The first thing he saw on the synthesized radar screen was 34
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
a Chinese destroyer, six miles to the east. Dreamland Wisconsin was eight or nine miles north of the destroyer.
So he had the neighborhood, at least.
Starship slowed his speed to eighty knots and did a quick scan of the area around him; he couldn’t see anything in the water. He instructed the computer to set up a search pattern; when the grid came up on the screen, he chose the segment closest to the Chinese destroyer as a starting point and told the computer to go.
The Werewolf hadn’t actually reached the point when he spotted a pair of rafts and several swimmers three miles to the west. He took back control and turned toward them.
“Werewolf to Tac,” he said. “I have our subjects in view.
Counting—four—no, five men—two in the raft, others in the water. Stand by for GPS coordinates.”
Northern Arabian Sea
0825
THE NOISE REMINDED MACK SMITH OF HIS BROTHER’S
whiny two-stroke weed whacker—assuming it had a blanket thrown on it.
The water to the east seemed to bubble up into a moving volcano.
“Chopper,” said Tommy. “Ours or theirs?”
They were too far away to see it clearly, but the sound gave it away.
“That’s a Werewolf,” said Dish.
“Yeah,” said Mack. “Has to be from the Abner Read.”
The robot aircraft banked southward, moving away.
“Yo, Werewolf—where are you going?” grunted Mack.
The mouthpiece for his survival radio was integrated with the collar of his Dreamland-designed flight suit, but the radio was in a sleep mode to conserve battery power and had to be manually turned on. Mack reached down to the vest and did so, then repeated the hail, this time with more formality.
35
RETRIBUTION
Dog, not the Werewolf, answered.
“Mack, that’s the Abner Read’s aircraft,” said Dog. “He’s scouting your position.”
“Wisconsin, can you connect me with the pilot? He’s flying to the south.”
A transmission from the Werewolf overrode the reply.
Neither were intelligible.
“Mack Smith to Werewolf. Yo, you just flew south of us.”
“Just getting the lay of the land, Mack,” responded Starship.
“Hey, Junior, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re flying over the sea.”
“Oh, that’s what that blue stuff is. I thought I was upside down.”
“You’re a joke a minute, kid. How long before you get that tin can you’re in up here?”
“Abner Read will pick you up in about an hour and a half.”
Mack glanced over at Cantor. He was out of it.
“Give me a vector and we’ll meet it halfway,” said Mack.
“Major—”
“Give me a vector, kid. We’re not hanging here all day.”
Aboard the Wisconsin,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0835
DOG PULLED BACK ON THE STICK, COAXING THE MEGAFOR-tress into a gentle climb. With the Abner Read on its way and the Werewolf close enough to talk directly with the downed airmen, there was nothing more for him to do here.
He got Catsman on the Dreamland Command frequency and through her spoke to the KC-10 tanker that had been tasked to Dreamland for the operation. They arranged a rendezvous about an hour’s flying time south of his present position.
36
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
When Dog finished making the arrangements, he turned back to look for the Chinese frigate. Not spotting it right away, a shiver of panic flew through him. He’d blundered too close, he thought, and was now in range of another missile.
Then he saw the frigate in the distance. It had given up chasing him and was once more sailing back in the direction of Mack and the others.
Northern Arabian Sea
0850
THE WEREWOLF PICKED UP EVERYONE’S MORALE, BUT MACK
soon realized that could be too much of a good thing. For while they kicked ferociously for a few minutes, pushing the raft in the direction of the approaching American ship, they quickly ran out of energy. And with the Abner Read still far in the distance, they had to conserve their strength.
“All right, new plan,” Mack told the others, and felt his teeth chatter as he spoke. “One guy kicks at a time. Two guys, one on each side, rest. Other two stay in the raft. Jazz, how’s your leg?”
“Much better.”
“Great,” said Mack, though he knew the lieutenant was lying. “All right. I’ll kick and steer. Idea here is that we’re saving our strength. All right? We’re all about endurance right now.”
“I’ll swap with Dish,” said Jazz.
“Nah, it’s OK,” said Mack.
“Dish looks cold.”
“I’m OK,” said Dish.
Jazz slipped into the water next to him. Mack watched his shock as the water hit him. Then Dish pulled himself into the raft, Mack could see he was both reluctant and grateful.
Mack leaned over toward Jazz. “You hanging in there, kid?”
37
RETRIBUTION
“I’m with ya, Major.”
“Kick slow if you have to, to stay warm.”
“Staying warm.”
Mack kicked slowly himself, pushing the raft almost imper-ceptibly. He told himself he was in a survival tank bank at Nellis Air Base, just having a grand ol’ time with the instructors, one of whom had been Sports Illustrated model material.
Luscious, that.
Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm.
In the raft, Dish shifted around to get closer to him.
“Hey, Major,” he said in a barely audible voice. “That Chinese ship. I can see it on the horizon, getting bigger.”
Damn, thought Mack, doing his best not to turn around.
Aboard the Abner Read,
northern Arabian Sea
0855
THE RADAR DETECTOR ABOARD THE WEREWOLF BLEEPED TO
let Starship know that the Chinese frigate was looking for it.
The ship had changed course and was now making a beeline for the life raft.
“Tac, I need you to take a look at this,” Starship said. In an instant, Eyes appeared at his side.
“The frigate is heading in their direction. You think it knows they’re there?”
Eyes squatted and looked at the Werewolf control screen, which displayed a situational representation of the area. The sitrep provided a bird’s-eye view, augmented with information about the contacts, their speed and bearings. The control computer could gather and synthesize the information from a variety of sources, but in this case it was working primarily with the Werewolf ’s regular and infrared radar. The destroyer was about four miles from the men.
“They’re too far to know exactly where they are,” decided Eyes. “But I’d say they definitely know they’re in the vicinity.”
38
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
“How long before they actually see the raft?”
“Hard to tell. It’s too small and low on the water to be detected by any radar the Chinese have.” Eyes straightened. “That leaves human lookouts. Good glasses, good lookouts …”
Eyes didn’t finish the sentence. Starship knew that his own Mark 1 eyeballs were capable of picking out a silver speck in a bright sky at four or five miles, no sweat. Here, the lookouts would have a nice orange target on a field of deep blue.
“We have to figure out a way to get them out of there,” said Starship.
“That, or get the frigate out of there.”
Aboard the Wisconsin,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0900
THE SUN POURED THROUGH THE HATCHWAY ABOVE THE copilot’s seat as Dog turned toward the Chinese ship. Wind surged through the cockpit, grabbing at the folds of his flight suit. He could barely hear his breath in the face mask, which was just as well—he’d started to hyperventilate, too revved on adrenaline.
“Wisconsin to Werewolf. Starship, can you go over to the Dreamland Command channel?” he asked over the emergency frequency.
“Werewolf. Affirmative, Colonel.”