the Mosquito Gulf, about 10 miles from the "eastern" Atlantic-side entrance to the Canal. More accurately, it was the northern entrance as the Canal, as Panama itself, actually ran more north to south than east to west.
Further complicating things was that due to Panama's crooked elbow shape, the Pacific entrance was actually more to the east than the Atlantic side.
But geography aside, Hunter planned to set down as close to the shoreline as possible, then hoof it to the Canal.
Time passed. Hunter felt the C-130 start to descend slowly.
"Twenty minutes, Major," the Here crewman called back.
Hunter took a succession of deep breaths and rechecked his two parachute harnesses. He decided to review his plan once again, but found his thoughts drifting back to the night before, when he and most of the United American allies attended a football match at RFK Stadium between a Football City All-Star team and a pro team from San Antonio, Republic of Texas. It was one of the first of many exhibition games that had been scheduled around the continent as another means of solidifying and unifying the United American cause.
The game was a good one -the Texans won in OT, 48-46. Hunter and his friends had had great seats, near the fifty yard line. But still, the pilot's mind hadn't been on the game for all four quarters.
He had sat beside Major Frost and after a few beers, the conversation came around to Dominique.
Hunter told the Canadian the latest on his beautiful girlfriend, how she had somehow hooked on with a group of prominent Canadians and was now on an isolated retreat in the Canadian Rockies. Although Frost wasn't familiar with the particular people Dominique had fallen in with, he was aware of similar
"human encounter" groups that were springing up in Free Canada.
"Some of them are quite innocent," the Canadian had told him. "They are little more than social clubs. But others are quickly attaining cult status. Not quite along the line of America's cults of the sixties and seventies, but not that far away either ..."
"I've never really known Dominique to be a 'joiner,' " Hunter had told Frost.
He remembered the worried look that came over the Canadian at that moment.
"These groups apparently are especially attractive to people just like that,"
he had explained. "People who are isolated. People who are having problems adjusting to this crazy world . . ."
Hunter then posed a question he wished he hadn't. "Just what do these people do on retreat?" he asked.
Again, Frost admitted he knew little about it all, but because Hunter was his friend and he believed in telling it like it is, he told the fighter pilot that some of the groups practiced "open living."
"Fairly open sex, is a better term for it," Frost explained. "All very safe, of course. But it's an encouragement to share everything-apparently including your bed -anytime, with anyone you want . . ."
It was those last three words that had stuck in Hunter's mind. "Anyone you want . . ."
Hunter and Frost had finished the conversation with a handshake and a promise from the Canadian to look into
the particular group Dominique had joined.
"Five minutes, Major Hunter," came the call, effectively breaking into Hunter's daydream.
He took a deep breath and rechecked all his equipment one more time, thankful that he had something else to dwell on. He reached up to his left chest pocket and felt the folds of the small U.S. flag he always kept there. Wrapped inside the Stars and Stripes was a picture of Dominique. He patted the bulge three times; whenever he was about to embark on a dangerous or critical mission, he always took the time to concentrate on what the two items in his pocket meant to him. They represented the two most important loves in his life: his country and his woman. Many times he had vowed to fight -to the death if necessary -
to protect either one, or both.
It was a vow he made once again . . .
"One minute, Major!" came the cry from the crewman. The
Further complicating things was that due to Panama's crooked elbow shape, the Pacific entrance was actually more to the east than the Atlantic side.
But geography aside, Hunter planned to set down as close to the shoreline as possible, then hoof it to the Canal.
Time passed. Hunter felt the C-130 start to descend slowly.
"Twenty minutes, Major," the Here crewman called back.
Hunter took a succession of deep breaths and rechecked his two parachute harnesses. He decided to review his plan once again, but found his thoughts drifting back to the night before, when he and most of the United American allies attended a football match at RFK Stadium between a Football City All-Star team and a pro team from San Antonio, Republic of Texas. It was one of the first of many exhibition games that had been scheduled around the continent as another means of solidifying and unifying the United American cause.
The game was a good one -the Texans won in OT, 48-46. Hunter and his friends had had great seats, near the fifty yard line. But still, the pilot's mind hadn't been on the game for all four quarters.
He had sat beside Major Frost and after a few beers, the conversation came around to Dominique.
Hunter told the Canadian the latest on his beautiful girlfriend, how she had somehow hooked on with a group of prominent Canadians and was now on an isolated retreat in the Canadian Rockies. Although Frost wasn't familiar with the particular people Dominique had fallen in with, he was aware of similar
"human encounter" groups that were springing up in Free Canada.
"Some of them are quite innocent," the Canadian had told him. "They are little more than social clubs. But others are quickly attaining cult status. Not quite along the line of America's cults of the sixties and seventies, but not that far away either ..."
"I've never really known Dominique to be a 'joiner,' " Hunter had told Frost.
He remembered the worried look that came over the Canadian at that moment.
"These groups apparently are especially attractive to people just like that,"
he had explained. "People who are isolated. People who are having problems adjusting to this crazy world . . ."
Hunter then posed a question he wished he hadn't. "Just what do these people do on retreat?" he asked.
Again, Frost admitted he knew little about it all, but because Hunter was his friend and he believed in telling it like it is, he told the fighter pilot that some of the groups practiced "open living."
"Fairly open sex, is a better term for it," Frost explained. "All very safe, of course. But it's an encouragement to share everything-apparently including your bed -anytime, with anyone you want . . ."
It was those last three words that had stuck in Hunter's mind. "Anyone you want . . ."
Hunter and Frost had finished the conversation with a handshake and a promise from the Canadian to look into
the particular group Dominique had joined.
"Five minutes, Major Hunter," came the call, effectively breaking into Hunter's daydream.
He took a deep breath and rechecked all his equipment one more time, thankful that he had something else to dwell on. He reached up to his left chest pocket and felt the folds of the small U.S. flag he always kept there. Wrapped inside the Stars and Stripes was a picture of Dominique. He patted the bulge three times; whenever he was about to embark on a dangerous or critical mission, he always took the time to concentrate on what the two items in his pocket meant to him. They represented the two most important loves in his life: his country and his woman. Many times he had vowed to fight -to the death if necessary -
to protect either one, or both.
It was a vow he made once again . . .
"One minute, Major!" came the cry from the crewman. The
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