The speedo bolted past Mach 2, but Samson wanted more.

He needed more—the MiG was still three miles out of range.

But it was slowing—popping up.

To make its bombing run.

“You ready over there, Stockard?” he barked.

“I need two and half more miles,” she answered. “And, General, we’re too low. We have to be above him.”

“The hell with that, Stockard. You’re firing upside down.

Ready, Stockard?”

“I’m ready.”

Samson held the control stick tightly. Not only did he have to time the invert just right, he had to be careful coming out of it—he was down below 10,000 feet, and using altitude to kick up his momentum.

Eight thousand, going through 7,500, going through 7,000, going—

“In range!” shouted Breanna.

Samson flipped the aircraft onto its back, turning the laser director toward the MiG. The energy beam shot out, striking one of the missiles under the plane’s right wing.

Two seconds later the missile’s fuel ignited. Shrapnel pep-pered the MiG’s belly. A piece of hot flying metal ignited the warhead on the missile sitting on the opposite hardpoint.

Flames consumed the MiG so quickly, the pilot couldn’t hit the silk.

Samson didn’t see any of it. He was too busy righting the B-1 and pulling out of its death dive toward the earth.

458

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Where do I need to be?” he shouted.

“Anywhere you want, Earthmover. Scratch BanditThree. ”

Samson grinned.

“Incoming message from Whiplash Osprey,” added Breanna. “Major Stockard and Captain Freah.”

Samson hit the preset. There was no visual; Danny and Zen were on the line from the Osprey. Zen explained President Voda’s request.

“Captain Freah believes it might be an unnecessary risk,”

added Zen. “Right, Captain?”

“I think it’s unwise, yes,” said Danny.

“You know what, Captain? Just this once I’m going to disagree with you. I’m glad to see that these people have a president with some balls. Let him do what he wants, the way Zen just laid it out. Don’t let him get killed.”

“Um—”

“You have a problem, Captain?”

“Those two orders are in conflict. Sir. I mean—”

“Let the Romanian president do what he wants,” said Samson. “Those are my orders. Boomer out.”

“All MiGs are down, General,” said Breanna. “All our aircraft are good. No casualties. Doesn’t look like the Russians got a shot off.”

Samson grinned. If some of the Dreamland people were a little full of themselves—well, if all of them were a lot full of themselves—now he saw why.

“You did a damn good job there, Captain,” he told Breanna. “You kicked ass.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, sir.”

“You got that right,” said Samson.

Breanna started to laugh.

“What’s that?” he asked. Then he started to laugh as well.

So maybe he was a little full of himself too.

So what?

REVOLUTION

459

Aboard Dreamland Osprey

over Romania

0205

DANNY PULLED OFF THE HEADSET.

“He’s only been here a few weeks,” he said to Zen. “And already he’s starting to sound like Colonel Bastian. Screw the risks. Get the job done.”

“Dog has that effect on people,” said Zen.

Reluctantly, Danny went forward and told the pilots what they had to do. The Osprey circled back north, skimming lower. As they came to the main highway leading to the road where Voda’s house was, they spotted a pair of small jeeps guarding the intersection. It was about as safe a place as they were going to find.

“It’s all yours,” Danny told Voda, handing over the headset. “It’s set to loudspeaker.”

“They’ll hear me over the rotors?”

“Yes. We’ve used it for rescues and crowd control. It’s very loud. Wait until the flares get their attention. At the first sign of trouble, we’re out of here. So hold on.”

VODA TOOK THE MICROPHONE AS THE OSPREY SPED

toward the post.

Maybe Captain Danny Freah was right; maybe he was being foolish. Maybe he should just go on to Bucharest, make his speeches to the TV. It would be the prudent thing to do.

But what good would the speeches be if the people weren’t behind him? And if he couldn’t persuade two dozen soldiers to help him keep Romania free—well then, he had failed as president, hadn’t he?

An illumination flare turned the night white. Two or three of the men pointed their weapons at the black aircraft as it hovered close, but no one fired.

“Open the door,” he told the sergeant standing near it.

“Shit,” said Danny.

460

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

But he nodded, and the door was opened. Voda looked down at the men.

“I need to be lower.”

The captain shook his head.

“Lower!” yelled Voda.

The microphone caught his voice, and it echoed through the cabin. The Osprey settled a little closer to the ground, close enough, at least, for Voda to see that the soldiers were kids: eighteen, nineteen. To them, the dictator was just some story their parents told when they were bored.

They didn’t know what it was like to be the slaves of a dictator.

Or free men, for that matter.

“Gentlemen of the army,” began Voda, his voice shaky.

“This is President Voda. I wish to thank you for your role in helping save me today. Our democracy has passed a great test, thanks to your help. Romania remains free! Romania forthe people! ”

The soldiers didn’t react. Voda felt a moment of doubt.

Then he leaned out the door.

“Thank you, Romania!” he yelled into his microphone.

“We remain a free people, with a great future!”

The soldiers began to cheer. Voda waved so hard one of the Americans had to grab him to keep him from falling out.

“To Bucharest,” he told Danny Freah.

“Damn good idea,” said Danny. He waved toward the front. The door was closed and the Osprey wheeled back into full flight.

“Hey, Mr. President,” said Zen Stockard, sitting across from him. “Whose fancy car is that?”

Voda crossed to the other side of the Osprey and looked out. It was a black Mercedes S series sedan with flags—one Romanian and the other …

The other bore the insignia of the Romanian army.

Locusta’s car.

REVOLUTION

461

“I want that son of a bitch arrested!” he yelled. “Get him, now! Kill him if you have to.”

“Now there’s an order we can all live with,” said Zen.

Southwest of Stulpicani, Romania

0210

LOCUSTA HEARD THE AIRCRAFT BUT WAS CONFUSED. IT

couldn’t be his helicopter—they were still several miles from headquarters.

A black beast swerved in front of the car. His driver hit the breaks.

It was the Dreamland Osprey.

What the hell were they doing?

SAMSON HAD ORDERED HIM TO FOLLOW THE ROMANIAN

president’s orders. Still, Danny Freah didn’t feel entirely comfortable shooting up the car.

“Get him to stop,” he told the pilots. “Fly in front of him, train the guns on him. Then we’ll have him surrender.”

The Osprey pitched around, settling in front of the vehicle.

Voda was on the loudspeaker, talking to Locusta.

“General Locusta,” he said in Romanian, “I order you to place yourself under arrest. You are to come with these soldiers. No harm will come to you, unless you try to escape.”

“Tell him to stop the vehicle,” said Danny.

“General, stop the car,” said Voda.

The Osprey was moving backward, its chin guns pointed at the Mercedes. Instead of slowing, the car picked up speed.

“Can he hear me?” Voda asked.

“Yeah, he can hear you. He’s just being stubborn. I’m going to mash up his front end and take out his engine. The car is armored, but that’s not going to be much of a problem.”

“Do it.”

“Yeah.”