Satan's Tail

“I have more statistics—to

The numbers are conservative,” said Jed as he continued showing them the slides. “I kicked out anything that might have been questionable.”

“Why?” asked Ford.

The question took Jed by surprise. “I just thought, uh, that, you know, the Secretary wouldn’t want to be questioned on something.”

“He’ll always be questioned,” said Ford. “You have to make the best case, Jed. Always lead with your best argument.”

Jed nodded—though there was no chance in hell he was going back for other numbers or changing the presentation if he didn’t have to. These were pretty damning in themselves, with an average of nearly a ship a week stopped or attacked.

“This is a missile boat?” asked Ford, looking at the last image.

“Actually, a patrol boat that was being outfitted to be a missile ship. Or upgraded—refitted, I guess would be the right word.”

“Dreamland’s involved in this?” Ford looked at the Secretary of State. “That might be worth mentioning, because it would persuade China.”

“China has already agreed to remain neutral,” said Hartman.

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“A yes vote is better.”

“There are, um, security issues,” said Jed.

“Well, there can’t be too many issues,” said Ford cheer-fully. “There’s a book coming out about the China incident called Strike Zone. I may write the preface.”

“Um, Dreamland still officially doesn’t exist,” said Jed.

“It’s not going to be in the book, is it?”

“Doesn’t exist?” Ford laughed.

“I think we can get by without mentioning them,” said the Secretary of State. “And that book should be vetted before you do a preface.”

“Maybe I won’t,” said Ford. “But I can probably get an advanced copy, right?” He turned to Jed. “Do you have any better pictures?”

“I dulled that satellite picture down because I was worried that it gave too much detail about—”

“No, I mean, more graphic. The presentation has to grab you,” said Ford. “Real pictures. People dying. We need a storyline.”

Jed glanced at the Secretary of State. “I don’t have any pictures of people dying.”

“We have to sell this,” said Ford. “That’s what your slide show has to do.”

“This is all I have.”

“Put together a strong set, Jed. Work with what you have,”

said the Secretary. “I’ll leave it to you.”

“Tell a good story,” said Ford, slapping Jed on the back as they left.

Diego Garcia

9 November

0030

THE UNCOMFORTABLE MILITARY-STYLE “COT” IN WISCONSIN’S

upper Flighthawk deck left Dog’s neck twisted all out of SATAN’S TAIL

245

whack when he awoke shortly after landing. He tried stretching it but it remained knotted until Je

“Ahh,” he said as the tension began to slip away.

“I can come back,” said Mack Smith at the door.

“That’s OK, Major. Come on in. I twisted my neck,”

said Dog.

“Sure,” said Mack, rolling forward. “So, I have a list of ideas for you, Colonel. Thought you’d like to hear them.”

“Thanks, Mack, but hold that thought for about thirty-six hours. Your first order of business is to get with Xray Pop and communicate our new patrol schedule. Also find an update on getting the Werewolves out to them. We have two problems—our pilot is sick with the flu, and they don’t have enough range on their own. Second one’s easier to deal with.

There’s a base in India we can use to stage them out of—we can take them there via the M/C-17 and run the Osprey over to refuel them en route, since it’s already set up to be used as a tanker. Chief Parsons can get the Werewolves adapted—they need their nozzle sets reworked. He said it wouldn’t take too long to work out.”

“I can fly them,” said Je

“Thanks for volunteering, but you’re going to be plenty busy over there as it is. I’m going to get Fred Rosenzwieg in from Dreamland.”

“That’ll take a day at least,” said Je

“Quicker than waiting for Culver to get better.”

The Werewolves’ lead pilot, Sandy Culver, had been evacked to Germany from Saudi Arabia because he’d lost so much fluids from the flu. It seemed to have been food poisoning—hopefully from something he’d eaten at home, not at Dreamland.

“Maybe I can fly them,” said Mack. “They don’t look that hard to learn.”

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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Dog reached back to stop Je

I’m kind of tired. You must be too.”

“Nope. Want to hear some of my ideas?”

“Tomorrow’s much better. How are your legs?”

“Getting there. I’ll be walking any day.”

“Great. See you tomorrow.”

“One thing we ought to do is come up with real names for the aircraft, the Megafortresses especially,” said Mack.

“Tell you what—why don’t you handle that?”

“Fine. I’ll get right on it.”

“In the morning, Mack. People are tired.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dog watched him wheel out.

“I’ll fly the Werewolves until the replacement pilot arrives,” said Je

“You’ll be too busy.”

“They’re not likely to use them in the next twenty-four hours, are they?”

Dog shrugged. It was the obvious solution, yet still he resisted it. Not because she was a civilian, he thought, and still less because she was a woman.

Then why?

Because he didn’t want her to get hurt.

“All right, if you can stand Storm, you can handle the Werewolves until Rosenzwieg gets here,” he told her.

“Knowing Storm, he’ll probably insist that you show him how to fly them so he can do it himself. Any chance of taking Mack with you?”

Je

Dog took out the sheet he had used to write his air tasking order, which laid out the upcoming missions. Their four Megafortresses would be used on a straight rotation, one after the other, with only one over Xray Pop at a time.

Because of the distances involved, each flight would spend roughly six hours going out to the gulf, six hours on pa-

SATAN’S TAIL

247

trol, and six hours returning. The arrangement called for three aircraft to be in the air at any given moment—one on patrol, one coming home, and one going to relieve the other. That gave the maintainers twelve hours to turn each one around; it sounded like a decent interval, but in practice it could end up very tight. Fortunately, they had more leeway with the Flighthawks, since they had six and were only pla

He needed more planes, more crews, more support, but he’d settle for a closer base of operations. Northern or central Africa would be perfect; northern India would do in a pinch.

“Pe

“They’re worth a quarter at least,” said Dog. “But they’re not about you.”

“They ought to be.”

“What time is it in New York?” Dog asked, looking at his watch, which was still set to gulf time: 2216.

“About two-fifteen in the afternoon,” said Je

“Let me see if I can get a hold of Jed. Have you had a chance to look at those Navy systems?”