Hunter guessed the rest from there. “And you’re recording our mission to Suez then?” he asked.
“Yes,” Sir Neil said. “I can’t resist. They were able to dig up some fairly high-tech video equipment somewhere around Casablanca a few months ago, and miles of blank videotape. So I figured, ‘Why not?’ Whatever happens to us, it will be preserved for posterity. They got some great stuff of our recent engagement with the Fist and the Faction, especially your removal of those howitzers.”
Hunter shook his head in admiration of the robust British commander. For Sir Neil, the mission to Suez was more than a preemptive action spearheading for the Modern Knights and their armies; it was a high adventure, and Sir Neil had the kind of love for a bold undertaking that was in every English soldier’s blood since, well, since there was an England.
They arrived at the ship’s mess, where a temporary kitchen had been set up. They waited in line with everyone else, old-fashioned tin cups in hand. Once served, they sought out an empty table. The fare for the day was nothing more than a watery stew, slightly peppered with a rare piece of vegetable floating around.
Hunter took one sip and grimaced. “God, we’ve got to do something about the food,” he said.
“And the aircraft fuel situation,” Sir Neil said, coughing himself on the bitter-tasting stew. “And the electricity. Yaz’s guys are straining the two generators we have on board.”
“And ammo for my 16,” Hunter said, continuing the list.
“Aye, Hunter,” Sir Neil said, finally giving up on the stew and reaching instead for a stale piece of bread. “I know we’re not exactly flush in the Sidewinder department. And we could use some more antiaircraft and antimissile defenses. Not just for us, here on the carrier, but for O’Brien’s tugs too. They’re as valuable to us as anything.”
“Will we be able to afford some of this stuff on the black market when we reach Algiers?” Hunter asked, attacking a piece of bread himself.
“Afford it, by all mean, yes,” Sir Neil said. “But whether it will be available is the real question. Raleigh is back at Algiers now, organizing the pickup of our mercenaries. He called in to say that most of the top arms are being bought up — both openly and secretly — by Lucifer’s allies. The neutrals are getting into the action too. The rumor is the people who are holding all these weapons — the behind-the-scenes blokes — are turning off the spigot for a while. Driving the prices up. An artificial shortage. Raleigh says there probably won’t be very much left when we get there.”
“It’s a problem,” Hunter said. “We know things can get hairy after we pass through the Strait of Sicily. According to the schedule, that could be as soon as a week from now.”
“We probably won’t have to worry about it, major,” Sir Neil said, taking one last brave sip of the stew before pushing it away from him. “The food will kill us long before that … ”
An hour later, Hunter was inspecting the carrier’s newly acquired air arm. He was particularly impressed with the Tornados, even if they were of the two-seat, ground-attack design. (The single-seat version was quicker and built for the interceptor role.) The Tornado was the only fighter aircraft made containing reverse thrusters. It could land on a dime. So the carrier landings would be soon quite routine for their pilots.
The SAAB Viggens too were durable aircraft, and Sir Neil had spoke highly of their Swedish mercenary pilots. The Harrier jump-jets would be the most handy, and the ancient Jaguars — well, he admired the pluck of anyone who would dare fly them, let alone fight in them.
But besides his F-16, it was the S-3A that would be the most valuable. The S-3A — owned and operated by an Australian pilot named E.J. Russell — had a vast array of sophisticated reconnaissance gear on board as well as “standoff” missile-attack and antiship capability. So this airplane could act as the Saratoga’s scout plane.
Many of the pilots knew who Hunter was, and as he walked amongst the aircraft they came up and introduced themselves. As Hunter was the overall air commander for the mission, it was up to him to coordinate the air arm’s priorities and procedures. The first thing he did was schedule a meeting later that day for all of the pilots at which tactics and strategies would be discussed. His second act was to schedule a poker game to follow the first meeting.
He was in the middle of inspecting one of the Tornado’s unique radar systems when the ship’s intercom system barked out: “Major Hunter, please report to the bridge, immediately.”
It was the first time the intercom had been used since the ship was liberated and it startled a number of people below the deck.
“Well, I’m glad they got that working,” he said to one of the Tornado pilots as he climbed down from the Tornado and headed for the Saratoga’s bridge. “I think … ”
The man called Peter was sitting in the chair normally reserved for the Captain when he was on the bridge. Surrounding the bizarre little man were Sir Neil, Heath, and Gjiff Olson, the commander of the Norwegian frigates.
“Hunter, you’ve got to hear this,” Sir Neil told him as he walked in.
Peter was fighting with a long, slimy drool that was drenching the beard immediately around the sides of his mouth. His filthy hands were pulling at his tangled hair, which Hunter now noticed was falling out in clumps. The man was babbling as usual, staring off into space, alternately laughing and crying. But it was those eyes! Madness. Craziness. But windows to an intelligence that had not quite completely diminished but that could also apparently see what no others could see.
“Eyes in the sky!” Peter was yelling in between his unintelligible ranting. “Follow me! They’re all gone to the orgy. We can sneak in. Caesar! Caesar! Beware the eyes in the sky … ”
“What’s going on?” Hunter asked.
“Be patient with us, major,” Sir Neil said. “He’s been saying some very interesting things. He could be coming around to them again soon.”
“Virgins! Sacrifice her! Sacrifice her!” Peter laughed, tears rolling down his craggy cheeks. “They’ve all gone to the party. Sidewinders. Yes, Sidewinders! More than I’ve ever seen!”
“Did he say Sidewinders?” Hunter had to ask, trying to make some sense out of the gurgle.
“Yes,” Heath answered. “He’s been saying it over and over for the past twenty minutes.”
“Perhaps he knows something we don’t?” Sir Neil said to Hunter.
Hunter shrugged and moved close to the man. “Peter,” he said calmly, “where are the Sidewinders?”
The man turned and looked into Hunter’s eyes, his gaze triggering a jolt that ran through to Hunter’s brain. “You,” he said. “You are The Wingman, aren’t you? I know you are. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Once again, Hunter was startled by one of Peter’s revelations. Even in his spookishly accurate ship’s log prophecy, he had never mentioned Hunter’s “other” name.
“The Sidewinders, Peter,” Hunter repeated. “Where are they?”
He grabbed Hunter’s sleeve and pulled him close. The man looked as if he hadn’t bathed in a decade or so, and now Hunter’s nose confirmed it.
“You know I dream … ” Peter said, his voice a raspy whisper. “I see many things … I know you see many things too.”
Hunter couldn’t argue with the man. He did possess a certain degree of extrasensory perception.
“They’re all gone to the orgy,” Peter continued. “Let’s go! We can sneak in. We can steal their Sidewinders!”