Vulcan six-barrel Gatling design. The cannon had been used by American forces in one shape or another since 1958, when a pilot in an F-105 Thunderchief wrote his name on a test target with one. Despite a number of improvements in the associated systems and innovations like tungsten bullets, the gun itself had been virtually unchanged, a testimony to the hard work and solid engineering of its original inventors.
A stream of bullets spit into the air toward the first Exocet, hosing the missile down into the water. As a cannon ro-
196
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
tated toward a second missile, the Exocet disappeared from the radar system, swallowed by the waves as its guidance system malfunctioned. The ACIWS interpreted this as some sort of electronic trick and rallied its weapons into the space it thought the missile was hiding in. The hiccup caused the system a second or two of hesitation before it could focus on the third and fourth missiles, which were skimming toward the destroyer’s stern. One was destroyed at approximately five hundred meters from the ship; the last, however, was less than a hundred yards away when it detonated. This was of little consequence to the AbnerRead, but it was very close to one of the Shark Boats, which had inadvertently maneuvered close to the mothership. Part of the missile smashed through the superstructure of the small vessel, destroying the embedded radio mast and a good portion of the baffling system that lowered the infrared heat signature coming from the smokestack. It also killed three of the Shark Boat’s crew and sent one overboard, the ship stumbling in a spray of steam and smoke.
Storm couldn’t see the strike from the bridge, but Eyes saw it on the board in the Tac Center, and immediately lost contact with the craft.
“Three’s been hit,” he told Storm.
Storm clicked into his preset. “Boat Three, this is Storm.
Kelly, what’s going on over there. Kelly?”
“Radio’s out, Cap,” said Eyes.
“How bad are they hit?”
“System’s still evaluating.”
Unsure what the damage was, Storm realized his people were his top priority. The pirates would get away once more.
He slammed the side of the holographic display in frustration.
“Bring us into position to help Boat Three,” he ordered.
“Eyes!”
“Yes, Captain.”
SATAN’S TAIL
197
“Where are those pirates?”
“We’ve lost them close to shore, Cap.”
“Dreamland, I need you now,” Storm said, punching into the Dreamland line. “Where are those patrol boats?”
“We can give you headings from the last-known GPS locations, but at the moment they’re hidden in the clutter of the shoreline,” said McNamara, the copilot aboard the Megafortress.
“Give my weapons people whatever you have,” he said.
“Eyes—get with the flyboys and target these pirates. I want them sunk! Get Boat One into position to follow them. Have Boat Two stand by with us to render assistance to Shark BoatThree. We’ll join One once we’re sure of the situation here.”
“Mines ahead,” warned the computer, giving the helmsman a verbal warning as well as flashing it on his heads-up screen. Storm turned around and looked at the hologram, where the mines were popping up as small red triangles. The detection system could “paint” the location of the mines in the HUD, but the Abner Read had to slow down for the system to work properly. And the Shark Boat could not proceed on its own through a minefield.
“Eyes! Some sort of minefield ahead. Warn the Shark Boat.”
“Sent a warning to them already, Cap.”
“Do you have the target data?” asked Storm.
“Working on it, sir.”
“Bastian, it’s now or never,” Storm said, though he was not hooked into the Dreamland line. “Now or never.”
Khamis Mushait Air Base
0128
ZEN EMPTIED HIS CHAIN GUN ON THE LAST OF THE PATROL
boats. He was now into his fuel reserves, and had to land or risk losing the Werewolf. He spun the aircraft back in the di-
198
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
rection of the American ships, which were now nearly forty miles to the west.
“I’m out of fuel and out of lead,” he said over the Dreamland circuit, hoping the Abner Read had tied into the circuit by now. “I have to land.”
“Who are you?” asked a voice.
“This is Major Stockard. I’m flying the Werewolf. It’s the helo that brought the communications gear to the AbnerRead. I’ve been shooting at your pirates for you but I’m running on fumes. I need to land.”
“What assistance do you need?”
Landing lights would be nice, thought Zen, but under the circumstances that was a bit much to ask.
“I don’t need anything,” he said. “I just want you to know.
Don’t fire on me. I don’t want the hassle of trying to duck your Phalanx gun system.”
“OK, we understand. We understand. You’re inbound. We see you on the radar. We’re passing the word.”
The words FUEL EMERGENCY flashed on the screen.
Pass it quick, thought Zen, settling into a hover over the ship.
Aboard the Wisconsin
0133
STARSHIP COULD SEE A LIGHT GLOWING IN THE DISTANCE AS
he approached, and realized it was the Werewolf Zen had been flying.
“Hawk One to Dreamland Werewolf,” he said. “Hey, Zen, I’m approaching you from the northwest.”
“Werewolf,” acknowledged Zen. “Starship, they have a Shark Boat that’s been struck by a missile. They may have people in the water.”
“Roger that, Werewolf. I’ll do a low and slow and turn with the infrared cameras.”
SATAN’S TAIL
199
“Werewolf. Be advised, I’m into my fuel reserves.”
Dog broke into the circuit. “Dreamland Werewolf, are you landing aboard the Abner Read?”
“That’s my intention, Colonel.”
“All right. Starship, take the circuit around the stricken boat and assist with the rescue efforts. Then continue east and help us locate the pirates.”
“Roger that.”
Starship could see the robot helicopter veering to his left, skimming in an arc and landing on the nearby ship.
“Starship, do you have the location?” asked Zen.
“Roger that, Werewolf. I’m coming— Shit!”
The air in front of him erupted with 20mm shells. Starship hit the throttle and pushed the Flighthawk’s nose toward the water, but he’d been caught entirely by surprise. The left wing of the robot aircraft had been chewed severely by the Phalanx’s 20mm cannon.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” yelled Zen.
“Friendly fire! Friendly fire! I’m on your side! I’m on your side!” screamed Starship.
His systems screen lit, showing so many problems that the display looked like a solid splotch of red. Starship struggled to compensate for the mangled wing surface, leaning to the right with the joystick, as if his body might somehow help keep the tiny aircraft alive. He leveled off for a few seconds, but the Flighthawk’s forward airspeed had dropped below one hundred knots and wouldn’t come up. The computer began to push up the forward leading edge on the left wing for some bizarre reason. Starship had to override it with a direct voice command. He got an altitude warning but stayed with the aircraft, starting to build momentum. Then a second hail of bullets swarmed in front of him and the Flighthawk screen went dead.
He was so angry he smashed his fist in the middle of the control panel, breaking several of the keys.
200
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Aboard the Abner Read , Gulf of Aden
0134
“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!” DEMANDED STORM. “WHERE
did that missile come from!”
“No missile—it was the Dreamland flight,” said Eyes.