and signed off.
It was about seventy-five miles from Nellis to Groom Lake. At his current rate of speed, Hunter knew he could cover that distance in less than ten minutes.
But once there, would his plan work?
Inside S4
The radiophone had barely beeped once before Ben answered it.
Their only link to the outside world, he was astonished the device was still working at all.
St. Louis was on the other end. Ben could just barely hear him over all the static.
“After doing the math, I’m supposed to say to you, ‘seven minutes,’ ” St. Louis was trying to tell him. “Something will happen in about seven minutes. So pass the word.”
Ben’s ears perked up. He was in a very precarious position and needed all the information he could get.
The FCSF guys—most of them dressed in hobo clothes—had created two firing lines covering their present location, which was about two-thirds down the top gantry of the S4 chamber. The cavern wall had several natural alcoves where the troopers had set up interlocking firing positions. Firing positions were also established along the gantry’s four-foot-high metal railing.
These positions were well thought out, and they had held for the past half hour. That’s how long Ben, JT, and the others had been trapped here with units of AMC security troops blocking them at either end of the gantry.
A gunfight in any direction would take a lot of lives, and both sides knew it. So it was a stalemate—at least for now.
But Ben had learned earlier from St. Louis that three huge cargo planes were flying AMC reinforcements into Groom Lake. Plus he assumed the AMC would at least move reinforcements up to S4 via the underground highway. When they arrived, the FCSF unit would eventually succumb to the higher numbers. JT was already calling it the “Custer’s Last Stand” option.
For these reasons, Ben was very anxious to hear what Hunter had in mind—specifically, what was going to happen in seven minutes.
Trouble was, St. Louis didn’t know.
“He just said be prepared in about seven minutes,” he replied when Ben pressed him. “And you know Hawk. He’s usually on time.”
Traveling 550 miles an hour now, Hunter was surprised how well the old Sabre was performing—twisted fuselage, shattered canopy, and all. He’d been able to hold it steady twenty-five feet above the roadway, leaving another twenty-five feet as a buffer between him and the tunnel’s ceiling.
Any deviation though, the slightest dip in altitude or a sway to the left or right, and he’d be a sheen of blood and gas on the asphalt of the underground highway. The only good thing about that scenario was: it would be over quick.
One point in his favor, though: the S4 highway was amazingly well lit. It was lined on both sides with large fluorescent lights so bright he wasn’t using his night-vision goggles.
And it was perfectly straight, so far. In fact, his only immediate concern was what he was seeing in front of him—which was nothing but the tunnel, going off into infinity. Appropriately enough, he was getting tunnel vision—and it was somewhat hypnotic. He had to rapidly blink his eyes every few seconds just to get himself reoriented.
But then suddenly he saw something ahead of him, something that interfered with his tunnel vision. It was a line of troop trucks, moving deeper into the tunnel, just as he was.
Before he could even think about it, he was over them and could see it was a half-mile-long AMC troop convoy, no doubt heading for the S4 chamber with reinforcements.
Besides scaring the crap out of the convoy’s troops, Hunter was just able to fire his machine guns at the last instant, hitting the first few trucks in line. There was a huge secondary explosion as he flashed overhead, flames chasing him while he continued to barrel down the tunnel.
A quick glimpse over his shoulder told him that he’d disabled several trucks, blocking the tunnel in both directions, at least temporarily.
He let out a
It was about seventy-five miles from Nellis to Groom Lake. At his current rate of speed, Hunter knew he could cover that distance in less than ten minutes.
But once there, would his plan work?
Inside S4
The radiophone had barely beeped once before Ben answered it.
Their only link to the outside world, he was astonished the device was still working at all.
St. Louis was on the other end. Ben could just barely hear him over all the static.
“After doing the math, I’m supposed to say to you, ‘seven minutes,’ ” St. Louis was trying to tell him. “Something will happen in about seven minutes. So pass the word.”
Ben’s ears perked up. He was in a very precarious position and needed all the information he could get.
The FCSF guys—most of them dressed in hobo clothes—had created two firing lines covering their present location, which was about two-thirds down the top gantry of the S4 chamber. The cavern wall had several natural alcoves where the troopers had set up interlocking firing positions. Firing positions were also established along the gantry’s four-foot-high metal railing.
These positions were well thought out, and they had held for the past half hour. That’s how long Ben, JT, and the others had been trapped here with units of AMC security troops blocking them at either end of the gantry.
A gunfight in any direction would take a lot of lives, and both sides knew it. So it was a stalemate—at least for now.
But Ben had learned earlier from St. Louis that three huge cargo planes were flying AMC reinforcements into Groom Lake. Plus he assumed the AMC would at least move reinforcements up to S4 via the underground highway. When they arrived, the FCSF unit would eventually succumb to the higher numbers. JT was already calling it the “Custer’s Last Stand” option.
For these reasons, Ben was very anxious to hear what Hunter had in mind—specifically, what was going to happen in seven minutes.
Trouble was, St. Louis didn’t know.
“He just said be prepared in about seven minutes,” he replied when Ben pressed him. “And you know Hawk. He’s usually on time.”
Traveling 550 miles an hour now, Hunter was surprised how well the old Sabre was performing—twisted fuselage, shattered canopy, and all. He’d been able to hold it steady twenty-five feet above the roadway, leaving another twenty-five feet as a buffer between him and the tunnel’s ceiling.
Any deviation though, the slightest dip in altitude or a sway to the left or right, and he’d be a sheen of blood and gas on the asphalt of the underground highway. The only good thing about that scenario was: it would be over quick.
One point in his favor, though: the S4 highway was amazingly well lit. It was lined on both sides with large fluorescent lights so bright he wasn’t using his night-vision goggles.
And it was perfectly straight, so far. In fact, his only immediate concern was what he was seeing in front of him—which was nothing but the tunnel, going off into infinity. Appropriately enough, he was getting tunnel vision—and it was somewhat hypnotic. He had to rapidly blink his eyes every few seconds just to get himself reoriented.
But then suddenly he saw something ahead of him, something that interfered with his tunnel vision. It was a line of troop trucks, moving deeper into the tunnel, just as he was.
Before he could even think about it, he was over them and could see it was a half-mile-long AMC troop convoy, no doubt heading for the S4 chamber with reinforcements.
Besides scaring the crap out of the convoy’s troops, Hunter was just able to fire his machine guns at the last instant, hitting the first few trucks in line. There was a huge secondary explosion as he flashed overhead, flames chasing him while he continued to barrel down the tunnel.
A quick glimpse over his shoulder told him that he’d disabled several trucks, blocking the tunnel in both directions, at least temporarily.
He let out a
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