DANNY WAS THROWN OFF THE SIDE AS THE SUBMARINE POPPED
up. His foot grabbed in the side rail and he slammed against the hull, caught on the deck. He pushed himself back toward the conning tower, half swimming, half stumbling, in the direction of Boston, who was already at the hatch. The submarine twisted, whirling as the waves frothed and steamed.
Danny lurched to his knees and slid into Boston’s back just as the sergeant dropped his tear gas canisters down into the vessel. Catching his balance, Danny gripped the edge of the conning tower. He tossed off his knapsack and unzipped the outer and then the inner skins, exposing the CQWS shotgun.
The close-quarters weapon—developed by Dreamland’s weapons lab, the letters stood for Close Quarters Whiplash Shotgun—looked like a Pancor jackhammer shotgun that had been sawed off just fore of the trigger. It held twelve rounds of plastic pellet-filled shells, designed to incapacitate but not kill a person. The shells were expelled with enough force to knock down a 250-pound man.
Danny grabbed the gun and leapt down into the submarine. He saw only smoke in front of him, but immediately fired two rounds. Something fell at his feet—a man. Danny sidestepped him, then raised his gun as something moved a few feet away. He fired point-blank and it went down.
Boston was right behind him. Danny pushed through the thick haze, still using his dive pack to breathe. The submarine had an aisle down the middle, with a seat to each side.
He saw a station with a wheel at the front, a shadow moving next to it. He put two shells into the shadow.
Someone grabbed at his side. A sharp elbow got rid of his 354
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
assailant, but as he brought his gun up, a bullet ricocheted nearby. Before Danny could react, he felt a burning sensation in his calf. He fired toward the front of the submarine, heard another bullet, and found himself falling.
Aboard the Wisconsin , over India
0613
DOG VEERED TO THE SOUTH AS SOON AS JAZZ GAVE HIM THE
warning about the SA-12s. The Megafortress groaned with the strain, pulling nearly eight g’s. Engines at max power, he pushed his nose down, increasing his speed.
“Colonel—you’re heading straight for the SA-10 site.”
“Turn off the ECMs.”
“Colonel?”
“Jazz.”
“ECMs off. Clam Shell acquisition ra— They have us!
They have us! They’re launching—two, four missiles.”
Three behind them, four in their face. Dog continued on a beeline for the Indian site that had launched the SA-10s for another twenty seconds.
“Give it everything you got, Jazz,” he said. “Chaff, ECMs, the kitchen sink. Crew—stand by, this one’s going to be close.”
THOUGH THE FLIGHTHAWK WAS SEVERAL TIMES MORE MAneuverable than the EB-52, Mack had trouble keeping Hawk One close to the Wisconsin as she jinked and jived toward the ground, rolling on her wing and then heading almost straight down. It wouldn’t have been half bad if he hadn’t actually been in the plane—the hard maneuvers while he was flying in a different direction threatened to tear his head from his body. His stomach felt like it was where his legs should be, and the g forces tried to jerk his arms out of their sockets.
END GAME
355
One of the Indian missiles was beelining for the Flighthawk. That wasn’t a bad idea, he thought—intercept the missile before it hit the Megafortress. But the telephone-pole-sized weapon flew by him at the last second.
DOG POWERED THE MEGAFORTRESS INTO A DIVE. HE GLANCED
at the sitrep, then back at the windscreen.
“SA-12s are following—no, he’s off—he’s going for the SA-10,” shouted Jazz.
“Hang with me, son.”
Confused by the jamming gear and the apparent disappearance of their target, the two sets of missiles quickly found alternatives—each other. None managed to complete an exact interception, but when the first missile detonated, the others quickly followed suit.
The plane shuddered, and the computer warned that it was “exceeding normal flying parameters”—a polite way of asking if the pilot had lost his mind. Dog struggled through an uncontrolled invert; with the computer’s help he leveled off at fifteen thousand feet.
They were beyond the missile batteries.
“You did it, Colonel. They cooked each other. We’re past them.”
“We got a ways to go yet, Jazz,” said Dog, hunting for the heading to the launch area.
Northern Arabian Sea
0614
DANNY LANDED ON A BODY AS BULLETS FLEW BY. HE SAW
someone rising behind him. Thinking it was Boston, he hesitated for a moment, then saw the silhouette of a pistol in the man’s hand. He fired two rounds from his shotgun point-blank at the shadow’s head.
Someone grabbed him by the throat. Choking, he pointed the shotgun backward and fired once, twice, three times be-
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
fore the hand finally let go. He jumped up, firing two more times at the prone body.
Boston loomed behind him, waving his hand. They’d subdued everyone aboard the submarine.
Breathing heavily, they began trussing the men with plastic handcuffs and grabbing any guns they could find. Danny’s leg screamed with pain. He stumbled over the bodies in the aisle, then found his way to the ladder, clambering topside. He crawled out onto the deck of the submarine and pulled down his mask and breathing gear, hyperventilating in the fresh air.
“Sharkboat dead ahead!” said Boston, coming up behind him.
The low-slung patrol craft was less than fifty yards away.
Danny dug in his equipment belt for the flare they were supposed to use to tell them the submarine’s crew had been subdued; by the time he found it, three sailors were already aboard.
“Hey, Captain Whiplash!” yelled one of the Navy men, who’d worked with Danny before.
“About time you got here,” said Boston. “Put your damn gas masks on—place is a mess down there.”
SATTARI FELT HIMSELF BEING LIFTED AND CARRIED UPWARD.
He was going to Paradise, his battle done.
He sailed through a narrow tunnel, flooded with light.
Was his wife waiting for him?
His head slapped hard against the ground. Water splashed over him—he was wet—he was alive.
The submarine had been attacked. There had been gas and explosions, men …
Someone shouted nearby. The words were foreign—
English.
Americans!
When he tried to move his hands, he found they were bound in front of him.
They would not take him alive. Sattari pushed over the side, diving into the water.
END GAME
357
*
*
*
“HEY, ONE’S JUMPING IN THE WATER!”
Danny turned in time to see a pair of legs crashing through the waves. Without thinking, he dove forward off the submarine, stroking for the man. His leg throbbed as he tried to kick; it went limp on him, stunned, as if anesthetized—except it still hurt like hell. He saw the man surfacing a few feet away and lunged for him. He grabbed the man’s back, pulling him to the left; the man jerked away and fell back under the waves.
SATTARI’S LUNGS SCREAMED FOR AIR BUT HE IGNORED
them, pushing himself downward. He would cheat his enemies of this.
The man who’d followed him grabbed him by the left arm. Sattari shoved him aside. He opened his mouth, trying to swallow the sea.
He saw the man’s eyes in front of his face, wide and white.
Sattari threw his hands forward and found the man’s neck.
“You’re coming with me,” Sattari told him.
BEFORE DANNY COULD REACT, THE HANDS TIGHTENED AROUND
his neck. Dragged down, he tried to kick but couldn’t. He began punching the other man, but the man didn’t let go.