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Contents
Prelude: Lost Comrades 1
I Gimp
Boy 7
II Xray
Pop 73
III Territorial
Waters 105
IV
My Way or No Way 121
V Invaders 151
VI Paradise 211
VII Friends
and
Enemies 267
VIII Bloodthirst 303
IX
The Glory of God 371
X Conspiracy
Theories 397
The Men and Women 406
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RAVES
OTHER BOOKS BY DALE BROWN
COVER
COPYRIGHT
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
Prelude:
Lost Comrades
Dreamland
2 November 1997
0610 (all times local)
THE SHOCK OF LIGHT FROM THE RISING SUN STOPPED JEN-nifer Gleason as she rounded the mountain. She raised her arm to ward off the glare, standing at the edge of the trail as her companion, Lt. Colonel Tecumseh “Dog” Bastian, continued to the pile of rocks. Dreamland—the United States Air Force High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center—stretched out before them on the floor of an ancient lake, its desert surface glowing as the pink fingers of the sun brushed back the shadows of the night. It was an awe-inspiring moment, the sort of thing that made you appreciate the enor-mity of creation and man’s small place in God’s scheme.
Je
The past few months had been a struggle for her, personally and professionally; they had shaken everyone at Dreamland. But standing here as the new day dawned, the scientist felt her hope and faith in the future renewed. She had come through a difficult storm, and if she was not the same person she had been before her troubles began, she was wiser and stronger in many ways.
She glanced upward, watching Dog scramble the last twenty feet to the monument they’d come to visit. It was a simple, polished stone, etched with the names of those who had died while serving at Dreamland. All were friends of hers.
Dog reached into his pocket for a small stone he’d taken from in front of his hut before they started their hike—a to-
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
ken, he said, of remembrance, not a fancy or formal thing, just a sign to the dead that he remembered their sacrifice.
Important to him, which was what mattered.
Not a fancy or formal thing: That was Dog.
Je
Je
“Beautiful view,” he said softly.
Je
When they rounded a curve about two-thirds of the way down, a pair of robot helicopter gunships undergoing tests at one of the test ranges a mile away roared into view. The small aircraft had stubby wings and counterrotating rotors; at rest, they looked like miniaturized Russian-made Kamov Ka-50 Hokums, with wing-mounted small jet engines and a stabilizer a good distance forward of the rear tail. In flight, however, they looked like spiders with bird-shaped beaks, flitting over the desert. Because of their similarity to the Russian gunship, the aircraft had been dubbed Werewolves, the English translation of Hokum.
Dog pulled up behind her, sca
The tank disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
“Good shots,” muttered Dog.
“Decent,” said Je
5
the attack programs. “I could have done better.”
“You’re telling me you can beat the computer?”
“As if that were an accomplishment,” she said. “I wrote most of the program.”
“Ray Rubeo says no human can beat it.”
“That’s just Ray. I kind of like flying the Werewolf, to be honest,” she said. “Maybe I should quit being a scientist and become a pilot full-time.”
He folded his arms and smirked. “Take real flying lessons first. Then we’ll talk about it.”
“I may. Then that smirk will be on the other side of your face.”
His smile grew wider. He leaned forward and kissed her, then started walking again.
“Good aircraft,” he said. “Would’ve been useful in Brunei.”
Je
“You want to strangle the people who killed them, don’t you?” said Je
“Wouldn’t we all?”
“Seriously, don’t you want to?”
“Of course,” said Dog. He swung his upper body left, then right, loosening up his back and shoulder muscles. “But I can’t. I don’t have the luxury of revenge.”
“It’s a luxury?”
“Maybe that’s not the right word,” he said.
“Would you if you could? Take revenge?”
“I don’t know what I’d do if I could,” he said. He stared in the distance, gazing at the Werewolves; but probably not seeing them, she thought. “I’ve taken revenge at times,” he added. “I’ve pulled the trigger on people. As a pilot. You go after someone who shot at your friend, your wingmate.
That’s revenge.”
“Is it?”
“It’s not enough, that’s the problem,” said Dog. “I could 6
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
strangle each of the terrorists who fired the mortar that killed Kick, and it wouldn’t be enough. You can’t get enough. That’s the problem, Jen. You can strangle them and pummel them and blast them to bits. It’s not enough. That’s the thing that gets you in the end. It’s just not even—it’s still lopsided.”
He started walking again. Je
When they came to the ledge above the road where they’d parked, she waited as he climbed down ahead of her, watching as he found the foot- and handholds. He stared at the rocks intently, but his hands seemed to move independently, the fingers nudging into the proper spots by touch.
“I love you,” she whispered, before descending on her own.
I
Gimp Boy
Dreamland
3 November 1997
0801
“HEY, GIMP BOY!”
Major Mack Smith stared straight ahead at Dreamland’s administrative building, known as the “Taj Mahal,” ignoring the razzing. He’d expected this sort of greeting, and after considerable thought decided there was only one thing to do: ignore it. Still, it wasn’t easy.
Worse, though, was the indignity of being wheeled into the Taj by an airman who’d been detailed euphemistically as his bodyguard.
“Can’t even push yourself up the ramp, huh? A wimp as well as a gimp.”
The concrete ramp to the entrance of the low-slung Taj had been poured in several sections, and there was about a three-quarter-inch rise between the first and second. It wasn’t the sort of thing someone walking would notice, but for someone in a wheelchair—especially if, like Mack, they weren’t used to it—three-quarters of an inch rattled the teeth. He grimaced as the wheels cleared the curb.