Dog gave him the coordinates, about sixty miles to the END GAME
301
east of the Sharkboat, which was another forty to the east of the Abner Read.
“It will take about two hours for the Sharkboat to get there,” Storm told him. “But those are Indian waters. If we’re caught there, it will be viewed as provocative. The Indians will have every right to attack us.”
“You’re telling me you won’t go there?”
“This has nothing to do with the aircraft carrier, Bastian.
You can’t give me an order regarding it.”
“I’m not. But if we want to get the submarine, we have to do it now. I would suggest— suggest—that you position your Sharkboat several miles offshore so it can come to the aid of the craft when it begins to founder.”
“You know all the angles, don’t you?” snapped Storm.
Dog didn’t respond.
“Yes, we’ll do it,” said Storm. “Get with Eyes for the details.” He jabbed his finger on the switch to kill the transmission.
Aboard the Levitow ,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0430
ZEN WATCHED AS LIEUTENANT DENNIS “DORK” THRALL FINished the refuel of Hawk Three. Dork backed out of Levitow, rolling right as he cleared away from the Megafortress.
Hawk Four remained on the wing; Zen would have to take the Piranha when they arrived on station, and didn’t want to leave Dork to handle two planes.
Dork steered the Flighthawk out in front of the Megafortress, climbing gradually to 42,000 feet, about five thousand higher than the EB-52. They were still forty-five minutes from the Wisconsin’s position, but already they’d encountered three different Indian patrols. They had also passed a Russian guided missile cruiser steaming north-
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
ward with two smaller ships. If tempers were cooling, Zen saw no evidence of it.
He heard something behind him, and turned to find Breanna climbing down the metal ladder at the rear of the deck.
“I thought you were sleeping,” he told her.
“I fell asleep for, oh, twenty minutes,” she said. “Hard to sleep with Stewart snoring in my ear. She’s louder than the engines.”
“Dork’s flying Hawk Three,” said Zen.
“So I gathered. You’re just surplus?”
“Nothing but a spare part. You too?”
“Actually, I’m going to switch with Louis and take the stick. He’s feeling the aftereffects of the Navy food.”
“You sure you shouldn’t get more rest?”
“Nah,” said Breanna. Then she added cryptically,
“Hardly worth giving up your treatments for.”
“Huh?” Zen looked up at her, shocked—almost stunned—by what she’d said.
“You want anything? Coffee?”
“I’ll take a cup.”
He watched her disappear upstairs and felt a pang of regret at not being able to get up and go with her—at not being able to walk up with her.
She thought he’d made a mistake. That’s what she’d meant.
She wanted a whole man for a husband: one who walked.
Zen forced himself to go back to watching Dork. The Flighthawk pilot checked his sitrep, keeping a wary eye on a pair of Indian MiG-29s that the Levitow’s radar painted about 150 miles to the east. He had a good handle on what he was doing; while there were no guarantees, Zen thought he’d do well in combat once he got a little experience under his belt.
Maybe no one really needed him here at all.
“Coffee,” said Breanna, returning with a cup.
“Where’s yours?”
“I have to get back. Lou’s whiter than a ghost.”
“All right. See you around.”
END GAME
303
“Something wrong, Jeff?”
“Nah. I’ll be talking to you.” He tried to make it sound like a joke, but couldn’t quite manage it.
Aboard the Wisconsin , over the northern Arabian Sea
0450
“PIRANHA TO WISCONSIN.”
“Go ahead, Cantor,” said Colonel Bastian, checking his position to make sure he was still in international airspace, about fifteen miles to the west of shore.
“The submarine is surfacing, Colonel. I think they’re going to that radar platform. And I think there’s another one nearby, closer to the coast but behind us. I’ll have to circle around to find out.”
The platform held one of a series of large radar antennas used to detect aircraft by the Indians. It would be a perfect target for a covert operation.
There was also a small building and shed at the base—a good place to resupply a small vessel.
“Wisconsin to Flighthawk leader—Mack, I want you to take a pass at the radar platform and give us some visuals. I want to see if that platform is expecting them.”
“On it, Colonel.”
Aboard the Deng Xiaoping , in the northern Arabian Sea
0450
CAPTAIN HONGWU, THE MASTER OF THE DENG XIAOPING, REviewed the movements of the Indian ships over the past several hours. The Shiva and her escorts had spread out, and at the same time come closer to him. Clearly they were positioning themselves for an attack.
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
While he had expended most of his anticruise missiles in his earlier engagement, Hongwu felt confident he could handle the Indians by overmatching their aircraft with his larger squadron, allowing him to reserve the missiles for use against ship-launched weapons. He would devote his planes to defense initially, counterattacking only after he had broken the enemy’s thrust.
But he worried about what role the Americans would play.
Besides the warship his pilots had misidentified, they were flying Megafortresses above the Arabian Sea. One seemed to be tracking his fleet. He thought it unlikely that they would help the Indians, but he knew he had to be prepared.
“The American aircraft should be kept at least fifty miles from us at all times,” he told his air commander. “We must keep their air-to-air missiles out of easy range of the radar helicopters. And if fighting starts again, they should be moved back beyond the range of the standard Harpoon missiles they carry—eighty miles.”
Hongwu immediately noted the concern on the air commander’s face.
“If necessary, assign four aircraft to escort them,” added Hongwu. “Escort them at very close range, where their air-to-air missiles will not be a factor.”
“It will be done, Captain.”
Northern Arabian Sea
0455
CAPTAIN SATTARI ROLLED HIS NECK SIDEWAYS AND THEN DOWN
toward his chest, trying to stretch away the kink that had developed there in the past hour. They were almost at their destination; he wanted to be out, and so did everyone else aboard the submarine.
“We are a little ahead of schedule, Captain,” said the Parvaneh’s captain. “The others may be well behind us.”
“Good. We will lead the charge.” Sattari got up and END GAME
305
turned to the rest of the commandos. “Be prepared to fire your weapons the moment we are out of the submarine.”
Aboard the Shiva ,
in the northern Arabian Sea
0500
“THE RADAR PLATFORM AT DW ¯ARKA REPORTS THAT AN
American Megafortress is orbiting it to the west,” the radar officer told Admiral Skandar. “A flight of air force interceptors is being scrambled to meet it.”
Skandar nodded, and turned to Memon. “Do you still think the Americans are neutral?”
“No, Minister,” said Memon, though the question was clearly rhetorical.
“They are targeting the radar platform. You will see—it will be attacked at any moment.” Skandar turned to his executive officer. “Warn the platform to be on its guard. Have the men move to their battle stations. The showdown is about to begin.”