Thunder in the East by Mack Maloney Read Free Book Online Page A

muffled sounds of the chopper drawing closer. He squinted his eyes and* concentrated on the night sky to his west. Within a minute he saw the luminous orange spot, still a few miles away but drawing near. The orange dot was the bottom of the hoist basket.
    "Bring it steady this time," Hunter whispered as if to send a message to the chopper pilot. The last two times he had done this, the basket was bobbing and weaving so much, it took several flybys before he actually had time to jump in.
    The orange dot grew larger now, moving slow and steady. "OK," he thought.
    "Looks good . . ."
    He climbed up on the roofs thin 41-story high ledge and steadied himself against the IS knot wind. "Nice and slow..." he whispered. "Keep it steady. .
    ."
    The orange dot was now only about a quarter mile away and heading right for him. A few seconds later he could see the basket itself.
    "Right on the money, guys," he said. "Keep it on line."
    The basket was looming up on him very quickly now, its line stretching a full mile practically straight up. He knew from experience that the trick of the 63
    mile-long pickup was to leap right into the basket as it flew by.
    He went into his crouch when the basket was just 100 feet away. It was moving a little faster than he'd like, but the angle was good. SO feet. 25. 20 ...
    "I must be nuts doing this," he thought as the basket was suddenly right in front of him.
    He took a deep breath and leaped . . .
    The basket hit his shoulder first and the impact swept him up inside. He quickly pulled his legs in, then reached up and closed the wire mesh door. He then yanked the red cord dangling over his head. This would let the chopper crew know that he was inside, intact and ready to be lifted. As soon as he hit the red cord, he could feel the basket being drawn in.
    Up he went, into the midnight sky over the city. The wind blew harder the higher he got, and now he was thankful for his heavy wool flight suit. Below him the lights of the city started to compress as he was raised high over them.
    It's a long way down, he thought. This was not a place for anyone squeamish of heights.
    The chopper was across the Mississippi by the time they hauled him in.
    The first guy he saw was his old friend, Ben Wa. The Oriental fighter pilot, who had also been in the Thunderbirds demonstration team with him before the Big War, gave him a warm handshake after the basket had been secured and Hunter had climbed out.
    "Made it again, eh?" Ben said.
    "Well, you guys are getting better at it," Hunter said, rubbing his sore shoulder. "At least we did it on the first try."
    They moved up to the flight deck of the big chopper, where another friend and fellow Thunderbird
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    pilot, J.T. "Socket" Toomey, was at the controls.
    "Mr. Wingman," J.T. said, giving him a quick handshake. "Nice night for a ride, isn't it?"
    65

CHAPTER 10
    Yaz adjusted his South Afrikaner Army uniform and pulled the cap down tighter on his head.
    "Does this look OK to you?" he asked Elvis. All three of them were wearing the phony uniforms, left in a manhole by a member of Football City's small but highly-trained underground.
    "Sure, you look like a Nazi," Elvis told him.
    "I feel like a Nazi," Yaz said. The gray-brown two piece field suit did bear some resemblance to a German Army desert dress uniform, circa 1942.
    "Well, don't worry," the man named Ace told him. "The Circle and the Afrikaners are tight. No one will bug us while we're wearing these."
    They put the radio-controlled bombs, each the size of a paperback book, into a gunny sack, then stuffed their original clothes in around them. Then they set out for the center of the city.
    Five minutes later, they were walking down a crowded boulevard, rubbing shoulders with hundreds of Circle troops on liberty. Yaz was fascinated at how lively the place was, despite the fact that just about 30 miles away, an invading army lay in wait. The street was jammed with honking limousines, jeeps and an occasional tank or