Show of Force

by Gar Wilson

"They were still more heroic. But what is the situation now?"

  She pushed past him and went inside the church.

  "What are you doing?"

  She had gone to the altar and opened an electrical control panel behind the drapes. "Summoning the unit commanders," she said.

  She pulled down one of several small levers in the control panel. The church bells pealed urgently. Everyone in the town would recognize the coded signal.

  "I'm ordering the unit commanders to have the townspeople change tactics completely. I have already spoken to several of the leaders."

  "You're ordering?" Nothing infuriated him so much as anyone usurping his authority.

  "I had no idea that you were still here when I had made the plan," she said. "When I was unable to find you during the action, I assumed you were dead or incapacitated."

  He was stung that she had taken over his duties when in his impotent rage he had collapsed into helplessness and allowed himself to be convinced that he should take cover. Now he looked like a coward, while she acted like a brave leader. She must encounter some life-threatening difficulty on the next mission, he told himself, or she was capable of harming his reputation with his superiors. But before that came about, he had some other plans for her…

  "All the women on the south side are to leave their homes," she continued. "They will move north of Main Street and protect themselves. Meanwhile…"

  "Wait. You have not endangered any of those assigned to our next mission?"

  "No. You are in no danger."

  "What are you saying, that I am a coward?"

  "No. I am saying only that I am having all the people assigned to your extravaganza gather at the baseball diamond to the north. As soon as I can get the bus to them and get these invading madmen contained, we will join them and depart."

  "Meanwhile all the other men in the entire city will form a ring around the residential area on the south."

  "Why the south?"

  "The CIA men, or whoever they are, left the market and turned south."

  The church door opened and several men straggled in. They carried automatic weapons and walked with the slumped shoulders of battle-weary veterans. Vulcan could sympathize with them. The attack had come so unexpectedly that in spite of drills held to handle just such a situation no one was prepared.

  Vulcan sneered. "The Americans, and I am sure they are Americans, or at least they are working for the CIA, will escape through the woods long before you can put troops along the entire fringe of the forest."

  "I had started closing their southerly escape early in the battle," she said.

  He gritted his teeth. I'll get you yet, my sweet, he thought savagely.

  The men who had just entered sensed a conflict between Vulcan and Cardwell, but she did not take advantage of the audience. She did, however, continue playing the leader role.

  "Sit down, comrades," she said with easy authority. "Have our intruders left the area?" she asked.

  "Negative," one man said. "They show no signs of fleeing. In the last few minutes they have set two houses on fire. I think they want to destroy the entire complex."

  "Monsters," Vulcan growled. "We cannot allow three men to undo in a few hours what has taken us years to accomplish. We can rebuild, of course, but…"

  "The only way you will ever be given funds and authority to rebuild is by successfully completing the next mission."

  Vulcan did not acknowledge what she said. But it was true. He decided to reassert his authority and turned to the men and a few others who had just straggled in. "Where are the other unit leaders?" he asked.

  "Three are moving to cover the southern escape route," Ann told him.

  "Six others are dead," a man far back in the church said bitterly. "We should have been given some warning. How could such a powerful strike force get into Russia and raise such havoc here?"

  "There are only three of them."

  "Three? Impossible. We have suffered too many casualties."

  "Just hope that there are no more than three," Ann said. "Now, have you heard the orders I gave the other unit leaders?"

  Vulcan stepped in. "I have directed that the south part of town be completely cordoned off. When that has been accomplished, you will tighten the ring until the enemy have all been killed or captured."

  Ann interrupted. "Take them prisoner, if you can."

  Vulcan, relishing the opportunity, countermanded her instructions. "No. The mission is to kill them. If it is possible to capture one of them without opening any conceivable escape route, then you may take one of them prisoner. Now, are there any among you who do not understand the battle plan?"

  At the silence that greeted his words, Vulcan looked around dramatically. "Go," Vulcan ordered. "And keep me informed."

  The men left, looking a little bit more sure of themselves now that they had had at least some direction that indicated their leader wasn't without a plan.

  Alone with Ann, Vulcan sat down.

  "You must call our superiors," Ann said firmly.

  The door eased open and Colin Edge entered, just in time to hear her remark. "We have lost all contact with the outside world. The invaders must have cut our communications," he said.

  Vulcan watched Ann carefully. She blanched. Obviously she had expected to get in contact with someone before the main group left.

  Vulcan pretended he had plans to nullify the lack of communications. "It is for the best. I cannot deal with bureaucrats at a time like this."

  "You think all will be forgiven if the mission is successful?"

  "Yes, we will have struck a blow that will hold American technology back long enough for us to catch up and surpass the West. The implications, militarily or economically are stunning."

  "If you succeed," she added softly, but with a taunt in her tone.

  "Oh, I will accomplish what I have set out to do." He rose and started for the side door. "In spite of you, my lovely," he added just under his breath, and a malicious gleam lit his eyes.

  11

  Rafael Encizo looked up from the map and turned off the flashlight they had found in the glove compartment of the car.

  "We can't be more than half a mile from the town. Stop here. We'll walk."

  Calvin James accepted his friend's estimate of the situation. Anyone who had lived in the mountains of Cuba during Castro's revolt against the capitalist strongman Batista, would have a sense of direction that superseded maps and compasses.

  James carried out only one precaution of his own. He found a break in the woods that lined the road and drove the car across the hard narrow shoulder, then continued squeezing between the trees until there was no possibility of going farther. He wanted the car out of sight of anyone traveling the road north from Yalta. Perhaps he was being overly cautious because they had not passed another vehicle since they had taken the one he was driving from beside a comfortable-looking dacha.

  Before he switched off the headlights, James sized up the area. He hoped to spot a landmark to fix the location of the car in his mind for a later escape route, should they need one. And something whispered to him that they would.

  Encizo was even less optimistic. "Forget the car. It will have been reported stolen before we have a chance to use it." He started off immediately, his feet making no sound except for a snap of a broken twig. James was right behind, and they moved cautiously in the scant light provided by a stingy crescent moon.

  After twenty minutes of walking blind, James finally rebelled and determinedly caught up with the man before him. "Wait." He put his hand on his guide's shoulder. "What makes you so certain we're going in the right direction? We could miss the town by miles. And what makes you think the other guys haven't already returned to Yalta?"

  "Listen and you will know."

  James rubbed his hand along his jaw and cocked his head as he listened. From somewhere ahead came a muffled but familiar crackling sound.

  "That sounds like small arms fire. If that's the town, Katz an
d the guys must really be in trouble."

  In confirmation, Encizo pointed to the sky. Moving to a position beside him, James saw the glow of flames dancing above the trees. Another fire burned close by the first one, but the flames were smaller and appeared to be tiring.

  "The forest is too wet to burn. That has to come from the town."

  "A fire. Enough shooting for a minor war."

  "We must hurry," Encizo said.

  With no further comment, he started through the dark forest again, avoiding trees and leaping small clumps of brush with unflagging energy, while James, less sure of himself, took longer strides to keep up.

  When they finally broke free of the trees, they found themselves on a slight knoll overlooking the town. The only road ran from their left into the main street with its short lineup of businesses, many of the buildings now being consumed in flames. One of the stores set off occasional fireworks, from which they assumed it was an ammunition storage place or a gun shop.

  "Well, I'll be damned." Calvin James walked another twenty yards to read the sign at the town entrance. "Cheyenne, Wyoming? That's crazy."

  "Exxon." Encizo pointed at the service station with the same amazement the other three Phoenix Force members had registered when they first viewed the replica of the American town.

  "McDonald's," James added. "And look at the houses. Ranches and tri-levels. A Dutch Colonial over there. And a church at the end of the street. No wonder the experts couldn't figure out what they were seeing from the spy satellites."

  "Which means it's not some local version of fantasyland for kids."

  "Katz and the other two must have set the fires. What do you think?"

  "Look at all the people in the streets. Hell, everybody in town must be on the move. To the north it looks like women mainly, all running for cover. And to the south… Do you see what I see?"

  "A lot of armed men."

  "They've formed a big circle and they're tightening the noose."

  Suddenly a house near the center of the circle exploded in flames, followed by a second and a third building. Three other homes were already burning.

  "That's gotta be Katz and Manning. Three houses. So McCarter must still be alive." James was in the lead now, walking openly toward the edge of town. "They must be trying to level the whole town. I wonder why?"

  "There's no 'why' to it. If Katz wants the place wrecked, that's the battle order for the day."

  "Yeah," James agreed.

  He stopped, though, when the men on the closing ring started shooting. Judging by the few tracers used and the direction of the flame spitting from the guns, it appeared the most recently lit houses were the targets.

  "They keep moving and shooting like that," Encizo said, "and they're mostly going to be hitting each other."

  "Not before our guys will be dead."

  "Katz isn't dying when he has reinforcement on the way."

  "What reinforcements?"

  "You and me."

  "Well, what do you want to do? Try a pincers movement? You attack from the left and I take the right."

  They fell silent as they considered a plan of action because they had come as near as they dared. To get closer, they needed an aggressive strategy.

  In the street, pockets of men fought the fires. But there was an Intourist bus which usually impressed tourists with its newness and cleanness, the same type of vehicle they had ridden on the morning of their arrival in Yalta. The bus rolled slowly through the main street. It turned at the church and rolled north. "Jesus," Encizo said. "You don't think there might be American tourists in that bus? Maybe we should be helping fight the fire."

  "It looks to me like Katz wants the town burned…"

  "Just the part on the south. There's nothing happening on the other side of the main street. So you got any ideas?"

  "Yeah, we free the rest of the team, level that part of town, and get as many of the Russians as we can before we start hitchhiking back to Yalta."

  "That's what I like," Encizo said. "A man with big ideas."

  * * *

  As Katz streaked from one burning house to another, his mind was whirring away. He remembered the aircraft he had seen when they had entered the town, and realized a possible way of escape. He motioned to his men and quickly told them his idea.

  "Yeah," McCarter said. "No more than two hundred and fifty pounds. Nothing but two bucket seats, lawnmower engine, and a couple of aluminum tubes to connect the fabric-covered wing to the tail. Hang gliders with wings. They're a ball to fly."

  "All right, we head for the airfield. We don't need a car to reach the airfield, but we can't head straight for it, or they'll close in on us fast."

  "Do we keep burning houses on the way out?" Manning asked.

  "Yes. But not in a straight line. We go out of here and start burning a larger and larger coil of houses. When we're as far from the airfield as we can get, we make a feint toward the car lot, then run like hell in the opposite direction."

  "Toward the airfield?"

  "It's not likely to work," Manning said.

  "Of course," Katz told him, "but that's exactly what we're going to try."

  12

  Calvin James and Encizo approached the service station with their hands in their pockets, trying to look nonchalant.

  "Keep her hard, guy," Calvin said for encouragement. "We may be burning like those houses in a minute."

  "No way, man," Encizo said.

  They smiled pleasantly at the armed guard who lowered his assault rifle and aimed at belly level.

  "Good morning," Calvin James said pleasantly in Russian, relying on what he'd picked up from the guidebook, then asked the man if he spoke English.

  The guard glared at them.

  "Yes, I speak the English good," he said in a threatening tone. At fifty years of age, he was the eldest man in the program. Earlier, Arnold Vulcan had accused him of joining merely as a means of eventually defecting to the West. The charge had been mistaken then, but it had become true. He hated Vulcan and Cheyenne, hated the Communist Party and even hated Russia. He especially resented being on the fringe of the battle. If he was not truly part of the ambitious plan, he should be home with his television, he thought sullenly. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing here? You are not one of us."

  He did not believe what he'd said and thought he was dealing with Vulcan's more actively involved agents, but he wanted to aggravate them.

  "We're just tourists," James continued as he and Encizo moved apart slowly. "We saw the flames and came running."

  "Vulcan sent you," the guard said. "To test me. I should shoot you both. He would have to say I passed the test."

  "Hey, friend, wait."

  "Stop. Do not move. I shoot."

  Calvin James raised his hands, "Hey, don't blame us. We came to help."

  "Righto, man," Encizo said. "A man who speaks good English like you should be in the United States. I know. I've been there."

  "Hah," the man said. "That's impossible."

  "We finish with the fire, and you can take off with us. You can be a stowaway on the ship we came in."

  "Stowaway? I do not know this word."

  Encizo took two steps toward the guard.

  "Wait. Stand still." The man with the gun was indecisive. His gun wavered slightly as he tried to keep both of them covered.

  "Relax," Encizo said, deliberately emphasizing his accent. "I am Cuban. I fought in the mountains with Fidel."

  "Angola," Calvin James said. He stepped to the nearest gas pump and removed a hose. "I was trained by Russian advisers."

  Encizo took a hose from another pump and raised the release lever. The indicators all moved to zero.

  "Put that down," the guard said nervously, and moved in closer.

  Encizo showed an open palm. "Ain't doin' nothin', guy."

  From behind the guard, Calvin James raised the nozzle of one pump and squeezed the handle. A stream of gasoline squirted out, drenching the man.

/>   He gasped from the unexpected cold shower and swung around ready to kill.

  Encizo called from behind. "No amigo. The gasoline. It explodes. You burn."

  Calvin James aimed for the Russian's face and got him full-on.

  Cursing and yelling in Russian, the guard wiped his eyes with one hand to put a stop to the stinging agony.

  He still had his finger on the trigger and was trying to see his target.

  Calvin stepped away from in front of the muzzle.

  "Careful with that gun. One spark and you're fried chicken."

  "You'll die, too. You'll…"

  "I think we're dead anyway. Better give me the gun."

  "Nyet! Nyet"

  "So shoot me, then." James put out his hand slowly and took the rifle while dousing the Russian with another shower of gasoline.

  The guard bellowed something in Russian, and the Phoenix force pair recognized the anguished call for help.

  "Oh-oh," Calvin James exclaimed as he spotted three Russians with guns running toward the gas station in answer to the screaming man's call.

  "Think fast," Encizo said.

  James did. "Step back, point the gun at our human torch as if we're holding him prisoner. Wave them up here as if we need them urgently."

  The man between them had slumped to his knees and was tottering from the effect of the fumes.

  "I hope you know what you're doing."

  "I do."

  James laid a hose on the ground and squeezed the handle, setting the holding device at the same time. A stream of gasoline poured over the concrete and down into the street.

  Encizo followed suit. Before the other Russians arrived, sloshing through the stream of gasoline, the Phoenix Force detachment had four hoses going, and Calvin had entered the cashier's booth where he found the matches he needed.

  Back outside, he found Encizo with three disarmed Russians drenched in gasoline. The Cuban grinned with pride. His captives, however, stared fearfully at the man now unconscious on the ground. His hands were still locked over his eyes.

  "Do any of you speak English?" James asked.

  "Yes," one said. "What kind of monsters are you?" he asked. "Would you really burn us to death?"