He slowly brought the formation down low — they would come in right above the deck. He and the A-7s would go in first, lay down their bombs and then climb up to 2000 feet and serve as the air cover while the T-38s and the A-10s did their work. If no Russian jets were there to challenge them, each plane would return and strafe targets of opportunity.
He recognized the mountain just ahead of him as the one that formed the southern edge of the valley's border. Just beyond it was where he had spotted the Russian planes. He checked his instruments a final time, and increased his throttle slightly. The F-16 responded and pulled a little ahead of the A-7s. The trio of T-38s were slightly behind and the A-10s brought up the rear. Hunter would be the first over the target — if any SAMs were coming up, they'd be aimed at him. He gave a thumbs-up signal over his head for the A-7 pilots to see. Then he bore down over the mountain and prepared to unleash his bombs on the Russian base…
But there was nothing there.
He streaked down the mountain valley only to find that where he had seen the Soviet jets less than two hours before was now nothing more than a snowswept landscape. The jets, the huts, the antenna, the radar — everything was gone. He quickly re-checked his coordinates; he knew this was the place. But where the hell were the Russians?
The other pilots came over the mountain and shared the same surprise. Quickly, each pulled up and threw their arming switches to the Off position. Soon the eight planes were flying in formation once again. While the others orbited above, Hunter streaked low through the valley. He couldn't even see so much as an oil spot to indicate the Russian base had been there a few hours ago. He put the F-16 on its tail and climbed to join the others.
Hunter was the first to break radio silence. "Sorry, guys," he said with the puzzlement much evidenced in his voice. "I guess we're shooting at ghosts again."
"That's okay, major," one of the A-7 pilots, a guy named Mick, radioed back.
"Alaska's pretty this.time of year."
"Well, you guys enjoy the scenery on the way back," Hunter said, checking his fuel. "I'm going to look around a little more."
"Gonna need help, Major?" It was Max, one of the A-10 pilots.
"Thanks, Max," Hunter replied. "But I'll go this one alone. Go buy yourselves a round of drinks and put it on my tab."
"Aye-aye, sir," Mick radioed back. "Good luck."
With that, the seven attack jets turned southward and streaked off. Alone again, Hunter began searching…
The conference room at the PAAC base headquarters was filled to capacity. More than 60 pilots plus base support personnel were squeezed into a room that was built to hold 50 people, tops. Around the round conference table — its top strewn with empty and full coffee cups, wrappers from sandwiches and countless liquor and beer bottles — sat the principal officers of the Air Corps. The atmosphere was tumultuous as the pilots talked among themselves. Finally, the man they had been waiting for — General Dave Jones, commander of the Pacific American Air Corps — strode into the room. The assembled men snapped to attention as one, and barraged their commanding officer with an orgy of salutes.
The general, small, craggy faced and wiry, instinctively returned the salute.
These guys are real pros, he thought. The PAAC had done away with all but the most barebone rules and regulations between the ranks, yet Hunter and his guys never failed to catch the old USAF officer in him.
"Sit down, gentlemen," Jones said, walking over to shake hands with a few of the officers within reach.
"Relax…"
Hunter, standing at the head of the conference table and in front of a large video screen, greeted Jones. For Hunter, seeing Jones was like seeing a ghost.
The man was the identical twin brother of the deceased hero, General Seth Jones — Hunter's one-time commanding officer and mentor. Seth Jones had died bravely in the opening rounds of the Mid-Ak coup in the Northeast. Before he died, he told Hunter and the other ZAP pilots to head west and join up with his brother Dave. Eventually, they did.
"Good flight up, sir?" Hunter asked him. Jones's HQ and the main base for PAAC was located at the old Naval Air Station in San Diego.
"Sure, no problem," Jones said, taking off his trademark baseball cap and undoing his leather flight jacket. "Any coffee or whiskey left?"
"Both," Hunter said, retrieving a bottle from the table while another pilot handed a mug of coffee to the general. Jones splashed a healthy slug of whiskey into the coffee cup and took a gulp. "Okay. It's good to see everyone.
As you all know, I've been out of touch for a while. Without going into detail, we've got a secret project working and I was locked up in a laboratory — me and a bunch of eggheads — for several weeks. Now I hear there's been somse strange stuff happening. So what the hell is going on up here, Hawk?"
Hunter looked around at the soldiers in the room and especially at those seated around the table. This was the first council of war called since the new PAAC base was established at Coos Bay, Oregon. Anyone who was anyone at the base was on hand. At the far end of the table sat Ben Wa and J. T. Toomey, Hunter's friends who had served with him in the Thunderbirds before the war and in his F-16 squadron during it. They had also been with him at ZAP. Next to them sat four officers known as the Ace Wrecking Company, the two-plane F-4 fighter team for hire — and commanded by the swaggering Captain "Crunch" O'Malley. They had helped Hunter win the Battle of Football City and had accepted employment with PAAC when Hunter headed west.
Beside them sat two officers from The Crazy Eights, the eight-aircraft chopper team that once formed the equally famous Zone Air Ranger brigade back in the days of ZAP. The Crazy Eight Rangers were now doubling as the new base's airborne security force.
Captain Frost, an officer in the Free Canadian Air Force and another friend of Hunter's, was on hand as the liaison officer for PAAC. Next to him, and sitting at Hunter's right hand, was Captain John "Bull" Dozer, the tough Marine commander who had been with Hunter all through the war with The Family.
These men made up the war council, the group which, by agreement, was called to a meeting any time a crisis threatened the security of PAAC or the territory it protected.
Now Hunter had the floor.
He flipped a switch and the video screen came to life in a burst of static. He waited until a fuzzy image appeared on the screen then froze the picture.
"This is the videotape shot from the U-2 two days ago," he started. "Before I roll it, let me just say that I'm glad what's on this tape proves that I am not losing my mind — there were Russians out there — and that the tape will clear up a little of the mystery as to how the Soviets were able to disappear so quickly and take fifty jets with them. In a blizzard yet."
He paused briefly, "this is just one of a number of strange things that have been happening around here. Before I run this tape, let's just hear what you guys have run into lately, then maybe somehow, we can try to figure out what the Christ is going on."
He turned to Ben Wa and Toomey. "Ben, you first."
Ben Wa, the Oriental fighter pilot, stood up and began his story.
"About three weeks ago, J. T. and I were on TOY down to Nellis Air Force base outside of Vegas. As you know, we've been using the Nellis as a refueling station and target practice area lately.
"Anyway, we were drinking in town one night — there are a few barrooms still open in Vegas — and the locals told us they had heard strange stuff out in the desert a month or so earlier."