“I don’t know that we would have. Frankly, if Kharon hadn’t explained it, I wouldn’t have been able to puzzle it out.”

“Don’t you always say the science will provide the answer? Doesn’t everything work logically?”

“It doesn’t always.”

Rubeo realized that he had just made an enormous admission—not to Danny, but to himself.

He’d lived more than fifty years, and he was only realizing that now.

Science, logic, were still critical. Emotion was a messy thing. It couldn’t necessarily be trusted—it had ruined Kharon’s life, and the lives of the people on the ground the plane had attacked. And yet, it had been necessary, it was necessary. Because science wasn’t everything.

“We’re going to have to answer a lot of questions,” said Danny.

“I take full responsibility.”

“Right.”

“I don’t blame you for being angry. You’re right to be angry. I was foolish. But thank you—thank you for saving me.”

Danny nodded. “Let’s get some rest.”

2

Tripoli

Having forced the Libyan government to declare a “temporary cease-fire for humanitarian purposes,” Zongchen’s committee had accomplished something the UN and allies had been seeking for months. They immediately exerted pressure on the rebels to follow suit.

They were reluctant, until told explicitly that their aid would be immediately cut off.

An hour later the princess and the other rebel leaders issued a statement that they were “putting hostilities aside for now” and were prepared to “join fruitful negotiations.”

The Libyan defense minister boarded a plane for “consultations” with the rest of his government. Zen, Zongchen, and the others were left alone in the giant hangar, considering what might be the next step.

“The scientist who worked on the Sabres believes they were sabotaged,” Zen told the Chinese general. “I think he’ll be able to show the committee exactly what happened.”

“That would be optimal.”

Zen next spoke to the allied force commander. He wasn’t very happy with Danny or any of the rest of the Whiplash team. But given the outcome and the importance of Rubeo’s companies to NATO, the allies couldn’t afford to make a big deal about the incidents. Not that anyone, Danny or Turk especially, would be praised.

Danny was at a point in his career where this might hurt him, Zen realized; politics at the star level was intense. But he also knew that Danny was the sort of officer who didn’t care about politics—he cared about getting the job done.

Which was why Danny was so effective. And one reason they were friends.

As for Rubeo—he was simply too important a person in the scheme of things to be penalized in any way. But if Zen ever got his legs back, Rubeo would be on the list of people to get a kick in the butt.

Fortunately for Rubeo, it was a long list.

With his career as a peace negotiator now officially over, Zen mingled with the other committee members. Soon he and Zongchen found themselves alone, talking about aircraft. The Chinese general had many questions about the Hogs. Zen answered the few that he could, then told him that further answers would have to wait until he got an expert.

“How does it feel to be a peacemaker?” Zen asked, changing the subject.

“Very odd,” admitted Zongchen. He smiled. “I am reminded of a proverb to the effect that making war is easier.”

“Messier, though.”

“Yes. Should we return to the hotel? I believe a round of very stiff drinks are in order.”

“That’s an excellent idea.”

3

Sicily

By the time Turk and Ginella landed, they had a veritable armada of escorts flying around them, including Li, who was fully fueled and had resumed her position on Ginella’s wing.

Turk circled the field until the others landed. As he taxied in, every muscle in his body stiffened. He’d been so tense for so long, his legs and arms and neck were virtually frozen into place. He was tempted to have the Tigershark’s computer take over and taxi the aircraft to the hangar parking area. But after all that had happened, he felt it was wiser if he stayed on the stick, following the truck that had come out to escort him back.

Night had fallen. As he powered down and prepared to pop the top, he wondered what he would say to Ginella.

He didn’t hate her. If anything, he had more respect for her—she had fought through an incredibly difficult situation. She was a hell of a pilot and in truth an excellent flight leader in combat.

Her personal life was something else.

He taxied into his parking area, popped the top and powered down.

“Look what you did to my wing,” groused a familiar voice as he poked his head over the side.

It was Chief Al “Greasy Hands” Parsons. The head of the technical operations for Special Projects, he’d arrived in Sicily while Turk was on his sortie.

“Hey, Chief.” Turk climbed onto the rollout ladder and started down.

“What were you trying to do? Break it? You know how much this costs, mister?”

“I—uh—”

The older man shook his head, then burst into a loud fit of laughter.

“I was briefed on the whole thing. After the fact.” He shook his head, and helped Turk off the ladder. “You know what you were trying to do wouldn’t have worked, don’t you?”

“Sure it would have.”

“Pilots.” Greasy Hands laughed.

The veteran crew chief walked all the way with Turk to the flight changing area set up inside the hangar, where the specialists were waiting to help him out of his flight gear.

“Hey,” said Beast, who was there with most of the rest of the squadron pilots. “There he is.”

Turk braced himself, not sure what to expect. But the other pilots began applauding.

He stopped, unsure of what to do. He’d never had a reaction like that before.

“You really showed a set of balls trying to get the colonel home,” said Beast, acting as de facto spokesman. “Thank you.”

Even Paulson was, if not actively enthusiastic, at least not antagonistic.

“It wouldn’t have worked, Dreamland,” said the squadron’s executive officer. “But it’s the attempt that counts. A hell of a try.”

“Thanks,” said Turk, as graciously as he could manage.

He looked around, expecting to see Ginella somewhere. Instead, he saw Li beaming at him—a much more welcome sight.

“You were great,” she said, eyes wide. “You were really great.”

“Thanks.”

She squeezed his hand in a way that made him flush.

“Where’s the colonel?” he asked.

Beast snorted. “Medical people grabbed her. She didn’t want to go. Practically had to knock her out to get her into the ambulance.”

“I heard she decked half of them,” said Paulson.

“Don’t expect a thank-you,” added Beast. “Not from the Dominatrix.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything,” Turk said. “Not a thing.”

About the Author

DALE BROWN, a former U.S. Air Force captain, was born in Buffalo, New York, and now lives in Nevada. He graduated from Penn State University with a degree in Western European history and received a U.S. Air Force commission in 1978. He was still serving in the Air Force when he wrote his highly acclaimed first novel, Flight of the Old Dog. Since then he has written a string of New York Times bestsellers, including most recently Shadow Command, Rogue Forces, Executive Intent, A Time for Patriots, and Tiger’s Claw.