Dale Brown - Dale Brown's Dreamland 04 - Piranha(and Jim DeFelice)(2003) (44 page)

 
          
“Copy
that,” said Zen.

 
          
Bree
pitched the Megafortress around, taking nearly eight Gs to get back on an
intercept. “Chris—tell
Redtail
we’re coming back.
Then target these motherfuckers. Excuse my French.”

 
          
The
copilot’s answer was garbled by the force of gravity as the big plane’s
momentum shifted. The Megafortress’s electronic countermeasures filled the air
with a thick radio fog, but at close range from behind the plane the Sukhois
pilots could have used straws and spitballs and still brought the Viking down.
That didn’t seem to be their intent—at least not yet. The lead Sukhois
accelerated on a diagonal, crossing so close over the S-3 they seemed to
collide.

 
          
“Shit,”
said
Redtail
One over the radio. The plane tucked
toward the waves, but then righted itself.

 
          
“Scorpions,”
Bree told Chris.

 
          
“Our
orders—”

 
          
“Fuck
our orders.”

 
          
“Yes,
ma’am.” Another copilot might have pointed out the captain was about to set
herself up for a court-martial—and was taking him along, but Chris had flown
with Bree forever and helped her ignore any number of orders. “Let me offer a
suggestion—we’re close enough for the Stinger air mines.”

 
          
“Stinger
then. Good idea.”

 
          
Chris
brought the tail gun on line as Bree began banking.

 
          
“
Redtail
One, I’m going to come right over you and nail those
mothers,” she told the pilot. “Just hold your course.”

 
          
“Negative,
Air Force. Negative. Shit.”

 
          
“
Redtail
?”

 
          
“I’m
ordered to return to my carrier. Repeat, I just got the order to break off. I
have to scrub.”

 
          
“Scrub?
You’re kidding,” blurted Chris.

 
          
The
Navy pilot didn’t respond, but his actions showed he was dead serious—he began
a slow bank to the east. The Sukhois continued to dog him, not yet realizing
they’d won.

 
          
“Quicksilver,
what’s going on up there?” asked Zen.

 
          
“Just
the normal command bullshit,’ said Breanna. She scanned her instruments, trying
to control her anger.

 
          
“We
need to drop the buoy, Bree,” Zen reminded her.

 
          
“On
it,” she said, pulling the big plane back toward the drop point.

 
          
Philippines

 
          
It
was a long green bag, a simple thing, the kind of wrapping that emphasized the
one enduring truth of man’s existence.

 
          
“Shoulder,
arms!”

 
          
Like
everything Whiplash did, the service was a bit ad hoc—and utterly suited to the
task at hand. All Dreamland personnel available gathered near the edge of the
runway, standing between the long dark bag and the gray C-130 waiting to take
it home. The powerful lights of the Seabee work crews turned the night a
silvery yellow as four members of the action team, four of Powder’s closest friends
in the universe, walked to the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea. Each man
shouldered a different weapon—an M-16, an MP-5, a Beretta pistol, and a Squad
Automatic Weapon. One by one, they pointed their guns skyward and fired off a
burst in his memory. Each weapon had been Sergeant
Talcom’s
.

 
          
Danny
Freah held the pistol. A sensation came over him as he pulled the trigger. He
wanted to fling the gun in, throw it into the water, one last offering to the
universe. But he was an officer, and he was a man of discipline and
self-control, so he simply turned and led the others back. As the chaplain
thumbed through his Bible, he couldn’t help thinking this might very well be
the first time Powder had ever sat through a reading from the Scriptures.

 
          
“I
say unto you which hear,” began the reverend, “love your enemies, do good to
them which hate you. Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which
despitefully use you. And unto him that
smitheth
thee
on the one cheek offer also the other …”

 
          
The
words, from Luke 6, struck Danny off balance. Why was this idiot talking of
mercy when his man was dead?

 
          
Turn
the other cheek? Bullshit!

 
          
A
new urge came over him. Danny wanted to grab the minister, throttle him, make
him say something more appropriate, more comforting.

 
          
But
Danny Freah was a man of discipline and self-control; he did nothing.

 
          
“Love
ye your enemies, and do good, and lend, hoping for nothing again; and your
reward shall be great, and ye shall be the children of the Highest: for he is
kind unto the unthankful and to the evil.”

 
          
The
words drifted away. The chaplain stepped back. On a tape player found by one of
the Marines, a recorded bugle began its lonesome wail. Powder’s best friends in
the universe each went to the corners of his remains, then gently placed him on
board for the journey home.

 
          
South of Taiwan, aboard the command ship
Blue Ridge

 
          
August
27, 1997, 1023 local

 
          
“What
do you and your people don’t seem to appreciate here, Colonel, is that we’re supposed
to be the peacemakers. Are you seriously interested in starting World War
Three?”

 
          
Wood’s
face puffed out with anger. The admiral turned sideways for a moment, staring
at the wall as if he could see something through the ship’s steel.

 
          
“I
authorize you to conduct a simple reconnaissance mission and you obliterate an
atoll,” continued Woods finally. “Tell me—is your base located over radioactive
material? Do X-rays fry your brains?”

 
          
“Admiral,”
Dog stopped himself. There was no point in trying to explain the mission again.
Not only had he told Woods everything, but the admiral had the tapes of the
incident and Danny Freah’s report sitting on his desk.

 
          
“Well?”
said Woods.

 
          
“Nothing,”
said Dog.

 
          
The
admiral turned back to the wall. Maybe he really could see through it—maybe he
could see beyond it to the forces gathering on either side of the American task
force. “In tow hours, the Indian and Chinese fleets will be able to bomb the
hell out of each other. The President has sent the Secretary of State—the
fucking Secretary of State—to New Delhi to negotiate a cease-fire. You know
what my orders are, Tecumseh?”

 
          
“No,
sir,” said Dog. It was the first time Woods had used his given name.

 
          
“If
it were up to me, if it were truly up to me, I’d let them fight it out. Hell, I
think it’s our best interests. I don’t have to tell you about the Chinese. The
Indians are trouble as well. As long as the extremists are in control, the
Indians are trouble as well. But if I had to choose, at this point, I’d side
with the Indians. Hell, I’m tempted to help them even now. My orders,
though—and unlike you, I actually believe in following orders—are to keep the
two sides apart, and to do nothing to increase hostilities. Nothing! Now how
the hell am I supposed to do that? Put myself directly between them?”

 
          
“I’m
not sure, sir.”

 
          
“Twenty-four
hours from now, that’s where I’ll be. Kitty Hawk and her escorts will be
positioned to blow both of their fleets out of the water. Hell, I could do it
now. If I got the order.

 
          
“Yes,
sir.”

 
          
“But
blowing them up wouldn’t bring peace, would it?”

 
          
“No,
sir,” said Dog.

 
          
“Which
is my mission, whether I like it or not. Now how can I fulfill that mission
with a bunch of cowboys running around shooting things up? Very good cowboys,”
added Woods before could object. “Excellent cowboys. But your job was
reconnaissance—spying. Not fighting.”

 
          
Woods
emphasized the words the way one might talk to a five-year-old. Colonel Bastian
had pretty much reached the end of his patience.

 
          
“I
thought the SEALs were bad,” added the admiral. “You guys make them look like
kids on their way to First Holy Communion.”

 
          
“I
don’t know that that’s accurate, sir,” said Dog. “On that atoll, my people were
fired on; they responded. At sea, we shot down two missiles. Missile that
surely would have sunk the Chinese carrier, which ought to count for
something.”

 
          
The
admiral frowned; Dog couldn’t help but wonder if he would have preferred the
carrier went down.

 
          
“In
the air, every incident with the Chinese was initiated by the Chinese,” said
Colonel Bastian in a level voice. “You have the tapes and the data from every
flight. We’re not cowboys, sir. We’re just our job, as ordered.”

 
          
“I’m
not unreasonable, Tecumseh. Truly, I’m not. I had the Filipinos moved at you
request.”

 
          
“I
didn’t say you were unreasonable, Admiral.”

 
          
“But?”

 
          
“You
do seem to go out of your way to make me your whipping boy.”

 
          
“That’s
because I don’t like you,” said Woods.

 
          
The
two men stared at each other. Dog waited for Woods to soften what he’d just
said, take it back by adding, “that’s what you think, isn’t it?” But he
didn’t.”

 
          
“You’re
in over your head on this operation,” the admiral said finally. “Don’t get me
wrong. You’re competent, capable, even a hotshot. But Dreamland and
Whiplash—you need perspective. You’ll understand what I’m saying in five or six
years.”

 
          
“I
understand now.”

 
          
“The
surveillance mission with Piranha will continue,” said Woods. “That’s a direct
order from the President I can’t and won’t ignore, but the mission will be carried
out under my personal direction. You’re no longer in the loop, Colonel. You
have a lot of work to do at Dreamland.”

 
          
“What?”

 
          
“It’s
not necessary to embarrass you in front of your people. But I will. Go home.”

 
          
Dog
had to physically bite his lip to keep himself from saying or doing anything
else. It was only after he boarded his transport helicopter topside that he
realized blood had dribbled down his chin.

 
          
Aboard Shiva in the South China Sea

 
          
August
27, 1997, 1326

 
          
They
came to periscope depth cautiously, aware the sonar contact was a Chinese
destroyer. Admiral
Balin
confirmed the crew’s
prediction quickly; they were almost perpendicular, and close enough for
Balin
to see the two large guns at either end. The ship was
surely a
Jianghu
frigate.