Sky Ghost

by Maloney, Mack;

  “You know what your problem is?” he asked Hunter out of the blue.

  Hunter just shrugged.

  “No, you tell me,” he said.

  The old guy got up and put on his coat.

  “You think too much,” he said. “Way too much.”

  With that, he saluted and went out the door.

  Hunter made himself another coffee and opened the envelope. Inside was a small film reel about the size of a cigarette pack. He turned on the Boomer, inserted the reel and hit play.

  Then he sat back and watched what America wanted him to do next.

  It was actually quite simple.

  A big hit had to be laid on Germany. Something bigger, more destructive than a month of firebombing. This time another element would be used. Several years back, the Germans had consolidated all of their dams in the Ruhr Valley into one gigantic hydroelectric plant, the Merne-Sorpa Dam. They had diverted no less than five major rivers and emptied 16 lakes into one massive body of water, and now that water, running through the monstrous hydroelectric turbines of Merne-Sorpa, supplied Germany as well as parts of Occupied Holland, Belgium, and France with nearly 75 percent of their electrical power.

  If that dam could be knocked out, then the German war effort would grind to a halt—theoretically, at least.

  And if the rumors Pegg told him were true, then blowing the dam would at least delay any U.S. invasion plans.

  But a dam, especially one this immense, could not be taken down with firebombs, or even conventional iron bombs, as the mission film clearly pointed out with a cartoonish sequence showing B-l7/36s slamming bombs into the side of the dam—with no effect.

  The plan that had been formulated went like this: the Merne-Sorpa could be breached only if at least 20 tons of high explosives were detonated on its face all at once. In other words, all in one big bomb. But there were no 20-ton bombs, not even in this bigger-is-better world. However, one B-17/36 could carry 20 tons of high explosives. If such an airplane could be flown into the dam face, and the HE detonated, the dam would be breached, and the Reich’s extensive hydro-power capability destroyed.

  No one was suggesting a suicide mission here—not a typical one anyway. The idea was to have a drone bomber packed with HE flown into the dam by radio control. But the aircraft would have to hit the dam wall at an exact point in order to crack it and kill the power-making ability. To hit this exact point with an immense drone ship meant a homing device would have to be fitted on the dam face, one that would heat up and thus guide a radi-seeker in the nose of the bomber. Then, all that would be needed would be for someone who knew what they were doing to get control of the airplane by radio, get its nose lined up with the heating ring and wham! The plane would hit the homing device and explode, the dam would splinter, and the lights would go out all over Germany.

  The plan mentioned diversionary bombing raids all over western Germany to cover the dam-busting mission. Where would the planes needed for this part of the plan take off from? From the Cape Cod and four other megacarriers that were secretly steaming into the North Atlantic. Now this was a dangerous piece of business, especially since the Germans had already shown what their DG-42 missile could do, both on the Circle and on Paris. But one last bit of U.S. military secret technology made such a risky operation somewhat less so. The Navy had come up with a way to artificially cloak a ship, not electronically, but by creating artificial fog banks, ones that could reach nearly a mile in width and height. One thing about the DG-42, it couldn’t hit what it couldn’t see. The fog would keep the five megacarriers somewhat elusive, at least until they could launch and recover the week’s worth of diversionary and follow-up bombing raids.

  And that was the strange thing about this strange plan. It was obvious to Hunter that it had been in the works for a while. Had he not found himself aboard the carrier this way, he would have been spirited out of Dreamland and briefed very soon anyway. So the fact that the USS Cape Cod was nearby when the Circle was iced had simply been…well, a “harmonious” event.

  The mission tape ended with some projected weather forecasts, estimated mission time frames, and other malarkey. Then, surprisingly, the authors of this wild idea signed their names to the plan. And for the first time, Hunter found out who was behind it all. It was America’s premier intelligence agency, an outfit called the OSS.

  Their final conclusion was this: Someone had to get to the dam, set up the heat ring, then direct the drone ship via radio into the target, all while a series of massive fire-bombing raids were taking place on a dozen cities nearby.

  The person to do this would need good infiltration skills, piloting ability, and the sense to keep his mouth shut should they get caught.

  According to the OSS planners, that person was Hunter.

  After leaving Hunter’s berth, Captain Pegg headed for a place called the Third Forward Officers’ Mess Portside.

  The journey took him nearly 45 minutes. Once there, he got another cup of coffee and then walked over to a table located in the far corner.

  A man was waiting for him. He was dressed like a Navy Commander, but Pegg knew he was not a naval officer.

  “How did it go?” the man asked him.

  Pegg just shrugged.

  “OK,” he replied. “I gave him the clip. I’m sure he’s watching it now.”

  “Do you think he’s up to it?”

  Pegg noisily slurped his coffee. “Well, he seems to be the adventurous type. He’s patriotic too, I think. I have a good feeling about it”

  The man poured a cup of coffee for himself.

  “Good,” he said. “Then maybe the whole idea to come up here was not such a waste.”

  Pegg sat forward a bit and then spoke again. “May I ask you a question? Why don’t you just brief him yourself? I mean, after all that’s happened…”

  The man drained his cup of coffee and then sat back in thought.

  “I’m not sure,” the man known as Agent Y finally replied. “But I guess there will be time for that soon enough.”

  Hunter spent the rest of the day watching the mission film over and over again. Occasionally, he would cheat and switch the Boomer over to world-beam TV broadcasts. Just about every time he saw some kind of reference to the German fire-bombing campaign and his part in it. They kept showing the same film of him climbing into his jet over and over again. Even he got sick of it after a while.

  Finally, after watching the mission film 10 times and thinking he knew all that was expected of him, he showered, shaved, climbed into a clean set of overalls, and met up with Zoltan, Payne, and Crabb in the Second Aft Officers’ Mess Starboard.

  They spent the evening eating, drinking coffee, signing autographs, and talking about the “good times” back at Dreamland base. It seemed more like a dream to them now.

  For the time being all three would be staying on the Cape Cod. The four other megacarriers would be in position by morning, each one carrying a huge contingent of Air Corps bombers. These planes—and the very raw pilots who would be flying them—would continue the firebombing campaign against Germany. These attacks would continue for seven days. After that, it was anyone’s guess what would happen. But because the trio had been exposed to parts of this secret mission, they were all staying put.

  Midnight arrived and it was time for Hunter to catch some sleep. He’d just spent the longest of days and he had to be out on the deck at 0600 hours to begin his mission. If the others knew anything about the dam-busting aspect of the plan, they didn’t let on. But the three sensed Hunter was going somewhere soon and that it was important.

  So when he got up to leave, each man shook his hand warmly.

  “Good luck.” Crabb told him, “My girls and I are working out a dance interpretation of all this, you know. I guarantee it will be very entertaining.”

  Hunter just shook his head. “Some things maybe I don’t want to know about.”

  Zoltan was next. “Be safe, my friend,” he told Hunter. “And remember, don�
�t think too much. It’s bad for you.”

  “I promise,” Hunter said.

  Then came Payne. Hunter felt bad for the officer because he deserved as much credit for the firebombing campaign of Germany as Hunter did, maybe even more. Yet the unassuming major didn’t seem bothered by it at all. He’d fulfilled his promise to himself. He’d gotten his men out of Dreamland alive and in one piece, what was left of them anyway. Therefore he was very much at peace with himself.

  “We’ll see you soon, Hawk,” he told Hunter simply. “The best of luck.”

  Hunter thanked them all again, left the mess, and began the long walk back to his berth. Three thoughts were running through his head: Don’t think. Do the mission. Everything else will be sorted out in time.

  But at the end of the trek, as he neared his berth, his body began vibrating. He stopped just two feet from his door and examined the feeling. This was not an enemy-approaching vibe, thank God for that. No, these shakes were telling him something else. Maybe something was waiting for him on the other side of the cabin door.

  He opened the hatch and found the place was dark except for the light from a single candle. And someone was waiting for him. A sultry shadow reclining on his bunk. It was definitely not Pegg, thank the cosmos.

  Just the opposite, in fact.

  Clad in just a T-shirt, and a short one at that, was Sarah.

  Hunter stepped in and closed the door.

  “Is this a briefing, Captain James?”

  Sarah smiled. “An off-the-record one. I’ve been hearing some funny stories about you.”

  Hunter sat down in the chair next to the bunk. She looked so beautiful he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Funny as in ha-ha?” he asked.

  “Not exactly,” she replied.

  She reached out to him and he took her hand. The next thing he knew, he was in the bunk with her. Her body felt incredibly warm. Warmer than his thermal flight suit. Warmer than the sun itself. Hunter couldn’t remember ever feeling so warm. After swimming in the Atlantic, after sitting in his prison cell, after a hellish month in Iceland, he never thought he’d be this warm again.

  “You know what I heard?” she whispered in his ear.

  “Tell me…”

  “I heard you’re from another planet or something.”

  Hunter laughed. “I think the ‘or something’ is more accurate.”

  His body was really shaking now, and yes, the quakes were coming from south of the border.

  “So,” she asked with a smile, her T-shirt slipping off, “How do they make love where you’re from?”

  Hunter thought about it for a moment.

  “Beats me,” he said.

  Sarah smiled again. “Oh, kinky, huh?”

  “Kinky?” Hunter replied. “I’m not sure I…”

  His words were cut off by her kiss. Then they got closer. Her T-shirt came all the way off. Hunter saw the two most luscious breasts. Not too big, with small nipples. And suddenly, he felt a lot warmer.

  They kissed again. And again. And again.

  “Oh yeah,” Hunter murmured. “I remember this…”

  And then the huge aircraft carrier began rocking, even though it was sailing in very gentle seas.

  It would continue that way all night long.

  Chapter 28

  BY THE NEXT MORNING, the USS Cape Cod was again at rest.

  Its Surface Defense teams had created a fog bank which extended for nearly a mile around the huge aircraft carrier. With unusually still winds, the hiding place would remain intact for as long the weather cooperated.

  Hunter was standing out on the flight deck by 0545 hours, breathing in the somewhat-artificially cool air. The mission film told him to meet his transport at 0600 hours, 15 minutes from now. He had no idea what kind of an aircraft to expect, no idea who the crew would be. All he knew was they would be OSS-trained and the airplane unique to undercover insertion operations.

  It was amazingly still on the flight deck now. As he understood it, they were about 250 miles west of the Shetland Islands, approaching the North Sea. The idea of course was to get as close to Germany as possible, for both his infiltration and the covering bombing attacks.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the sea air and still smelled Sarah’s soft perfume. She was so nice, and beautiful, and sexy, and warm. Very, very warm. He let out a long breath again. That was a night he would never forget, no matter what world he found himself in.

  Just then he saw three people approaching him through the faux mist.

  They appeared to be carrying a lot of equipment. Though the mission film said he’d get his gear on board the OSS plane, maybe there’d been a change in plans.

  But then the three people got closer and Hunter was astonished to see they were, in fact, a TV news crew—cameraman, sound guy, and a guy with a microphone. They walked right up to Hunter and stuck the microphone in his face.

  “Hello Flight Officer Hunter, can we have a few words?”

  Hunter was stunned. What the hell is this?

  “We understand you are leaving on a secret mission soon,” the reporter went right on rapping. “Care to say a few words to the folks at home, maybe tell them what it’s about?”

  Hunter was speechless. Was this a gag?

  “I can’t tell you anything,” he finally blurted out. “It’s top secret…”

  The reporter laughed a very false laugh. Then he turned to the camera and said: “Self-effacing, maybe even shy. Just as we’ve been told to expect him.”

  He turned back to Hunter and stuck the microphone even closer to his mouth.

  “You realize you have a lot of fans back in the States,” the reporter said. “How about a word or two for the folks at home.”

  Hunter kept his mouth shut. Did these guys have authorization to do this?

  “Or how about telling us something about your mysterious past. What do you say? How about giving us a scoop?”

  Hunter just shook his head. Tell us about it? Where he came from was supposed to be one of the darkest secrets of the U.S. military, deeper and darker than the mission he was about to go on. And these guys wanted him to talk about it?

  “I think I’d better not,” he finally blurted out.

  “Well how about this mission today,” the reporter insisted. “We hear it’s a really top secret one—c’mon, let us in on it.”

  “I can’t,” Hunter replied. “It’s top secret.”

  The reporter just laughed his fake laugh again. Then he looked back into the camera and said: “OK, there you have it folks. An exclusive interview with the famous Hawk Hunter. And remember you saw it first here on WSUX…”

  And with that, the three men disappeared into the fog again.

  Hunter’s head was spinning now. Did that just happen? Was that real? But then, something else caught his attention. Something big.

  He stared out into the fake fog and saw a gray outline. It was so gigantic, Hunter was distracted enough to forget the reporters for a moment. It was another megacarrier just a few hundred yards off the starboard. It was so big, it blotted out whatever morning light that was getting through the artificial fog. The second carrier’s presence underscored the fact that the other ships supporting the mission were moving into position. He studied this floating city for a moment and then the big ship vanished into the fog again.

  At exactly 0600, Hunter sensed an aircraft approaching. It was a small airplane, not a jet, not a big chopper or anything even close. No, this was definitely a piston-driven prop plane. One that was very, very quiet.

  Interesting, Hunter thought.

  The aircraft got closer. But he could just barely hear it. He’d been told to expect a unique infiltration aircraft. That’s exactly what it sounded like coming out of the clouds.

  It was strange, because while he sensed the airplane’s approach, he was surprised when it finally came out of the mist at him. It was not in the air at all, it had already landed on the near end of the deck
and had rolled up to him without him realizing it. The plane was that quiet.

  And he’d been right; it was a piston-driven prop plane. The propeller was enormous and thus the engine must have been too. But there were a series of dampeners around the cowling to keep the noise down. In fact, painted in scroll letters on the cowling, it read: WHISPER-ENGINE.

  The aircraft itself looked like a biplane, one with its bottom wing missing. It had big squatty tires like a German Stuka of old. The fuselage was thick and boxy. The tail was painted with Zebra stripes and the ID number 333. It was about half the size of a C-47, Hunter figured. In this strange place, that was rather small indeed.

  The plane was a Westland Lysander-XX. An odder airplane has never been built, here or anywhere else.

  The side door opened and Hunter ran towards it. The plane wasn’t going to stop, that was quickly apparent. So Hunter jumped aboard even as the pilot was turning around and heading back to take off again.

  Hunter just made it in before the pilot gunned the single engine. Suddenly the plane was moving very quickly. Hunter was barely able to close the door behind him when the plane was lifting off the carrier deck. He could see the huge carrier start to fall below him as he finally jammed the door closed.

  The pilot put the Lysander into an incredibly steep climb. Hunter was nearly thrown to the back of the airplane cabin, it was so severe. He held on and waited for the climb to end. It took about a minute and it was a bit hair-raising. But finally the plane passed above the artificial fog bank and leveled out.

  Only then could Hunter climb up to meet the two-man crew.

  They gave him a sort of quick but friendly salute.

  “Captain Lancaster,” the pilot said.

  “Lieutenant Moon,” the copilot added.

  Hunter gave both men the once-over. Unlike many other people he’d run into during this strange adventure, they did not seem familiar to him. At least, he didn’t think they did. They were not wearing any insignias on their flight uniforms, but Lancaster looked and sounded British; Moon was definitely an American. Both had special ops written all over them.

  “Hunter,” was the extent of his introduction to them, along with a quick handshake. “How’s the weather look?”