Dale Brown - Dale Brown's Dreamland 04 - Piranha(and Jim DeFelice)(2003) (28 page)

 
          
“Map
out a plan to look for the subs. If we find one, Indian or Chinese, we’ll still
with it. The others are bound to show up eventually,” said Woods. With that, he
turned and walked quickly out of the trailer.

 
          
The
girl’s breathing and heart rate were normal, and though unconscious, she didn’t
seem to have been severely injured. They brought her to a small tent at the far
end of the base, letting her rest on the air-cushion stretcher that carried
her. Liu and the others had turned from warriors to mother hens, watching for
signs of her revival.

 
          
Bison
had told Danny about the change in their orders, but the captain hadn’t had
time to think about the implications until he reached the medical tent. There
were Navy people all over the place, off-loading equipment from transports,
revving up bulldozers, and staking out building sites.

 
          
Ordinarily,
Danny Freah didn’t put too much stock in
interservice
rivalry. In the modern military, the Joint Service Command structure meant Air
Force people and Army people and Navy people often mixed in together. Danny had
worked with Marines several times since coming to Dreamland; before that, he
had drawn assignments with several Army Special Forces teams, including one
from Delta.

 
          
However,
besides heading the Whiplash ground team, he was responsible for Dreamland
security, and this many people running around presented a serious problem, no
matter what uniform they wore. Even the observation post and its displays were classified.
While allowances had to be made for “live” operations, he had to make sure
everyone up and down the command chain understood there were fences.

 
          
“Okay,
sergeant,” he told Liu. “Keep me posted on the girl while I sort the security
stuff out.”

 
          
“Gotcha,
Cap.”

 
          
Danny’s
ear bud vibrated with a page.

 
          
“Colonel’s
looking for you,” said Bison. “He’s headed your way.”

 
          
“Good.
What’s our status with the Megafortresses?”

 
          
“Our
guys’ll
watch ’
em
after
they come in,” said Bison. “Marines know they’re out of bounds. Colonel Bastian
kicked the admiral’s staff out of the trailer.”

 
          
“What
staff?” said Danny. “What the hell were they doing in the trailer?”

 
          
“Uh,
Captain, did you want Pretty Boy to shoot them?”

 
          
“Damn
straight,” said Danny, who wasn’t kidding. “Shit. Why hell didn’t you tell me,
Bison?”

 
          
“I
told you the admiral was going there.”

 
          
“Just
the admiral, you said.”

 
          
“I’m
sorry, sir. I thought you meant the whole staff could wait there.”

 
          
“Bison.
Shit.”

 
          
Danny’s
anger was temporary diverted by a moan from the stretcher.

 
          
“Girl’s
waking up,” said Liu.

 
          
“I’ll
get back to you.” Danny told his sergeant.

 
          
The
Filipino jerked straight upright on the cot, disoriented and angry. Liu put his
hand on her shoulder. She pushed forward, and his grip tightened just enough to
stop her from moving any further. The anger on her face changed to fear, then
something like curiosity, then back to anger.

 
          
“Are
you okay?” Danny asked her.

 
          
She
frowned. Her reaction convinced Danny she spoke English, like most, though not
all, of her countrymen.

 
          
“You’re
okay,” he said. “Does your head hurt? You may have a concussion.”

 
          
“Captain
Freah?”

 
          
Danny
turned toward the door of the tent. A Marine captain and two of his men had
come in.

 
          
“I’m
Freah.”

 
          
“Name’s
Petersin
. Justin Peterson.” He held out his hand,
which Danny shook professionally. “Prisoner?”

 
          
“Not
exactly,” said Danny. He gestured toward the door and they
wen
out to talk. The wind was whipping up with a fresh storm; Danny could taste
moisture on his lips and his breaths were heavy with the approaching rain.

 
          
“I’m
in charge of securing the base area,” said Peterson. “I understand you guys
have some high-tech gizmos set up.”

 
          
“The
sensors themselves aren’t that high-tech,” said Danny. “Camera, some IR gear.
But what we have controlling them—that’s classified.”

 
          
“Oh?”
Peterson’s tone was somewhere between a challenge and genuine puzzlement.

 
          
“Yeah,
I know. It’s a pain in the ass, but I’d like to get some compartmentalization,”
said Danny. “I’m thinking my guys work the gear. We feed information to your
guys. I don’t know what personnel you’ll have.”

 
          
“A
company. We can get what we need, though.”

 
          
“Company’s
fine. I’ll go over the perimeter with you, and you can decide how you want to
handle it. We had a similar arrangement with some guys from the 24th MEU
(SOC),” added Danny, pronouncing the words as if they were “Mew-sock.”

 
          
“Seemed
to work out. We can get you some of our
como
gear,
but not the helmets we use.”

 
          
Danny
smiled. “You’d never give ’
em
back,” he added.

 
          
“Okay.
I heard a little about you,” said Peterson.

 
          
“Me
or my unit?”

 
          
“Both.
You sure you’re not Marines under those black vests?”

 
          
Danny
knew he was being buttered up—but still, Peterson seemed all right. They’d get
along okay.

 
          
“So
what’s with the prisoner?” asked the Marine.

 
          
“Native
we found approaching our perimeter,” said Danny. “She’s not really a prisoner.
Technically.”

 
          
“Don’t
think she’s a guerrilla?”

 
          
“No,”
said Danny quickly. He’d decided he was holding on to her himself until he had
things figured out. Giving details of what had happened—such as the fact that
she had a gun—would jeopardize that.

 
          
He
wasn’t just going out on the limb personally here, but potentially endangering
the entire mission. Yet he knew that wasn’t the case. She hadn’t been trying to
attack them; she was just protecting herself, as he would have done.

 
          
Danny
was sure he was right. He just needed some time to talk to her, to prove it.
Until then, they’d keep an eye on the village. They could take it out quickly
enough.

 
          
“How
can you be sure she’s not a guerrilla?” said Peterson.

 
          
Danny
shrugged. “There’s a tiny little village in the other side of that hilltop
there, down the slope, across a swamp.”

 
          
“Going
to have to
evac
it, no?”

 
          
“Well,
I didn’t want to,” said Danny. “
Kinda
sucks telling
people they have to leave their homes.”

 
          
Peterson
took of his soft campaign cap, scratching his head. For a Marina, he had
relatively long hair—it might measure a full inch. Most of it stood straight
up, as if at attention.

 
          
“We
gotta
do what we
gotta
do,”
said Peterson finally.

 
          
“Yeah.
I know. At the moment, I want to make sure she’s okay, then find out what she’s
up to, move off of that.”

 
          
“Who
we talking about?” said Colonel Bastian.

 
          
“Colonel.”

 
          
Peterson
saluted sharply. Danny introduced him, then told him about the girl—still
leaving out the detail about the gun. “She can’t stay here,” said Dog. “What
has she seen?”

 
          
“She
just came to. She hasn’t not gone out of the tent,” said Danny. “I want to see
what she was up to.”

 
          
“Captain,
excuse me a second,” Colonel Bastian said to Peterson.

 
          
“Yeah,
I have some things to check out,” said the Marine. “Captain Freah, if I could
meet you at the Whiplash observation post in an hour maybe? If you can get the
radios for us, I’d appreciate it.”

 
          
“That’d
be good.”

 
          
“There
more to this than you’re saying?” Colonel Bastian asked after the Marine and
his two men left.

 
          
“How
so, sir?”

 
          
“You
sound a little protective.”

 
          
“No,
sir.”

 
          
“Why
was she unconscious?”

 
          
“We
had to knock her out to take her into custody,” said Danny.

 
          
“You
weren’t thinking of setting her free, were you?”

 
          
“Absolutely
not,” said Danny truthfully. “I’m honestly not sure what to do with her,
though. I mean, frankly—she hasn’t done anything except cross an invisible line
we set up in the jungle. I’m not sure what I can do. And the local
government—from what I heard, it’s best not to get them involved.”

 
          
Colonel
Bastian had a way of pushing up his cheeks and squinting when he heard
something he found difficult to believe. Danny saw that look now.

 
          
If
this had been Dreamland, Danny would have had the girl in a hood before being
transported to the medical area. While she was isolated there, her prints would
have been checked against innumerable databases. She’d be in Dreamland-issued
clothing. She’d be guarded by two tiers of guards. He’d have a list of legal
charges—civilian as well as military—pending against her. All might ultimately
be dropped, but they’d be signed and sealed, ready to be used if necessary.

 
          
This
wasn’t Dreamland. Still, he was definitely being lax, at least by his
standards/

 
          
He
felt—what? Sorry for her?

 
          
She
would have killed him, though.

 
          
“All
right, Captain. For now, keep her isolated. We’re going to have to consult with
Admiral Woods on what to do with her,” said Bastian. “But under no
circumstances is she going anywhere without my specific approval.”

 
          
“Of
course, sir.”

 
          
“Even
if Woods tells you something else.”

 
          
“Yes,
sir.”

 
          
Dog
frowned. The steady hum of a Megafortress grew in the distance. “We’ve been
chopped to PACCOM, but we’re supposed to maintain strategic security,” added
the colonel. “I’m not exactly sure how we’re supposed to accomplish that.
Especially given that Admiral Woods is a class-one—”