Read Online The Lucifer Crusade by Mack Maloney - Free Book Online
Authors: Mack Maloney
Tags: Suspense
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reached into the F-4's cockpit and came up with an M-16. "Here, better take this too" he said, handing the gun to Elvis. "And better keep your helmet on."
"Where you headed, captain?" Elvis asked.
O'Malley looked out onto the mass confusion of the airfield, then checked his
.45 automatic sidearm pistol.
"I'm going to the control tower to find out if anyone's seen an F-16 around here."
64
Chapter 8
The RAF Nimrod reconnaissance aircraft took off and gracefully climbed to 20,000 feet. Although there was bad weather off to the northeast, it was a beautifully clear morning over Gibraltar.
The big plane turned toward direct north and was soon over the coast of Portugal. Hunter and Sir Neil were sharing a large window near the plane's navigator's console, both enjoying the view of the shimmering early morning Atlantic and inviting lushness of the land below.
The pilot called back a reading and Sir Neil checked a navigation chart. "All right, major," he said with a sly smile. "We are soon to cross over Lisbon. If you look down into their port facilities, I think you'll see something very interesting."
Hunter moved closer to the window. Despite a bunch of puffy clouds, he could begin to focus on the port of Lisbon below. Immediately, he saw what Sir Neil was talking about.
"Jeezuz," Hunter exclaimed. "I've never seen so 65
many ships in one place in my life!"
The port and the surrounding waterways were crowded with ships. Freighters, ocean liners, warships, large ferries. There must have been at least 200 of them. They were anchored side by side in a line that stretched for miles. All of them were painted with the same drab, gray-green color scheme.
"Those are the ships of The Modern Knights," Sir Neil said, a touch of boast in his voice. "Two hundred and forty major vessels. It is a fleet to rival only Lucifer's."
"I should say so," Hunter said, fascinated at the sight of concentrated power.
"But, it's what will be riding in those ships that's important, major," the Englishman continued.
The airplane turned east. Soon, they were flying over what Hunter recognized immediately as a massive military complex close by a mountain range.
"This is Montemor-o-Novo," Sir Neil said, rolling the word perfectly. "This is the major staging facility for The Modern Knights. They have hired hundreds of thousands of mercenaries. From all over western Europe. There's another facility like this at Plymouth in the UK. It is these troops, traveling on those ships, that will go against Lucifer's Legions. This undertaking rivals the invasion force put together for the Normandy landings back in World War II."
While the Nimrod circled, Hunter studied every aspect of the huge base. It did look like a scene out of the movie on D-Day. "Just when will these troops be ready to move out?" he asked.
"We are hoping they'll embark just a few days after we do," Sir Neil said, slowly. "Trouble is, the logistics of such an operation are monstrous."
Hunter looked back at the Englishman. For the
66
first time since meeting Sir Neil, Hunter heard a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
An hour later, Sir Neil was seated at the navigator's control station with Hunter peering over his shoulder. The Englishman fiddled with the bank of touch-sensitive buttons that controlled the airplane's sophisticated
"look-down" radar.
The Nimrod had climbed to 50,000 feet and headed northeast. They had hit the bad weather just before crossing over the Pyrenees. Now, even at this height, rain pelted the jet, and strong headwinds buffeted its wings.
"We'll be over our second 'target' in a few minutes," Sir Neil said, working hard to get the jumble of lines on the video screen in front of them to properly shape themselves to the contour of the earth below. "This weather gives us a good hiding place, Hunter, but it also plays daffy with the TV
imaging."
Sir Neil gave the control panel a well-placed slap just above its fuse bank.
The screen blinked twice and then became
"Where you headed, captain?" Elvis asked.
O'Malley looked out onto the mass confusion of the airfield, then checked his
.45 automatic sidearm pistol.
"I'm going to the control tower to find out if anyone's seen an F-16 around here."
64
Chapter 8
The RAF Nimrod reconnaissance aircraft took off and gracefully climbed to 20,000 feet. Although there was bad weather off to the northeast, it was a beautifully clear morning over Gibraltar.
The big plane turned toward direct north and was soon over the coast of Portugal. Hunter and Sir Neil were sharing a large window near the plane's navigator's console, both enjoying the view of the shimmering early morning Atlantic and inviting lushness of the land below.
The pilot called back a reading and Sir Neil checked a navigation chart. "All right, major," he said with a sly smile. "We are soon to cross over Lisbon. If you look down into their port facilities, I think you'll see something very interesting."
Hunter moved closer to the window. Despite a bunch of puffy clouds, he could begin to focus on the port of Lisbon below. Immediately, he saw what Sir Neil was talking about.
"Jeezuz," Hunter exclaimed. "I've never seen so 65
many ships in one place in my life!"
The port and the surrounding waterways were crowded with ships. Freighters, ocean liners, warships, large ferries. There must have been at least 200 of them. They were anchored side by side in a line that stretched for miles. All of them were painted with the same drab, gray-green color scheme.
"Those are the ships of The Modern Knights," Sir Neil said, a touch of boast in his voice. "Two hundred and forty major vessels. It is a fleet to rival only Lucifer's."
"I should say so," Hunter said, fascinated at the sight of concentrated power.
"But, it's what will be riding in those ships that's important, major," the Englishman continued.
The airplane turned east. Soon, they were flying over what Hunter recognized immediately as a massive military complex close by a mountain range.
"This is Montemor-o-Novo," Sir Neil said, rolling the word perfectly. "This is the major staging facility for The Modern Knights. They have hired hundreds of thousands of mercenaries. From all over western Europe. There's another facility like this at Plymouth in the UK. It is these troops, traveling on those ships, that will go against Lucifer's Legions. This undertaking rivals the invasion force put together for the Normandy landings back in World War II."
While the Nimrod circled, Hunter studied every aspect of the huge base. It did look like a scene out of the movie on D-Day. "Just when will these troops be ready to move out?" he asked.
"We are hoping they'll embark just a few days after we do," Sir Neil said, slowly. "Trouble is, the logistics of such an operation are monstrous."
Hunter looked back at the Englishman. For the
66
first time since meeting Sir Neil, Hunter heard a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
An hour later, Sir Neil was seated at the navigator's control station with Hunter peering over his shoulder. The Englishman fiddled with the bank of touch-sensitive buttons that controlled the airplane's sophisticated
"look-down" radar.
The Nimrod had climbed to 50,000 feet and headed northeast. They had hit the bad weather just before crossing over the Pyrenees. Now, even at this height, rain pelted the jet, and strong headwinds buffeted its wings.
"We'll be over our second 'target' in a few minutes," Sir Neil said, working hard to get the jumble of lines on the video screen in front of them to properly shape themselves to the contour of the earth below. "This weather gives us a good hiding place, Hunter, but it also plays daffy with the TV
imaging."
Sir Neil gave the control panel a well-placed slap just above its fuse bank.
The screen blinked twice and then became
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