Return From the Inferno (39 page)

That was all it took. A second later what was left of the crowd of 10,000 went into an immediate hysterical panic.

Not two seconds later, "Yaz" was up and over the side of the Great Ship and swimming like mad for the far shore.

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Not unexpectedly, many of the Fourth Reich troops surrendered as soon as the main assault force of Chieftain tanks rumbled up to the southern edge of the city. The New Jersey, having anchored itself ten miles down river to disgorge the gun barges, was now systematically pounding the city's major military installations with its monstrous guns, laying waste to the heart of the Fourth Reich's murderous empire. Dozens of the city's command officers-including Zweite and Erste-took the coward's way out by delivering bullets to their own heads, rather than risk capture by the small but advancing United American Army. Hundreds of foot soldiers followed suit, exposing one more symptom of the rotten system collapsing from within.

Hunter was all over the skies for the final battle, sighting targets for the New Jersey's big guns, positioning the squadrons of Chieftain tanks rumbling through the broken, burning city, and carrying out several attacks whenever any of the UA forces met up against some particularly fanatical resistance.

All the while huge Free Canadian C-5s were landing at the Fuhrerstadt airport-many, like Jones's converted gunship-had been roaming the skies for the past handful of hours, hitting targets of opportunity with their multi-canister weapons dispensers. Guided by the bright luminescent "W painted across its main runway, the C-5s had originally refueled at the former NS

helicopter base down near Laurelsburg, Mississippi which Hunter had so expertly attacked earlier in the lightning-333

quick river campaign. Now their cargo bays were filled with troops-many of them United American officers and men formerly held at Dragon's Mouth who had ridden out of Bundeswehr Four with everyone else on board the big cargo planes a full day before the Nazis knew what was going on. Now many had regained their strength to the point that they came back to take part in the liberation of the city. It was befitting then that many of these men were charged with escorting the thousands of surrendering Nazi troops back to the hated Drache Mund prison, where they would now have the chance to switch the roles of prisoner and jailkeeper.

Hunter had landed quickly at the airport, speaking briefly with Jones while his jump jet was getting refueled. There was one surprise that both were glad did not happen. They had not expected much in the way of Fourth Reich air opposition simply because the majority of the Luftwaffe planes had been disabled up at Bundeswehr Four. The others-those stationed at Fuhrerstadt and smaller bases surrounding the city-had simply vanished. Their pilots wanted no part of the battle once word had spread that the United America-and Hawk Hunter himself-were alive and kicking.

The unpleasant surprise that never came was an air attack by the missing US

Navy air wing that had so devastated the United Americans a year ago near the beaches of northern Florida. When Hunter originally attacked the aircraft carrier, the airplanes were not there. In fact, they never returned to the carrier after the Florida air raid-and no one knew where they were. Not even he.

But he and Jones agreed that it was a problem to deal with later.

For the moment, the battle for the capital of Nazi America had to finished.

It was three in the afternoon by the time the UA forces had completely surrounded the Reichstag.

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The fighting had raged house-to-house for the past hour, determined UA troops battling the last of the ultra-fanatical Fuhrerstadt Home Guards. The outcome was never really in question though, and as the sun began to dip in the sky, the last remaining Nazi soldiers holed-up inside the Reichstag found themselves looking out on hundreds of UA tanks and thousands of UA soldiers.

So many of the Nazi troopers were shooting themselves and each other, it sounded like a gun battle within a gun battle.

Hunter had set the Harrier down in a field two blocks from the Reichstag, and now, crouched in a bomb crater with Captain Jim Cook and the men from JAWs, he prepared for the final assault on the last Nazi stronghold.

Coordinating their actions with the local UA commanders, Hunter, Cook and six other troopers quietly went through a small fence just east of the Reichstag's main gate, and soon gained the side of the huge building itself. They were all but certain that the Amerikafuhrer himself was hiding inside. It was essential that he be taken alive, for only he could order all of his troops to surrender and thus end further bloodshed.

Checking the ammo on their identical M-16s, Hunter and Cook went through a ground-floor window of the Reichstag and found themselves in the Amerikafuhrer's personal kitchen. It was filled not with the finest cuisine, but with cases of old, but apparently well-preserved junk food of every imaginable type.

"The kid must have quite a sweet tooth," Hunter said, surveying the hundreds of boxes of cupcakes, cookies and candy. "His dentist could have been a millionaire."

"What dentist isn't?" Cook replied.

They moved slowly out of the kitchen and into a hallway. The place was absolutely silent-it was as if no one was home. Occasionally an explosion off in the distance would rattle the place, and inevitably it would be followed by a series of single gunshots-more Nazis taking the easy way out.

They made their way to the front hallway of the place, and 335

after meeting no opposition, simply unlocked the massive steel front doors and opened them. An advance unit of Football City Rangers was waiting outside.

Hunter gave them the thumbs-up signal and the troopers began pouring into the place. It was quite a sight to see, and Hunter felt a tinge of pride in his chest. One last proviso in his plan within a plan was that the Reichstag be retaken by men from Football City. It seemed very appropriate in a way.

Now that had been done. All that was left was to find the Amerikafuhrer.

The young girl named Bridgett had painted throughout the battle.

Her ears were oblivious to all the noise outside the Reichstag, and she hadn't bothered to look out the window since emerging from the extended myx dream hours before.

Now her painting was very close to completion. She had seen it all in the strange, intoxicated dream-the missing pieces had come to her like some great religious revelation.

It was an experience she would never forget.

Dabbing her brush into a last puddle of blue, she made three quick strokes and then stood back from the easel.

"My God," she said. "I think it's finally done."

It was done. As before, the painting showed the snowy mountaintop, the masses of angry gray clouds and the modern city near the lake burning in the background. But the last element she had added-the one that had come to her in the myjc-induced dream-had turned the rather unusual scene into one fraught with mystery, at least for her.

What she had added was the form of a jet fighter. It was delta-shaped, painted mostly in white with red tips on the wings and a blue streak down the center of the fuselage. She had no idea where the image of the futuristic airplane had come from-she'd never seen one like it before. But to her mind, it fit, teetering on the peak of the snowy mountain though it was.

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"I shall call it 'A Future Discovery,'" she declared. "Do you like it?"

She turned toward the young blond man cowering in the corner.

"It's very good," the Amerikafuhrer said, his thin lips trembling. "I think my great, great, grand-uncle was a painter once . . ."

A minute later, the door to the girl's chamber exploded inward, courtesy of Hunter's well-placed boot. He and Cook led a squad of seven Football City Rangers into the huge room.

Everyone had their rifle up and ready, but there really was no cause to start shooting. The young girl had hidden away her painting, and now simply sat passively before her empty easel. The Amerikafuhrer was still cringing in the near corner.

"Please don't kill us," the young man pleaded. "We're just kids. . ."

Hunter walked over to the Nazi leader and yanked him to his feet. He looked deep into his eyes, trying to find the reason behind the hate that this punk stood for. What came back surprised him: the Amerikafuhrer was right. He was just a kid. Barely old enough to drink, never mind control an empire.

But age was no excuse. There were millions of kids younger than he who had more guts, more smarts, more human character than this poor excuse for a human being.

"You better start growing up right now," Hunter growled at him. "Because like it or not, you've just become a man."

Ten minutes later, all fighting in and around the Reichstag had stopped.

The last of the defending Fourth Reich troops either surrendered or shot themselves. In the end it really didn't make much difference anyway.

Hunter, Jones, Cook and the rest of the UA and FC commanders had gathered in the Reichstag's huge communications room. The other guys from JAWs had erected a temporary but powerful antenna on the roof of the Nazi headquarters, replacing the one that had been blown off in the early fighting. Now the Amerikafuhrer was sitting at the microphone, broadcasting out to All Fourth Reich installations on the American continent via the one-channel propaganda station known as Volksradio.

His message was clear: all Fourth Reich troops were to lay down their arms and destroy them immediately. Then they were to wait until local American forces-be they militiamen, regular UA units, or even armed citizens-arrived to take control. The attack on the place called Riesespeisenhaus-'the giant food house"-insured that much of the southern-tier states would soon be under control of American citizens who would be able to get arms and much-needed food from the warehouses there. In the north, the Free Canadian army was moving in to take temporary control of the major cities. The transfer of power out in the isolated western states would take longer.

As soon as the Amerikafuhrer was finished repeating the broadcast a tenth time, he was yanked out of his chair, shackled and led away. Plans called for him to be thrown in with the thousands of other Fourth Reich prisoners at the Drache Mund to await trial.

Once the Amerikafuhrer was gone, the radio was used to broadcast news of the Fourth Reich's defeat up to Free Canada and other outlying UA units.

Old pros at reclaiming their oft-embattled city, the Football City Rangers immediately established some sense of normalcy and calm after the stunning American victory. Their leader, a man named Louie St. Louie, was reported already on his way out of hiding to retake the reins of the city which he had built up into a highly successful if notorious postwar gambling mecca.

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"They'll be filling the casinos in two month's time, Hunter said to Jones after hearing that St. Louie was on his way home.

That was when the bad news arrived.

It came in the form of an urgent radio message from Cook's guys. They'd broken into a secret room located in an isolated wing of the Reichstag. They'd found two people inside. One of them was demanding to talk to Hunter.

He and Cook ran out of the communications office and reached the area in question within a minute. Cook's main guys-Maas, Snyder, Higgens and Clancy-had sealed off the entire corridor, and were now in their flak jackets and heavy helmets.

"There's a dame in there who's claiming she's got her finger on a pretty big button," Maas told Hunter. "She says she wants to talk to you or she'll blow us all to Kingdom Come."

"And you believe her?" Hunter asked the JAWs commando.

"Just take a look, Hawk," Maas replied.

Hunter walked slowly over to the room and carefully took a look inside.

Stretched out on a long sofa, completely naked, was Elizabeth Sandlake. At her feet was a very unconscious Juanita Juarez, deep into a myx-coma.

Elizabeth was fondling a small radiophone which Hunter immediately recognized as a CommStar sender/receiver. Proper use of this high-tech device meant instantaneous communication with just about any spot in the world, via a CommStar satellite.

After taking quick note of radiophone, Hunter lowered his gun and took two steps inside.

"We meet again," he said to her.

She looked up and saw him for the first time.

"Good God," she exclaimed. "You really are alive."

She insanely began fondling her own breasts. "And you came to see me," she cooed.

"Where's Dominique?" he demanded of her.

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The strange, sex-starved smile immediately left Elizabeth's face.

"I am here, waiting for you ... wanting you," she cried. "And you ask me about her?"

Hunter took two more steps toward her. She was nuts-dangerously nuts. And one burst from his M-16 would have saved a lot of people a lot of grief.

But he never for a moment considered killing her.

"I figure you are the only one left who would know," he said, his voice reflecting his growing anger.

"If I tell you, will you make love to me?" Elizabeth asked, returning to her coquettish mode.

Hunter just shook his head. She was once one of the most talented archaeologists in the world. Her madness was born when the Nazis of the Twisted Cross kept her inside the dark caves of Central America for many weeks at a time, forcing her to help them find hidden Inca gold. So twisted had her mind become that here she was, not three years later, working with another gang of fascist super-thugs.

"You need help," he said, his eyes wandering slightly up and down her admittedly beautiful body. "Just tell me where Dominique is..."

Elizabeth shrugged her lovely, naked shoulders and began seductively stroking her inner thighs.

"That fool Thorgils is the only one who knows where your precious girlfriend wound up," she said almost nonchalantly.

"Thorgils is dead," Hunter told her.

She smiled at him, absolutely devilishly. "So you are out of luck, Mister Big American Hero," she mocked him. "But it really doesn't make any difference.