down, creating a mini dust storm caused by the
backwash of the rotors. He had wondered what kind of shape Hawkeye and Richard would be in when he found them; wondered if
they would still have that sharp combat edge he remembered from ten years ago in Vietnam when they had fought together.
Ten years could be a long time. A lot could have changed.
But these two men, he now knew, had not changed.
Perhaps men like Caine and Hawkins never changed, because they had found perfection of mind, body, and spirit in what they
did, in being tested by a harsh world, and they would not give that up to anything but infirmity or death.
He touched the Huey down on terra firma and cut the engine to idle, wondering what Caine and Hawkins would think of an offer
from the last man on Earth they could have expected to see.
The Huey soared through the night at three-thousand feet above an ocean of black nothing, bearing northwesterly toward El
Paso from where Jesus Ruiz, El Gato, had jumped bail after the DEA had managed to bust him.
Ruiz had regained consciousness. He was trussed up for delivery against the rear bulkhead and appeared to have lost all stomach
for trying to reason these gringos out of taking him back to the law. One look at what was left of his gang after he came
to on the ground just before lift-off had convinced the drug boss that the curtain had come down on this act. He sat back
there, apprehensively watching the three up front as if fearful that they might decide on a whim to stroll back and pitch
him out.
Cody had just finished calling in their flight plan and ETA to El Paso, relaying the message from Hawkins and Caine to be
passed on to the authorities that they were bringing in a bail-jumping fugitive, Class A.
He had obtained the Huey through-Pete Lund’s connections after Lund’s inquiries had tracked down the approximate whereabouts
and intentions of the Caine and Hawkins partnership.
He had briefed the two on what he wanted of them before the take-off from that desert kill ground in Mexico, after a warm
round of bear hugs and high-fives. He had seen close up that his first impression of the two—that they had not changed a whit
since their old combat days together—was correct, but he still was not sure what their response would be to his offer.
Hawkins and Caine had been discussing the proposition between themselves, as he had suggested, and in the pilot’s seat he
had not been able to hear them due to the all-enveloping rumble of the chopper’s engine.
At last the two came back to him, shouting to be heard.
“Well, we kicked it around, Sarge,” Hawkeye yelled at his ear.
“And?”
The Texan grinned.
“Well, I woulda said no a couple hours ago, but the way me and the limey here look at it, I reckon we owe ya one. You want
to put the old team together and Uncle Sugar’s paying good; hell yeah, we’ll sign up for the fun.”
Caine leaned forward, adding, “I would have said no a couple of hours ago too, because I’d forgotten what it’s like to be
in a fight with you, Cody. We were too good a unit to never work again.”
“Question,” shouted Hawkeye. “You told us about Pete. What about Rufe?”
Caine nodded.
“Where is he? He’s not—”
“No, but right now he probably wishes he was,” Cody told them.
And he told them about Rufe Murphy’s predicament, and what they would have to do about it.
CHAPTER
FIVE
A thens, from its crown on the Acropolis hill, spreads across an arid plain in a network of old buildings and circuitous streets
that give way to wide modern boulevards and squares.
Omonis Square, with its
bouzouki
music in the air and sidewalks lined with
tavernas
where the men sit sipping thick black coffee and conversing animatedly, is the home of Athens’ three major department stores,
but has about it a rabble-filled, hustle-bustle atmosphere closer to that of the nearby marketplace of the old town—where
the country people come
backwash of the rotors. He had wondered what kind of shape Hawkeye and Richard would be in when he found them; wondered if
they would still have that sharp combat edge he remembered from ten years ago in Vietnam when they had fought together.
Ten years could be a long time. A lot could have changed.
But these two men, he now knew, had not changed.
Perhaps men like Caine and Hawkins never changed, because they had found perfection of mind, body, and spirit in what they
did, in being tested by a harsh world, and they would not give that up to anything but infirmity or death.
He touched the Huey down on terra firma and cut the engine to idle, wondering what Caine and Hawkins would think of an offer
from the last man on Earth they could have expected to see.
The Huey soared through the night at three-thousand feet above an ocean of black nothing, bearing northwesterly toward El
Paso from where Jesus Ruiz, El Gato, had jumped bail after the DEA had managed to bust him.
Ruiz had regained consciousness. He was trussed up for delivery against the rear bulkhead and appeared to have lost all stomach
for trying to reason these gringos out of taking him back to the law. One look at what was left of his gang after he came
to on the ground just before lift-off had convinced the drug boss that the curtain had come down on this act. He sat back
there, apprehensively watching the three up front as if fearful that they might decide on a whim to stroll back and pitch
him out.
Cody had just finished calling in their flight plan and ETA to El Paso, relaying the message from Hawkins and Caine to be
passed on to the authorities that they were bringing in a bail-jumping fugitive, Class A.
He had obtained the Huey through-Pete Lund’s connections after Lund’s inquiries had tracked down the approximate whereabouts
and intentions of the Caine and Hawkins partnership.
He had briefed the two on what he wanted of them before the take-off from that desert kill ground in Mexico, after a warm
round of bear hugs and high-fives. He had seen close up that his first impression of the two—that they had not changed a whit
since their old combat days together—was correct, but he still was not sure what their response would be to his offer.
Hawkins and Caine had been discussing the proposition between themselves, as he had suggested, and in the pilot’s seat he
had not been able to hear them due to the all-enveloping rumble of the chopper’s engine.
At last the two came back to him, shouting to be heard.
“Well, we kicked it around, Sarge,” Hawkeye yelled at his ear.
“And?”
The Texan grinned.
“Well, I woulda said no a couple hours ago, but the way me and the limey here look at it, I reckon we owe ya one. You want
to put the old team together and Uncle Sugar’s paying good; hell yeah, we’ll sign up for the fun.”
Caine leaned forward, adding, “I would have said no a couple of hours ago too, because I’d forgotten what it’s like to be
in a fight with you, Cody. We were too good a unit to never work again.”
“Question,” shouted Hawkeye. “You told us about Pete. What about Rufe?”
Caine nodded.
“Where is he? He’s not—”
“No, but right now he probably wishes he was,” Cody told them.
And he told them about Rufe Murphy’s predicament, and what they would have to do about it.
CHAPTER
FIVE
A thens, from its crown on the Acropolis hill, spreads across an arid plain in a network of old buildings and circuitous streets
that give way to wide modern boulevards and squares.
Omonis Square, with its
bouzouki
music in the air and sidewalks lined with
tavernas
where the men sit sipping thick black coffee and conversing animatedly, is the home of Athens’ three major department stores,
but has about it a rabble-filled, hustle-bustle atmosphere closer to that of the nearby marketplace of the old town—where
the country people come
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