandits or Badlands freaks to stop this train, he thought confidently.

The first stop for the
Freedom Express
was near the old city of Topeka, in the territory that once had been eastern Kansas. The first set of fortified cars would be dropped off in the vicinity of the city, thus becoming the first settlement on the road to recivilizing the country west of Football City.

Although most of the violence that had been reported in the Badlands in recent weeks had occurred farther west, in the New Mexico-Arizona areas, Hunter knew it was wise not to take anything for granted. Despite the fact that the first day's progress through Missouri was going smoothly, he knew the emerging open plains of Kansas held increasing dangers. While it might not be well-suited for an ambush from the ground, the train certainly would be a tempting target for an attack from the air once it reached the wide-open spaces.

Hunter's trained eye scanned the skies ahead of his Harrier. All seemed peaceful. Nothing appeared on his radar screen. He even allowed himself to relax a little.

Maybe the first day
would
be uneventful, he thought. That would be just fine with him -he had been feeling slightly edgy since taking off. He had caught several strange, conflicting thoughts creeping into his head. On one hand, something out there was making him feel more anxious about this mission. But on the other hand, he was feeling almost too confident about its success -and that bothered him.

Suddenly his specially designed cockpit scrambler radio crackled to life. "Hawk . . . this is Catfish. We just got a radio message from JT and Ben. There's trouble up ahead."

Hunter turned back to the train and landed. Within ten minutes, he was in the Control car, getting briefed by the Catfish.

"They called in from the old Topeka airport," he told Hunter, pulling out a map. "You know, that was the first landing strip they were scouting as a possible forward base. Well, they were able to set down, but they say it looks like a battle zone."

Hunter was surprised at the news. "I thought that place had been abandoned."

"According to our information, it had been," Catfish replied.

"But the guys say it's littered with bodies, about fifty of them."

So much for the easy first day on the job, Hunter thought. "Do they have any idea who they are? Or were?"

"They're not sure," Catfish said. "JT thought he recognized a couple of the guys he used to work with in his freelance days. And he says unless they had changed drastically, they were pretty strongly in favor of our cause. His best guess is that some ex-soldiers and freelance pilots got together on their own to try and combat some of the crap that's been going on out here."

"And wound up being the victims of it," Hunter said grimly.

"Could the guys tell how it happened?"

"From what JT and Ben said, it doesn't sound like just a band of roaming bandits raided the place," Catfish continued. "A couple of buildings had been completely leveled, and some of the bodies were pretty well blown apart. Looks like they were hit with some pretty sophisticated weaponry."

"Missile strike?" Hunter asked.

"Maybe," Catfish replied somberly. "Followed up by an air strike." Catfish paused, then added, "And they found something else that's a little strange."

"What's that?" Hunter quickly asked.

Johnson paused for a long moment. "They discovered one of our flags which had been pulled down from the flagpole at the airport and partially burned," he said slowly.

Instantly, Hunter felt anger rise from his belly. Though he recognized their Constitutionally-approved right to do it -after all,

"Freedom" meant nothing less than total freedom of expression-he despised anyone who would burn the American flag.

"Another flag was waving over the place,' Catfish continued. "It was obviously left behind by whoever staged the raid."

"Whose flag was it?" Hunter asked sharply. "That's the weird thing," the army commander responded.

"It's not one that we've ever seen before. The only insignia on it is a huge cross ... in flames."

Duke Devillian was feeling extremely pleased with himself.

Sitting in the front-seat gunner's cockpit of the Soviet-built Hind helicopter gunship, he was just about trembling with delight.

The past few weeks had been very, very productive, and now, with several of his grand schemes going forward at once, the future looked very bright indeed for him.

He couldn't decide which of his latest triumphs pleased him the most, though on examination, the meeting in Houston with Major Henrik Heck, former corps commander of the Twisted Cross, would probably rank Number One.

Devillian was surprised to learn that he actually enjoyed dealing with Heck and the leftovers from the Twisted Cross, especially since he was now their boss. A neo-Nazi organization, the Cross had seized control of the Panama Canal Zone the year before as the first step of a plan to extend its tentacles into North America and eventually rule the continent. But the United Americans had crushed this plot by winning back the canal in a savage land and air battle.

Although most of the Twisted Cross's war machine was destroyed, a handful of their officers, including Heck, had escaped.

In the months that followed their devastating defeat in Panama, Herr Heck and his cronies spent most of their time plotting their revenge against the United Americans and especially Hawk Hunter. But without the military might of their former organization behind them, these men were basically impotent. Their plotting consisted mainly of rambling, drunken conversations in sleazy bars in the lawless towns of the Badlands, the only area where they felt relatively safe.