Free The Twisted Cross by Mack Maloney

guys who shot at Pegg crunch those cyanide capsules. Well, let's face it, that's fanatical behavior."
    Everyone around the table nodded almost at once.
    Hunter continued. "So, if we go flying around down there, believe me, these cats will catch on very quickly that something is up. And, I'm sure, just like those guys greased themselves, the people in charge will do something drastic."
    "Well, damnit, we're back at square one," JT snarled.
    "Which is where we should be," Jones said authoritatively. "Our successes in the past haven't come because of any advantages in manpower or equipment.
    They've come because we use our heads and think things out. No sense in changing that now . . ."
    Everyone took a swig of whatever they were drinking and stole a deep breath.
    "Phase one is always gathering intelligence," Jones began again. "And in this case, I agree, that recon overflights would be premature at this point. We've got to get a man in on the ground down there and get the big picture."
    "I'm going," Hunter said immediately.
    There was no need for discussion, no reason for argument. It was a foregone conclusion; everyone in the room knew that the dangerous job would fall to The Wingman.
    The only question Jones had was: "How?"
    Hunter shrugged. "If the Hercs can drop me in," he said, making it up as he went along. "I'll snoop around. When I've seen enough, I'll call and someone gets me out."
    "Feel like lugging a mini-cam with you?" Crunch asked. "It's a small one -hold it in one hand. Lightweight. Good on batteries."
    "That's a good idea," Jones said, making a few notes. "I f think if you could, getting good video would help us on this one . . ."
    "Sure, why not?" Hunter said. He planned on traveling light anyway. Carrying a small camera would be no big deal.
    Jones closed his notebook, an indication that the meeting was over. "Work up your plan, Hawk," he said. "Get together with your support guys. You and I will talk it over one more time and then I suggest you jump off as soon as possible."

Chapter 9
    Eighteen hours later, Hunter was strapped into one of the jump seats in the back of a Mew York Here C-130 cargo plane.
    "About another hour, Major," one of the crewmen called back to him from the cockpit. "Holler if you need help suiting up."
    Hunter stood up and began the long process of getting ready to jump out of a moving airplane. First he fastened on his main and auxiliary parachutes. Then he checked his front and rear knapsacks - they contained everything from water purification tablets to a small, hand-held SAM pistol of his own design. Next came his utility belt and holster, his NightScope goggles, his M-16 and finally, his flight helmet.
    "Forty-five minutes . . ." came a call from the cockpit.
    Hunter routinely rechecked his map, lining up the topography on the paper with the terrain outside the C-ISO's small window. He was heartened to see that they were right on course, a credit to the '130 pilot. The New York Hercs were a great team -the best in cargo lift he'd ever seen. And they were, to a man, just as committed to the causes of freedom and the reunification of America as Hunter or any of the other United Americans. In other words, they were his kind of people.
    The trip down to Central America had been eventless. The Here took off from DC
    at sunrise the morning after the planning session. Fighter escort was provided by two Football City F-20 Tigersharks, hot-shit aircraft that were legitimately the best in the world next to Hunter's own F-16XL. The small convoy stopped for refueling in Football City itself, then again in Dallas. In addition, they all took on additional gas during a mid-air refueling session over the Caribbean about an hour ago, courtesy of the Texas Air Force.
    So now it was dark and they had just passed over the eastern coastline of what used to be Costa Rica, but was now known simply as Big Banana. Now for the first time he could see Panama. His designated drop zone was just over the edge of