“Thank you,” she cooed. “My name is Juanita Juarez.”
Right away Hunter’s sixth sense started flashing again, telling him two things: He was definitely on the right track, and the woman was extremely dangerous.
“You are really a bomber pilot?” she asked, her hand lightly touching his.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hunter answered. “And I’m a damn good one. I’ve fought on four continents, and I’m ready for more.”
Juanita’s dark eyes locked with his. There was something about this man, he could hear her thinking. Something different. She took a long look at his lean frame, his muscular shoulders, his longish, dark blond hair. Even the rumpled clothes and unshaven chin did little to conceal his innate good looks.
“Manuel, leave us,” she commanded.
“But my lady—” the giant began to protest.
“I said leave us!” the woman sneered at him.
Manuel meekly left the room, a spot of blood leaking out from his chin.
Juanita gestured toward the sofa. “Let’s talk. Tell me about yourself.”
For the next ten minutes, Hunter told the Mexican beauty every conceivable lie that he could think of, all revolving around his supposed bomber pilot-for-hire career.
When he finished, he couldn’t tell if she believed him or not. Oddly, it appeared as if she really didn’t care.
“OK, you pass part one,” she said, her jet black eyes glowing like a cat’s. Then she stood up in front of Hunter, unbuckled her gun belts and dropped the huge weapons on the floor. “Now for part two….”
As Hunter watched in growing disbelief, Juanita slowly loosened the few remaining buttons on her black shirt and let it slip easily off. Then she deftly unsnapped her bra, letting her lovely, round, erect-nippled breasts spring free. Next, she removed her jeans, sliding them seductively down her brown, perfectly shaped legs. As Hunter’s eyes drank in her overwhelming sexuality, she eased out of her black panties and stood before him totally naked.
It was the most unabashed display of wantonness that Hunter had ever witnessed.
She lowered herself onto Hunter’s lap, pushing her heat against him. “Screw me until I can’t move,” she whispered, “… and you’ve got a job.”
Now, once again, the tormented conflicting emotions streaked through Hunter’s brain at supersonic speeds. Of course he wanted her … any man with a pulse would. But he certainly couldn’t allow passion to totally distort his sense of self-preservation.
Besides, he was on an intelligence mission. Therefore, his situation called for a plan.
He slipped the strap of his M-16 off his shoulder and laid the weapon on the floor next to the sofa, still within easy reach. Juanita quickly unbuttoned his shirt, allowing her breasts to press soft and warm against his bare chest.
He stood back from her and looked deeply into her eyes. She began to speak—but suddenly couldn’t. All she could do was look back at him, her eyes magically drawn to his.
This done, he placed his hands on her bare breasts and began making counter-clockwise circles with his fingers, never taking his eyes off hers. She gasped once, her dark pupils still unblinking, and then she began to softly moan. Gradually he tightened his grip until he held both her nipples between his fingers.
Then he squeezed.
Within seconds, a sweet perspiration covered Juanita’s body, glistening in the soft light of the room. Her eyes teared up with ecstasy, and yet they were still frozen in his mesmerizing glare. She felt her muscles go limp; waves of pleasure of a kind she’d never experienced were rippling up and down her body. Soon she felt as if her entire being was about to explode—a second later, it did. Suddenly she was in the throes of what seemed like a never-ending orgasm.
Although her eyes were still open, her mind began to fog over. In the midst of her incredible pleasure, it seemed like the strange person was asking her questions: Who? What? Where? How many?
Who is this man? she found herself wondering in the midst of the almost-violent perpetual climax. How can he do this to me?
After twenty minutes or so, Hunter’s fingers were getting tired.
But the discomfort in his digits was nothing compared to the troubling ache in his mind. He had been able to extract a wealth of information from her—all of it bad news for him and the men on the Freedom Express.
Instinctively he knew when he’d reached the limit with her. Taking a deep breath, he squeezed her nipples a little harder. A second later, she was asleep.
Hunter gently eased her down to the sofa, then quietly slipped back into his shirt. He peeked out into the hallway. Manuel the Giant was also sound asleep, slumped in a chair tipped against the wall.
Never one to press his luck, Hunter silently slipped away.
Chapter 17
THE SUN WAS JUST rising when the A-37 Dragonfly appeared over the small airfield.
The diminutive, two-seat jet circled the field once, then came in for a bumpy, dusty landing. All the while, a pair of Football City Air Force F-20 Tigersharks watched from high above. It was their job to make sure the A-37—and the valuable man behind its controls—landed safely and unopposed.
Once the Dragonfly was down, the F-20 pilots received a message.
“Thanks for the company, boys,” General Dave Jones told them as he shut down the A-37’s engines. “I can take it from here.”
Jones watched as the two super-sophisticated F-20’s circled once and then roared off to the east, heading back for Football City. Once they were gone, a pleasant sense of serenity came over him. The bleak, yet magnificent desolation of the desert looked like another planet compared to the stale-air stuffiness of his office back in Washington.
“Been too damn much ass-sitting for an old war horse like me,” he whispered to himself. “It’s about time I got out and about.”
He taxied toward a small, dilapidated hangar at the edge of the landing strip. Beside the building, looking even more threatening than usual in the early morning shadows, was a Cobra attack helicopter. Standing next to the chopper was Captain Jesse Tyler.
“Welcome to the Wild West, General,” Tyler greeted him. “I just wish it were under better circumstances.”
The two old friends shook hands warmly, then pushed the A-37 into the hangar. That done, they immediately climbed into the Cobra.
“Hawk’s information must be damned urgent if he insisted that I come all the way out here—alone yet,” Jones said.
“From the little I know, sir,” Tyler said gloomily, “I’m afraid your trip was absolutely necessary.”
Moments later, Tyler had the big warbird airborne and heading eastward toward Cimarron, where the Freedom Express had arrived earlier that day.
The message Hunter had sent to Jones around midnight simply stated that he had information critical to the survival of the Freedom Express. The information was so sensitive that Hunter did not want to risk transmitting it over the United Americans’ communications net, despite the usually reliable scramblers, which garbled any message heard by anyone not equipped with a compatible set.
The sun was nearly up when they spotted the flickering lights of the train. Tyler overflew its entire length once, and Jones could see dozens of men busily repairing the cars that had been damaged in the Skinhead air raid as well as the scattered wreckage of the enemy F-4’s and remote-control B-57’s downed during the battle.
Catfish and Fitzgerald met the chopper as it settled onto its landing car, greeting the general as the small wiry officer emerged from the aircraft’s front seat.
There were grim handshakes all around, and then the small group retired to the Control car, where they were joined by the other members of the train’s command team, including JT and Ben Wa.
Once inside, Jones saw that Hunter was sitting at the very end of a long table, his facial expression a mask of pain and worry.
The men took their seats, and a bottle of Scotch quickly appeared.
“First of all, how extensive was the damage
to the train?” Jones asked, doling out a handful of paper cups.
“Most of it can be fixed,” Catfish responded. “We’re patching it up here, and we can continue the most important repairs en route. The worst part is losing that locomotive. We’ll just have to dump it at the next juncture.”
Jones took a long, slow sip of Scotch. “And it was definitely Skinheads who attacked you?”
“For sure,” Hunter replied grimly, politely but firmly refusing a cup of liquor.
“Well this does sound serious,” Jones said, not remembering a single time he’d seen Hunter pass up a comradely drink. “So let’s have it, Hawk.”
Hunter took a low, long deep breath.
“General, there’s no way I can make this easy,” he began, his voice absolutely sober, his mind trying to put into words all of the information he’d been able to coax out of Juanita Juarez. “But I’ve uncovered information that suggests that this entire venture—the train and our own lives—are in grave danger.”
“So what else is new?” JT wisecracked. “We’ve been fighting ever since we left Football City. But we’ve been kicking ass each time, and that’s what counts.”
“This is no time for jokes, JT,” Hunter said stonily. “These skirmishes we’ve already experienced are nothing compared to what is waiting down the tracks.”
“And that is?” Jones asked.
“More than ten divisions of enemy troops,” Hunter replied, his news dropping on the Control car like a bomb.
“What?” Fitz was the first to cry. “You’re talking about one hundred and fifty thousand troops.”
“It’s true,” Hunter continued. “I have evidence that an enemy alliance has recently formed right here in the southern Badlands itself. One man has rallied the remnants of the Twisted Cross, the Skinheads, and an assortment of air pirates, bandits, mercenaries and terrorists into a massive one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-man army.”
Even a battle-hard veteran like Jones was stunned.
“Do we know exactly who is behind this super army, Hawk?”
“A gunrunner by the name of Devillian,” Hunter replied. “Duke Devillian.”
The name stung his tongue every time he said it. Immediately his mind flashed back to the last night they’d spent in Football City. Devillian was the man who had made Louie St. Louie so nervous.
“And along with his army,” Hunter went on, “this guy is stamping out an ideology to go with it.”
“Which is?” Wa asked.
“Pure racism,” the Wingman replied, spitting out the last word. “Devillian was a Klansman before the Big War, which explains his love affair with the surviving Canal Nazis. Now it appears that he’s built a kind of Super KKK. In fact, he’s calling his new organization the Knights of the Burning Cross.”
“That explains the flag of a cross in flames at the Topeka airport,” Catfish said grimly.
“It gets even worse,” Hunter went on. “This secret force may be equipped with weapons more sophisticated than anything we’ve faced since the Circle War.”
A series of low, troubled whistles echoed throughout the railway car.
“And we’re driving ourselves right into the thick of it?” Ben Wa asked gloomily.
Hunter nodded grimly. “They not only know we’re here,” he confirmed. “They’re the ones who have been stinging us.”
At this point, everyone who was drinking refilled his Scotch cup.
Although tempted, Hunter once again refused. He rubbed his tired eyes, pushed back his long hair and then continued.
“Those Starfighters at Dodge,” he said. “They didn’t run away. They were ordered to retreat. Same with those Skinheads. These attacks were feints—diversions under the guise of isolated actions. They’ve been sucking us in. Trying to make us think they were just scattered elements and that we could just roll right through.”
“Incredible,” several people said at once.
“I hate to ask you this, Hawk,” Jones said, slowly. “But are you certain that all this information is accurate?”
Hunter looked up at him and solemnly nodded. “Solid,” he said, the look in his eyes alone confirming it for most people in the room.
“There’s more,” he went on. “It was part of this new super army that attacked the first train. We were only half right when we said that the first train was sent crashing into that station in LA to send us a message. Actually, these guys were laying out the bait.”
“And we fell for it like a bunch of Boy Scouts,” JT said disgustedly.
No one spoke for two long minutes. Finally Jones turned to Catfish. “Can we turn the train around, Major?” he asked.
Catfish sadly nodded. “There’s an old Conrail roundabout on the other side of Eagle Rock, sir. It would take us the better part of two days to do it, but it can be done.”
“Then, from what I’ve just heard,” Jones said, “I believe that as powerful and armored as this train may be, it seems suicidal to continue in the face of numbers and equipment this super army apparently has at its disposal.”
Everyone in the room was absolutely stunned at the announcement.
“Wait a minute …” Hunter said. Just then, he felt an odd sensation run through him. Suddenly someone else’s words were on his lips. “It is best to confront an enemy directly,” he heard himself say. “Then surprise will be an ally in victory.”
Everyone turned and looked at him strangely.
“What the hell did you say?” JT asked.
Even Hunter himself wasn’t sure.
“I mean … we’ve got to remember we’ve still got an important mission to perform,” he recovered, a little shakily. “And if we let this new gang get to us now, it will only get harder to reclaim the territory when we try it the next time.”
Another absolute silence descended on the room.
“Are you actually advocating that we continue?” Jones asked him incredulously.
Even Hunter himself wasn’t too sure. The strange voice that had suddenly gurgled up from inside him had him briefly questioning his own sanity.
Still, he pressed on: “Look, we’ve been in tough spots before. And we’ve always gotten out of them by thinking it through. By innovating. By using our strengths and shoring up our weaknesses. All our success has been based on that very principle. We can’t change it now.”
There was another minute of gruesome silence as everyone took a third drink from the rapidly dwindling bottle of Scotch.
Finally Jones broke the spell.
“Hawk, I’m prepared to order that we scrub this mission,” he said. “So if you have any ideas, better spill them now.”
Hunter thought again about the strange words he’d just unconsciously uttered.
“General, I think we all realize that mounting a good, standby defense for a constantly moving train is next to impossible,” he said. “At least against these kinds of odds and on such short notice.”
“So?” Jones asked.
“So, as the old saying goes, the best defense is a good offense. If a moving train is difficult to defend, then I say we lay out a careful plan and then go on the attack instead.”
Everyone in the room once again turned toward Hunter, astonishment on their faces.
“Good Lord, Hawker,” Fitz blurted out. “How? According to your information, this nut has got ten divisions hiding out there, waiting for us.”
“When they are unprepared, it is the time to attack,” Hunter’s other voice proclaimed. “Only when they don’t expect it should you make your move.”
Hunter’s odd pronouncements were stunning everyone in the room—himself included. Only Ben Wa seemed to catch on.
“But how do we do that, Hawk?” Wa asked calmly. “Devillian’s guys could be spread out anywhere between here and LA. We’re talking about thousands of square miles, a lot of it pretty rough territory, easy to hide in.”
“Hell, you can’t hide an army forever,” Hunter replied. “What we need is more solid intelligence.”
“I think what we also need is to keep this train moving,” Tyler said. “Whether we are backing up or going forward, we’ve got to keep rolling, or we will be an even easier target.”
“You’re right,” Hunter said. “But we do have one element we can work in our favor. That is time.”
“How so?” Jones asked.
“Because Devillian is playing a game here,” Hunter said. “These feints—by the Starfighters, by the Skinheads—they’re part of some master plan he’s cooking up. They have to be, because, let’s face it, if he wanted to destroy us, he would have tried it by now. Or if he simply wanted to stop us, he would have at least blasted holes in the tracks in front of us. Instead, he dropped a bunch of mines.”
“Well, what’s he waiting for?” JT asked.
On this, Hunter wasn’t sure. The woman Juanita had been very vague on two points: Devillian’s timing and the location of his headquarters. He had tried in vain to get at least a hint of information on these subjects from her, but she had resisted.
“I don’t know,” Hunter said. “Maybe he doesn’t even know the answer himself at this point.”
“But there’s another big question remaining as well,” Fitz said. “That is, do they know we are on to them?”
Hunter shook his head. “As of now, they don’t,” he said with assurance. Just before releasing Juanita from her spell and putting her to sleep, Hunter had given her a strong hypnotic suggestion that would wipe out most of her memory of his visit. “This means we have at least one more advantage on them, and some maneuvering room to figure out how we can get out of this.”
“But Hawk, you’re talking about a very, very long shot,” Tyler said sympathetically.
“It’s better than turning the train around,” Hunter countered.
Once again, a nervous silence prevailed.
Finally Jones cleared his throat. In the end it was his decision to make.
“Well, it’s against my better judgement,” he said. “But you make a good point about fighting this guy now and not later. And you’ve been right before—though not this, well, eloquently. So, OK, proceed to Eagle Rock. Do your follow-up intelligence work and see what can be found out. But I’ve got to put a deadline on this. If nothing turns up by the time you reach Eagle Rock, then we’ve got to turn this train around and go back out the way we came. Understood?”
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