shield; even if it didn't, at least Riggs would have the satisfaction of gunning the world's most famous pilot out of the sky.
It was Fitzgerald who first noticed the squadron of Voodoos heading straight for Hunter's Harrier.
Trying his best to get the train's air defense radar system working inside the battered Control car, he saw twelve blips rising up about fifteen miles from the train.
Determining that they were heading right for the train, Fitz quickly radioed a warning to the United American jets.
But Hunter had already sensed the approach of the Klansman fleet. Low on missiles, he had been getting ready to land for a final re-arming. But there was no time for that now.
He would have to make the most of his two remaining
Sidewinders. JT and Ben Wa quickly came up in the rear of the enemy force and started picking off the trailing F101 's, but the first wave came straight at Hunter. And they were prepared for the Harrier's aerial escape tactics; two of the Voodoos were flying slightly higher than the Harrier, the other two were slightly low, waiting for whichever way Hunter went.
So the Wingman simply stopped the Harrier in midair.
The two Voodoos on top shot past their target before they realized what had happened. One of the two pilots underneath tried to slow down enough to get a shot but only succeeded in getting his jet rammed by an F-101 charging rapidly from the rear.
Riggs, who was flying one of the Voodoos that had taken the higher route, swore into his radio.
"That sneaky son of a bitch," he cursed through gritting teeth. Then he hit his radio SEND button. "You boys stay out here and cover me, I'm going to double back and get on his tail until I nail him good!"
Meanwhile, Hunter had used one of his two remaining
missiles to good advantage, destroying one F-101 with a close-in shot and seriously damaging another with his Aden cannons. His flying buddies also had been busy, and now only Riggs and three other Voodoos were left.
While the other F-101's kept JT and Ben Wa busy, the leader of the Klansmen continued his determined assault on Hunter.
Several times he had Hunter in his sights and fired, only to have the Harrier dodge out of the way. Hunter, meanwhile, was carefully maneuvering for one clear shot with his last
Sidewinder.
Despite the superior speed of the Voodoo, the Wingman was totally frustrating Riggs by avoiding everything the Klansman could throw at him. And as he ducked and dived all over the sky, he slowly led Riggs closer and closer to a tiny gap in the canyon wall just ahead of the two airplanes. As Riggs fired still another cannon barrage, Hunter and the Harrier disappeared into the shadows of that narrow passageway.
Just in time, Riggs pulled the Voodoo up and over the canyon wall. Cursing, he looked below, into the darkened gap where Hunter had flown, but he couldn't see the Harrier. Frustrated, he continued flying over the area, searching.
Suddenly, from nowhere, the Harrier was right behind him.
Riggs frantically tried to twist his Voodoo out of Hunter's line of fire, but the Harrier's last Sidewinder instantly crashed into his tail section. Bellowing a final curse of hatred and fury, the Klansman panicked and started a mad scramble to eject from the flaming aircraft. But he was too late. Before he could punch out, the plunging Voodoo smashed into the side of the canyon and exploded into a roaring ball of flames.
Even in his semi-deranged state of mind, Devillian slowly began to realize that the impossible was about to happen.
He was about to lose the battle.
Even the fact that most of the brutal combat was on film didn't sooth his drug-soaked brain waves.
Most of his airplanes were gone, and the Grand Canyon was filled with the bodies of his men. Even if the black train could be repaired and caught up with the
Freedom Express
again, there weren't enough soldiers left on board to have much of a chance against the battered, but determined surviving United
Americans.
Slowly it dawned on Devillian that the hated Hunter and his allies had run the gamut. This time. But Duke Devillian was not going down with his army. He had launched one crusade of terror; he could do it again. He remained absolutely convinced that his twisted, unpatriotic cause -the right of "superior" white people to rule the less-capable races of the world -would triumph in the end.
But only if he was around to make it happen.
The failure of the Knights of the Burning Cross was easy to figure. Against his own instincts, he had aligned himself with Mexicans, washed-up Germans, and other assorted scum from around the globe.
Next time, he wouldn't taint the blood line of his army.
Next time, it would be "true Americans" only.
But first, he had to escape from the present situation. And his best chance was with one of his few remaining allies
-ironically, still another non-American-Lieutenant Kolotov, who had managed to keep a handful of his Hind gunships still aloft.
Devillian reached Kolotov by radio and ordered him back to the black train.
"You're going to fly me out of here, Beethead," Devillian told the Russian pilot.
Kolotov and his squadron of Hinds soon appeared next to the train, and Devillian climbed into the leader's chopper.
"Let's get the fuck out of here," he barked.
As the fleet of Hinds started to rise above the train,
another aircraft appeared in the distance, streaking straight for the Hinds so fast that Devillian let out an involuntary bellow.
It was the Harrier. . . .
After disposing of Riggs, Hunter had returned to the
heavily damaged
Freedom Express
for the last of the remaining fuel and missiles, and immediately took off again to help chase the remaining KKK aircraft from the region. It wasn't hard; once they'd realized the battle was lost, the few Klan pilots still alive typically turned yellow and fled the area.
By this time the train had emerged from the Grand Canyon and was limping toward California's Sacramento Mountains and the great expanse of the Mojave Desert-the last stretch of untamed territory separating the United Americans from Los Angeles.
Low on fuel and weapons, JT, Ben and the five Coaster F-5's nevertheless seemed to have the situation in hand above the crippled
Freedom Express
. This allowed Hunter to double back toward the black train.
His instincts were telling him that Devillian would be
making a run for it, and as he approached the train, his suspicions were confirmed. As he saw the squadron of Hinds leaving the train, he knew the leader of the Knights of the Burning Cross was aboard one of those choppers.
"I should have finished you off when I had the chance,"
Hunter muttered under his breath.
Lieutenant Kolotov ordered his pilots to stay between
Devillian's helicopter and the Harrier at all times.
"Blast him out of the sky if you can," he commanded. "But whatever you do, just don't let him get through to us."
The other Hinds formed a flying circle about Kolotov and Devillian, their guns keeping the sky filled with cannon fire and missiles. It was a moving wall of destruction that no jumpjet pilot in his right mind would even try to penetrate.
So Hunter calmly started to pick the wall apart.
One at a time, he targeted the Hinds, maneuvering
underneath them, over them, always darting up and down and sideways, never giving the gunships a clear shot at his Harrier.
As this macabre aerial ballet continued, the number of
performers began to dwindle. The first Hind chopper went down in flames, the victim of a well-placed burst of gunfire from the Harrier. A second Hind fell, ripped in half by a Sidewinder. Then a third. Then a fourth. . . .
"Why can't they hit the son of a bitch?" Devillian screamed in Kolotov's ear.
"They're trying," the Russian shouted back. "But he's not
. . . he's just not like any pilot I've ever seen. He's there one minute, gone the next. He's just impossible to stop!"
"Well, they damn well
better
stop him pretty soon,"
Devillian yelled, as he watched still another Hind smash into the desert below. "Can't you make this crate go any faster?"
"We're going top speed," Kolotov replied.
The buffer around Devillian continued to fall apart. Two more Hinds went down, victims of the same Sidewinder. Now only five were left, in addition to Kolotov's. Hunter fired again, and the squadron was reduced to four.
The remaining Hind pilots had seen enough of this flying demon in the magic airplane. Their desire to survive overcame their fear of Devillian, and they pulled away from the formation, heading in four different directions.
Now, Kolotov and Devillian were alone in the sky with the Wingman.
By now they were over Death Valley, in the midst of the scorching Mojave Desert. But the heat below was nothing compared to the fire-filled sky. Kolotov's nose gun threw every ounce of firepower left on board the Hind at the jump jet and still it kept corning. Finally it pulled alongside. Devillian stared in horror as Hunter grimly nodded at him. The deadly look in his eyes told Devillian that it was all over.
And then, suddenly, the Harrier dropped out of sight.
"Where the hell did he go?" Devillian bellowed.
Kolotov had no time to answer. He sensed, rather than saw, the Sidewinder coming.
"I'm dead,
damn it!
" he correctly exclaimed.
Devillian twisted in his seat to look behind him, and saw the rear of the Hind explode in a ball of fire. The last thing he felt was the terrible heat, and the sensation of falling through flames. . . .
The
Freedom Express
ground to a halt about fourteen miles into the Mojave Desert.
Its two remaining working locomotives were spent out of fuel, out of computer commands, out of breath. The stress put on their drive systems had finally taken its toll. Exhausted, they could go on no longer in their present condition.
"So close," Fitz said, as he wearily sat down, feeling his own body teetering on the verge of total collapse, ". . . but so damned far. . . ."
Crossbow slouched down in the seat next to him, barely
paying attention to the numerous wounds he'd received in the last assault on the train.
"At least I know I'm going to heaven when I die," he said, his normally deep bass voice substantially subdued. "Because I've already done my time in hell."
More than half the Football City Rangers and Piute braves on board had been killed or wounded in the outrageously violent battle. Plus only three of the weapons cars were intact, these being located toward the front end of the train. The rest were little more than smoking hulks of metal riding on cracked and wobbly steel wheels.
Those Rangers who were able carried their wounded comrades into the relatively cool shade of the three intact forward railway cars, and then they too slumped to the floor with exhaustion. Just what would happen to them now, they had no idea.
All they yearned for was ten minutes of peace.
But it was not to be. ... Fitz and Crossbow saw them at about the same time. Off in the distance, like a long black deadly line, a reserve division of Burning Cross infantry soldiers
Devillian's "extras"-were marching on the train.
"This is truly it," Fitz said, knowing that there weren't more than fifty workable weapons on board the train, less ammunition and not enough power in the locomotives to carry them out of harm's way.
Even their aerial support could not turn back the tide. JT, Ben and the Coasters had been forced to leave the battle area, all of their airplanes out of ammunition and dangerously low on fuel. The Cobras were already on board, their valiant choppers shot up and similarly out of gas and ammo. Fitz knew that even Hunter's jumpjet must be depleted of weapons by this time.
Nevertheless, the Irishman called back to the Rangers,
alerted them to the dire threat and rallied them to make one last stand.
Then, he grimly turned his binoculars on the approaching enemy troops and calculated that this, the
Freedom Express’s
last battle, would take no more than a few minutes to be consummated.
Hunter was speeding back to the scene-his sixth sense
warning him just moments before he shot his last Sidewinder at Devillian's chopper that his colleagues on the train were in great danger.
And once again, his instincts proved damnably correct. Even he was shocked when he saw the ten-thousand man army of Burning Cross soldiers descending on the train. The long line of tractor-trailer trucks off in the distance answered the question as to how so many troops could have gotten to the scene so quickly.
Now, as the first shots from the enemy were being fired as they closed to within a quarter mile of the motionless burning train, Hunter checked his weapons. He had about a quarter's worth of ammunition in his Aden gun pods and that was it.
But then, just as he was about to add his meager lot to the train's last stand, he felt a surge of excitement run through him.
Off to his left there was another line of figures
approaching-fast.
"
All right!"
Hunter yelled. "The cavalry. . . ."