The Circle War (20 page)

He could see the secret base less than a mile ahead of him. In an instant he knew that the arresting gear was still in working order, because there was another jet —a banged-up Lear—sitting next to the midget runway. The only way it could have landed safely was to use the arresting device. He switched on his forward-looking topographic infrared radar system and got a clear TV

picture of the base. He could see at least seven individuals running about the installa-204

tion. Obviously, they knew they were about to have some uninvited company dropping in.

Suddenly, a warning light flashed on his control panel. Someone had launched a small SAM at him. His ECM was still working, but it wasn't needed. Whoever fired the missile was an amateur—and that was being generous. The SAM —it looked like a Stinger—bounced off the canyon wall about a quarter mile from his position, exploded and fell into the river causing a minor avalanche in the process.

He pressed on. He had two options and he was running out of time. One choice was to rip up the base with his Vulcan cannon six pack then pull up, go around again, survey the damage, before going around a third time and trying to land.

He didn't want to shoot up the place for fear of destroying the precious black box . . . Suddenly he knew he didn't have time to consider option one. The fuel leak from the hit on his starboard wing had just gone from bad to worse.

He had no choice but to set the F-16 down.

He cut back his powerful engine to almost nothing, lowered the specially-installed arrester hook and crossed his fingers . . .

The F-16 hit the arresting wire at 105 knots. With a great squealing of tires and a cloud of dust, the airplane jerked to a halt in less than two seconds.

It was more of a controlled crash than a landing. Now Hunter knew why the Navy flyboys described carriei landings like "having sex in a car wreck."

When the smoke and dust cleared he saw he was on a small stretch of sandy beach, no more than a

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quarter mile long. The escape catapult was about 300 yards directly in front of him. A dangerous set of Colorado River rapids cascaded nearby. The base looked the same as when he flew the secret missions in some years before

—nothing more than four concrete bunkers built into the side of the canyon wall.

He immediately popped the canopy and leaped out of the jet fighter, his M-16

up and ready.

That's when he saw the naked woman . . .

She was tall, thin with blond hair flowing almost to her waist. On second look, he realized she wasn't completely naked —she was wearing the thinnest of bikini bottoms, but that was it. She was standing about 25 feet away next to one of the concrete bunkers. She was also aiming an M-16 at him . . .

He held his hand up to a gesture of peace.

"How!" he called to her. "Friend ..."

She lowered the gun slightly. Then another woman appeared from behind the bunker. She was smaller, a brunette with shorter hair, but besides an even skimpier bikini brief, quite naked, too. She was carrying a shotgun.

He clicked the safety off his M-16, though he would never use it against the women. Slowly he walked toward them, his right hand still raised.

"Go away," the blonde yelled.

"I need fuel," he told them. "Your robots back there are pretty good shots."

He was having a hard time keeping his eyes on their weapons and off their beautiful, bare breasts. Both women were gorgeous.

"Who are you?" he heard a third voice call out. Off to the left of the two women, a third emerged

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from behind a large, arrowhead shaped boulder. She was a redhead, clad in cut-off dungarees, but also naked to the waist. Her breasts were, in a word, enormous.

Hunter felt like he had dropped in on an X-rated Amazon movie.

"I'm Major Hawk Hunter," he called out. "From the Pacific American Air Corps.

I'm a friend, if you are. I took a hit back there on my gas line."

He was walking slowly toward them all the time and could see they were slowly relenting to him. The closer he got, the younger he realized the women were.

The blonde couldn't have been 23, the brunette and the redhead even younger.

He finally stopped about ten feet from them. "Who are you, girls?" The question came from nowhere. He just had to know.

"We're members of the Church of the Canyon," the redhead said to him as she walked over to join the others. "You're trespassing on our property."

"Well, I'm sorry, ladies," Hunter said. "But I'm on a very important mission.

I have to retrieve something—a black box —that I've been told is hidden here.

Have you seen such a thing here?"

The women looked at each other. The redhead seemed to be the spokesperson for the group. "Maybe," she said, her interest growing. "What do you need it for?"

Hunter wanted to keep it simple. "My commanding officer needs it to get an old airplane of his back up and flying."

The redhead smiled at him, while the other two

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girls broke into a giggle. "You mean the B-ls Project Ghost Rider of Eureka?"

Hunter was startled. How would she know that?

"Surprised, flyboy?" the redhead asked. She nonchalantly cupped her huge breasts in her hands and gave them a seductive scratch. Hunter felt his biological juices starting to act up.

"How do you know about 'Ghost Rider' " he asked.

The women laughed again. "That's all we hear about," the blonde said.

"From whom?" Hunter was determined to get to the bottom of this one.

"From our 'high priest,' " the brunette said, lowering the shotgun completely.

" 'High' is right," the redhead said with a laugh. She walked forward and extended her hand. "My name is Tracy," she said, shaking his leather-gloved hand. "This is Stacy and Lacey."

Tracy, Stacy, and Lacey?

"Or at least those are the names he gave us," Tracy said.

"Who's 'he'?" Hunter asked.

"Our fearless leader," said Stacy, the blonde. "Come on, we'll show you."

They led him to the door of the first bunker. The place looked like someone had jammed a concrete quonset hut into a wall of sheer granite. Hunter knew the bunker was built that way by the CIA for one reason: It was nuke proof.

Stacy opened the door and the three women allowed Hunter to go in first. It was dark inside, the

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only light being provided by about a dozen candles. The air was thick with a sickly sweet smell of incense mixed with the unmistakable scent of marijuana.

There was music playing somewhere —a prickly, sour pinging that Hunter recognized as an Indian sitar. He had once owned one.

He was aware of several bodies moving at the far end of the bunker's first room. Stacy closed the heavy metal door behind them and Hunter's eyes instantly adjusted to the darkness. He saw a man,, dressed in dingy white robes, sitting on a large chair in the bunker's far corner. He had shoulder-length scraggly brown hair, a long, apparently unwashed beard, a headband and rose-colored sunglasses. He was drowzily smoking an elaborate looking water pipe.

Around him were four more girls. All of them absolutely naked —Hunter was sure of it this time. Water pipes lay strewn around the floor near them. One of the women had her head on the man's right knee, her hand buried in his crotch. It didn't mater; she was asleep. Another woman lay at the man's feet. She, too, was out like a light. The two other women were embracing and kissing each other. Amidst the cloud of reefer smoke, Hunter thought he detected a whiff of opium.

"Major Hunter," he said, hoping to wake the nodding man. "P-A-A-C."

The man looked up. "Hunter?" he said, barely mumbling the name. "Hawk Hunter?"

The pilot was surprised. Did this man know him?

"Yes," he replied. "Hawk Hunter."

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The man took off his sunglasses and even in the flickering candlelight, Hunter could see his eyes were bloodshot beyond recognition. He shakily pointed at i Hunter and managed to wheeze out: "Eur-ee-ka!"

This was not some ordinary kook. Hunter took a good look at the man. Despite the long hair and beard, he knew he'd seen the man somewhere before.

"How do you know about 'Ghost Rider' and Eureka?" Hunter asked him.

"Ha! I know all about it," the man said. A smile washed across his face, revealing a jagged set of teeth. "And I know all about Hawk Hunter."

Then Hunter knew where he'd seen the man. It was in a photograph Jones had showed him. The man was Captain Travis, General Josephs' aide-de-camp! This was the very man who, at Josephs' direction, hid the black boxes.

"Hawk Hunter," Travis said. "I saw you fly in an air show at Nellis. It was incredible, girls. I didn't think an airplane could move like that."

"What the hell is going on here, Travis?" Hunter said sharply, and loud enough to wake up the woman at the man's feet.

"I am holding my position, Hunter," Travis said with an air of woozy importance. "I'm guarding the black box. Following orders."

"Whose orders?" Hunter demanded. The man was a disgrace. Hunter would never condemn anyone for partying every once in a while, but the self-indulgence here was a joke.

"Josephs," the man blurted out, a stream of drool oozing out of the side of his mouth. "My general."

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"Who are these girls, Captain?" Hunter asked.

"Believe it or not," the man said, another gross-out smile spreading across his face. "They used to be my secretaries. And look what I've done with them.

They are now my goddesses. I am their priest. We are the Church, Major Hunter.

The Church of the Canyon."

Tracy came up and stood so close to Hunter he could feel her massive breasts brush against his flight suit. "Some priest," she laughed. "He so zonked out all of the time, he couldn't get it up on a bet. Look at Teresa and Isabelle.

They have to make it with each,' other they need it so bad."

Hunter couldn't help but watch the two girls passionately kiss each other.

Suddenly he though of Aki and Mio back home in Oregon.

Hunter couldn't waste any more time. "Look Travis, where's the Goddamn box?"

The man looked at him. "What's the rush, Major? Stay here with us. Hang out for a while. Lookit these girls, we got plenty go round ..."

Hunter started to boil. "I know you haven't the faintest idea of what the hell is going down in the Badlands right now, Captain. And I'm not about to explain it to you. Just give me the box and I'm gone."

"It had better be for a good reason," Travis blathered out, a gooey thread of spittle spilling out of his mouth. "The general didn't want . . . just any bozo ... to get into . . . Ghost Rider." With that he slumped in his crude throne, and lapsed into a drug-induced blackout.

Hunter was tempted to slap the man awake. It was the continent's most critical hour and here he was,

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dealing with a konked-out, drooling idiot.

He turned to Tracy. "What exactly did he tell you about Ghost Rider?"

She thought a moment. "He was always claiming that he was on this big deal secret mission. We were secretaries at the Eureka base, but we didn't know what was going on, of course. He says his commander told him to hide four black boxes and bring the fifth one here. He was flying all over the place when the war broke out. Hawaii, Wyoming, somewhere. New York City."

"Did he ever say where in New York City?"

She nodded. "He sold it to some guy named Calypso."

Hunter was shocked. "Sold it?"

"I'm afraid so," the pretty redhead replied. "He used the money to buy all the drugs you see around here."

Calypso. Well, thought Hunter, at least he had some kind of clue to go into New York City with.

"How about the box in New Mexico?" Hunter asked. "Did he ever say where that one went?"

"I'm not sure," she answered. "Some little dinky town in New Mexico."

"Pecos?" Hunter asked.

"That's the place," Tracy confirmed. "That's the last place he landed before coming here. Said it was really scary. That he had to —get this —fight a huge monster to hide the box. That's also where he picked up all the dope.

"When the New Order came down, he had already told us about this place. Things looked hairy, so we

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bribed a chopper pilot to drop us here. By that time, the CIA boys were long gone. And they left the place unlocked! Travis landed in the Lear a few days later, stoned on his ass. Cracked up the airplane for good. Told us we were all under orders to protect the box until the right someone came for it. I guess that someone is you ..."

"Can you get it for me?" Hunter asked, an element of charm sneaking into his voice.

She looked him straight in the eye. He realized she was very pretty and no more than 21. Her body was in great shape; her breasts being nicely out of proportion. "You do me a favor, Major," she cooed. "And I'll do you a favor."

She took his hand and led him to another chamber, away from the marijuana smoke and sitar music. This room too was lit only by candles, but it was neatly kept. A large mattress covered with pink blankets took up half the space.

She turned and cupped her breasts again. "I haven't had a real man in two years," she said in all frankness. "Not since that fool out there told us the Russians were about to bomb the West Coast and tricked us into following him here."

She came closer to Hunter. Now he could feel the full impact of her large breasts on his chest.

"Take me," she said softly. "Take me and I'll give you the box."

Hunter looked at her. The candles were highlighting her fiery red hair. She had movie star looks and beautiful green eyes.

"Please?" she asked, pressing against him.

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Hunter had little choice. He had to retrieve the box and this appeared to be the easiest way.

He took her in his arms and kissed her. "Duty calls," he said smiling.

The next morning he was attached to the catapult waiting to bring his F-16's engine up to trim. The fuel leak only took an hour to patch and the base was stocked with leftover barrels of JP-8 jet fuel, which he used.