Dreamland

“We could have packed into a C-fucking-17 and dropped in,” said Hernandez.

“You find a C-17 over here, you let me know,” said Da

“We also serve who sit and wait,” said Liu.

“Screw you, Nurse,” said Talcom.

“I suggest you guys either get some sleep or play some cards so I can get some sleep,” said Da

“YOU HAVE TO STAND DOWN,” BREANNA TOLD MAJOR Cheshire as she gulped her coffee in the mess area. “You need a rest, Nancy. You’re dead on your feet.”

“Raven has to take the Flighthawks,” insisted the pilot as she gulped her coffee. It was the second cup she’d had since walking into the cafeteria area a few minutes before. “Fort Two isn’t set up for them.”

“I can fly Raven. Chris too. We’re both fresh.”

“It’s my responsibility,” said Cheshire.

“It’s going to be your responsibility if you crash the plane into the desert. Jeff, tell her.” Brea

“I don’t know,” he said.

“What don’t you know?” She wanted to scream at him—he was her husband, he should be supporting her. But maybe that was why he wasn’t.

“Nancy, you can’t fly,” she said, turning to Cheshire. “I can and I will,” said the major. Her eyes locked on Bree’s, and suddenly Brea

It was the woman thing. No way she could back down or out. She had to be as tough as the men.

Even though she was exhausted.

Against her best judgment, against her will even, Bree nodded.

“But maybe we should rotate the crew a little,” said Cheshire, eyes still locked on hers.

Bree jumped at it. “Yes. I’ll take the copilot slot. Sibert and Jones will fill the weapons and navigator positions.” Cheshire started to shake her head.

“No, Bree’s right,” said Zen, finally coming to her defense. He looked up into her eyes as he spoke. “She should fly Raven. You’re beat.”

“She’ll fly copilot,” said Cheshire. She jumped up quickly, draining her coffee. “We’ll use Sibert and Jones. Rap is my copilot. That’s it.”

She marched off to get more coffee.

“Why the hell didn’t you back me up?” Brea

“I did.”

“You don’t think I can do it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bree. I did back you up. Nancy’s fine.”

Her eyes caught his. He’d always believed in her before—encouraging her to pursue her career, to push herself into different planes. Now his faith had wavered. She could see doubt in his eyes.

“You’re beat yourself,” she told him.

“I’ll take greenies if I need to stay awake,” he said.

“Oh, and that’ll make you real sharp,” said Brea

Over the Mediterranean

24 October, 0600 local

“OKAY, KID, YOU WANT TO MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL?” asked the major.

Jed Barclay looked up from the bench chair in the “lounge” compartment, a bulkhead in front of the “business” area of the JSTARS jet. They’d been airborne now for nearly twelve hours—a routine assignment for the command and control aircraft, which had undergone extensive engine work following the Gulf War to make sure it could fly for more than a full day without coming down. The long gig had allowed them to keep track of developments in Libya and Egypt. Libya’s armed forces were now on full alert; Egypt remained on the fence, though some of its air units seemed to be at a high degree of readiness—a good or bad sign, depending on how you wanted to interpret it.

“What do you need?” Jed asked.

“I need someone to handle communications with an Air Force unit called Raven,” said the major. “They’re part of Madcap Magician. My guys have enough to do with the Navy end.”

“Sure. They’re F-111’s ?”

“From what I’ve been told, it’s a B-52.”

Jed nodded, guessing but not telling the Army officer that the plane must be an EB-52—quite a different beast. The Megafortress’s existence was still technically classified. Hal Briggs had reported that two had been “loaned” to him, ostensibly as high-speed transports. But Briggs obviously had found their capabilities irresistible.

The planes originated from a base near Las Vegas where he believed his cousin Jeff Stockard was stationed. Small world.

“All you have to do is sit at a console and talk to them. They won’t be on station for two or three hours, at show time,” added the major. He sounded almost apologetic. “And look, don’t touch anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hey, lighten up. I’m kidding. Besides, we got baby locks on the medicine cabinets.”

Near Tripoli

24 October, 0700 local

THE IRANIANS PUSHED GUNNY AND CAPTAIN HOWLAND out of the small plane moments after it rolled to a stop. They were hustled into the back of an open-bed truck. Large bags of shredded paper and cardboard were thrown on them. A tarp was pulled over the bed and the truck roared away.

“What the fuck do you think this is about?” Gu

“Damned if I can guess,” answered Howland.

The truck took a sharp turn. Its wheels bumped over some harsh pavement, then hit a smooth patch. The driver floored it, sending them rolling backward.

“I think I’ll reco

“What do you think, Captain? We’re not being guarded,” said Gu

“I find that hard to believe,” said Howland. “Maybe we just can’t see them.”

“Yeah.” Gu

“They’re probably sneaking us into one of their prisons,” said Howland. “Maybe they’re staging something near the plane. Whatever that commotion was when we took off from Sudan probably tipped them that they’re under surveillance.”

Gu

“Then what do we do?”

“Then we escape.”

“If we’re in Libya,” said Howland, who had worked out their direction en route, “we’re also probably in the middle of the desert. We’ll die of thirst inside a day.”

“Better than dying on TV for them,” said Gu

Before either of them could say or do anything else, the truck veered sharply to the right. They rolled against each other and then the side. Gu

“Shit,” he said.

Men were shouting. The tarp and bags were whisked off. Two spotlights clicked on, blinding the Americans.

“This way. Out of the truck. Quickly,” said a man holding a pistol. “Into the shelter or you will enter as dead men.”

Gu