The Twisted Cross (25 page)

"Stop it!" he screamed. "And tell me, why am I bleeding?"

"You tried to scratch your own eyes out," she told him with a laugh. "Don't you remember?" (

"But you saw him, didn't you?" he pleaded with her. "Tell \ me you saw him

..." j

She waited a few moments before replying. "Heinke, you mean?" she asked.

"Yes, yes!"

"Sure, I saw him," she answered cleverly. "You and he had quite a conversation."

"He was here then!" Krupp cried. "Somehow, he got in here with us, right?"

"Yes, Colonel," she said, turning out the lantern again. "Whatever you say

..."

The relief party finally reached Krupp and the woman three hours later.

By this time Krupp was only semi-conscious, a regular flow of the foamy white substance oozing from his mouth and nostrils. The recovery mission's second-in-command, a captain named Gmund, arranged to have both Krupp and the woman carried out on stretchers. He then posted six guards at the entrance to the gold chamber, and strung a radio line back to the cave's opening at the base of the Uxmaluna's Grand Pyramid.

By this time, it was morning. Only then did he call his superiors in Panama City to report the enormous gold find.

Back in Washington, things had just turned upside down:

"They want what?" Fitzgerald asked in disbelief.

"They want a summit meeting," General Jones repeated himself. "They want to sit down and talk. Negotiate. Discuss 'issues of mutual security,' is how the message puts it."

"I can't believe this," Fitz said. "These Nazis actually think we're going to sit down and talk rationally with them?"

"That's the offer," Jones told him. "We'll have to send some sort of reply back to them by midnight tonight, our time."

It had been a crazy few days for the top staff of the United American Army.

Most of the time had been devoted to gearing up their land and air forces for the anticipated strike on Panama. An entire airborne division -a total of 15,000 men -had already deployed to a secret base in southern Texas.

Moving south with the paratroopers were seven squadrons of United American fighters and fighter-bombers. Unified under one command, the aircraft included Football City's 12 famous F-20 Tigersharks, 18 of Mike Fitzgerald's F-105X

Super Thunderchiefs, known informally to all as the Shamrock Squadron, 24 Free Canadian CA-10 Thunderbolts, phis a large contingent of various aircraft belonging to the old PAAC including several AV-8B Harriers, 36 A-7D

Strikefighters, and 18 A-4 Skyhawks, the small, laser-equipped attack jets that had worked so well in the recapturing of Football City in the last war against The Circle.

Also deployed to bases in Texas were nine of the United Americans B-52

Stratofortresses, the two enormous C-5 gunships known as Bozo and Nozo, and the super-secret Ghost Rider air unit which was made up of five, electronically jam-packed B-1B supersonic, near-Stealth, swing-wing bombers.

It had been a major air movement; counting various support aircraft such as the United Americans' fleet of KG-135 aerial tankers as well as three dozen C-130 Hercules cargo ships - including 12 from the famous New York Heavy Lift Corporation known better as the New York Hercs - nearly two hundred fixed-wing aircraft had been transferred, virtually overnight, to the Republic of Texas.

There, they would be additionally complemented by the Texans' own five squadrons of F-4X Super Phantoms.

Moving the United Americans various ground units had taken longer. Two armored divisions-equipped mostly with nearly 200 M-l and M-60 tanks-were traveling at that moment on rail cars that would eventually bring them to the port city of Galveston, Republic of Texas. There they would be loaded onto anything that could float -Free Canadian amphibious assault ships mostly. A total of ten ships, converted container-carrying vessels, would be devoted just to carrying the United Americans' substantial helicopter force. Forty-eight hours before the operation was to commence, these seaborne units would set sail. If everything ran smoothly, they would be waiting somewhere off the coast of Panama when the first bombs fell.

That all this had to be done as secretly as possible was only half the problem for the United American Command Staff. The biggest challenge was that it had to be done in less than a few days.

And it was . . .

"And now after all this, these guys want to talk about it?" Fitz asked, still astounded that the Canal Nazis had actually offered to negotiate.

"That's the purpose of the message," Jones told him again. The message, which was first intercepted by an United American advance listening post down on the Louisiana coast, proposed that a representative from The Twisted Cross fly to Washington and "start a dialogue" immediately. Jones had received the communique just about midnight and now, at 0900 he was discussing it with Fitz, Ben Wa and JT Toomey in his Pentagon office.

"This is nuts," Toomey said. "One day these guys are all into cloak-and-dagger and now they want us to throw them a coming out party. I say we tell them io go take a fucking leap."

"I agree," Wa said. "The time for them to talk was before they started planting the underwater nukes. These guys are vicious. They're murderers."

"Most likely they caught wind of our deployments," Fitz added. "Now they're either scared, stalling for time or a little bit of both . . ."

"In other words, now's the time to zap 'em!" Toomey said. "No," Jones said firmly. "Now's the time to listen to what they have to say." All three men were taken aback.

"Are you seik>us, General?" Fitz. asked. "Sit down and diddle with Nazis?"

"Not 'diddle,' " Jones replied. "I said talk to them." "But why?" JT asked.

"You know they're just trying to screw us over."

"Maybe," Jones said. "But I have the lives of nearly sixty thousand people in my hands -you three included -not to mention any civilians down in the Canal Zone who could get killed if we attack. I owe it to all of them to at least listen to what these guys have to say."

Fitz, Ben and Toomey were speechless. "I'm sending a reply back to them right now," Jones said, concluding the brief meeting. "I'm telling them that we accept their offer."

Major Dantini, commander of the Central American Tactical Service, took a sip of tequila then went back to strumming his well-worn Martin guitar.

Things had been so slow lately, he had even found time to play the old six-string. They had not attacked the Cross in what seemed like years now, at the request of Hunter and the United American Command. He supposed the fear was that any fighting around the Canal Zone could accidentally set off one or more of the underwater nuclear mines. It was unlikely of course, but Dantini knew now was not the time to take any risks. Not when he and his one hundred chopper troops were about to gain 60,000 allies.

They were now camped near the deserted town of Bocas del Toro, which was on an island some 150 miles west of the Canal on the western end of the Mosquito Gulf. The terrain here favored them. There were dozens of tall hills surrounding the city and Dantini and his men had claimed two of them as their temporary base. The height advantage worked in two ways: first it would help should the whole 15-chopper force have to move quickly, and second, it gave them a clear view of the Panamanian mainland, both to the south and to the west. Even a fast-moving jet coming out of Panama cou-ld be spotted far enough away to give ample warning for everyone to get to shelter.

Still strumming his guitar, Dantini continually scanned the horizon, looking for anything unforeseen. Several minutes passed, but then he did see something approaching

from the southwest. He didn't miss a note on his instru- '|£| ment, however; it was one of the Flying Cranes returning from the only kind of mission they were able to carry out these days.

He watched as the big ship hovered just off to his left, preparing to set down on the large, flat wooden platform set up on top of the hill. The Crane was straddling one of the group's purpose-designed containers; this particular PDC

was the one bristling with various radio antennas, including one for broadcasting on AM and FM frequencies.

The Crane finally landed, kicking up a couple of pounds f of dust as it did so. A few moments later, the door on the Radio PDC opened and two men climbed out, their uniforms disheveled, beer cans in hand.

Dantini shook his head in mild disgust at the pair. The two men were probably the only people left in the New Order world who could actually get beer in cans. "I thought there was only supposed to be one in every bunch," Dantini murmured to himself. "I've got to get stuck with trouble times two ..."

By this time the two had walked over to him. "Mission accomplished, Major,"

one of them, a man called Masoni, told him in a voice so gravelly, you could pave a highway with it.

"Any problems at all?" Dantini asked.

"Negative," the other man, a sergeant who went by the stage name of Gregg O'Gregg, reported between swigs of beer. "We put out two solid hours right near El Cope, then another ninety minutes just outside Nata. Didn't see a soul out there."

Dantini breathed a sigh of relief. Despite their appearance and general demeanor, Masoni and O'Gregg always came through. That was the only reason why Dantini was so tolerant of their less-than-proper military behavior.

The PDC was actually a flying radio station, and together, Masoni and O'Gregg made up the entire CATS psyche-war section. They worked via a dangerous MO.

The Flying Crane would carry the PDC -known as Radio CATS -to various isolated parts of Panama and once set up, the two men would start broadcasting clandestinely. Like a mini-Radio Liberty or Radio Marti, Masoni and O'Gregg would play Panamanian national music and any music hits that were popular in Panama before the Big War. Interspersed between the songs, the men would read carefully prepared statements urging the Panamanian natives not to give up, that the Canal and their country would be liberated one day from The Twisted Cross.

The tactic was effective-Dantini and his men were always greeted with open arms by any natives they happened to run into. While it was dangerous to carry a radio in or near the occupied Canal Zone itself, many people who lived out in the Panamanian hinterlands still had their trusty transistor sets and boom boxes. Everyday, they would click them on, hoping to hear an hour or two of the music from the old days.

The tactic also served to drive the Canal Nazis batty. To this day Dantini was convinced that the Nazis believed the radio was actually carried by truck, and not by helicopter. That was why whenever they set up camp, the first PDC to be camouflaged and hidden away was Radio CATS.

"Okay," Dantini told Masoni and O'Gregg. "Get something to eat and then check back with me diis afternoon. We'll pick your broadcast posts for tomorrow then."

They both offered wide-smiling, snap salutes. On cue, they guzzled the rest of their no-name beers and symbolically crushed the beer cans on their foreheads.

Then they turned on their heels and marched away, leaving Dantini as always, shaking his head.

"If I thought too much about it I'd go nuts," he said to himself.

He sat back down and picked up the Martin six-string again. Suddenly, the radio at his feet burst to life. He heard Burke's excited voice on the other end.

"Major! We've got company coming . . ."

Dantini immediately reached down, picked up the radio and punched the send button. "Who and where?"

"Choppers," Burke, who was over on the other hilltop, reported. "Two of them coming in from the north. T look like Cobras."

"Cobras?" Dantini wondered out loud. "Are they bl ing?"

"Three reds, two whites" Burke called back. "Is today's sequence?"

Dantini hastily retrieved a piece of folded paper fron boot. He unwrapped it and quickly read the scrawled li what were called "approach sequences." These were i sages sent by using the navigation lights of an airc thereby eliminating the use of intercept-prone long-n radio messages. /

"Three reds, two whites," Dantini confirmed, chec the sheet he and Hunter had drawn up before the headed back up north. "Yep, that's the password."

He carefully laid his guitar aside and ran down the h the beach. Burke arrived at the same time, and toge they watched as the two Cobras roared in over the v\ tops.

"These have got to be the guys Hunter was tal about," Dantini said as the two gunships set down on beach about 150 feet away.

Through the swirl of sand and seaspray, Dantini saw man emerge from the first helicopter. He and Burke him halfway.

"Major Dantini?" the man from the Cobra asked. Captain Jesse Tyler, United American Army."

"Are you one half of the famous Cobra Brothers?" 1 tini asked shaking hands with the man.

"Yes, I am," the man answered through his thick 1 accent. "Hunter told you about us?"

Dantini and Burke both nodded. "Did he ever," B said. "Had us up all night once, telling about how c you guys were."

Tyler laughed. "Well, he can spin a tale as well as the ' of us," he said.

"Better, even . . ."

By this time the three other members of the Cobra had joined them. "This is Captain Bobby Crockett, Lieutenants John Hobbs and Marty Baxter," Tyler said another orgy of handshakes.

"So I suppose I don't have to guess what the purpose of your visit is,"

Dantini said. "I assume the United Americans are ready to attack. When is H-Hour?"

Tyler took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Major," he said, "let's all go someplace quiet where we can talk . . ."

The Fighting Brothers' long-range patrol was back at tl mission before noon.

They had left one hour before sunup, walking back to n connoiter the place were the Skinheads had attacked the mi sion truck. Thirty minutes after the patrol's return, Brothi David met Hunter at the small lake's shoreline. They talks as the pilot went through a list of routine preflight maint nance checks on the Kingfisher.

"My Brothers confirm that it was a full squad of Skinheac that we tangled with yesterday," David told him.