He stopped about four or five feet from the downed pilot.
“Grab it, damn it,” he said, sliding the collar right in front of his face, but the man still didn’t react.
He’s dead, he thought.
Not ready to give up, Starship nudged the stick back gently in the direction of the man. The collar hit the pilot in the chest as a small burst of wind nudged the aircraft downward.
“Grab it!” urged Starship. He flipped on the Werewolf ’s PA system and told him to take the line. The Chinese pilot still didn’t move.
Reluctantly, Starship started to nudge away.
“Tac, I’m afraid—”
He stopped mid-sentence as the screen from the chin cam caught his eye. The pilot had reached out his arm toward the collar.
“Finally,” said Starship, easing back.
UP ON THE ABNER READ’S BRIDGE, STORM FOLDED HIS
arms as he studied the holographic projection of the ocean around his destroyer. There was no way to get to the downed Wisconsin fliers without sailing closer than five miles to one of the Chinese ships.
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Obey orders and let them die?
The hell with that.
But armed with only his torpedoes, he’d be at a severe disadvantage if any of the Chinese ships became hostile.
And the fact that one had just fired a missile at Bastian didn’t bode well.
He could turn off all of his active sensors and try to sneak into the area. But he couldn’t go blind, and Bastian had told him he’d have to leave the area to refuel. Putting out the Abner Read’s passive sensor array would slow him down.
“Eyes, how close to the Chinese pilot is the Sharkboat?”
Storm asked, pressing his intercom connection. “How long before it can come north and scout the area for us?”
“Captain, the Werewolf has the Chinese pilot in tow and is inbound.”
“How?”
“We had a rope rigged to the aircraft’s skid. Airforce thought of it.”
Those Dreamlanders—always thinking.
“Let me know when he’s aboard.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
STARSHIP WASN’T SURE HOW FAST HE COULD GO BEFORE
the injured pilot lost his grip. He started out slowly, at under ten knots, but the Abner Read had her turbines churning, and just to keep up he had to bring the aircraft to thirty knots.
With one eye on the videocam showing the pilot at the end the rope below, he nudged up his speed—forty knots, fifty, then sixty. The wind rippled the man’s flight suit. Starship imagined it might feel like a motorcycle ride. Then again, it could be the most horrific experience the pilot ever had.
He reached 100 knots before the destroyer came into view.
“Tac, I have our package ready to drop under the Christmas tree,” said Starship. “If you can clear me in to land.”
“Stand by. Security team to the helipad.”
Starship adjusted his altitude as well as his speed, bringing 31
RETRIBUTION
the pilot down about five feet from the waves. Four armed crewmen waited near the bull’s-eye on the fanged fantail.
Starship tried to get the pilot right between them but moved a bit too abruptly and bowled over one of the sailors. The others scrambled to help, wrestling the Chinese pilot from the collar as they fought the wind from the helicopter above.
“Tac, tell those guys to take it easy,” said Starship. Not only was he worried that they were going to hurt the pilot, but their tugs pulled at the Werewolf, wreaking havoc with the controls. The computer kept trying to compensate, fighting Starship as he struggled to hold her steady above the moving ship.
“He’s secure,” said Eyes finally.
Starship pulled up.
“Airforce, you have your ears on?” barked Storm.
“Yes, sir, Captain.”
“I want you to run ahead and get a look at the ships between us and those Dreamland people. We’re turning off our radar so the Chinese don’t realize we’re coming. I want to see what I’m up against.”
“On my way.”
Aboard the Wisconsin,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0805
DOG’S PLAN WORKED—SORT OF. THE CHINESE FRIGATE
once more changed direction, sailing toward the spot in the ocean he was circling. But he’d also attracted the attention of a smaller vessel, which was now approached from the northeast. This was a small patrol boat, little more than an overgrown speedboat, but just as deadly to the men in the water. It was also more maneuverable, and more likely to search the area and conclude that the downed airmen were somewhere else.
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Dog decided he would try and shoo it away; if nothing else, the frigate would be convinced that he was trying to protect someone there.
The aircraft growled as he pushed her wing down, moving farther sideways than forward and losing altitude more quickly than he’d intended. Dog wrestled it back under control in time to pass by the bow of the patrol boat at two hundred feet—not particularly low, though close enough to see the 40mm double-barreled gun on the foredeck as it swung in his direction.
Dog babied the stick, putting the Megafortress into another turn, this one as gentle as he could manage. He slid down to one hundred feet and came over the patrol boat. The 40mm gun turned again in his direction, but if it fired, Dog never saw the shots. He pulled off as he passed, and by the time he glanced down, saw that the vessel had turned back in the direction of land.
Northern Arabian Sea
0810
MACK WATCHED THE MEGAFORTRESS DISAPPEAR TO THE
northwest, once again chased away by the Chinese destroyer.
At least it had taken the ship with it this time.
They’d lashed the two inflatable rafts together and put Cantor in one. Mack told them that they’d take turns in the other once they got tired. For now, they were all going to kick in the direction of the Abner Read.
Forty or fifty miles on the open ocean was a very, very long distance. But Mack figured that moving was better than floating, and every hundred yards was a hundred yards away from the Chinese.
“Aw, shit,” yelped Jazz. “Ah, man.”
“What’s up?”
“My leg. Feels like I got an iron chain in it.”
“It’s just a cramp,” said Mack. “Work through it.”
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RETRIBUTION
Jazz continued to curse.
“Take a break, Jazz,” Mack told him finally.
“I’m OK, Major.”
“Your lips are turning blue. Get in the damn raft. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was only after Jazz pulled himself into the raft, leg twitching, that Mack realized everyone’s lips were blue.
“Kick,” he told the others. “Let’s go. Kick!”
Aboard the Abner Read,
northern Arabian Sea
0810
THERE WAS ONLY SO MUCH THAT COULD BE DONE TO MAKE
a helicopter stealthy, but the Werewolf was small and its ability to fly extremely low would make it hard for the Chinese ships to spot it until it was very close. Starship figured that if he moved fast enough, he could get by any of the ships before they could react and try to shoot him down.
A Chinese guided-missile cruiser presented a particular problem, since it sat almost directly in his path. But the cruiser had been heavily damaged in the battle, and smoke poured from three different places on the ship. The radar warning receiver aboard the Werewolf indicated that the vessel was not using its weapons or even early warning radar; most likely the radar systems had been destroyed. Still, Starship kept an eye on the infrared warning panel as he shot past no more than a mile away, worried that the ship might try firing a heat-seeking missile without locking him up on radar.
With the cruiser in the rearview mirror, Starship put the pedal to the metal and sped over the waves. About three miles from the GPS point he’d been given as the fliers’ location, he began rising to get a better view for his radar and other sensors.