He tried to get up, but Emma pushed him back down again.
“Stay down,” she ordered him. “You’re hurt and you need to rest … ”
“But, the ship … ” he started to protest.
“The hell with the ship,” she said firmly. “The storm is passed. The sun is out. Heath and Yaz have things under control. They were just here. They said to tell you that they have air patrols out. They also said we’ll be close to Malta by this time tomorrow. So just stay put!”
He stopped protesting. Why fight it? He lay back down on the bunk and let Emma wash him. The battle was one of the most intense he’d ever been involved in. Who were the attackers? Did Soviet-built airplanes mean Soviet-manned airplanes? And did anyone win or lose? Did the enemy retreat because of the defensive measures, or did they simply break off the attack for lack of fuel or ammo? Would he ever know? Did it matter?
He looked up and saw that Emma had put the washcloth away and was unzipping her jumpsuit. Underneath she wore a small black-lace bra and similar panties. She removed her bra, revealing her small, pert breasts to him once again. Her panties came off next. She was now naked before him.
She was just a teenager, yet she was very mature. She knew when to soothe him and when to leave him alone. This was a time for soothing. She climbed into the bunk with him and nuzzled her breasts against his bare chest. He held her, and kissed her.
Then he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
Chapter 26
“General? This is Crunch, calling … ”
The powerful, shortwave radio in the San Diego headquarters of the Pacific American Air Corps was bursting with static.
“Go ahead, Crunch,” the general replied. “I can hear you about ten by twenty. Where are you?”
“Sir, we are at an air base on the island of Majorca,” Crunch reported, his voice fading in and out. “It’s a temporary setup, a staging area. We’ve traced Hunter to this place. We have people here who saw him here just a few weeks ago.”
“Well, what the hell’s he been up to?” Jones asked.
“I hope you’re sitting down, sir,” Crunch called back. “It seems he’s hooked up with a bunch of Brits. RAF guys. You see, they claim that the war is still going on over here.”
“Yes,” Jones replied. “We’ve been hearing a lot about that lately too.”
“Well, Hunter is with these Englishmen and he’s going after Viktor,” Crunch said, continuing his report. “They call him Lucifer over here, by the way. Lucifer has amassed a huge army in what used to be called Saudi Arabia. They say he’s planning to start up the war again and try to take over the Mediterranean.
“There’s a bunch of rich guys in West Europe that are raising an army to fight Viktor. So, they tell us, Hunter and these Brits are towing an aircraft carrier towards the Suez Canal to try to head off Lucifer—”
“Towing a what?!” Jones yelled.
“It’s true,” Crunch replied. “They hope to go in right before the Europeans arrive and bottle up Viktor with airpower.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Jones said, his voice rising a notch in excitement. “Leave it to Hunter to get himself mixed up in that kind of crazy adventure.”
“Well, he probably feels that if he’s going after Viktor, he might as well go with some help,” Crunch said.
“It sounds like to me that he’ll need even more help, Crunch,” Jones replied. “What do you think?”
“That’s a definite,” Crunch answered. “Because our boy Hunter is very well-known over here. And the place is lousy with Russians, spies, mercenaries that will work any side, anytime. And there’s a lot of bounty hunters roaming around. All of them would love to track down Hunter and collect one billion in gold.”
There was a short pause on the end of the radio, then Jones said, “I’ve heard enough, Crunch. You stay put. I’m sending over some help. Will the airfield there handle F-20s and a few AC-130 gunships?”
Crunch looked at Elvis and gave him the thumbs-up sign.
“Affirmative, sir,” the F-4 commander replied. “Fuel might be a problem, though.”
“Well, we can take care of that too,” Jones replied. “We’ve just taken delivery on two 707s converted for tanker and AWACs duty. This will give one of them a good workout.”
“I understand, sir,” Crunch said. “We’ll expect to see some familiar faces in a few days’ time. In the meantime, we’ll try to get a fix on exactly where Hunter and his friends are.”
“That’s a roger,” Jones replied. “I don’t have to tell you how valuable Hunter is to us and to the rebuilding of this country. We’ve got to protect him like a natural resource. Over and out.”
Crunch signed off and turned to Elvis. “Well, looks like we’re stuck here in paradise until reinforcements arrive.”
Elvis smiled. Majorca was beautiful this time of year. “Somehow,” he said, “I think Hunter would want it this way … ”
Chapter 27
The Beriev-12 flying boat Number 33 came in for a bumpy landing, its port wing shredded from a direct hit by a Phalanx Gatling gun. Its crew — twelve of which were wounded — was glad to be back down in friendly waters. The murderous air strike the night before had sapped them of all their strength of purpose.
Now the flying boat taxied up to its holding berth at the movable docking facility. The docking area was made up of a converted ocean-drilling platform that had been previously moved down from the Aegean Sea to its present position one mile off the Mediterranean island of Panatella. A shallow reef provided a natural breakwater, while long heavy-duty pontoon bridges served as docks and walkways between the berths and the platform. Three supertankers — all filled with aviation fuel — were tied up nearby; the returning strike force had flown over a fourth tanker as it was steaming toward the facility. Next to the supertanker docking area were fifty Berievs and as many sea-jets, each in its individual berth.
The pilot of Number 33 was an East German mercenary, as were just about all of the pilots at the base. But now he counted twenty-two empty berths at the mid-sea facility. He knew that was more than one-quarter of the entire force remaining. His employers had told them that an all-out attack on the Saratoga flotilla would be a piece of cake, that the inclement weather would prevent the fleet from firing back. The twenty-two empty berths proved that boast a lie. This on top of the handful lost in the initial earlier attack. The men running the Saratoga flotilla were obviously people to be reckoned with. Now the mercenary began to question whether this docking facility was as “attack-proof” as its operators had said it was.
The pilot of Number 33 made a mental note to ask his employers for a raise the first chance he got …
A few hours later, the S-A3 reconnaissance jet with the Australian pilot E.J. Russell at the controls circled the facility at an unseen height of 60,000 feet.
The fourth supertanker — a ship still carrying its prewar name of Exxon Challenger—was about an hour away from the Panatella base when it picked up a distress call from a Sicilian workboat that was taking on water five miles dead ahead. The captain of the supertanker didn’t want to stop to aid the sinking ship. He was concerned, though. The workboat was directly in his path, and if he were to change course, he would have to hurry. Turning a filled-to-the-brim supertanker just a few degrees to port or starboard was a major project and one that took time to accomplish.