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grabbed her and then two more. It was hopeless. On the verge of unconsciousness, she collapsed, unable to prevent the gang of women from savagely fondling her private parts.
    In the meantime, a strange odor began to leak into the tiny room. Despite her condition, Dominique sniffed it and felt her panic rise up yet another dizzying notch. Was this poisonous gas? But in another instant she knew it made little difference. She might as well die now, she thought, rather than endure the rape and then get shot.
    But her assailants smelled the gas, too. They immediately stopped ravaging her body and quickly covered their noses and mouth with kerchiefs, hoping the cloth would keep out the mysterious gas.
    "Enough of this stuff," one of the women shouted through her improvised mask.
    "We've got to finish this and get out of here . . ."
    Her companions quickly agreed. The leader then picked up her AK-47 assault rifle, cocked it, and pointed it straight at Dominique's heart.
    Dominique braced herself for the bullet, in the instant between life and death regretting that she never would see Hunter again. Not in this life anyway.
    But the shot never came.
    Instead there was a loud commotion near the cell's en-35
    trance and a sudden burst of white smoke. Instantly everything went fuzzy in front of Dominique's eyes, but she was vaguely aware of the woman with the gun suddenly slumping to the cell floor, the rifle making a loud rattle as it struck the hard surface. Behind her, the other guards also fell like dominoes, their limp bodies forming a twisted line back to the massive cell doors.
    Standing in that doorway was a tall, broad-shouldered figure surrounded by the fog of white gas and with a head that looked like it belonged to a grotesque, giant insect.
    Immediately Dominique thought she was hallucinating. She struggled to remain conscious, struggled to remain sane-but it was no use. She was fading fast, and had no strength to resist when the creature walked over, bent down, and picked her up.
    The last thing she remembered was how gentle this monster seemed to be.
    Ten minutes passed before Dominique opened her eyes again.
    She gradually came to realize that she was being carried to some unknown destination, the change in light telling her that she was outside the castle.
    She could also still hear the fighting in the background and armed creatures-all them with the same kind of grostesque head as the one carrying her-seemed to be everywhere. She was also vaguely aware of what looked like hundreds of airships streaking overhead, filling the sky with cannon fire and missiles.
    Finally, the giant insect man lifted her into a small cabin of some kind . . .
    No, it was the cockpit of an airplane. Her head was starting to clear now. She blinked back the dirt and tears and gas, and begged her eyes to focus properly. When they did, she suddenly realized that the grotesque head on the person who had carried out of the castle and put her into the airplane really was just a gas mask. And now the man was removing it.
    36
    With a sudden rush of unbearable joy an instant later, Dominique found herself staring into the face of Hawk Hunter.
    "Hi, honey." he said to her, almost sheepishly. "Are you OK?"
    37

Chapter Six
    Washington, DC
    Hunter poured a glass of beer for himself and one for the man across the table from him, General Dave Jones, Commander in Chief of the United American Armed Forces.
    The two old friends were sitting in a bar located in the Washington, DC, suburb of Georgetown, not too far from Jones's headquarters. It was three days after the titanic battle at the Alberta fortress.
    The general spoke first.
    "Well, Hawk, what's on your mind?"
    Hunter took a swallow of beer and then passed a hefty-sized document to Jones.
    "First of all, sir, these are the follow-up battle assessments from the operation . . ."
    Jones lit a cigar, and took a swig of beer between the opening puffs. He perused the first few pages of the document and said: "I