Attack on Area 51 by Mack Maloney Read Free Book Online

opening to a huge underground cavern on the west side of the base.
    He could also see lots of lights and lots of body heat throughout the installation. It was obvious Nellis was a very important place for the AMC.
    Suddenly his bingo light clicked on. He now had just enough fuel to get back to Football City.
    He finally turned east.
    His immediate conclusions were unexpected. While Nellis was extremely active—no surprise—and Las Vegas was as brassy as advertised—apart from whatever had caused his strange sensations and flood of memories—Groom Lake appeared dead, deserted, abandoned. Based on what he’d seen, getting into Area 51 might be less complicated than he’d previously thought.
    Yes, going in alone was probably as impractical as Ben and JT had warned. But maybe he wouldn’t need an entire army either.
    Maybe all he’d need was a few versatile airplanes and a few brave souls.
    He checked his flight watch and nudged his throttles ahead slightly.
    He didn’t want to be late for his next appointment with the shrink.

Part Three: The Battle of Detroit

Chapter 9
    T HE DARKEST BACK ALLEYS in Football City were on the east side, right along the river.
    Lined with shuttered storefronts and rundown apartment buildings, these alleys were havens for all kinds of illicit activity.
    Dressed in dark hoodies and camo fatigues, Hunter, Ben, and JT were walking the alleys, looking for a notorious east-side address.
    Getting there had involved yet another small military operation. Ben and JT, in their trusty Huey, had flown Hunter off the roof of the military building around noon, while St. Louis, wearing Hunter’s helmet and bomber jacket, stood at the window in Hunter’s quarters and waved to the crowds below, distracting them.
    Landing next to the Mississippi after a two-minute flight, the trio had pulled their hoodies up tight around their faces and started walking. Hunter had briefly told his friends about his flash of memories the night before, but as the psychiatrist had advised Ben, his friends didn’t push the subject. Soon enough they were swallowed up by crowds of similarly dressed people who were going about the business of doing illegal things.
    They found the address they were looking for halfway down a particularly shabby alley. It was a basement flat guarded by two surly gunmen. They snapped to attention, though, when Hunter pulled back his hoodie and showed them his face.
    Everyone in Football City knew the Wingman—and everyone had heard about his miraculous return.
    “He’s expecting us,” Hunter told the goons.
    The gunmen stepped aside.
    He, Ben, and JT went down the stairs and entered a dimly lit room. More hired guns were sitting around a table playing cards. Dealing out the next hand was an elderly man with a shaved head and a long, stringy beard, who was dressed in an ancient disco-era jumpsuit.
    Hunter knew him right away.
    His name was Roy from Troy.
    Hunter had first met Roy in upstate New York a few months after World War III ended. Roy was the biggest arms dealer around at the time, and Hunter was looking for weapons to start the United American armed forces. Roy always came through for Hunter, on time, with good merchandise, and for the right price.
    But that had been an eternity ago. Hunter guessed Roy was at least one hundred years old by now.
    He walked over and shook the old man’s hand. Roy gave Hunter a fatherly pat on the chest.
    “I’ve seen a lot of things in my day,” Roy said, his voice a wheeze. “But I never thought I’d see you again.”
    “Same here, Roy,” Hunter replied.
    Roy studied him for a moment. “I see you’re back in form with the ladies? You have that look about you.”
    Hunter became flustered, but Roy was right. He’d seen his shrink just two hours before.
    “Doctor’s orders,” was all he could say.
    Roy signaled they should sit down. Another wave of his hand brought a round of whiskey.
    “So, Hawker, what do you need this time?” Roy asked