Tomorrow War (28 page)

Hunter’s body started vibrating, knocking him out of this painful trance.

He looked up and realized he’d flown more than a mile beyond the central park where the Z-16 lay crumpled. Now he was in what used to be the business district for Kabul Downs. He quickly shook himself back to reality.

This area was all gray/brown office buildings, sixteen blocks of them. It was a very nondescript part of the city, so why then was his body vibrating?

Hunter found out a few seconds later.

He saw the first stream of AAA fire coming from his left. It was coming from a double-triple gun, a two-tiered 70-mm antiaircraft battery containing three barrels apiece. Hunter deftly lifted the biplane up and over this fusillade, only to sense another threat off to his right. It was another barrage of triple-A, this one radar-guided. He slammed the stick down, went into a dive, and just managed to avoid this storm of lead. That’s when
another
gun opened up on him. Then another. Then another.

Hunter got the biplane down so low, his wheels actually scraped the pavement of the roadway, while people below scattered thinking he was going to crash. He did a bounce and then put the biplane into a sharp climb, thousands of AAA shells rising up to meet him. Chasing him up to 500 feet … 750 … 1000 …

By twirling and spinning and weaving, he managed to avoid being hit—but still more guns were firing at him. He counted twenty separate AAA sites before he knew there was no need to count anymore.

He knew no matter how closely hidden, the Blues’ central command station would be the most highly protected part of Kabul Downs.

And judging by the number of guns now shooting at him, he was sure he found exactly what he’d come looking for.

He spun up to five thousand feet, away from the AAA fire, and turned west toward the Red Army’s lines.

There was a warm feeling in his heart, caused by his knowing that his improvised recon mission had produced results. He was certain the central command station was in the financial district of Kabul Downs, a neighborhood known as the Pennylane District. Now the question was: What should he do with
this
information?

As he was tumbling these factors around in his mind, he got high enough to see the trench lines clearly again. Morning battles were still raging all around the city, both in the air and on the ground.

Hunter would go back now, he decided, land at Red Base One, eat a quick breakfast, load up on gas and ammo, then do a 0900 patrol. If that went well, he could go up again at noon.

At that moment he realized he was flying right by the Lords Towers, the place where the rescue party led by Y had been kept, until the Red Army insiders broke them out.

He’d never really paid much attention to this place before—he’d never really gotten within a mile or two of it

Yet now … something seemed to be calling his attention to it.

He slowed his engine and looped around the tower. It was mostly English in architecture, with very little of the Mideastern influence seen in most of Kabul’s buildings. The place looked like Big Ben without the clock. It was very tall, plus it sat up on a hill, which made it appear even more imposing.

Hunter was about to turn away and head for home when his body started shaking again.

What was this all about?

He turned and realized there were no less than six SuperSpads coming right up his tail. Hunter instinctively threw his throttle forward and heard the big prop engine kick in. He was soon up to 200 knots, then 250. Then he looped back toward the Lords Towers.

It was an insane thing to do. The Spads were getting within firing range, and while he could handle a couple, or maybe three at a time, six SuperSpads were a handful.

Yet something was drawing him to the tower.

He looped around it again and stared at the top of the structure, and just as the SuperSpads started firing on him, he saw a flash of white against the dull brown brick of the top floor.

And that’s when his entire body began to shake so much it was all he could do to hang onto the stick.

He saw a hand waving to him from a very small window.

Deep down in his subconscious, in a place that not even he himself could ever go, he realized the reason why he had come so far to fight in this strange war.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment was gone. Hunter pulled out the throttle and twisted away from the SuperSpads dogged fire. With a huge kick of speed, he pointed the airplane’s nose toward his own lines.

And though the sun was now at his back, the Light was once again shining in his eyes.

Red Base One

H
UNTER BOUNCED IN TEN
minutes later, leaping from his airplane even before it had stopped rolling.

He ran full-out to the intelligence hut. He felt he was holding two very important pieces of information: first, he was sure he discovered where the Blues’ central command station was hidden.

But more important, he was also convinced he now knew where the blue bloods were keeping the missing princess.

But when he burst into the intell hut to announce his news, he was met with a sea of stern, dejected faces.

Everyone was there: Fitz, JT, Ben, Geraci and his staff, and the JAWS boys. Y was asleep on one of the bunks, drunk again. There were several Red Army intelligence officers there, as well.

As soon as Hunter saw their faces, he knew something was wrong.

Really wrong.

He fell into the nearest chair and allowed his shoulders to slump. All of the enthusiasm quickly ran out of him.

“OK,” he said finally. “Let’s have it.”

Major Donn Kurjan was head of the Red Army Intelligence section. Like with many other people he’d met since coming here, Hunter felt like he’d known him in his other life. Kurjan solemnly hung up a map. It showed not just Kabul Downs but the entire Southwest Asian area. This encompassed not only all of Afghanistan, but also Iran, Pakistan, India, and the vast waters of the Arabian Sea.

“We just got a very disturbing piece of news from some free-lance spies down south,” Kurjan began.

He pointed to an area at the bottom of Pakistan, where that country met the waters of the Arabian Sea not far from the city of Karachi.

“Our sources say they’ve been watching a large dredging operation down in this area for the past three days,” Kurjan went on. “Hard as it might be to believe, this appears to be an effort to link parts of the Nawa Canal to the Indus River—”

“Dredging as in making the waterway wider?” Hunter asked, his spirits continuing to plunge. He knew what this was leading up to.

“Making it both wider and deeper,” Kurjan replied. “And whoever is doing the work isn’t fooling around. Our people report that a DG-fifty-five bomb went off there late last night as part of this massive operation.”

Hunter was stunned.

The DG-55 was the equivalent of an atomic bomb Back There. The Germans used them in their war with the U.S. Three DG-55s wiped out Paris on the eve of a peace agreement, killing more than ten million people. Next to the superbomb most recently dropped on Japan, DG-55s were the most destructive weapons on earth.

“They are using DG-fifty-fives to dredge a river?” Hunter asked somewhat astonished.

“Apparently so,” Kurjan confirmed.

“Then they are linking that river and the canal for only one reason,” Fitz said.

“To bring large ships up as far as they can,” Hunter filled in the blank for him.

“And that can only mean one thing in this part of the world,” Geraci moaned.

Everyone knew what he meant—but no one wanted to say the word.

Hunter did it for them.

“Mercenaries,” he said.

The gloom in the room increased tenfold.

It was the one thing they did not want to face. The battle for Kabul Downs was already a tightrope walk. Evenly matched sides battling it out. The introduction of fresh troops on either side would tip the scales precariously. Now it appeared that the blue bloods had made an effort to do just that.

“It is the only possible explanation,” Kurjan said. “This is the only conflict going on in this part of the world—the only major one anyway. This is the only possible destination for any mercenary ships. And their linking of the river and the canal tells us they’re not that far away. When the dredging is over, they’ll be able to bring ships up river by at least one hundred miles, probably more. That’s a lot of miles to avoid walking, especially in that terrain.”

“Any idea who is doing the dredging operations?” Hunter asked Kurjan.

“Nope,” he replied. “But I can give you a good guess.”

“Germans?” Hunter asked.

“Feet to the fire, that would be my answer,” the intell man replied solemnly. “They are the only ones who know how to work with DG-fifty-fives. They lost the war, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t still a lot of them around. I would say there is a very good chance that we are looking at Germans doing the blasting, Germans sailing the mercenary ships. Germans as brains behind the whole operation. That means, if we don’t win this war before the mercs are introduced—or even if we do—it’s not going to be pretty.”

Now came a very long, very gloomy silence. Every man in the room played in his head a number of ghastly scenarios that could come to pass if the Blues introduced more troops to the current hostilities. The Americans among them had all volunteered to fight for the Reds simply because Hunter seemed to think they’d been predetermined to do so, and because, on the face of it, the Reds were in the right in this war.

But now it appeared the dangers associated with that fateful decision had just been raised significantly.

The silence went on for five full minutes.

Finally JT stood up, stretched, and yawned.

“Well, let’s face it, then, we’re fucked,” he said graphically.

Another long silence. No one could disagree with him.

No one except Hunter.

“We’re fucked only if we don’t do something about it,” Hunter said.

Now all eyes quickly turned to him. Those in the room could already see the wheels spinning in his head.

But Fitz had a question.

“Do something about which thing, Hawk?” he asked. “The dredging? Or winning this war before the mercs get here?”

Hunter thought about this for a very long time.

Finally he replied: “Both.”

Kabul Downs

That night

T
HE RAILWAY YARDS IN
Kabul Downs were known officially as the Fifth Royal Delivery and Maintenance Station.

It was an expansive layout, a hub where no less than thirty-five major rail lines had once come together. Time and regional wars had cut that number in half. But still, this was a busy place—or it had been before the war began a year ago.

Any trains coming into Kabul Downs now traveled down from the north, through the mountain passes that more often than not were held by the Blue Forces. These trains mostly brought in perishable foods. The city itself had a year’s supply of stored food, fuel, and medicine on hand. Fresh foodstuffs, plus ammunition and fresh water, were always at a premium.

It was for this reason, then, that “Royal Five” as it was called was usually under heavy guard. Any train making it through, was unloaded quickly, its cargo brought to the city and squirreled away with haste. The empty trains would then depart, and with only the occasional Red Army sabotage on the north track to delay them, usually left within a day or two.

There was one train, however, that had arrived at the rail yard and had not left. Indeed, it was not going anywhere anytime soon.

This was the makeshift armored train driven to Kabul Downs by “Hunter & Crew” some three weeks before.

The fact that the train had been stolen from the napping forces of Khen the Hun had had a great deal to do with its success in getting to Kabul Downs. The train had torn a path through Khen’s territory on a combination of both guile and disguise. Those outposts that were caught unaware simply thought it was Khen himself rolling through. Those that had been warned that a rogue train was coming down the tracks were still reluctant to fire on it. What if some mistake had been made and this
was
Khen’s personal train? It was just that small amount of hesitation that allowed Hunter’s crew to get in the first shot, get the upper hand, and practically demolish anything or anyone that stood in their path. The train ride itself had lasted all of three days—but it had destroyed a substantial part of a madman’s ill-gotten empire, and freed thousands of people from oppression along the way.

But that train, at once historic and proud, now lay broken and scarred on a deserted track-roundabout out of the way in the darkest corner of the Royal Five railroad yard.

Most of the weaponry had been stripped off by the blue bloods, though tellingly not one of them had been turned around to actually be used against the Reds. Many had been made unusable by Hunter and the others as they were rolling into Royal Five, unannounced. The Blues were not innovators. Though they had come into possession of several dozen large machine guns, antiaircraft guns, and various rocket launchers, their system of military doctrine didn’t consider trying to make the broken work again. They simply took the weapons off the train and threw them into storage to rust away.

All except the airplanes, of course.

Forgotten in the bold railway strike across Southwest Asia were the handful of airplanes that the gigantic B-2000 superbomber had literally lugged around the world on its apocalyptic bombing mission.

The original six had been a strange bunch: there were two Z-4 Bantams. Small, hot-rod fighters, no bigger than a small truck, they were just a bubble canopy on a pair of wings really. Yet they could pack a punch with their twin cannons and air-to-ground rocket arrays.

There was the Z-5 SuperAeroCobra, a large, bulky, over-engined, underdesigned swing-wing fighter that looked like a piece of crap but could clock in at Mach 3—and that with a heavy bomb load.

Then there were the two unnamed VTOL airplanes. They looked fairly innocuous—wings, fuselage, bubble canopy, nose, and tail. But the two engines were actually hitched to the forward fuselage, and with the push of a lever inside the canopy, were able to swing up and down. This swinging meant the airplanes could take off and land vertically—without the aid of rocket bottles. In another universe, their distant cousin was called the Harrier jumpjet.