Freedom Express (8 page)

Hunter rubbed his hands on his tired face. It seemed that in addition to all his other concerns, he'd been running into a disturbing number of racist acts over the past few weeks. Few things upset him so much. America was America, he had always preached. And
everyone
born here or citizenized was an American -equal, as spelled out in the Declaration of Independence, and guaranteed, as stated in the Constitution.

And while he was not so naive as to think that every American was a walking-talking angel, he couldn't believe anyone was stupid enough to think one group was worse or better than the other. It just wasn't natural. As such, he had no use whatsoever for people who were racists.

"What did you do with that flag?" he asked the two pilots.

JT glanced up at him with a look of mild surprise. "We burned it, of course," he replied.

The night in Topeka passed uneventfully, although once again, Hunter found his slumber interrupted by a series of weird dreams.

Despite this, he was up before dawn and joined the others in making preparations for the long day ahead. The first order of business was to disconnect the first three cars from the rear of the train: one filled with food and medical supplies, one set up as living quarters, and one filled with weapons, ammunition and communications equipment. They would form the nucleus of the first mini-fort settlement on the
Freedom Express
trail.

As an extra precaution, Hunter had radioed Jones and requested that a back-up squadron of six Chinook helicopters be sent to the Topeka Fort. He wanted to make sure that should the people who destroyed the airport happen to return, the men left behind in Topeka would have re-enforcements to fight them off-or if it got desperate, enough airlift to evacuate them.

At first light, the Cobra Brothers took JT and Ben back to their Strikefighters at the airport. They too would hang around Topeka for a day or so, just to make sure the mini-fort would have some air support should they need it.

Meanwhile the two, single-seat F-4X Super Phantoms of the Ace Wrecking Company would fly ahead to the next stopping point, near the site of the famous old frontier town, Dodge City. In keeping with the pioneering spirit of the
Freedom Express
, the United American Command felt it appropriate to put a settlement near the town that embodied so much of the history of the Old West. Plus, there was a large civilian population reportedly living near the town -people who might appreciate some semblance of law and order returning to their land.

Hunter climbed back into the cockpit of the Harrier jumpjet at seven AM on the button. Moments later, the VTOL aircraft was rising straight up above the train. Hovering for a moment to check his in-flight systems, he then shifted the Harrier's thrust nozzles forward and, with a mighty roar, surged toward the west.

It was a beautiful, crisp day. As Hunter climbed to twenty thousand feet, he could see the flat plains of Kansas stretching on for miles beneath him. The land seemed as vacant as the endless sky around him.

He circled back toward Topeka and saw the train start to pull away, the Cobra helicopters hovering protectively nearby. A handful of soldiers stood next to the three railroad cars that were being left behind.

"Good luck, guys," Hunter whispered, taking the Harrier down to less than a hundred feet and flying directly over them, tipping his wings in a final salute. The men responded, waving and saluting as the Harrier turned westward again.

Two hours went by. Everything was as quiet as it had been the day before. Hunter was alone in the vast, calm sky. No other aircraft appeared on the horizon to challenge him; nothing blipped on his radar screen.

He would have enjoyed the serenity if he hadn't once again caught some conflicting thoughts running through his head. What lay ahead?

Danger? Success? Failure? Death? Usually before undertaking such a mission, Hunter would set his extraordinary consciousness in one direction and then carry on through. But something was different this time, though he couldn't put his finger on it. His normally orderly thinking process was scattered; random thoughts and notions seemed to be bubbling up from inside his psyche, yet not in a form which he could understand. It was a very disturbing sensation-one that left him feeling like he was not entirely in control of his destiny. And for a person like Hunter, that was a very frightening prospect indeed.

Suddenly, the radar that was built into Hunter's brain started humming. The magical sixth sense that he simply called
the feeling
, told him something was wrong. Somewhere.

He was about to click his radio microphone to call back to the train when Catfish radioed up to him instead. "Get to Dodge City ASAP, Hawk," he heard his friend say with the chilling tone of
déjà vu
. "The Wrecking Crew just fell into one hell of a mess . . ."

Unlike the quiet, but grisly, reception in Topeka, the F-4X Super Phantoms of the Ace Wrecking Company were welcomed to old Dodge City the old-fashioned way: with a storm of gunfire.

Sent ahead to recon the airport near the city, Crunch and Elvis Q had just spotted the outline of the field on the horizon when the sky was suddenly filled with Sparrow air-to-air missiles.

"Where the hell did they come from?"
Crunch had yelled over to Elvis, nimbly dodging the lead rocket.

"Beats me," Elvis called back, noting that his radar screen had suddenly filled up with a bunch of nasty blips. "There must be a low-altitude combat patrol in the area."

Elvis's guess was correct. A swarm of deadly F-104 Starfighter jets rose to challenge the Super Phantoms as they approached from the east. The Starfighters, agile supersonic fighters favored by many of the continent's air pirate gangs, had been flying at barely five hundred feet to avoid any radar interception until the last possible moment.

The United American pilots had no choice but to meet the first wave of rising air pirates head-on. Using a combination of practiced flying skills and Sidewinder missiles, the two Super Phantoms quickly managed to send a pair of F-104's tumbling down in flames. But then several others immediately took their places, with a radar indication of many more racing to join the fight.

Crunch quickly appraised the situation and then radioed his partner. "I think we've crashed a very big party here," he said arming two more Sidewinders.

"If you're suggesting a strategic retreat, Pm with you, boss,"

Elvis replied, counting as many as eighteen Starfighters in the vicinity. "Maybe we can lead some of these guys back in the direction of the train, call Hawk and even the odds a little."

Crunch paused long enough to dodge a pair of F-104's that were zeroing in on him, nose guns blazing. "Makes sense to me, partner,"

he replied finally.

As Crunch relayed their plan back to the train via the radio scrambler, the two Super Phantoms turned away from Dodge City and headed east again. Six of the F-104's followed them in hot pursuit.

"I just hope these guys don't figure out what's going on," Crunch muttered to himself.

Meanwhile, Hunter was racing westward.

He keyed in on the Wreckers' last known position, and within minutes he saw the specks of the two Super Phantoms barreling eastward, with six Starfighters practically on their tails. Hunter knew that if they had so desired, the skilled Wreckers could have easily lost the trailing F-104's. But Crunch and Elvis had managed to stay just far enough ahead to keep their pursuers interested.

"Never a dull moment," Hunter thought as he put the Harrier into a screaming dive.

Crunch had just started to get anxious when he saw the familiar outline of the jumpjet flash down in front of him.

"It's the sheriff!" he called over to Elvis, as the Super Phantoms quickly peeled off and let the Wingman do his thing. "And not a second too soon, pardner."

Hunter pulled out of his steep dive and pointed the nose of the Harrier directly at the lead F-104. One blast from his twin Aden cannons and the enemy plane disintegrated in a ball of fire and smoke.

Hunter's attack was so sudden and unexpected that one of the trailing jets plowed right into his leader's debris, ingesting burning, smoking parts into his jet intakes. Within two seconds, he too was spinning out of control.

While Hunter pulled up from his swift and deadly attack, Crunch and Elvis looped their F-4's beneath the remaining four Starfighters and quickly had two of them in their sights. A pair of Sidewinders later, two more '104's were spiraling downward. Now only two enemy aircraft remained. Their desperate pilots tried to outmaneuver the United Americans -but there was nowhere to hide in the crystal clear sky. A perfectly aimed cannon shot from Hunter sent one of the Starfighters plunging to a fiery grave; another Sidewinder shot from Crunch took care of number six.

"I suppose that's another bottle of Scotch we owe you," Crunch radioed over to Hunter as the F-4's and the Harrier formed up.

"That one was on the house," Hunter deadpanned. "But we're not done yet," Crunch told him. "Those Starfighter drivers have a lot of buddies waiting for them back in Dodge City. Looked to us like there were at least another two dozen flying around the airport there."

"That's quite a fleet for just one gang of air pirates," Hunter observed. "Could be an alliance of some kind."

"Maybe," Crunch agreed. "Though I imagine they probably wind up fighting each other as much as anyone else. In fact, they're probably all screwed up back there right now, wondering who we were and what the hell is going on."

"Well, they're sitting right in our path, so we've got to deal with them sooner or later," Hunter said as the three jets turned back toward the Topeka airport. "And I'd prefer to do it sooner."

Two hours later, they were airborne again.

Flying low to avoid radar, their wings flush with a gaggle of ordnance, the three pilots were returning to the Dodge City airport, intent on launching a preemptive air strike. The purpose of the surprise, hit-and-run mission was to keep the air pirates off balance as well as gauge the size and disposition of their air force.

But it was Hunter and the Wreckers who were to be surprised.

They met no opposition going in-no Starfighters, no AA fire, not so much as a beep on their SAM detection equipment. And then, when they reached the target twenty minutes later, they were amazed to find the airport was deserted.

"They sure cleared out quick," Elvis said, not quite believing what they were seeing. .

"They sure did," Hunter replied. "Almost
too
quick.

The Hind helicopter eased onto the mile-long, dirt runway and settled down in a swirl of red dust and sand.

Duke Devillian, his pudgy body moist with excitement, climbed out of the chopper even before its huge rotor blades had stopped turning. The Skinhead pilot felt a jolt of glee run through him for an instant when it appeared Devillian might actually walk right into one of the twirling razor-edge blades, his perception screwed up by his hideously crossed eyes.

But no such luck -the terrorist’s leader ducked at the last possible moment, then scrambled on his hands and knees until he was out of danger.

"You would have been eaten alive by ants if that had hit me,"

Devillian screamed, pointing first at the rotor blade, and then at the Skinhead, all the while not quite sure himself how he could have made good on the threat.

The 'Head simply gave him the finger, then proceeded to shut down the Hind's main systems. He had been practically chained to Devillian for the past forty-eight hours as the man insisted on flying all over the southwest plains, looking for innocent victims to kill. Now the Skinhead pilot was just happy the long trip was over, knowing that Devillian would have to look for his daily dose of blood and mayhem somewhere else.

Devillian quickly regained his composure and walked like a king across the unique expanse of land that housed his secret Fortress of the Burning Cross.

Selecting the bizarre location for his base was a stroke of strategic genius for the cross-eyed madman. He had turned the place into a natural riddle: It was almost impossible to find, yet it stood out like a sore thumb from the surrounding landscape. It was laughably vulnerable from all sides, yet no enemy could approach it from any direction - either by land or by air, day or night - without being spotted while they were still miles away.

Best of all, the place looked deserted -yet it housed hundreds of weapons, a dozen barracks, a mess hall, a small power generation plant, two fuel dumps and two airstrips long enough to handle any jet fighter. To protect it all, dozens of SAM nests lay hidden in its perimeters, holding enough missiles to shoot down an entire air force and still have some to spare.

But the gem of his secret encampment was Devillian's heavily guarded, "invisible" mansion that sprawled over nearly three acres of the northern side of the base. Separated from the rest of the military installation by a series of security barriers, the mansion contained Devillian's personal living quarters, as well as the customed-designed Combat Command Center, which was the electronic brains for the Burning Cross.

This control center was actually a huge war room filled with state-of-the-art communications equipment. One entire wall of this room featured an immense control panel that electronically linked everything from the defensive installations ringing the base to the dozens of Burning Cross outposts set up in remote locations throughout the Badlands. From this one room, Devillian could send orders and receive information from anywhere in his organization's rapidly growing domain.