Satan's Tail

“They’ll want pictures.”

“So we’ll give them pictures,” said the President. “Jed, can we use the photos you showed us?”

“Um, the security implications—”

“Everybody knows we were there,” said Hartman, suddenly warming to the idea. “We could use some of the distance shots, just leave out details about the aircraft that took them. Call it a UAV.”

“I think that would work,” said Freeman.

Jed nodded. The President looked over at Balboa. The admiral nodded.

“Let’s get moving. I’d like another update by midnight,”

said the President. He turned to CIA Director Plank.

“Robert, Jed will run his material by you as well as Colonel Bastian’s people to make sure nothing sensitive is released.

All right, Jed? Nothing too sensitive, just what we need to show them we have the goods. I hope you didn’t have any plans for the weekend,” he added.

“Um, just like, uh, water the plants.”

Everyone in the room laughed, though Jed hadn’t meant it as a joke.

222

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Khamis Mushait Air Base

0528

BREANNA ROLLED OVER ONTO HER SIDE, PUSHING TOWARD

the weight of her husband.

Except he wasn’t there.

“Jeff?” she murmured.

No answer.

She pushed deeper into the blankets, still swimming in the haze of fatigue.

“Where are you?” she said. When he still didn’t answer, she put her hand out, then woke. “Hey?”

His wheelchair was gone. She glanced at the clock—it wasn’t quite five-thirty a.m.

“All right,” she said, more to herself than her absent husband. “Where are you?”

Brea

Dunkin’ Donuts.

“Sergeant! Are these real, live Dunkin’ Donuts?” ex-claimed Brea

Boston beamed.

“You are going to be a chief master sergeant someday,”

said Brea

“Chiefs have more power,” growled Da

The Whiplash sergeant’s smile widened, but he said nothing.

“You see Zen anywhere?” she asked Da

SATAN’S TAIL

223

“Prepping for his next mission.”

“He is? Already?”

“Colonel Bastian wanted to move around the mission schedules because we’re heading over to Diego Garcia. The maintainers have the plane fueled and ready to go. Loaded up with missiles and a Flighthawk.”

“He can’t fly without a pilot,” said Brea

“I think Spiderman was going to command the mission and Dayton was going to take the copilot’s slot.”

“That’s my plane. And my mission.”

“Zen said something about you needing all the beauty rest you can get.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” said Brea

ZEN HAD JUST FINISHED READING THE WEATHER REPORT—clear and dry, light wind—when the door of the trailer flew open. Brea

“Gentlemen,” she said, with a tone that was outlawed as a lethal weapon in twenty-eight states.

“Hey, Captain,” said Spiderman.

“Don’t ‘Hey, Captain,’ me. What’s the story here?”

“Um, we’re getting ready for the mission?” said the pilot, backing away slightly.

Brea

Zen started laughing. The others backed away from the table.

“Um, sirs?” said the Marine.

“It’s OK. She belongs to us,” said Zen.

“I will see all of you on the plane,” said Brea

She spun and left the trailer.

“Looks like this mission’s briefed,” said Zen.

224

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Approaching the Abner Read

1110

DOG HAD DONE MANY DIFFICULT THINGS IN HIS LIFE, BUT ON

the trip out to meet with Storm, he accomplished the near impossible: He fell asleep on an Osprey.

The jolt as the tilt-rotor MV-22 veered into a landing pattern over the DD(L) shook him awake. Dog caught a glimpse of the ship as they descended. It didn’t look like a ship, at least not one that sailed on the ocean. The angled gun enclosure and superstructure reminded Dog of something from the Star Wars series of movies. Low to the water and painted matte black, the ship looked a great deal more like a pirate vessel than the ones they’d fought the night before.

A whistle greeted Dog as he stepped down the ladder from the Osprey. A petty officer took a step forward and snapped a precise salute. Two sailors with M4s, shortened versions of M16s, stood a short distance away.

“Colonel Bastian, welcome aboard, sir.”

“Thank you,” said Bastian.

“Do you have a bag or aides, sir?”

“No, I’m it.”

“Captain Gale is this way, sir.”

Dog followed the petty officer through a door at the side of a large hangar opening. They walked through the empty hangar space to a set of metal steps. They walked down the steps—a “ladder” in Navy terms—and across an enclosed gangway to another passage or hallway that opened onto a metal walkway across a large mechanical area. A huge network of pipes ran from below, co

This was the heart of the ship’s exhaust system, designed to lower the temperature of the exhaust as it left the gas turbines at the right. The low-heat signature of the exhaust made it more difficult for infrared detectors and missiles to

“see” it. The room itself, though, seemed no warmer or cooler than the hangar had been, at least to Dog.

SATAN’S TAIL

225

“This way, Colonel,” said the petty officer, stepping through another hatchway. This led to a section of the ship filled by offices; with some slight adjustments for the location and decor, they might have been in an industrial park.

“Captain’s quarters ahead, sir.”

A short, heavyset man stepped from the hatchway just as they approached.

“Bastian?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m just going down to the Tactical Center. It’s this ship’s version of a CIC, or Combat Information Center,” said Storm. “Come.”

Dog started to put out his hand, but Storm turned in the other direction. Dog followed down a ladder to a large room filled with computer work stations set into metal desks and cabinets. Most but not all of the stations were ma

“Eyes,” Dog guessed; the man gave him a weary smile and went back to what he was doing.

A large glass table stood at the right side, slicing off part of the room from the rest. At first glance it looked like an area display, or re-creation one would find in a museum. It took Dog a few seconds of staring at it to realize it was a holographic computer display showing the Abner Read’s position and that of the other ships in the area.

“This is Peanut,” said Storm, introducing another officer.

“He’s the executive officer of the ship. We lost our captain in battle. A very good man. That’s Eyes. You’ve spoken to him.

He’s tactical officer and my second-in-command. He runs the show down here.”

Both men gave him grim smiles as they exchanged greetings.

“The Abner Read is designed to act as a coordinator as well as a combatant in littoral zones,” said Storm. “Since combined action is still a new concept, we’re working some of this out as we go.”