“Captain Stewart Heath,” he said in a slight Cockney accent. “Sorry about all this, Major Hunter.”
“Well, it’s been a hell of a long time since I’ve got a speeding ticket,” Hunter said.
Heath pointed to the two taxiing pilots. “They’re just young bucks, major,” Heath said. “Just a tad, shall we say, ‘enthusiastic’?”
Hunter smiled for the first time. “They’re just doing their job,” he said.
“I’m glad you see it that way, major,” Heath said with a grin. “Now there will be a smallish fine. But not too much. Say, a quarter bag of silver. And if you pay it up right now, I can invite you to have breakfast with us with a clear conscience.”
Hunter reached into his flight-suit pocket and came up with a small bag of coins. A lieutenant appeared, and Hunter handed him the bag. He returned the gesture with a salute.
Heath clapped his hands once loudly. “Smashing,” he said, beaming. “Now, major, please. Will you join us?”
Although it seemed as if he had just finished his roasted lamb feast at the cafe, Hunter found himself hungry again. Plus he genuinely liked the Brits.
“Okay,” he agreed. “Could always use a little more chow.”
The entire group of officers, along with the two intercepting pilots, adjourned to a large tent where a meal of scrambled eggs, rolls, and tea was already waiting for them. Everyone helped themselves and settled down at the cafeteria-style benches to eat. Heath sat next to Hunter.
“We’ve heard of you, of course, Major Hunter,” Heath told him. “When our boys radioed in they were tracking an F-16, well, there’s only one F-16 flying these days, so we’re told.”
“What are you guys doing way out here?” Hunter asked him.
“It’s a long story,” Heath said, sipping his tea. “After the war cooled down, we — our wing of the RAF, that is — came into possession of the land on both sides of Gibraltar. We must patrol this far, to watch our southern flank. The speed-limit rule is simply one more way we can control the airspace. It keeps the troublemakers out, plus if we see anything coming our way at full boot, well, we’ll know he’s an enemy, won’t we?”
Hunter couldn’t argue with the typically British logic.
“Are you here to join the war, major?” one of the other officers asked across the table.
Hunter shook his head. “Believe it or not, the answer is no,” he said. “In fact, up until a short time ago, I had no idea this war — or any other war — was going on.”
“Oh, but you are out of touch over in America,” Heath said. “It’s not the ‘quick jump over the pond’ that it used to be.”
“How true, captain,” Hunter agreed. “We are very isolated. And we’re embroiled in so many of our own problems, we don’t have time to catch up on what’s happening over here. But, by God, I would never have thought the big war was still going on.”
“Well, in fairness to you Americans, the war did calm down a bit for nearly two years,” Heath told him. “Became sort of a ‘phony war,’ actually. The Soviets were too weak to lift a gun right after … well, after the dirty bastards nuked you. Many countries had entire armed units still intact. Most settled where they stood. We were at the RAF base on Gibraltar when the armistice was declared. We sat there — on our base — for close to seven months. No one came to disarm us. Only then did we realize the Russians couldn’t throw together five working divisions in Europe on a bet. So we started, well, moving about a bit.”
He courteously refilled Hunter’s plate with eggs and his cup with tea. Then he continued.
“It was about a year ago when we realized that the Russians were suddenly desperately light on the surface-to-airs. That’s when we started flying long-range patrols. With nothing to shoot at us, we were flying as far north and east as Berlin. For the most part, we didn’t see any appreciable Russian strength anywhere.”
“You said they were short on SAMs,” Hunter said.
“Yes, it was the most curious thing,” Heath said. “We had our eyes on them, of course. And we were in contact with other RAF bases. And it seemed as if their SAM forces just dwindled overnight. It was such a strange thing for them to do, leave themselves open like that. They gave up whatever control they might have had over the European airspace. And there weren’t enough MIGs around to make much of a difference. Plus a lot of their men defected.”
“They withdrew their SAMs and sent them to America,” Hunter told him. “They tried to split the continent right in half. Came close to doing it too. We just got through with them. It was rough.”
“By God, major, are you serious?” Heath said. “We had no idea you were having a go with the Russkies over there.”
Hunter settled back and told them the whole story. The formation of The Circle, the SAMs hidden in The Badlands, the ferocious battle between the democratic Western Forces and the fanatical, Soviet puppet armies of The Circle. The British officers were at once fascinated and flabbergasted by the tale.
“They took a huge risk,” Heath said at the end of the story. “They were so intent on keeping you Yanks down.”
“Well, they’ve set us back,” Hunter said with bitterness in his voice. “And that’s why I’m here.”
He reached inside his pocket and pulled out the picture of Viktor.
“I’ve been tracking this man,” he said, handing the photo to Heath. “He’s responsible for the whole Circle War.”
Heath looked at the photo. “Why, this is the Lucifer bloke,” he said. “The Madman of the Mediterranean. He’s behind all the war talk right now.”
“Well, he’s the one who formed The Circle,” Hunter said. “We know him as Viktor Robotov. He’s a Russian agent, obviously high up on the ladder. He’s the guy that got the Soviets to sneak in their SAMs.”
“Well, he’s quite dangerous,” Heath said. “He’s got almost a cult following. I’ve seen videotapes of him. Religious, socialist, anarchic rubbish. It’s all jibberish. But he’s pushing the right button in the lowest common denominator, if you will.”
“He did the same thing in America,” Hunter said. “That’s why I’m on his tail.”
Heath stroked his fiery red mustache. “Well, you’ve taken on quite a task for yourself, major,” he said. “I believe Lucifer is busy relighting World War Three right now. I’m not so sure he’ll have time for you.”
Hunter only smiled and said, “We’ll see.”
Chapter 5
He enjoyed talking to the Brits. They offered to give him a look at one of their Tornados, an invitation Hunter readily accepted. He loved airplanes and airplane design. He’d go anywhere, anytime, and talk airplanes with just about anyone.
After he went over every inch of the British fighter, it was time to turn his attention to his own airplane and its sabotaged firing system.
It took him less than a minute to find the problem. The saboteurs had been clever. They hadn’t tripped the electric-shock alarm because they hadn’t touched the airplane’s body. Nothing was tampered with, no wires were cut. Instead the saboteurs, most likely using a small laser, had cut through a thin seam on the side of the airplane’s radardome located on its snout. Once through, the laser zapped the hundred or so semiconductors attached to its sophisticated logic center. The result: no weapons.
Hunter could fix the problem, but only by hotwiring all the systems back to the power generator — a slow, time-consuming, two-day job at the least. But it was clear he couldn’t go on without his defenses. He decided to take advantage of being in a friendly base. The Brits told him he could stay as long as he liked.