Razor's Edge

“It would be useful if you could remove the small computer units at the base of the platform first,” said Rubeo. “That Sun workstation especially. There is a disk array near it. Take that as well. The units will slide out.”

“If we have time,” said Da

One of the Marines shouted. Da

“There’s a tu

More!”

After that all Da

POWDER BLASTED AWAY IN THE HIND, SPITTING 12.7 BULlets everywhere but at the truck he was aiming at. Part of the problem was Egg, who kept flinging the helicopter left and right.

“We’ll be an easy target. Get the pickup in front and the rest will be trapped.”

“Well, I would if you’d hold steady for a second. This isn’t the easiest gun in the world to aim.”

“It’s a fucking Ma Deuce.”

“It’s a Russian Ma Deuce. Big difference,” said Powder, once again pressing the trigger and once again missing.

“Tanks,” said Egg.

The helicopter bolted forward. Powder put his other hand on the gun handle, still pressing the trigger. The stream of bullets swam over and past the pickup, through 346

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

the animal pen where the flak dealers had been, and toward the barbed-wire fences on the south perimeter. A pair of medium tanks—possibly T-54s or even American M48s—were rumbling along the roadway parallel to the fences.

“You’re wasting ammo and you’re going to burn out the barrel,” said Egg.

“Yeah, no shit,” said Powder, though he kept firing.

“Stand back and let the Flighthawk hit them.”

“You’re the one flying the damn thing.” Powder finally let up on the trigger.

The helicopter continued moving forward. Powder could see one or two people on the ground but they were moving too quickly for him to aim. As they banked and came north, the small robot plane swooped nearly straight down on the lead tank. The U/MF’s mouth frothed and the aircraft seemed to stutter in the air, skipping along and disappearing in the billowing cloud. The tank kept going.

“Shit,” said Powder. “He hit the motherfucker too.”

The U/MF’s ca

“We’re empty,” he told Egg.

“I told you not to waste your fuckin’ bullets.”

“Maybe we should ram it.”

“Just hang on,” said Egg, throwing open the throttle.

Aboard Raven , over Iran 1820

“YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO HIT THE TANK WITH ONE OF

the JSOWs,” Zen told Alou. “My bullets bounced off the turret.”

RAZOR’S EDGE

347

“We’re down to three missiles, Zen. We have to make sure we can take out the laser.”

“If we don’t stop the tanks, they’ll reach Whiplash.

They’re firing.”

Zen poked the nose of the Flighthawk around as the tank recoiled from its shot. The shell from the 105mm gun, which had been retrofitted to the upgraded M48, sailed well over the laser building. As the gun started to lower for another shot, Zen dropped Hawk One down for a low-level run, hoping his bullets might find a soft spot at the tank’s rear. He gave his trigger two quick squeezes and broke right as the tank fired again. Recovering, he spotted a small cement structure that looked like a tu

“Targeting lead tank,” said Alou.

“Hold on, hold on,” said Zen. “We got some sort of underground entrance, bunker or something. May lead to the laser. Men inside,” he said, unleashing thirty or forty rounds before swooping away. He could see another knot of men coming from the shadow of one of the buildings.

He tucked his wing and dove back immediately, but they’d made the tu

“All right, stand clear,” said Alou.

Two JSOWs popped out from the Megafortress’s belly and nosed toward the tank and the tu

“Whiplash, we have one lollipop left,” Alou said over the shared circuit. “Time to saddle up.”

348

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

In Iran

1830

WHEN THE MISSILE HIT THE ENTRANCE TO THE TUNNEL, THE

concussion blew into the building with enough force to knock over a good part of the laser gear, including the director assembly. But it also killed or dazed most of the Iranians near the entrance, who, unlike Whiplash, hadn’t been forewarned. The Marines took care of the rest, spraying their SAWs from a platform on the left side of the building. The metal walls reverberated with the loud rattle of light machine guns, the roar several times louder than a case of firecrackers going off in a garbage can.

The acrid smell of the flare, still burning on the ground, stung Da

“Two more guys, back behind that row of cabinets,”

said Bison, pointing.

“Flash-bang,” said Da

Bison ducked and began moving. Da

“Bison, where are you?”

“Pi

“Stay there,” said Da

349

corner a millisecond after it popped. There were bodies everywhere, at least a dozen of them. Two Iranians with heavy weapons were crouched at the far end of the row; Da

“There’s a million of these fuckers,” said Bison.

“Just seems that way,” shouted Gu

Da

bullets stopped hitting the wall near his head, he threw himself around the barrier again, once more emptying his weapon before ducking back. But this time as he reloaded there was no answering fire.

“Secure,” said Bison.

“Let’s grab that shit and get the hell out of here,” said Da

The smoke was so thick in the building that even with his low-light mode on he could see only a few yards ahead. When the Marine corporal rose in front of him, Da

“This comes with us,” he told the Marine, pointing to the disk array. A stack of drives sat on top of each other in a plastic cabinet about five feet high. “Grab whatever you can. Just tear it out and get it into the helo. Go.”

The Marine began prying out the disk units with his knife, sliding them out past the flimsy locks that secured them. Da