"No wonder that seven-o-seven looked like a stable," Dozer said, laughing at the absurdity of it. "They've probably been flying the nags all over the Badlands."
They arrived at the base's club and quickly took possession of a corner table.
The bar maid brought over their usual brand of whiskey and a plateful of bar sandwiches. Hunter began wolfing down the first of several of the saloon delicacies.
"A well-trained cavalry could do a lot of damage in Texas these days," Jones said, pouring out the drinks. "They could drive the Texans crazy raiding along the border then provide cover for the infantry when the big push came."
"There are still two major questions," Hunter said, downing his drink and reaching for another sandwich. "One: how the hell did they get all those SAMs over? And two, who's supplying the infantry when the balloon goes up?"
"We might have both answers " Jones said, knocking back a shot of the no-name whiskey. "A lot of things have happened since you left." He reached inside his flight jacket and produced a photograph. "But first of all take a look at this. It came from the Texans a couple of days ago."
Hunter took the photo and examined it. It was a typical recon picture, taken at low-level. The photo showed a long stretch of beach, perhaps two miles worth, dotted with what looked at first to be about fifty beached whales. A closer examination showed them to be not whales, but submarines. Russian submarines.
"Christ," Hunter exclaimed. "Where the hell was this taken?"
"That's Acapulco, Mexico," Jones answered. "Two Texans in an F-4 took it about a week ago."
"The lost patrol boat. These have got to be the subs we've been looking for,"
Hunter said.
"Or some of them, anyway." Dozer added.
"We know they're all diesel-powered boats," Jones continued. "Russian mothballed stuff, mostly, but also a few North Korean and Indian. Most of them are old. I mean really old. Granddaddies. Some of them are lucky as hell they made it."
"Has anyone searched them?" Hunter asked.
"Yes," Jones said, swallowing a shot and lighting a massive cigar. "The Texas Special Forces choppered in a couple of squads the next day to look around.
Each sub was stripped to the bone inside. No torpedos, no missies, no nothing.
Not even any bunks. Every boat was stark empty. The controls were even modified so that a skeleton crew could bring them over."
"They were using them as cargo ships," Hunter said, as he continued examining the minute details of the photo. "They were hauling only very exclusive cargo.
Ammunition, fuel, anything too flammable to risk bringing it in by soarplane."
"You found Fitzie's 'UFOs?" Dozer asked.
"Yep," Hunter said, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. "Just as we thought, they were very terrestrial gliders, running over the Great Lakes with their landing lights on so they wouldn't have a fender-bender at 80,000 feet."
"My God," Jones said. "You mean they skipped them over the Lakes and hoped to get a thermal around Milwaukee?"
Hunter nodded a split-second before he downed his second shot of firewater.
"Jesus, that's one hell of a trip!" Dozer said, astonished.
"Some of them must have made it," Hunter said. "There's a bunch of sailplanes — every inch of them wood and plastic — sitting out in South Dakota. I've got pictures of them. And, just like these subs, they were used strictly for a one-way mission."
Hunter turned his attention back to the photo. "But why Alcapulco?" he said, almost to himself.
Jones re-lit his cigar and ran his hand over his close-cropped head. "Let's say the Russians knew that both the Texans and PAAC do a long-range recon to the Gulf of California on occasion," he said between puffs. "They would have been sitting ducks for our anti-shipping patrols in those narrow waters."
"So they must have hired on some local help to unload the subs," Dozer said, picking up on the theory. "Then they could float the stuff right up to the Colorado River. But from there, they could have kept right on going right up to…"
"To Las Vegas," Hunter filled in. "Or, the desert near Las Vegas…"
"Then that must have been what all the commotion was about down there," Jones said. "They were carrying a load of ammo and someone dropped a cigarette butt.
Bang! Goodbye cruel world."
"Could have been an accident," Hunter said, pouring himself a drink. "Could have been our patrol boat guys, letting us know where they were. If that's the case, they were probably blown up in the explosion too."
"But there's another thing," Jones said. "Although whatever went off out there made a hole big enough to see down to China, it still was probably just the cargo from one of those subs."
"Well, they're carrying some pretty heavy stuff," Dozer said.
Hunter pounded the table softly. "But it still doesn't say how they got all those SAMs over here," he said. "They wouldn't dare fly them in. And they couldn't fit them on these subs. How the hell they get 'em in?"
"We have our theories on that," Jones said. "But, Christ, it bothers me that the Reds are being innovative all of a sudden. Gliders. Cavalry. A million Goddamed SAMSs. Supplying criticals by sub then overland. Busting those Yaks in was a feat in itself."
"Yeah, and it's not like them to be so smart," Hunter said. "That's what's got me worried."
"Wait until you see this," Dozer said. He produced a pouch that was marked TOP SECRET and handed it to Hunter. "One of Fitzie's boys flew it in late last night, up and across Free Canada. And in the shittiest Piper Cub you've ever seen."
"Typical of Fitzie," Hunter said, as he opened the pouch. "His intelligence guys are the best, but he'll have them fly cheap junk."
His smile quickly faded as he read once, then twice, the telex-type message inside. "Oh God," he said slowly. "This is very bad."
"When we asked Fitz to keep his eyes open on the East Coast," Dozer said, his voice almost weary, "he blanketed the area with recon flights from old upstate New York all the way down to Florida. Got guys on the ground too. God knows if he ever thought that this is what he'd find."
"I think that answers your question as to who will be supplying the manpower — if not the missiles — for the Soviets, Hawk." Jones said gravely.
Hunter read the message over another time:
SECRET TRAINING BASES… INFANTRY, SOME ARMOR FOUND IN PENNSYLVANIA. VIRGINIA. NORTH CAROLINA. GEORGIA. POSSIBLY MORE… HAVE I.D. FAMILY, PIRATES, AKS, MAYBE OFFSHORE MERCENARIES… ESTIMATE 10 DIVISIONS MINIMUM. FLYING UNDER CIRCLE FLAG. PHOTOS LATER.
"The Circle!" Hunter spat the words out.
"They're for real, Hawk," Jones said. "And in a big way. Not only is this
'Viktor' character, whoever the hell he is, whipping the Mid-Aks and The Family and God knows what other morons into a blood frenzy — the fucker is organized."
"If anyone else but Fitzie had sent this, I wouldn't have believed it," Hunter said. "But ten divisions! That could be one hundred fifty thousand men or more. At their best, the 'Aks and The Family couldn't field one hundred twenty thousand guys, tops."
He was quiet for a moment, letting the new information sink in.
"I wasn't all that worried about this Viktor or The Circle until this," Hunter began again. "Now it looks like everyone on the eastern side of the continent who wants to go play soldier."
"Could be some kind of cult," Dozer said. "And he's drawing in anyone who can shoot a gun and wants to eat. After losing Football City and Boston, I imagine there's more than a few out-of-work Family soldiers or 'Aks out there."
"And what's worse," Hunter said. "We know that The Circle has the capability of producing weapons and ammunition. But if they were giving guns to only half these guys, it would mean that somehow, somewhere, there must be some major munitions factories or a large arsenal operating."