Then Dick heard his strange voice call out: "Any other questions?"
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The five B-ls had taken off shortly after dawn and formed up out over Lake Erie.
They positioned themselves into a diamond formation-Ghost Rider 1 rode out on the point, while Ghost Rider 2 and 3 took the sides and Ghost Rider 4 brought up the rear. In the middle of the formation was Ghost Rider 5.
Once in place, the five airplanes climbed to 20,000 feet and turned as one toward the east. . .
J.T. was in Ghost Rider 1, riding lead on the formation. Once he had leveled off, he, like the other pilots in 2, 3, and 4, began throwing a number of switches on a side control board in the cockpit. The signals were instantly transmitted to Ghost 5, the jet bomber that was carrying most of the electronic gear. Ben Wa sat behind the controls of this aircraft, splitting his time between flying the plane and making sure all the required signals were coming in from his four counterparts.
The computer aboard Ghost 5 instantly began
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processing these signals, coughing out computations in airspeed, altitude, engine exhaust heat and fuel loads. Within two minutes every aspect of the five airplanes' radar "signatures" was identified by Ghost 5's super-computer.
Then, one by one, those signatures were masked electronically.
On the control board before J.T., there were five red lights. Suddenly one of them started to blink.
"Ghost 1, on lock," he radioed back to Ben Wa, tightening up the formation in order to give the electronics in Ghost 5 every advantage.
Several moments later, another red light on the panel started blinking, followed by the call: "Ghost 2, locked on." Ten seconds later a third red light popped on. "Ghost 3, locked on . . ." Then a fourth: "Ghost 4, locked on
. . ."
Thirty seconds later, the fifth and last red light started blinking. He heard Ben's voice say: "Ghost 5 locked on. System locked on . . ."
"Verify system lock, Ghost 5," J.T. quickly called back to Ben.
A few seconds passed, then came the reply: "System lock verified. ... We are now 'in system.' "
J.T. clapped his hands once in triumph-the way-out hardware had worked again.
The five B-ls were now "invisible."
Viceroy Dick was hustling from one command post to another, his entourage of bodyguards in tow, informing the officers on station that he was now running the show at the Aerodrome. No one argued with him, especially after he told them to get ready to break out of the perimeter.
Some would be left behind however. The coordination needed to successfully move the remaining 11,000 men and their equipment would have to come 343
from the all-important Command Center. Therefore, he ordered the operators to stay at their posts until they received further orders from him.
He ordered all but the shoulder-launch SAM teams to stay behind also. Should an air raid come, the bigger the fight between his AA crews and the attacking American aircraft the better. All the more confusion that would help to cover his withdrawal.
His final order was to the five remaining Circle-hired pilots. He told them not to take off until the first attacking jets were spotted on radar. Then he promised them no less than 200 bags of gold for every kill they could confirm.
They responded anxiously and told him they would do their best. But both he and the pilots knew they were bullshitting each other. As soon as they could, Dick knew the pilots would take off and be gone. His reasoning was that they j would shoot down a few UA jets just out of self-preservation. That would mean fewer UA jets harassing him during his bug-out. j
His troops formed up on the tarmac, nervously | waiting in four-deep ranks. He intended on leading • them eastward, through the Cicero Swamp, then up J
around Oneida Lake and finally into the wilderness of ; the former Adirondack Park. He planned to loot anything and everything in his path and once settled in the forests, lay low and figure out how best to use his 11,000-man army.
He did one last quick check in the Command Center, totally ignoring the dirty looks from those who would be left behind. He counted on the radiomen to continue to update him on the advancing American columns, both the one that was approaching the airbase from the due north and the one that he was sure had already taken possession of the bloody grounds around the university. He also needed a constant
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reading on how many UA airplanes were in the area and exactly where they were, as his only air defense would be the squads of shoulder-launched SAMs.
It seemed like everything was set. That's when he heard a distant rumbling . .
.
He was about to order his troops to start marching when he looked skyward and saw five glinting shapes of white coming toward the base from the west.
"Jesus Christ! UA bombers!" he screamed. "Why didn't we pick them up on the radar . . ."
He immediately ran down the steps to the Command Center, his nine-man bodyguard squad doing its best to keep up with him. Once there he was shocked to find his radar operators grudgingly staring at blank screens.
"They are five bombers heading our way," he shouted to the officer in charge.
"Order the SAMs to start tracking them!"
The officer looked at the "non-active" screen and then back at Viceroy Dick.
"There are no read-outs on the scope, sir," he said. "Perhaps you were mistaken . . ."
Dick grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck and with the help of his guards, hauled him up the three flights of stairs.
By the time they reached the surface, the five specks were nearly over them.
"Look up there, shithead!" Dick screamed at the man. "What do those look like to you?"
The man never answered him. The first bomb landed just ten feet away . . .
Dick felt the strangest sensation run through his body as he was blown up and away from the Command Center building. Even in his last conscious moment, he felt his nose was running . . .
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"Right on target!" J.T. heard his navigator call out.
He took a glance at his ground radar TV screen and saw the video projection of the explosions that were rocking the central terminal of the Aerodrome.
"One of those would have to have hit that Command Center," he called back to Ben Wa in Ghost Rider 5.
"I'm not worried about it," Wa replied. "That whole terminal is ancient history already."
J.T. banked his B-l to the left and caught a look at the results of the bombing himself. Ben was right, the main terminal building was consumed in one massive fiery cloud. He could see large secondary explosions going off within the larger plume, adding further to the destruction.
Satisfied, he called back to Erie control tower. "Mission accomplished," he reported. "There's nothing left standing down there . . ."
He turned the five radar-proof bombers back to the west and headed home.
"Sorry, Fitz . . ." he added.
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Hunter brought the F-16XL down for a bumpy but successful landing at the Aerodrome.
PAAC paratroopers were still floating down as he taxied his plane up to what was left of the main terminal building. He could see a pitched battle was raging out on the southatide runways between the American Airborne soldiers and the remaining Circle troops. But he knew the enemy would soon be taken care of. Very few had survived the massive B-l strike or the two hours of smaller fighter-bomber strikes that followed. Maybe 1500 or so had escaped, but no more.
Nearby were the remains of an A-7, still burning after being shot down by a Circle SAM. Farther off was the charred wreckage of a Texan F-4, also a victim to a SAM. But aside from those two airplanes, there were no further losses to the United American air arm.
He surveyed the whole base. Everywhere there seemed to be fires, wrecked equipment, broken glass and bodies. Mostly bodies. Some were twisted and gnarled and burnt to the bone. Others were lying peacefully, as if they were just sleeping.
"What a waste," he whispered to himself.
A C-130 rumbled in right behind Hunter, it too finding the landing bumpy on the cratered, bomb-scarred runway. The big Hercules pulled up beside his airplane and Jones was the first to jump out. Behind him was a 347
solemn-looking Mike Fitzgerald.
"Well, we did it," Jones said, looking around at the practically demolished Aerodrome. "Not a whole lot left to claim though, is there?"
Hunter pointed toward the southatide runway. "They're still mopping up over there," he said. "Any prisoners they can bring back, we should get them hoofing on burial details."
Dozer was already on the ground, having jumped in with the paratroopers. He soon appeared, escorting three young women who were obviously call girls.
To Hunter's dismay, they were also all wearing the fashionable Dominique-look
"Queenie" outfits.
"Found them in the rubble," Dozer told Hunter and Jones. "They say that most of the civvies got out before the big battles began . . ."
Jones thumbed them back to the C-130. "We'll take care of them," he said, turning back to Dozer. "What's the latest from the university?"
"Just clearing out a few last pockets of resistance," Dozer replied. "Just got off the phone with them. There's not much left over there either. They're burning the bodies now."
Hunter excused himself and walked over to Fitz who was standing at the edge of the runway, looking out at his blasted, burning dream.
"It's all gone, Hawker, me friend," he said sadly. "Lot of work went into this. Lot of memories . . ."
Hunter put his hand on his friend's shoulder. It seems like everyone was losing something these days.
"Mike, as soon as this is over," he said. "I'll be the first one back here with you. Just give me a shovel and a wheelbarrow . . ."
Fitz's eyes misted over. "We'll see, Hawker," he said, walking away. "We'll see . . ."
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PART FOUR
The Free Canadian Sea King helicopter touched down to a shaky landing on the rolling deck of the troop transport.
The weather was terrible-the seas were nearly at 12 feet and it had been a bumpy journey out from Newfoundland. But as Major Frost alighted from the chopper, he knew the trip had to be made. It was, in fact, critical.
Several unsmiling guards were waiting for him just off the helipad. They frisked him, then escorted him down to the captain's quarters. Once there he met a man introduced to him only as Karl. They didn't shake hands, he was offered no coffee or liquor. The man simply stared at him for a moment and said: "Talk . . ."
Frost took a deep breath.
"This attack on the American East Coast that you are planning is complete insanity," he told him, his voice stern and strong. "You'll be cut down on the beaches ..."
The man laughed. "Come now, Major Frost," he said in an English that was tinged with some kind of Eastern European accent. "I didn't agree to this meeting just to have you spout your friends' propaganda at 351
me."
"It's not propaganda," Frost shot back at him. "These are facts. You are a fool if you expect to link up with any allies-the Circle or anybody-once you land."
Karl's face became compressed with anger. "Very few men have dared to call me a fool, Major," he snarled.
"They will have reason to if you carry out this operation," Frost countered.
"The United American Army has just defeated The Circle at Syracuse. Within the last few weeks they have also beat them at Football City and at New Chicago .
. ."
Karl held up his hand. "Stop right there, Major Frost," he said. "I am aware of these battles. I am also aware just how your friends were able to trick the Circle into withdrawing from each of those first two campaigns. In fact, can you deny that troops from your own country now occupy New Chicago?"
"I'll be honest with you," Frost said. "There is too much at stake here to be otherwise. You're right to say that clever diversions helped the victories at Football City and New Chicago. And yes, our volunteers are helping as part of a 'peacekeeping' force in New Chicago.
"But let me assure you sir, that the battle at Syracuse involved no gimmicks.
An entire Circle Army Group and their air attachment were wiped out by the United Americans."
Karl thought for a moment, then said: "All right, let us assume this is true.
There is still a very large contingent of Circle troops in Washington, no? And I understand that a demonstration of The Circle's actual power will take place there very soon.
"I am also aware of the fact that the patriotic mood among the citizens living under The Circle's rule is
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now very low. They are coming to accept the New Order-finally! They no longer crave these things that were available to them before the Big War started.
There are no more addictions for 'Moms and Apple Pies,' so to speak. And very soon, these citizens will start to realize that the United Americans are simply troublemakers, people who cannot accept the reality of the situation."
"Which is?" Frost asked sternly.
"Which is that the New Order means stability for the citizens' otherwise unstable lives, Major," Karl said, with a sinister smile. "People become complacent toward an occupying army much sooner than your patriotic friends might think. And while it may be true that these United Americans have taken over a few cities, to what end is it? As I understand it, most people live out in the rural areas these days. What can your friends do for them?"
"They can give them freedom," Frost said quietly. "And believe me, they will battle ypu to the last bullet if you land your troops . . ."
Karl leaned back in his chair and was silent for several long minutes. Frost studied the man. He was big, broad-shouldered; obviously East European in origin. And he was simply a commander-in-chief for hire. The men on the dozens of ships bobbing in the rough seas around him were his employees. They fought wherever they could get paid for it. No loyalty to any one flag. No cause except for the pursuit of lucre.