The Lucifer Crusade (41 page)

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born to be free. Many brave men died today fighting for that idea, Viktor.

Many men died when you unleashed The Circle War. And many men died when the Big War was started, I have no doubt, by your countrymen. Or is it 'former'

countrymen, Viktor?"

"Don't stand and preach to me, you flag-waving son of a bitch," Viktor just about screamed at him, a slight hint of a Russian accent creeping into his voice. "What the hell do you have to be so proud about? Your leaders weren't the most honorable men who have walked the earth - "

"Screw 'em," Hunter said. "The difference is that in the USA, when we catch the crooks, they go to jail. In your country, the crooks stay in power and the innocent people go to jail."

Viktor shook his head. "Hunter," he said slowly. "It's the question of power you don't understand. Who else can project their face across hundreds of miles? Defeat entire armies without firing a shot? Who else on earth could have turned that babbling idiot Peter into something from your worst nightmare? Don't you realize the control I have over men's souls?"

"Don't even try to bullshit me, Viktor," Hunter said sharply, cutting him off.

"You're dead wrong. You might be able to control men's minds-with trickery, hypnotism, and laser beams. But you cannot control their souls. All those brave soldiers who died today, fighting to stop your evil -you may have tried to spook them, but they carried on, didn't they? They may have been scared, but in their souls they recognized you for what you are: a bloodthirsty terrorist. Nothing more."

Viktor shook his head, troubled that he was losing the debate. "Ah, Hunter,"

he said, stroking his

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devilish beard. "You are just untemptable. It's just too bad we don't think alike. Together we could - "

Hunter held up his hand, raising the M-16 with the other. "Don't even say it.

I'd rather be brain-dead than think like you. Anyone who would kill, maim, and uproot as many people as you have doesn't even deserve the justice you'll get back in America."

Viktor laughed again. "But, Hunter," he began, "as a military man you should know that I was just following orders - "

Suddenly, a shot rang out. Viktor's throat exploded in a burst of blood and bones. He was, stunned. He held up his hands to his throat and looked at his own blood. Then another shot hit him, right in the center of the back, exiting through his breast bone. He looked at Hunter, shook his head feebly, then fell face down in the sand at Hunter's feet. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Hunter immediately hit the dirt. Someone had shot Viktor from the back. He looked out over the dune and saw a vehicle parked about a half-mile away, with two uniformed men standing near it. One was holding what appeared to be a rifle with a long telescopic lens.

Hunter reached down into his flight-suit pants leg pocket and pulled out the small pair of binoculars he always kept there. He put them to his eyes and focused just as the two men were climbing into the truck.

They were wearing brown uniform shirts and dark brown pants with desert boots and chaps. Each man was wearing some kind of military-issue pith helmet.

Hunter strained to take in more about the men.

Then he saw it ...

It was an emblem, displayed on an armband both men wore. A red circle, with a particularly twisted

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design inside. Despite the raging heat, Hunter felt an ice-cold chill run through him. That emblem . . .

"It's a goddamn swastika . . ." he whispered, not wanting to believe it.

As he watched, the two men drove off in the opposite direction. He followed the truck through the binoculars until it disappeared over the eastern horizon.

"Nazis?" he asked himself. Then he looked at Viktor. The dead man's body was exuding blood that was quickly soaking the loose sand beneath it.

"Were they gunning for him?" Hunter asked himself, looking at the body. "Or me?"

He trudged back to the crippled F-16, and was surprised to hear the radio crackling. It was just about the only thing that still worked in the plane's cockpit, and that was only because it powered directly off the 16's batteries.

"Hunter, Hunter, Hunter, F-16, come in ..."

He recognized the voice. It was Crunch. Hunter reached into the shattered cockpit and retrieved his flight microphone. "Hunter here . . ." he said, wearily. "Go ahead, Crunch . . ."

"Hawk, Jeezuz, where the hell are you, buddy?"

Hunter looked around. "Beats me," he said. "Out in the middle of the desert somewhere."

"Are you okay? Did you catch Public Enemy Number One?"

"Viktor's dead ..." Hunter replied, not quite believing his own words.

The radio crackled. "Dead?" Crunch too was surprised. "Sounds like a long story."

"It is . . ." Hunter answered, the image of the swastika emblazoned in his mind.

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"I can't wait to hear all about it," Crunch went on. "But first, we've got to come and get you."

"Take your time," Hunter said, watching the sun go down. "I'm not going anywhere. Plus we'll need a heavy lift chopper. My airplane is slightly bent out of shape."

"Serious damage?" Crunch asked.

Hunter looked over the battered F-16. "Nothing that can't be fixed," he said, managing a proud smile.

"Well, look, Hawk," Crunch continued. "We cleaned up this mess here at Ismailia. Greased all the* Hinds and sank both those battlewagons. Saved a lot of people on the western bank too. A couple of platoons of Football City paratroopers jumped in and they're helping the Aussies and the Gurkhas take care of the wounded. We were able to set the planes down about a hundred miles west of the Canal."

A three-second-long burst of static interrupted the F-4 pilot temporarily. It cleared up and he continued. "Anyway, Hawk. I have some good news for you.

First of all, we found one friend of yours, a guy named Yaz. He's alive."

Hunter shook his head in an effort to clear it out. "Yaz? Alive?"

"Yep, he's beat up but safe," Crunch reported. "We found him floating down the Canal in a big, old wooden box. He must have been tossed into the water when the carrier went up and grabbed on to it . . ."

Wooden box? Hunter thought. It had to be the wooden box Peter used to sleep in. How strange that the decrepit piece of pine would turn out to be Yaz's salvation.

"Anyone else?" Hunter asked. "Any more of the British officers from the Saratoga!"

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"No, Hawk," Crunch reported. "A lot of soldiers and sailors. Some Italians.

Frenchmen, Spanish. Quite a few Americans. All those women you guys had on board are safe. Three of the frigates made it and that guy Olson will pull through. But all the Englishmen are gone, I'm afraid. No sign of O'Brien, the Irishman, either ..."

Hunter felt a pang of sadness rip through him. He wasn't surprised to hear they had all perished. But now the reality was setting in. He knew he'd miss them all terribly.

"Another piece of good news, Hawk," Crunch went on. "The advance elements of The Modern Knights landed at the northern end of the Canal just a little while ago . . ."

Suddenly a major burst of static interrupted the transmission. It took more than a minute of Hunter twisting dials before the connection was weakly reestablished.

"Hawk?" Crunch said, his voice growing very faint. "Hawk, I'm losing this signal. Look, switch on your air-sea-rescue indicator. We got an AWACs with us and we'll pick you up when it gets light again. Okay?"

"Sure," Hunter said, reaching underneath his cockpit seat to retrieve the small air-sea-rescue blackbox. He pushed its sensor button and it immediately began to hum.

"We've already got a lock on you, Hawk," Crunch said, his voice fading out for good. "Stay warm, pal, and we'll see you first thing in the morning."

"Okay, Crunch," he said. "Thanks. Over and out . . ."

Now he was truly alone.

It was already getting cold. He felt his mind start to flood with questions, emotions. But he quickly,

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calmly blocked it all out. He was too tired to wrestle with it all right now.

The time to think about it all would come later, he told himself, staring into the brilliant desert sunset.

With that, he climbed into the F-16's shattered cockpit, and cleared the seat of all debris. He unfolded the large American flag Yaz had given him and wrapped it around himself to keep warm.

Then he lay his head back and went to sleep.

The end...?