“It looks like the Indians are launching an all-out attack on the Chinese and Pakistani ships in the northern Arabian Sea,” Jed told his boss. “One of their radar platforms has been attacked. Pakistani aircraft are being vectored to meet Indian flights near the border. One of our Megafortresses has been shot at.”
“Are they OK?”
“Yes. I think the attack on the platform may have started things off, but it’s hard to sort it out,” Jed added.
“That’s immaterial right now, Jed. What’s the status of the Indian nuclear units?”
“They’re one step below launch.”
“Is the Dreamland mission still viable?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m on my way back. I’ll alert the President. He may arrive before I do. Hang in there, Jed.”
Barclay put down the phone.
“Indian missile site at Bhatinda has just gone to launch warning,” said Jordan, reading from the NSA screen.
“Warning? Do we have that area on satellite?”
“There,” said the image interpreter, pointing to the display. “They’re getting ready to launch.”
Jed reached for the button to key into the Dreamland communications network.
“Launch in Pakistan!” yelled Jordan. “My God, they’re really going to try and end the world!”
IX
End Game
Aboard the Wisconsin,
over the northern Arabian Sea
15 January 1998
0538
CLEAR OF THE INDIAN FIGHTERS AND THEIR MISSILES, DOG
began climbing over the water, trying to sort out exactly what was going on. More than a dozen missiles had been launched at the Chinese aircraft carrier, which was beginning to respond with anticruise missiles.
The Dreamland circuit buzzed.
“Colonel, we have a missile launch,” said Jed Barclay, his words running together. “Go to End Game. I will stay on the line and update you.”
“Bastian acknowledges, End Game is authorized,” said the colonel calmly. “I need the status of Chinese aircraft carrier Deng Xiaoping.”
“Tai-shan order has not been given. Repeat, Tai-shan has not been given.”
That meant that the electronic “ferret” satellite had not yet picked up the order authorizing the launch of the nuclear-equipped aircraft. But that wasn’t enough.
“Jed, I need to know specifically that those aircraft are not on the hangar deck,” said Dog.
“I am looking at the U-2 image now. Neither plane is on deck.”
“Then I’m proceeding with End Game,” said Dog.
“Acknowledged,” said Jed.
Dog hit the preset under the screen; Tommy Chu, the pi-
332
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
lot of Dreamland Fisher, appeared on the screen.
“Tommy, End Game has been authorized. Wisconsin and Levitow will proceed overland. I want you to take up station and be prepared to deal with the Deng Xiaoping’s planes if the Chinese order Tai-shan to proceed.”
“Fisher acknowledges. Colonel, I’m roughly ten minutes from the radar platform on my present course. Should I go ahead with the drop or not?”
“I don’t want you taking unnecessary risks. Tai-shan is higher priority.”
“Understood, Colonel. But my best course at this point to avoid both aircraft carrier groups will take me right past the platform. And frankly, I think I’d do better without the manpods on my wings.”
“Have Danny check with Captain Gale on the AbnerRead and find out the status of the Sharkboat he sent.
Danny’s not to proceed without coordination from the Sharkboat, and approval from Gale. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If it looks too risky, call it off. Drop the pods near the Abner Read. If Danny gives you grief, refer him to me.”
“You got it, Colonel.”
“Bastian out.” Dog hit the preset to connect with Levitow.
Breanna’s face appeared on the screen.
“End Game has been authorized,” he told her. “What’s your position?”
“We’re approaching the Indian coast, thirty miles north of Mumbai. We’ll go from here.”
Dog realized she was much farther south than they’d planned. Distancewise, that wouldn’t be much of a problem. But it would take them much closer to the Indians’
most fearsome antiaircraft defenses.
“We’ve turned off our radar,” she added. “We’ll make it, Daddy.”
For once he didn’t mind that she called him that.
“I know you will. Check back in five.”
“Roger that.”
END GAME
333
*
*
*
MIG TWO’S NOSE HAD JUST COME INTO CANTOR’S VIEW
screen when Colonel Bastian announced that they were going back over India. He stayed on course, closing to a mile before he got the signal from the computer that he had a shot. He pressed the trigger, releasing a hail of bullets for the MiG to fly into. Rather than turning to finish off his prey as he’d planned, he pulled back east, racing parallel to the Wisconsin.
“Didja get him, kid?” asked Mack.
“No.”
“You got him away from us. That’s the main thing.”
“Thanks,” said Cantor, surprised that Mack was trying to sound encouraging.
The Megafortress’s flight plan would take them toward the Thar desert, a vast wasteland between Pakistan and India. They would be crossing Pakistani territory as well, which meant that they would be exposed to two American I-Hawk antiaircraft batteries as well as a number of Russian-made ones on the Indian side.
A more immediate threat, especially as far as Cantor was concerned, were the fighters both sides were hurling into the air. The second flight of Indian MiGs that had scrambled earlier were coming north, and the four Pakistani F-16s they’d detected were approaching the border directly in their path.
“I’ll worry about the Indians,” Cantor told Mack.
“You’ve got the F-16s.”
“Yeah, I was about to say the same thing, kid.”
“You remember the Fort Cherry exercise? Same thing.
You can let the computer program the attack route, because it’ll look that encounter up. It’s based on Pakistani tactics in a four-ship group that Zen taught during—”
“I don’t need Professor Zen’s pointers, kid,” said Mack.
Typical Mack, thought Cantor. Just when you thought he’d stopped being a jerk, he rubbed your nose in it.
334
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Aboard the Abner Read , in the northern Arabian Sea
0538
THE EXPLOSION BUFFETED THE WEREWOLF, BUT WAS TOO FAR
away to do any damage. By the time Starship recovered and circled back to see what had happened, two of the legs holding the radar platform had collapsed. The structure tilted forward, as if about to dive head first into the water.
One of the large antenna towers had fallen; the other two were twisted sideways.
The submarines sat on the surface between a mile and two miles from the platform. Starship dropped his speed and began a slow arc around them to the northeast. There were several aircraft nearby, Pakistani and Chinese, but as yet no one seemed to have reacted to either him or the boats.
“Eyes—they’ve hit the tower. The radar platform has been destroyed. You want me to stop these guys? They’re boarding the submarines. I see two more small boats. One of the subs is moving.”
Starship could choose between six Hellfire missiles, two 30mm chain guns, and a pair of 7.62 machine guns to use against the submarines. He opted for the Hellfires, whose shaped warheads would slice easily through their hulls. But he still needed permission to fire.
“Werewolf to Tac Commander, am I authorized to fire on these submarines? Am I supposed to stop them from getting away or what?”
“Go ahead,” said Eyes finally.
Starship reached his right hand to the rollerball controlling the cursor for the laser designator, zeroed in on the near-est sub, and clicked to lock the target. Then he fired two missiles. The missiles rode a laser beam from the Werewolf down to the sub, zeroing in on the cue like a Walker fox-hound chasing its prey in an overgrown field. The first Hellfire hit with a wallop of steam; the second Hellfire rolled into the fog.