Dale Brown - Dale Brown's Dreamland 04 - Piranha(and Jim DeFelice)(2003) (35 page)

 
          
“You
better try, Captain.”

 
          
“Yes,
sir. This isn’t an excuse.” Danny’s body seemed to deflate. “In Bosnia, there
was an accident, an innocent woman trying to protect a kid.”

 
          
As
Dog listened, he noticed Danny kept shifting his hands awkwardly. He’d never
seen the captain so ill at ease.

 
          
Dog
rubbed his forehead, unsure exactly what to say, much less to do. conceivably,
his captain could be charged with dereliction of duty for not taking the
situation seriously.

 
          
On
the other hand, if this woman was just a housewife in the village—hell.

 
          
“Search
the village,” Dog told Freah. “Secure it.”

 
          
“What
about the atoll? I’d like to check it out ASAP.”

 
          
“All
right, I’ll talk to Woods. If you’re looking for force backup—”

 
          
“I
have what I need,” said Danny. “We’ll use the Marines here.”

 
          
“Not
without Woods’ okay.”

 
          
“They’re
authorized to secure the island.”

 
          
“Not
the atoll.”

 
          
“Right,”
said Danny. “One other thing. I want us to move the people in that village when
we’re done. If we just turn them over to the Filipinos, they’ll be
slaughtered.”

 
          
“I
doubt that’s true. I …”

 
          
“We
can move them ourselves. I’ll scout a new spot for them on the south part of
the island. We can have them there tonight,” Danny said firmly.

 
          
“Let’s
find out what’s in the village,” said Dog. “Inspect it, then contact me.”

 
          
“Can
we move them? I have to know what I’m going to do with them.”

 
          
“It’s
not my decision,” Dog said. “It’s up to Admiral Woods, and probably Admiral
Allen. They’ll deal with it.”

 
          
“But
they’ll take your advice.”

 
          
“They
may, they may not,” said Dog. “More likely the latter.”

 
          
“You
don’t like her at all, do you,” said Zen, rolling alongside Breanna as she
walked to the Navy’s mess tent.

 
          
“Please,
Jeff, we’ve been over this a million times,” she said. “Let’s talk about
something else, okay?”

 
          
“Green-eyed
jealousy. Hell hath no fury like a jealous lady.”

 
          
“At
least you know your clichés.” Breanna swung through the door without holding it
for him. A fresh batch of pancakes was just being put out; she loaded a
double-high stack on her plate.

 
          
“Packing
it in, huh?” said Zen when she returned to the table. He was sipping a cup of
black coffee.

 
          
“On
a diet?” she asked, taking a bite of her pancakes.

 
          
“Trying
to get back my girlish figure.”

 
          
“These
are good,” she said. She tried changing the subject. “How’s FDR?”

 
          
“We’re
fighting the Depression,” said Zen. “You know what’s amazing?”

 
          
“The
fact that you’re actually reading?”

 
          
“I
read all the time before I met you,” said Zen.

 
          
“Sports
Illustrated and Penthouse don’t count.”

 
          
“Penthouse
Letters,” he told her. “Big difference.”

 
          
“I
was wondering where you picked up your technique.”

 
          
“Roosevelt
never really gave up trying to walk, not until he was in the White House,” said
Zen, suddenly serious. “I think he really thought he would walk again. He kept
telling people, next year. Next year. You know the thing he did with his legs,
leaning on people? I bet he really thought he was walking. I bet he did.

 
          
“Geez,
Bree, you got to chew those things.”

 
          
She
stopped mid-bite—half a pancake slipped from her mouth.

 
          
Zen
laughed and took a sip of coffee.

 
          
“Me,
I’m a realist. I know I’m not going to walk again.”

 
          
“Except
when you were in ANTARES.”

 
          
“Yeah.
Well, the drugs did that,” he said. He looked into his coffee cup, then put it
down and picked up a spoon, fishing out a fly. It was a minute or so before he
began speaking again. “I understand what Frank was thinking.”

 
          
“Frank?”

 
          
“Hey,
all that reading gets me an’ old Franklin on a first-name basis,” said Zen.
“Except only his enemies called him Frank. I think.” Another bug dive-bombed
into his coffee. “These flies must love this coffee.”

 
          
Jeff
held it out, laughed—then tapped the spoon at her as if tossing the bug.

 
          
“Hey!”

 
          
He’d
actually slipped the bug off the spoon, which he delighted in pointing out.

 
          
“You
shoulda
seen your face.”

 
          
“Ho,
ho,” said Bree.

 
          
“Finish
eating and let’s go recreate. I have to practice the Piranha controls in an
hour.”

 
          
“Oh,
you’re suave,” she said.

 
          
“Comes
from reading Penthouse Letters.”

 
          
Philippines

 
          
They
ran is as a classic encirclement, using four squads of Marines as well as
Danny’s people. Two groups were dropped east of the village, each led by one of
Danny’s Whiplash troopers, while two other groups came down from the ridge.
Using so many people decreased the likelihood they would achieve surprise, but
Danny reasoned the available resources made it the way to go. It was a
conservative choice, one that couldn’t be faulted. As he boarded the Quick Bird
helo
to supervise the mission from the air, he
realized he’d probably chosen to do things this way to compensate for screwing
up earlier.

 
          
Not
screwing up. Just not acting aggressively.

 
          
Danny
had his helmet plugged into the helicopter’s com circuit, which allowed him to
talk on the radio channels and the interphone. He wasn’t just observing—both
Quick Birds were packing rockets and chain-guns. A Megafortress and a pair of
Flighthawks pilots by Captain Fentress were also supporting the mission. The
two teams coming in from the coast were aboard Marine Super Stallions,
helicopters the size of Pave Lows, but with an additional engine.

 
          
Stoner
sat in the back of the
helo
. He had suggested
bringing the girl with them, but Danny wasn’t convinced she’d be much of a
guide. Besides, she’d inadvertently see a lot of their technology.

 
          
Another
conservative choice. Late.

 
          
“Squad
One is down,” said Powder, who had the northeastern approach.

 
          
“Two
is down,” said Liu, heading the southeastern team. As always, the Marine helos
had made their deliveries precisely on time.

 
          
As
the remaining teams reached the stream, Danny checked in.
Fentress’s
bird’s-eye view of the area showed the swamp and the area surrounding the
village looked quiet. The village itself was almost completely hidden; Fentress
would have to get much lower and use the IR sensors to give them a meaningful
view.

 
          
“No
boats,” said Stoner as they circled off the coast of the island.

 
          
“Yeah,”
said Danny. He switched the feeds on his helmet visor back and forth in quick
succession, checking for any sign of movement. A small zigzag of smoke made its
way up from the trees, most likely a cooking fire. Danny would have his men
check the ashes, make sure the locals weren’t burning documents.

 
          
“We’re
ready,” said Powder, a good ten minutes ahead of schedule.

 
          
“Hold
your position,” Danny told him.

 
          
“Got
it, Cap.”

 
          
Danny
clicked into the feed from Powder’s helmet. He could see two thatched roofs to
the left of the team’s position. Something moved on the right—a kid maybe, or
an animal. The range-finder said Powder’s squad was seventy-two yards away.
Trees and low brush blocked the approach, but a clear path down to the ocean
was just to the team’s left. Two Marines would grab anything that used the path
as an escape route.

 
          
“Squad
Two ready,” said Liu.

 
          
Danny
ordered the two squads that had come from the ridge to move across the stream
toward the swamp. Five minutes later, they were in position at the south edge
of the wetlands.

 
          
“Hawk
Leader, we’re ready for your run.”

 
          
“Copy
that,” Fentress sounded a lot like Zen over the radio, though the two men could
not have been more different. Fentress was rail-thin, and looked like he’d fall
over in a breeze. Zen looked like a running back, and except for his legs,
might be in as good shape. Personality-wise, Fentress bordered on flighty,
though while flying the UM/Fs, he made an effort to project a calm, almost
cold, demeanor.

 
          
“Feeding
you video,” said Fentress.

 
          
The
island came into sharp focus as the Flighthawk approached, the optical feed was
at maximum magnification, making objects ten times larger than in real life.
The U/MF was at five thousand feet for its first run, still relatively high.

 
          
Nothing
from the village—no small-arms fire, no shoulder-launched SAMs. Good.

 
          
“Teams,
move forward,” said Danny as the plane came in. “Confirm when you reach Alpha
Point.”

 
          
He
told the
helo
pilot to move forward also. A slight
twinge of adrenaline hit his stomach; he leaned against his restraints as the
chopper pushed toward its own Alpha Point near the coastline.

 
          
The
IR feed on the Flighthawk’s next run painted the village as a green sepia
Currier & Ives scene, assuming structure that might not have sides, a
fenced area, probably for animals. He saw something that looked like a goat,
but no people yet.

 
          
No
people? Shit.

 
          
“Ready,”
reported Liu.

 
          
“You
guys are
cheatin
’,” said Powder. “They must’ve gotten
a head start.”

 
          
“Powder,”
said Danny.

 
          
“We’re
ready,” said the sergeant. So were the other teams.