“Do so.”

“It will take time.”

“Do it as quickly as you can,” said Chen. He turned and went back to his cabin.

Philippines

1346

Dog took a last check of the situation at the Whiplash trailer, touching base with Dreamland Command before leaving. Major Alou and Raven were on station, Alou being extra careful to stay outside the patrol area the Chinese fighters had established. Piranha sat about tem miles away from the Chinese submarine. The sub had taken up an almost stationary position to the southwest of the carrier task force. A U.S. sub had already found the other Chinese submarine on the eastern side of the Chinese fleet. Within the next twelve hours, a second SSN should be on Piranha’s target as well. Whiplash could close up shop.

The fate of the Indian sub remained a mystery. Though the profile wasn’t a good match, the contact Piranha had seen was discounted as American SSN, which had indeed been in the vicinity. Intercepts of Chinese Mainland transmissions by the NSA showed the Chinese believe the submarine had been sunk, but the analysts weren’t completely sure. There was no hard evidence it had gone down, and it clearly had the capability to stay submerged for several days. It could still be shadowing the Chinese fleet, or it could have set sail south to return to India.

Whiplash had accomplished its mission. The data they had gathered would provide a hundred analysts useful employment for the next year or more. Just as importantly, they demonstrated they value of Piranha and its technology.

Yet Colonel Bastian felt as if he’d failed. Because he’d lost a man? Or because he’d had his tail whacked by Woods?

Definitely the tail-whacking. He’d lost men before—good men, friends. It was the cost of freedom, as corny and trite as that sounded. The sorrow of their deaths was as much part of his job as the speed-suit he donned to fly. But getting treated like—like what, exactly? A lieutenant colonel?

He missed General Magnus now. The three-star general would have insulated him from this BS. He had in Turkey, when Central Command tried to get its fingers in.

Problem was, at the time he’d thought Magnus was a bit of pain as well. So the real problem was his ego.

“Something up, Colonel?” asked Jack “Pretty Boy” Floyd, who was at the communication desk.

“Just getting ready to hit the road, Sergeant,” he told him.

“Yes, sir. Coffee’s better over at the Navy tent,” he added. “Liu’s the only one on the team who can make a decent pot.”

“Better pray he gets out of the hospital soon then, huh?” said Dog.

“Yes, sir,” said Floyd, who didn’t quite take it as lightly as it was intended.

“He’ll be okay, Sergeant,” Dog added. “You hang in there.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Outside, the air was heavy with humidity; another storm was approaching. Sweat began to leak from his pores as he headed toward the Navy C-9B waiting to take him to Manila, where he’d hop a civilian flight to L.A.

The schedule was tight. Unlike the Navy plane, the civilian 747 wasn’t going to wait, but midway to his plane Dog took a detour, deciding he really had to say goodbye to one more member of his command.

Jennifer Gleason stood on the hard-packed dirt near Iowa, hands on hips. Several access panels directly behind the crew area of the plane were open; a portable platform was set up below the EB-52’s belly. Three or four techies hunched over the equipment on a nearby pallet, flashing screwdrivers; a sailor carried a disk array the size of a pizza box up the plane’s access ramp. Gleason was shaking her head in obvious disgust.

“Hey, Gleason, what’s up?” said Dog.

“These guys handle the computers like they’re crystal,” she complained. “They’re designed to take over twelve Gs for cryin’ out loud. We won’t be ready for hours.”

“You look pretty when you’re fretting.” Dog allowed himself a light touch on her shoulder. “You don’t want them to throw the gear up there, do you?”

“Be faster.”

God, she was beautiful.

“I have to go home,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” She flicked her hair back behind her ear. “I’m okay here.”

“I know that,” said Dog.

Something near the plane caught her eye and she turned back. “Excuse me, Colonel.” She started to trot toward the plane. “Hey! Hey!”

Dog watched the sway of her hips in the fatigue pants, then abruptly started for the Navy plane. If he didn’t get aboard now …

Aboard Quicksilver, above the South China Sea

1636

Guiding the Piranha probe was considerably easier than flying the Flighthawk. Fentress ran through some simple maneuvers and flipped back and forth between the views as Delaford watched from aboard the other Megafortress. They had made a few adjustments in the simulated 3-D screen since he had sat in on the development sessions, but it wasn’t difficult at all to get comfortable. He even remembered, without prompting, how to split the screen so he could see a forward and a sitrep view at the same time.