“He’s fought for it. Now he’s giving up. For me. He shouldn’t give that up. He shouldn’t be afraid for me.”
“Maybe he just wants to do his job,” said Stewart, not knowing what else to say.
Another tear slipped from Breanna’s eye. How difficult—how impossible—it must have been for her to see her husband crippled, thought Stewart. How impossible it must be every day to live through it.
“The tests they’re doing or whatever,” said Stewart.
“They’re going to make him walk?”
“They’re a long shot at best. Really a long shot. But walking or not walking—it’s not as important as who he is.
He can’t surrender. That’s not who he is. I don’t want him to give himself up for me. It’s not a trade I’d take.”
250
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
To her surprise, Stewart realized her own cheek was wet.
“I’m sorry,” she told Breanna.
Not because of Zen, but because of everything—bad mouthing her, grousing, resisting her attempts to help.
And not being able to handle the job in the stress of combat. That especially.
“We should get moving. You’re right,” said Breanna suddenly, as if Stewart had suggested it.
“Hey.” Stewart reached over and touched Breanna’s shoulder. “If you need anything.”
Breanna turned back to her. Her eyes glistened in the reflected light and she gave a forced smile. “Just the checklist for now. Thanks. Thanks.”
Aboard the Wisconsin , over the northern Arabian Sea
2302
MACK LET OUT A LONG STRING OF CURSES—A VERY LONG
string of curses—as he fought to outrun and outfox the shoulder-launched SAM. Caught at low altitude and low speed, there wasn’t that much he could do, and his response would have been the same no matter what he was flying: toss decoy flares, jink back and forth, hit the throttle for all it was worth.
And pray, though Mack Smith had never found that particularly effective.
The missile sniffed one of the flares and rode off to the right, exploding more than half a mile away when it realized its mistake. Not entirely sure he was safe, Mack continued to the south until he saw the Sharkboat ahead.
“Hawk One to Wisconsin—that scumbag just tried to shoot me down.”
“Copy that, we saw it Mack.”
“Permission to give him his just reward,” said Mack, pulling up the weapons screen. “I’ll send him to the bottom.”
END GAME
251
“Hold on, Mack. We want him disabled, not sunk. Stand by so we can coordinate with the Sharkboat. We want those people alive if at all possible. They’re very valuable.”
“Sharkboat has them in sight,” said Jazz. “Radioing to them to surrender.”
“Mack, take a pass,” Dog added. “Fire into the water near the bow. Don’t hit them.”
“Jeez, Colonel. I don’t know if I can miss.”
“Not very funny, Mack.”
Actually, he wasn’t making a joke. Mack had never tried not to hit something when flying a Flighthawk.
“Warning fire,” Cantor said. “Designate the target, then give a verbal command. Computer will make sure you miss.”
“Thanks, kid.”
Still a little dubious, Mack accelerated back toward the submarine. Sure enough, after giving the verbal command, the bullets sailed near the vessel’s path.
“Got their attention,” said Mack.
The submarine had stopped moving; it was still half submerged, with water lapping over the deck.
“Colonel, something’s going on with the sub,” said Cantor. “Strange noises—bubbling like they’re taking on water.”
“Mack, did you hit them?”
“Negative.”
“It’s going down, almost straight down,” said Cantor.
Mack banked back. Sure enough, the submarine had sunk below the waves.
“I think they’re trying to make a run for it,” said Mack.
“Big explosion!” reported Cantor. “Wow—they’re going down straight to the bottom!”
VII
Coming to Their Senses
Aboard the Abner Read,
northern Arabian Sea
13 January 1998
2310
STORM KICKED AT THE DECK AS HE LISTENED TO THE CHATTER
from the Sharkboat. The technology that made it possible to coordinate actions over a wide-ranging area also made it possible to be incredibly frustrated. They’d missed their chance to catch the commandos. The submarine had seen the Dreamland aircraft and the Sharkboat. Realizing the jig was up, they’d hari-karied themselves.
“Sharkboat One is asking for further instructions, Storm,” said Eyes. “Water’s too deep for any sort of recovery operation. They’ve picked up what they can from the surface. Bits of plastic. Nothing significant.”
“Let’s have them stay until morning light,” Storm told him. “Pick up whatever they can find.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That Piranha unit—tell Bastian to send it south. Might as well get an eye on the Chinese Kilo.”
“We have that ourselves with the array.”
“Do you have anything better for the Piranha to do?”
“Can’t think of anything.”
“All right, then. Let’s get it down where it might do some good.”
Now everyone was questioning his orders. Storm looked at his holographic display. The Chinese aircraft carrier was 256
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
a little over seventy-five miles away. A U-2 was nearby, keeping watch for the Tai-shan aircraft; it would alert Bastian if the planes came on deck, and he’d get his people into position to intercept.
The Indian carrier had moved north again. Maybe they were looking for a rematch.
“What do you think the submarine was?” Eyes asked him.
Bastian’s theory that it was some sort of civilian craft put to military use by the Iranians made a hell of lot of sense, but there was no way Storm was going to admit that.
“Wouldn’t even want to guess,” he told Eyes. “Have intel prepare details on what the Sharkboat finds for Fleet and Pentagon intelligence.”
“Aye aye, skipper.”
National Security Council Conference Room 2A, Washington, D.C.
1800
“THE PAKISTANIS HAVE PUT MISSILE SITE TWO ON ITS HIGHest alert,” CIA director Robert Plank told the President as they briefed in the high-tech conference room beneath the West Wing. “That’s the site with their nukes, you see it here on the map. Four missiles, four warheads, each aimed at an Indian city.”
“What about the Indians?” asked Secretary of State Hartman.
“They’re also on alert. We have satellite photos.”
Jed glanced at the satellite photos on the flat screen in front of him, even though he’d seen them earlier. The Indians and Pakistanis had engaged in serious shooting wars several times over the past decade, but those actions were mostly confined to the disputed regions in the North, near Kashmir and Jamu. They also had not involved nuclear weapons, or other countries. The Chinese were taking an END GAME
257
aggressive tack to help the Pakistanis. Not to be outdone, the Russians were voicing support for the Indians and had ordered three ships to set sail for the Indian Ocean. An NSA intercept two hours ago indicated that a pair of Russian attack submarines were also en route.
“I have no confidence that the cease-fire will hold,” said Secretary of State Jeffrey Hartman. “Quite the contrary.”
“I agree,” said Jed’s boss, National Security Advisor Philip Freeman. “We’re very close to war. If the two sides use their missiles, the weapons aboard the Deng Xiaoping will be almost beside the point.”
“Yes, I want to talk specifically about that plan,” said Admiral Balboa.
“Jed, tell us about the weapons Dreamland wants to use,”
said President Martindale. “The EEMWBs.”
Jed tried to speak but couldn’t. His tongue seemed to have shriveled and gone into hiding.