Wingman w 1, p.18
Wingman w-1, page 18
part #1 of Wingman Series
"How much?" the man asked nervously.
Hunter produced another quarter bag. "You get this now, and another half when you deliver." The man was salivating green at the prospect of all that money. Hunter was sure the typical bribe at The Pitts was half as much.
"Might take a while," the man said.
"Get it here by sunset," Hunter said in no uncertain terms. "Or we come and get you."
"If it's here," the man said, jingling the silver under his coat, "I'll find it."
He left the plane quickly, got in his jeep and drove away.
"Do we trust a guy like that?" Zal asked. He and Al had been fingering their loaded .45s throughout the encounter.
"We really don't have a choice," Hunter said. "We're in his ballpark. We play by his rules. For now."
But Hunter had to laugh to himself. Entrusting a $200 million shipment of diamonds to a drooling idiot would have been unthinkable a few years ago. Now it served as a good example of how business was done these days. Welcome to the New Order.
They returned to the cabin where Al broke out a deck of cards. They knew it would be a long, anxious wait.
They sat and played cards and watched as a bewildering array of aircraft came and went.
One airliner, an old Boeing 707, landed. Its smoking engine completely ignored by its pilots and the ground crew, they unloaded hundreds of crates marked: RIFLES.
Another plane, an old P-3 Orion Navy aircraft with its markings painted over, touched down and was emptied of thousands of small bales plainly marked: "Marijuana. Panama People's Republic." Another 707 was loaded with boxes marked: DANGER EXPLOSIVES-TNT.
Hunter couldn't help but notice that half the ground crew servicing the jet was smoking either cigarettes or joints. If the crates contained TNT and a spark found its way inside, the name Pitts would take on a whole new meaning-that of a half-mile deep crater where an airfield used to be.
All the while, large and small planes-each painted in strange bright colors-landed, unloaded passengers, turned around and flew off again. No two planes looked alike, but all of those disembarking were of the same ilk: Dirty-looking, shady characters. Each one scurried off their plane and to the main terminal building as quickly as they could, as if they didn't want to present themselves as too good a target.
Hunter kept a close watch on the arrivals. Everyone was armed. Everyone was watching everyone else.
Another airliner, a Boeing 727 that was painted a ghastly pink, arrived and unloaded human cargo. Pulling right up next to the C-47, the rear door of the plane was lowered. Emerging from the inside were about fifty young girls, each naked to the waist and manacled and tied together with a long white rope. Two mean-looking women herded the young girls out of the plane and into the terminal, laying a cat o' nine tails on the back of anyone who was not keeping up.
"A slave plane," Zal said, finally.
"That's a crime," Al said. "Tying up and selling young stuff like that."
"It's a business," Hunter said, his own distaste evident. "Everything nowadays is a goddamn business."
They went back to their card game but were disturbed once again, this time by the arrival of three fighter jets. They were ancient F-100 Super Sabres, each one painted a garish color or pattern. The jets taxied up to the terminal and the pilots climbed out, barking orders to obedient monkeys that were scurrying around the planes.
One jet, flown by the pilot who appeared to be the leader, was painted entirely in shiny black, with a hideous looking laughing shark's face on its snout.
The second jet sported a bright yellow and green camouflage scheme, though Hunter had to wonder what the pilot was thinking of when he painted it. The colors alone would make the plane stick out in a storm at night. The third jet was decorated in a white and red checkerboard pattern that covered the entire plane. All three planes were armed with cannons and Sidewinders.
Each of the pilots was dressed in leather from head to toe. Upon removing their flight helmets, they all revealed heads shaved bald. The insignia on the back of their coats read: "The Stukas."
Hunter realized that he was seeing, for the first time close up, some authentic air pirates. And these bandits were from The Stukas, a notorious pirate squadron that roamed the skies of western Pennsylvania and eastern Ohio.
The three men checked over their planes, then brazenly strolled into the terminal building and disappeared. Hunter noted that each one was carrying a sidearm and a rifle of some kind. During the afternoon and on toward evening, more planes arrived, off-loading all kinds of deviant looking characters.
"There must be a party going on here tonight," Zal observed.
"Yeah," Hunter said. "And we're not invited."
But now, it was getting dark and there was still no sign of the man in the black hat. Hunter was getting more anxious by the minute. He had hoped to avoid going into the terminal and raising suspicions by looking for the nails himself. But he knew that it would be easier to look for the man in the black hat than it would be to look for the right crate. He would give the man another two hours, then he would have to act.
Darkness fell and a few of the rundown airport's dingy lights flickered on. By peering into the main terminal with binoculars, Hunter could see an event of some kind was about to take place inside. All of the characters who had flown in were gathering in the saucer shaped building. Soon a makeshift stage was set up and a spotlight of some kind rigged up.
That's when the first of the young girls was brought in. The crowd, many with bags of money in their hands, started shouting and waving their hands, much in the direction of another man, standing on stage with the young girl.
"A slave auction," Hunter said to Al, handing him the spyglass. "That's what the party is about." After Zal had taken a look, Hunter peered through the glasses once again. Another young girl-a redhead-was up on the stage. Her hands tied above her head, the auctioneer, a crude looking man in a bright red suit, turned her around like a piece of merchandise, poking his barker's cane into her ass, between her legs and between her breasts.
The redhead was quickly sold and another girl brought up on stage. This one, a blonde, was crying as the crowd yipped and yapped at her. Hunter could see the three pirates were as close to the stage as possible, bidding for the girl. The barker soon pointed to the pirates as the winners and the young girl was turned over to them. Laughing and guzzling liquor, they carried the weeping child off to the side of the auction stage where two held her and a third proceeded to rape her, much to the delight of the crowd.
The auction continued, each girl sold one after the other. The crowd was getting drunker and rowdier and a few disappointed bidders started trouble at one point. But it all calmed down and the bidding started once more.
Suddenly the dusky air was split by the noise of a jet landing. As it taxied close to them, Hunter could see in the twilight that it was a two-seat, F-101 Voodoo. It carried the markings of the Free Canadian Armed Forces.
Maybe this was the break he was looking for. No monkeys appeared, so the back-seat pilot had to leap from the wing and block the plane off himself. That done, both pilots were on the tarmac quickly checking the undercarriage of the jet fighter. Hunter could tell by their uniforms that these were Canadian Sky Marshals, airborne versions of the famous Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He could see they were intently studying the three pirate jets parked nearby.
Hunter told Al and Zal to stay alert, then he left the C-47 and went over to meet the Canadians. They eyed him suspiciously as he approached. He was direct.
"I'm Major Hawker Hunter," he told them. "Of ZAP."
They both shook their heads.
"You're the Hawker Hunter?" the pilot, a captain named Frost said, disbelievingly. "Of The Thunderbirds?"
"That's right," Hunter said, hoping they'd recognize his face.
The pilots looked around, as if searching for Hunter's F-16. He started throwing out a few names of higher ups he knew in the Free Canadian Air Corps. They stared at him for a few more moments then, apparently convinced he was the authentic item, asked almost in unison: "What the hell are you doing here?"
He knew he could trust the Canadians. Their air force had been closely allied with ZAP and helped keep the northern border clean of pirates. They carried with them an unblemished reputation of integrity and honesty. Like their counterparts in another time, they always got their man.
He told them the whole story. The diamonds. The Aerodrome. The man in the black hat. "Dangerous mission, Hunter," Captain Frost told him after hearing it all.
They were in The Pitts looking for a particular air bandit.
"Yesterday morning, he shot down an airliner over Lake Erie," Frost said. "Killed one hundred thirty six people."
"It was a senseless act," the co-pilot, Lieutenant LaFleur said. "He used the airliner as target practice. Put a Sidewinder into the side and watched it go down."
The pilot of the doomed plane was able to radio a description of the attacker before the airliner hit the water. The Free Canadians matched the description with a known pirate by the name of Rocko. While they didn't expect the murderer to be in such a public place so soon, they did want to put the word out that they-and about a hundred air bounty hunters-were looking for him.
Hunter then made them a promise. If they covered his ass in getting out of The Pitts with the diamonds, he promised to keep an eye out for the pirate named Rocko.
They agreed.
Much relieved, Hunter walked back to the C-47.
As soon as the Sky Marshals entered the terminal, the bidding on the girls stopped.
The Canadians had no jurisdiction in The Pitts, and it was not their style to go looking for trouble. But they did want to question the Stukas as Rocko had been seen on previous occasions flying with that particularly notorious group.
Hunter saw this as his chance to sneak into the terminal and search for the man with the black hat. He told Al to warm up the engines and be ready for a quick getaway.
Then he and Zal loaded up two M-16s, took two high-flash percussion grenades each and left the plane.
Hunter found an unlocked door on the side of one of the spokes and they entered the terminal. The noise of the crowd in the main building was dampened as he knew the Canadians were questioning some of the low-lifes attending the flesh-peddling event.
He and Zal headed in the opposite direction. Soon they were into the far reaches of the sprawling terminal building-a bizarre area lit only by constant flickering lights.
The place was a mess. Debris was strewn everywhere. Windows were smashed.
Businesses, some of which appeared to have been opened even recently, were trashed.
The walls were covered with vulgar graffiti and crude drawings. This part of the airport lived up to its nickname quite nicely.
They walked slowly, carefully searching each room, waiting area and corridor they came to. Sometimes they could hear shouts and laughter in the distance. But the peculiar set up of the airport building made it difficult to determine-even for someone with acute senses like Hunter's-where the noise was coming from. It was eerie, and the further they walked into the building, the spookier it got. The only sound they heard, aside from the shouts, was the low, steady drone of the C-47's engines warming up in the distance.
Suddenly, the air was pierced by a long, high-pitched scream. Hunter and Zal froze in their tracks as the blood-curdling cry echoed through the empty passageways. Hunter was able to pick up a direction this time, and signaled Zal to check his weapon and follow him.
Ten minutes later, they found the man in the black hat…
His hands and feet were bound and he was left sitting in a chair of one of the waiting areas, his hat sitting on his lap. His throat was slashed, a pool of blood splattering on the floor beneath his seat.
Hunter gingerly felt the body. It was still warm and gurgling. He was sure it was the man's scream they'd heard. He frisked the body and found the bags of silver he had given the man. This told him two things: the man had found the diamonds. And that his killers had taken them, leaving the relatively paltry sum of the coin bags behind and escaping with the jewels.
But they had left a trail. One of the murderers had stepped in the blood of his victim, and had left a set of bloody footprints. Hunter and Zal followed the trail and were soon outside a door marked: CONTROL ROOM-DO NOT ENTER.
Hunter put his ear to the door and listened. He could pick up six distinct voices.
Not flyboys either. Pilots had their own way of talking and this wasn't it. He could hear the words "diamonds" and "asshole" dominate the conversation.
He motioned Zal to get on the other side of the door. Then, he reached for the percussion grenade and pulled the pin…
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Captain Frost heard the grenade go off. In an instant, he and LaFleur had their
,45s drawn and were running toward the noise. The unsavory slave auction crowd obediently cleared a path for them, then laughed once the Sky Marshals were out of sight.
Why get so excited over a little thing like a grenade going off? People yelled for the auction to resume. More young flesh was trotted out. More money changed hands. Just another day in The Pitts.
"Hunter said he expected trouble," Frost yelled to his lieutenant as the two Canadians sped through the empty, sometimes pitch black passageways. "Sounds like he found it."
He had…
The Sky Marshals turned left into a partially lit corridor only to see Hunter and Zal at the far end, running out of a darkened section of the hallway and toward them at full speed. Hunter was carrying a sack in one hand, and a hand grenade in the other. Zal had his M-16 cocked over his shoulder, firing blindly. The sound of many angry footsteps was right behind them in the darkness. Not missing a beat, Hunter pulled the pin and tossed the live grenade over his shoulder. It bounced once then rolled back down into the dark part of the corridor…
4… 3… 2… 1… Boom!
The grenade went off with a flash. A blinding light, brighter than a hundred flares, filled the corridor The explosion seemed to freeze everything and everyone in place. In that instant, Frost could see more than 50 gunmen were chasing the airmen.
The illumination grenade stopped the pursuers in their tracks as they instinctively put their hands up to protect their eyes. Then his eyes too were blinded by the intense flash. By the time Frost could see again, Hunter and Zal were racing by him.
"I got the diamonds! Let's get the hell out of here!" Hunter yelled as he raced past.
As if to emphasize his point, the corridor was suddenly filled with automatic fire. Bullets were whistling past them, ricocheting everywhere. The gunmen had recovered and were charging again, firing their rifles as they ran.
Frost looked at La Fleur, shrugged once, then both Canadians joined Hunter and Zal in the strategic retreat.
Led by Hunter and firing their weapons behind them, the four men raced through the maze of corridors until finally spilling out into the main terminal building where the slave auction was continuing. They were ignored by the crowd as they ran through the terminal and toward the door which led out to the runway. Outside, the C-47 waited, its engines turning anxiously. Hunter was the first to reach the escape door and he hesitated as the three others ran out. At that moment, the slightly bewildered gunmen reached the terminal, causing a few heads to turn in the crowd.
Confusion. It's the best cover to use to get away. He took his two remaining grenades, pulled the pins and held the clips. Just as the first of the gunmen spotted him across the crowded room, he let the clip go, reeled back and threw the grenade up toward the high ceiling. Boom! It exploded as it reached the pinnacle of its flight, brightly illuminating the room, and showering it with a million sparks. Once again, the bright flash stunned the gunmen, most of whom by this time had two large blue spots hindering their vision. This time, the crowd scattered. The room became a pandemonium of fleeing slave buyers and screaming, naked young girls. Some people dove for cover as the gunmen began shooting randomly. For good measure, Hunter pulled the pin on his last grenade and rolled it toward the middle of the terminal.
It went off just as he turned and ran out the door. The C-47 was already rolling toward the runway. Searchlights were clicking on, targeting the escaping airplane.
Somewhere, a siren was blowing. Shouts, screams, and gunfire could be heard all over.
Suddenly, the dead, dingy airport was alive in light and noise. Zal had reached the taxiing C-47. The Canadians had climbed into their jet and were quick-starting the engine. A searchlight on top of the control tower had the Voodoo in its beam and gunners in the tower started raking the jet with gunfire.
Hunter stopped, aimed and fired at the tower searchlight, knocking it out with his second burst. The gunners turned their attention to him, but he was already running again at full speed, managing to stay one step ahead of the bullets.
He could see Zal waiting at the open door of the C-47, reaching his hand out to help him on board. Just then, the gunmen burst out from the terminal building and onto the parking apron. He reached the rolling Spooky, bullets licking his boot heels as Zal hauled him aboard. The Canadians were just backing the Voodoo away from the terminal when the gang of gunmen started charging the slowly moving C-47. Its engine screaming, Frost swung the F-101 around, and aiming it toward the pursuers, squeezed off a burst of cannon fire. The deadly stream chopped up the gunmen, killing some and causing the rest to hit the deck. Still moving, the Voodoo swung around and was soon right behind the C-47.
Both planes reached the end of the runway just as Hunter was settling into the pilot's seat of the Spooky. Every searchlight in the airport was pointing at them, and several rocket propelled grenades were being shot at them. Luckily for them, no one in the control tower thought to turn off the runway beacons. The two long intermittent lines of blue lights showed the way out for the two airplanes. Under a hail of bullets and rockets, Hunter started his take-off roll.
