of him?" Dantini asked his junior officer. The dejected look on Burke's face already provided the answer.
"Nothing," Burke confirmed. "It's like the guy just disappeared . . ."
Dantini shook his head and took a sip from the glass of tequila in front of him.
"Jesus, the guy somehow gets out of a sealed-up tent in record time, then melts into the jungle like he was The Phantom or someone," he said, feeling the welcome sting of the hard liquor going down his throat. "Maybe he was Hawk Hunter . . ."
Burke sat down on the tent's cot and rubbed his tired eyes. "I'll organize a night patrol," he said wearily. "We'll sweep the ridges up north again, then double back along the beach." •
"That won't be necessary," a third voice said suddenly.
Burke looked up to see a man standing behind Dantini, pointing a gun in the general direction of the major's head.
It was the escaped prisoner.
"How . . . how the hell did you get in here?" Burke blurted out. It was as if the man had simply materialized out of thin air.
"Trick of the trade," Hunter said, lowering the gun slightly, causing Dantini to breathe a sigh of relief.
For an instant, Burke wished he had carried his own gun into the tent with him. But in his next thought, he doubted whether he would have actually used it on the prisoner.
"What do you want?" Dantini asked, still not daring to turn around.
"I want to get down to the facts," Hunter answered quickly. "I don't believe we're enemies. So, I suggest we just call a two-minute truce here and talk.
Okay?"
Dantini thought it over and eyed Burke. They both nodded in agreement. With that, Hunter walked out from behind Dantini and stood -between them.
"What will it take for me to convince you guys that I am who I say I am?" he asked them, a slight hint of exasperation in his voice. "I mean, I really am Major Hawk Hunter, formerly of the US Air Force; formerly of the Thunderbirds. More recently I've flown for the Pacific American Air Corps and now the United American Air Force . . ."
Dantini managed to take another gulp of his tequila. "Okay, let's say you are Hawk Hunter," he said. "What are you doing here, dropping in on a bunch of chopper dinks like us?"
"I had no idea you guys were down here?" Hunter said in all honesty, again feeling the pang of his own misjudgment in selecting a landing zone. "I was dropping in to do some recon on the people who are now running the Canal."
Dantini's left eyebrow immediately went up in a sign of interest.
"You're here to spy on The Cross?" he asked.
"Cross?" Hunter asked. "Is that the name of the gang occupying the canal?"
Dantini grew suspicious once again. "Yeah, 'The Twisted Cross,' to be exact,"
he said, his eyes narrowing. "It would seem that someone like Hawk Hunter would know that . . ."
Hunter had to agree. "You got me there," he said, managing a grin. "But believe me, just like you guys ain't exactly up on what's going on in North America, we're in the dark as to what the hell is going on down here. It isn't as if you can just pick up a newspaper these days."
"And they sent you down here to find out?" Burke asked skeptically. "Seems like a lousy job for a big shot like yourself . . ."
Hunter grew a bit angry at the man. "Well, now I see you guys are out of touch," he said. "In my organization - the United American Army-there are no
'big shots.' Everyone pitches in. Everyone has input, whether he's a rifleman or a general or the guy who cleans the pots. Sure, there are officers and there are enlisted men. But rank isn't an excuse to turn down a mission.
"I was chosen for this recon because I'm pretty good at sneaking in and out.
Simple as that . . ."
Dantini laughed. "Well, judging by the way you dropped in on us, I think you should do a little more work on the 'sneaking in' part."
"Okay," Hunter said smartly. "And someday, I'll tell you how I got into your tent . . ."
The comment zapped both men. It still appeared to both of them that Hunter used other-worldly
"Nothing," Burke confirmed. "It's like the guy just disappeared . . ."
Dantini shook his head and took a sip from the glass of tequila in front of him.
"Jesus, the guy somehow gets out of a sealed-up tent in record time, then melts into the jungle like he was The Phantom or someone," he said, feeling the welcome sting of the hard liquor going down his throat. "Maybe he was Hawk Hunter . . ."
Burke sat down on the tent's cot and rubbed his tired eyes. "I'll organize a night patrol," he said wearily. "We'll sweep the ridges up north again, then double back along the beach." •
"That won't be necessary," a third voice said suddenly.
Burke looked up to see a man standing behind Dantini, pointing a gun in the general direction of the major's head.
It was the escaped prisoner.
"How . . . how the hell did you get in here?" Burke blurted out. It was as if the man had simply materialized out of thin air.
"Trick of the trade," Hunter said, lowering the gun slightly, causing Dantini to breathe a sigh of relief.
For an instant, Burke wished he had carried his own gun into the tent with him. But in his next thought, he doubted whether he would have actually used it on the prisoner.
"What do you want?" Dantini asked, still not daring to turn around.
"I want to get down to the facts," Hunter answered quickly. "I don't believe we're enemies. So, I suggest we just call a two-minute truce here and talk.
Okay?"
Dantini thought it over and eyed Burke. They both nodded in agreement. With that, Hunter walked out from behind Dantini and stood -between them.
"What will it take for me to convince you guys that I am who I say I am?" he asked them, a slight hint of exasperation in his voice. "I mean, I really am Major Hawk Hunter, formerly of the US Air Force; formerly of the Thunderbirds. More recently I've flown for the Pacific American Air Corps and now the United American Air Force . . ."
Dantini managed to take another gulp of his tequila. "Okay, let's say you are Hawk Hunter," he said. "What are you doing here, dropping in on a bunch of chopper dinks like us?"
"I had no idea you guys were down here?" Hunter said in all honesty, again feeling the pang of his own misjudgment in selecting a landing zone. "I was dropping in to do some recon on the people who are now running the Canal."
Dantini's left eyebrow immediately went up in a sign of interest.
"You're here to spy on The Cross?" he asked.
"Cross?" Hunter asked. "Is that the name of the gang occupying the canal?"
Dantini grew suspicious once again. "Yeah, 'The Twisted Cross,' to be exact,"
he said, his eyes narrowing. "It would seem that someone like Hawk Hunter would know that . . ."
Hunter had to agree. "You got me there," he said, managing a grin. "But believe me, just like you guys ain't exactly up on what's going on in North America, we're in the dark as to what the hell is going on down here. It isn't as if you can just pick up a newspaper these days."
"And they sent you down here to find out?" Burke asked skeptically. "Seems like a lousy job for a big shot like yourself . . ."
Hunter grew a bit angry at the man. "Well, now I see you guys are out of touch," he said. "In my organization - the United American Army-there are no
'big shots.' Everyone pitches in. Everyone has input, whether he's a rifleman or a general or the guy who cleans the pots. Sure, there are officers and there are enlisted men. But rank isn't an excuse to turn down a mission.
"I was chosen for this recon because I'm pretty good at sneaking in and out.
Simple as that . . ."
Dantini laughed. "Well, judging by the way you dropped in on us, I think you should do a little more work on the 'sneaking in' part."
"Okay," Hunter said smartly. "And someday, I'll tell you how I got into your tent . . ."
The comment zapped both men. It still appeared to both of them that Hunter used other-worldly
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