Free The Circle War by Mack Maloney Page B

—the surviving guardsman and St. Louie's recon guy
    —both saw some kind of intense action, and although they were more than a thousand miles
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    apart, they both remembered one thing: Horses. And I'm personally going to find out what the hell they meant."
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Chapter Nine
    A week later, Hunter sat in the hold of the Stallion chopper, looking out at the darkened landscape below. They were heading east, over the old states of Idaho and Wyoming, over the South Platte River to where the borders of Colorado, Nebraska and Kansas once met. There was an almost full moon this night. He could see the contour of the land below him change from mountainous to hilly range land to flat open spaces. He checked his watch. 0150 hours. By 0230, the chopper would be on the edge of the Badlands. Then he would be on his own.
    He had briefed the rest of the PAAC-Oregon officers on the mysterious convoy and wreck of the 707. The incident fit into his theory. If the Soviets had moved men and materiel into one end or the other of the Badlands, it would just be a matter of getting hold of some convoy jets, hiring on some fighter protection and moving freely anywhere in the midsection of the country. In all likelihood, the convoy he intercepted had strayed somewhat from its course, bringing it slightly west of the Dakotas. Again, not an unusual occurrence in these days of
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    flying more by the seat of one's pants than by sophisticated navigational gear.
    Using the 419.10 miles he'd found on the 707's distance indicator, he did some quick calculations which led to a very interesting discovery. Within the 420-mile radius of the crash site there were four airports —or former military air bases —that could handle 18 big airliners like the ones in the convoy.
    Three of these bases were inside the Badlands. Even the hay and the oats made a crazy sort of sense. "Horses," again. Another piece of the puzzle seemed to be falling into place.
    But the photo of Dominique was another story. That almost defied explanation.
    He told no one about it ...
    He checked his watch again. 0200 hours. His face was properly blackened as were his clothes. He did a final check of his gear. He was carrying Dozer's smaller Uzi instead of his own, larger M-16. On his back was a satchel filled with HE (high explosive) hand grenades, several signal rockets, a long distance radio transmitter and receiver, a long, bayonet-like pack knife, and a .45 automatic. He also carried two gallons of water and six small bags of food. He knew he'd never eat any of the food —when he was this charged up, food was the farthest thing from his mind. But he took the packets along only as a favor to Mio and Aki.
    He turned his attention to the contraption sitting next to him. He'd spent the last week designing and building it, yet he still couldn't come up with a proper name for it. It was kind of a combination 86
    ultra-light/hang-glider/minijet. He had started with a tricycle-type frame and enclosed it with a small, soapbox derby style cockpit. Inside was a seat, a main control steering column, and two mini-control panels. Located directly in back of the seat was an umbrella-like device on which was the vehicle's presently-folded triangular sail. In the rear he had installed a small, intricate jet engine. Two stubby wings projected a foot and a half out from each side of the frame. They were just long enough to hold four small dual-purpose air-launched missiles, two on each wing. The missiles were also filled with HE. A tripod built next to the steering column held a swivel fastener on which he could bolt down the Uzi. A small radio was on board.
    Right next to the front landing wheel was a black box housing two miniature cameras. Hanging off the starboard side was an elaborate eavesdropping device he had taken off the U-2.
    The entire minijet was painted dull black and — except for a few of the critical engine parts —was made entirely of plastic. This way it had
    "stealth," meaning it