Thunder in the East

by Maloney, Mack;

  Within a minute of the first gunplay, Hunter and the United American team were in control of Bolling Air Force Base.

  “These guys perverted enough for you?” Dozer asked Hunter as the team members disposed of The Circle soldiers’ bodies.

  “They give perversion a bad name,” Hunter said, watching the two rescued girls climb back into their Dominique get-ups. “Let’s get Stagg up here and contact the other two Hercs. At least we know they’ll have a smoother landing than we did …”

  Twenty minutes later, the two trailing Hercs came in to perfect lights-off landings. Quickly, some of the troopers inside dispersed their heavy equipment to strategic points around the air base, while others went in search of Circle weapons and uniforms that the strike team would be able to use.

  Ninety minutes after the first C-130 plowed in to the messy sand landing, a force of 35 UA troopers was driving out of the base in three captured Circle trucks. The first part of their bold mission was accomplished; now phase two had begun.

  Hunter was in the lead truck with Dozer and Stagg. Two officers from Dozer’s famed 7th Cavalry were commanding trucks number two and number three. The tiny convoy split up as soon as it reached the Suitland Parkway. Hunter’s truck and number two crossed the bridge over the Potomac, while the third vehicle continued northward.

  Each truck had a target: one of the trio of radar stations that made up the Circle’s DC radar net. Truck 3 would be responsible for taking over the large tracking facility up on Mt. Ranier, northeast of the city. The group in Truck 2 would divert to the south and capture the radar station at Fort McNair, which was adjacent to the old Washington Navy Yard.

  Hunter’s team was assigned to the toughest nut of all—the mobile three-array system the Circle had installed on top of the old Watergate Building.

  They boldly drove right through the heart of downtown DC, the few guards they saw routinely waving them along. The reports they’d received from Yaz and Shane had been correct, even understated. The entire District area seemed to be a jumble of Circle military vehicles, abandoned tractor trailers and clumps of civilians—sleeping everywhere.

  “This is the POW syndrome,” Hunter said to Dozer and Stagg as he steered them along the streets of the capital. “There are probably ten or twenty civvies for every Circle guard, yet no one has the will to resist, the morale is so low.”

  Dozer shook his head. “It’s amazing what happens when you imagine someone has a gun to your head, twenty-four hours a day. You resign yourself to your fate. Your life is in someone else’s hands …”

  “All it takes is a spark …” Hunter said.

  They drove down Constitution Avenue and saw for the first time the incredible tower of books The Circle had constructed. The smell of gasoline was everywhere. They pretended not to notice and kept driving. Past the Elipse, past the OAS Building and past the Federal Reserve.

  But it was near the old Viet Nam Memorial that Hunter saw a sight that really made his blood start to boil.

  Out on the field near the black sunken wall, there was a large pile, similar to the books and other items they’d seen stacked along the way. But this pile was different: It was about 25 feet high and square. To the normal eye the colors looked all jumbled together in the early morning light. But Hunter saw right through the dark haze like a laser beam. The colors were reds, whites and blues. It was an enormous pile of flags—American flags.

  His breath caught in his throat. The Stars and Stripes had been banned from America by the New Order—in fact, it was the first edict to come down after the war. Being caught carrying the flag meant that the person could be shot on sight with a huge reward going to the killer. With no shortage of bounty hunters roaming the country these days, it was no surprise that hardly anyone carried an American flag anymore.

  Except Hunter …

  He reached up and touched his pocket and felt the reassuring folds of the flag he always carried with him. Wrapped inside was the dog-eared photograph of his lovely and lost Dominique—but he managed to shake away that thought for the time being. Instead he concentrated on the pile of flags.

  “They’re going to have a flag-burning,” he said almost to himself but quite aloud. “The bastards are going to burn all of those flags over there …”

  “Son of a bitch,” Dozer said. “That’s as bad as torching the books.”

  Stagg strained his eyes to look closer at the pile as they drove by. “Look at the big one next to the pile,” he said. “Isn’t that the one that used to hang off the Iwo Jima Monument?”

  “Yes it is,” Hunter said, his voice betraying quiet rage. “It’s one of the largest in Washington and these bastards are going to desecrate it.”

  Hunter felt an urge to stop the truck and gather up as many of the flags as possible, but he knew it would be suicide, even if he could bluff his way through anyone who might see them.

  Stick to the plan, he kept telling himself. Just stick to the plan …

  His anger somewhat in check, he took a right onto 23rd Avenue and was soon pulling up in front of the infamous Watergate complex.

  “Such an ugly building,” Stagg said, looking at the wavy construction that seemed to have no beginning, no end, no structure, and little function. “Wonder what the rental rates are these days?”

  “Cheap, I would guess,” Dozer said.

  Hunter could see the three large radar dishes spinning on the south side of the building’s roof. There were also several anti-aircraft batteries installed nearby.

  “They look like they’re prepared for company,” Hunter said, noting the twin Bofors AA guns. “They’ve probably got a couple SAMs up there, too.”

  There were two guards at the main entrance, and several more inside. Dozer whispered a command back through the window of the captured deuce and a half troop truck to the 15 soldiers in the rear. They quietly got ready.

  “Here goes nothing,” Hunter said, slowly getting out of the cab of the truck. He was dressed in a standard Circle Army captain uniform. In his pocket was a squirt gun …

  Both guards saluted him as he approached. “My guys are here to rewire one of the arrays,” he said, trying to keep a straight face. “Can you help us carry our equipment up to the roof?”

  Both guards unquestioningly nodded and moved to the back of the truck. They were instantly taken up inside and disposed of.

  By this time, Dozer and Stagg were standing next to him, each one wearing a Circle Army officer’s uniform.

  “So far, so good,” Dozer said.

  The three of them brazenly walked into the building’s lobby where they were met by three junior officers of the guard.

  “Can I help you, sirs?” one of the men asked them, a suspicious look written across his face.

  “Yeah, we’re lost,” Hunter told him. “We’re on our way to the Capitol Building. Which way is it?”

  The officer turned to his two comrades for help. “The streets in this town are really crazy,” one of them said. “Let me see now, if you take New Hampshire Avenue over to Pennsylvania …”

  The man was surprised to see Hunter take the squirt gun out of his pocket. “What is this, a gag?”

  “Good guess,” Hunter said squirting all three of them in the face.

  The trio was unconscious before they hit the ground, silent victims of Hunter’s homemade knockout potion of chlorine and etherized ammonia.

  “Boy that stuff really works,” Dozer said as the three men crumpled like marionettes without strings. “But it sure does stink …”

  “Oh God, is that the truth …” Hunter said, coughing from the fumes. “I think I made it a little too strong …”

  All three of them were gagging as they signaled the rest of the troopers to get into the lobby. Soon they had commandeered three elevators and were quickly rising to the top of the building.

  Hunter stopped his lift at the floor just under the penthouse, and the troopers in the other elevators did the same. Using hand signals, they quietly moved t
oward the stairs, taping the access doors behind them, so as not to set off any alarms.

  Hunter was the first to reach the top floor, and he quietly opened the access door a crack and peeked in. There was a pair of penthouse suites on the top level. A tangle of wires ran in through two large glass doors, these no doubt leading up to the roof and to the radar dishes. He scanned the inside of the penthouse itself and finally saw the three control boards for the radar sets were installed right next to a large bar and couch pit.

  Reclined inside this pit were six Circle soldiers—radar operators who were doing anything but watching their scopes. Instead, just like their compadres back at Bolling, they were passing around two young girls.

  “These guys are unbelievable,” he whispered to Dozer and Stagg as they joined in looking out of the crack in the door. “Did any of them have normal upbringings?”

  Two flash grenades and six shots later, the Circle soldiers were dead, and two more young girls were liberated.

  The troopers accompanying them quickly went into action. Some took up guard positions while others started fiddling around with the radar sets. The controls were Soviet in manufacture, but the PAAC guys could operate them nevertheless.

  “Typical Russian set-up,” Hunter said studying the hardware. “Three main radar set-ups, set for triangulation. The main bases coordinate data and send it to their AA and SAM teams, as well as their air traffic controllers at National.”

  “Well, if the other units were as successful as this,” Stagg said, “then we’ll be controlling all the main radar sets in the city.”

  Hunter nodded. “That’s the idea …” he said.

  CHAPTER 69

  BY THE TIME HUNTER, Dozer and Stagg arrived back at Bolling, the sun was coming up.

  Already two United American C-141 transports had arrived, they being routinely cleared to land by “other voices” in the Bolling control tower and guided unhindered through the air space by the UA troops now manning the Circle radar sets.

  But although things had gone smoothly so far, Hunter knew they would have to work very quickly. According to the latest information from Yaz and Shane, the Circle demonstration was scheduled to start just after noon. This was when a high-level Circle official was to light the match to set fire to the towering spiral of books and thereby begin the holocaust which would destroy a large piece of America.

  Two more C-141s came in as Hunter was taking the stairs two at a time up to the control tower, Dozer and Stagg on his heels. He was glad to see General Jones sitting at the main control panel, personally directing the big planes in for landings.

  “I guess we have to assume that the other two trucks reached their objectives,” Hunter said to Jones.

  “Affirmative, Hawk,” the man replied. “But I just hope they can carry out the ruse long enough for us to get set. I mean, eventually, someone’s going to come to relieve those radar teams and boom! the game is up.”

  “We’ll be ready before then,” Hunter assured him. “We’ll send out some choppers once they get here to pull those guys out if need be.”

  Their attention was turned back to the large radar screen in front of them.

  “Five more blips,” he said. “The rest of the C-141s, I hope.”

  Jones did a double-check and nodded. “It’s them,” he said. “Once they’re down we’ll have close to a battalion of the paratroopers here …”

  Stagg whistled. “Nine hundred guys against, what? twenty—thirty thousand Circle troops? You guys do like to bet long-shots, don’t you?”

  “It’s like a second nature to us now,” Hunter replied.

  Three more blips appeared and then the screen was clear.

  “Those will be the last of our supply C-130s,” Jones said. “Once they come in, just about the whole party will be here, at least for the opening bell.”

  Their plan was an involved and complicated one. First of all they intended to move on Washington with the 900 paratroopers and at least disrupt the demonstration for as long as possible. It was simply a time-delaying tactic: the main bulk of the United American force was barreling down Route 81 from Syracuse at the moment, all of the UA’s available aircraft—fighters and fighter-bombers, the attack planes, even one of the two C-5s—clearing away any opposition in front of them. It was a 400-mile trip, moving upwards of 30,000 men in a convoy made up of everything and anything that could move. Hunter and Jones knew it would take at least 20 hours for the first elements to reach the DC area under the best of circumstances. But they also knew they couldn’t wait that long. The priceless icons of American culture would just be cinders when the troops arrived. So this pre-emptive action was necessary in an effort—although a slim one—to buy some time.

  “How long do you estimate it will take to walk the paratroopers over to DC?” Jones asked Dozer.

  The Marine captain thought for a moment. “Assuming those MiGs over at National leave us alone, I think they could double-time it in less than two hours,” he said. “But they won’t be ready to move out for at least another ninety minutes.”

  Jones checked his watch. “It’s eight now,” he said. “That puts us in DC at eleven thirty. That will still be cutting it close.”

  “Do you think we have to make some noise before that?” Hunter asked Jones. “A pre- pre-emptive action?”

  Jones nodded slowly. “I think we do,” he said somberly. “We have to distract them. Get them riled up, let ’em know we’re in the area.”

  “But they’re smart enough to know we’re not going to launch an air strike against them,” Dozer said. “Then we’d be doing their bloody work for them, torching everything in sight …”

  Hunter was looking down on the runway, watching a Blackhawk helicopter being pulled out of the back of one of the recently arrived C-130s. The sun was fully up now, and he could see some movement at the enemy base at National, just across the river. Amazingly enough, no one over there had paid any attention to what was going on just across the river from them.

  “I have an idea,” Hunter said suddenly. “If we just want to shake them a little. But I’ll need that chopper down there. And two volunteers …”

  CHAPTER 70

  YAZ AND SHANE WERE huddled together at the edge of Lafayette Park. Most of the rest of the 25 undercover Rangers were close by, as were a newly arrived contingent of Circle Army guards.

  It was 10:30 A.M., just 90 minutes before “The Cleansing” was about to start.

  “Maybe they were caught,” Yaz was saying. “Maybe they were just plain found out when the first airplane came in and that was it.”

  Shane shook his head, as much as to shake away his own concerns as anything else. “You know these guys,” he said. “Hunter. Jones. Dozer. They won’t, stop at anything. None of them will … Believe me, even if those three are lying in a ditch dead somewhere, they made back-up plans, you can be sure of that. We just have to sit tight and see what happens.”

  Yaz looked around him. There was a tension in the air so thick, he could feel it in his bones. About ten minutes earlier some Circle guards got trigger happy and shot down two elderly men and a woman. For little reason. The brutal deaths had swept a wave of fear through the tired, battered and beaten civilians. Despite Shane’s brave words, Yaz felt a cloud of despair forming over them all at that moment.

  Suddenly, they heard an unusual sound …

  “Is that a chopper?” Yaz asked Shane, scanning the sky directly above them.

  “Can’t be,” the Ranger leader replied. “I ain’t seen a Circle chopper since the battle out in Nebraska …”

  Yet the noise was getting closer and it sounded like the unmistakable whup-whup-whup of chopper blades.

  Then Yaz saw an amazing sight. Just beyond them, over near the White House, there was another large group of civilians. They could see something he, Shane and the others could not.

  And they were cheering …

  “Look at those people!” Yaz said to Shane.

  The crowd was up
and jumping and pointing up to the sky. The Circle guards surrounding them waded through the crowd, battering anyone standing back to their knees with the butts of their rifles. Yet, try as they might, they could not stop the people from jumping up and cheering.

  “What the hell is going on?” Shane asked.

  Now more people nearer to them were doing the same thing. Jumping up, pointing to the sky and cheering—full-lunged wailing …

  All the while the chopper noise was getting nearer. Even more people were screaming, yelling, crying for joy. The cheers turned into a roar, even drowning out the noise of the helicopter.

  “This is weird …” Shane said. Because of their location it seemed like everyone but them could see something approaching in the air. Whatever it was, it had suddenly rejuvenated the listless, defeated, demoralized crowd. A spark of life was now running through them …

  Then Yaz saw it.

  It was still a way off, but it was unmistakable. Shane and the other Rangers finally saw it too.

  “Five bags of gold says that’s Hunter up there!” Shane yelled above the ever-increasing roar.

  They all watched—Yaz feeling a dozen emotions ripping through him. He was joyful to the point of tears, angry at The Circle to the point of murder …

  Within ten seconds the helicopter was right over them. The Circle guards started shooting at it, but they knew it was no use. Nothing short of a SAM could bring it down. Yaz found himself cheering and laughing with the hundreds—now thousands—of other captured civilians.

  They were proud citizens all who saw the Blackhawk helicopter fly over—towing the huge American flag behind it …

  CHAPTER 71

  AS FREQUENTLY WAS THE case, the overall Circle Army Commander for Washington—five star General Zolly Budd—was the last to learn that an enemy aircraft was flying through his airspace.

  “He’s pulling a what?” Budd screamed into radio microphone.

  Riding beside him in his staff car was the Soviet general in charge of Psych-Ops for America, and a lieutenant general of the Spetsnaz. They had been on their way for an inspection tour of the book tower when Budd received the report of the strange helicopter buzzing the capital.