“Cover the Osprey, Starship.”
“Yeah, roger, circling back to cover them.”
“American Megafortress, you will leave the area,” said the Indian pilot.
“I intend to,” answered Englehardt. “Be advised that we are over Chinese territory.”
“They’re talking to their controller again,” reported Sullivan. “They’re saying a lot of something.”
“As long as they’re talking, not firing, we’re fine,” replied the pilot.
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Aboard Marine Osprey Angry Bear One, over northern India
2215
GRADUALLY, DANNY FREAH LOOSENED HIS GRIP ON THE
strap near the bulkhead separating the Osprey cockpit from the cargo area. Finally he let go and looked at his palm. The strap’s indentations were clearly visible.
“We’re OK?” asked Jennifer Gleason, sitting on the bench next to him.
“Yeah. We’re good. The MiGs are following the Megafortress to the east. We’re out of here.”
Danny followed her gaze as she turned and looked at the warhead, snugged in the middle of the Osprey’s cargo bay. It seemed almost puny, sitting between the Marines and their gear.
“Funny that such a small thing could cause so much destruction,” Danny said.
“I was just thinking it looks almost harmless there,” said Jennifer. “Like part of a furnace that needs to be overhauled.”
“I guess.”
A tone sounded in his helmet. Danny clicked into the Dreamland channel.
“Freah.”
“Danny, a Global Hawk with infrared sensors just located the last warhead,” said Dog. “It’s fifty miles north of you.”
“OK, Colonel. Team Three is waiting at Base Camp One.
They can be airborne inside of ten minutes. Take them about sixty to get there.”
“I’m afraid it’ll be too late by then,” said Dog. “The Global Hawk has spotted a pair of pickups near the site, and four or five men nearby. Looks like another two trucks are on their way.”
“Give me the GPS point,” Danny replied.
VII
No Chance to Survive
Aboard Dreamland Bennett,
over the Chinese-Indian border
2230
THE MIGS STILL HADN’T MADE A THREATENING MOVE.
Englehardt locked his eyes on the sitrep, sizing up the situation. The lead aircraft was about three miles behind the Megafortress. He was in the Stinger’s sweet spot—but then again, the Bennett would be right in the sights of a heat-seeker or the MiG’s cannon.
The Stinger needed about twenty seconds to “warm up”
once activated. Englehardt didn’t want to turn it on until he meant to use it; he reasoned that the Indians didn’t know it was there, and were thus more vulnerable to it.
The Dreamland channel buzzed.
“Go,” said Englehardt, opening the communication line.
“Mike, the last warhead has been found,” said Colonel Bastian. “Danny and the Marines are on their way. We want you to cover them.”
“Be happy to, Colonel, but I have a complication.”
Englehardt explained his situation. The colonel winced. But if Bastian thought he’d done the wrong thing, he didn’t say.
“They’re not hostile?” he asked.
“Annoying, definitely,” said Englehardt.
Dog continued to frown.
“Should I shoot them down?” Englehardt blurted. “The rules of engagement—”
“Take the MiGs south with you,” said Dog. “I’ll have the 290
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Cheli go northwest to cover Danny in Angry Bear. Have Starship escort the Osprey until they arrive.”
“Colonel, if—”
“Bastian out.”
Aboard Dreamland Cheli,
over the Great Indian Desert
2240
BRAD SPARKS SMILED AS THE MARINE LIEUTENANT GAVE AN
update on the ground team, which had just secured its warhead and was en route to Base Camp One. She had the sexi-est voice he’d ever heard on a military radio.
“Did you copy, Dreamland Cheli?” she demanded.
“Just daydreaming up here, Dancer,” Sparks told Lieutenant Klacker. “Anyone ever tell you you have a sexy voice?”
“Your transmission was garbled,” responded Dancer coldly. “I suggest you do not repeat it.”
“Hey, roger that,” chuckled Sparks. “All right, I have your ETA at Base Camp One at fifteen minutes. Those Osprey drivers agree?”
“Good. Copy.”
Sparks leaned back against the Megafortress’s ejection seat, arching his shoulders. As soon as the Osprey reached the base camp, the Navy boys from the Abe would take over; most likely they’d be free to go home. It had been a long, dull night, nowhere near as entertaining as their last go-round.
But maybe that was what his crew needed. Their energy was off; no one was even laughing at his jokes.
Day on the beach at Diego Garcia might change that. Day on the beach with that hot little Navy ensign he’d spotted on the chow line the other morning would definitely boost his morale, at least.
The Dreamland channel buzzed. Sparks keyed the message in and found himself staring at Colonel Bastian.
“Hey, Colonel, what’s up?”
RETRIBUTION
291
“Brad, we’ve found the last warhead. I need you to go north to cover the recovery team.”
“Kick ass, Colonel, we’re ready,” said Sparks. “Feed me the data.”
Near the Chinese-Pakistani border
2240
GENERAL SATTARI PUT THE NIGHT GLASSES DOWN.
“The mujahideen are there now,” he said, speaking not to the men who’d helped him but to himself.
Sattari pushed the binoculars closer to his eyes, watching the men walk through the wreckage. They didn’t seem to realize that the warhead had already been taken. Most likely they didn’t know what they were looking for. Most if not all were ignorant kids, lured from their homes in Egypt and Ye-men and Palestine by the promise that they’d be someone important.
“Helicopter,” said one of Sattari’s men.
The general didn’t hear it for a moment. Then he heard the deep rumble reverberating in the distance. It wasn’t a chopper that he was familiar with, yet he had definitely heard the sound before.
An Osprey—an American Osprey.
“Quickly. It is time to go,” he said loudly in Urdu, walking to the truck.
Aboard Dreamland Bennett,
over India
2335
STARSHIP TOOK HAWK ONE AHEAD OF THE MARINE OS-prey, scouting the site where the warhead had been located.
Even with the live infrared image from the Global Hawk orbiting above to guide him, he had trouble pinpointing the missile 292
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
wreckage; to him it looked more like a slight depression in the landscape than anything else.
The pickup trucks, on the other hand, were clearly visible.
Starship slid Hawk One down through 10,000 feet, plotting the most efficient approach to the pickups. Almost immediately the piper in his gun sight screen began to blink red, indicating that he had his target. As the small reticule went solid red, he pressed the trigger.
While almost everything else in the Flighthawk represented cutting-edge, gee-whiz technology, the aircraft’s cannon was ancient; the M61 Vulcan 20mm Gatling hadn’t been cutting edge since before the Vietnam War. But sometimes the old iron was the best iron.
The first few shots went wide left and low, but Starship held his stick steady, riding the stream of 20mm lead across and into the rear of the first pickup truck. As the vehicle exploded in flames, his bullets hit the cab of the second truck. He flicked right, perforating the engine compartment before his momentum carried him clear of the targets. He started to turn, moving a little faster than he wanted to, but couldn’t find anything or anyone in front of him, so he pulled up for another run.
He checked Hawk Two—still riding behind the MiGs shadowing the Bennett—then rolled Hawk One into a second attack. As he did, the Flighthawk’s computer warned that he was within ten miles of losing its connection to the mother ship. Starship glanced at the sitrep and realized he couldn’t complete the attack before losing the connection.