Satan's Tail

“Let’s get that machine gun over here!” Da

Aboard the Wisconsin

2350

ZEN STARED AT THE OSPREY AS IT FLEW OVER THE CLIFF, UNsure exactly what was going on for a moment. Then he realized that the wing and engine had broken off and the aircraft was going down. The left rotor tried valiantly to hold the doomed MV-22 upright, but within a second or so the fuselage sagged to the right. The Osprey veered backward and then into a wide arc, slinging down toward the water. A fire-ball erupted from the aircraft, spitting in the direction of the terrorist village, as if the Osprey had spit at its enemy, a final insult before diving into the grave.

The screen flared as the rest of the MV-22 caught fire. It hit the water a moment later, debris, fire, and steam erupting as if from a volcano. Zen had already started to bring HawkSATAN’S TAIL

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Two over the area; he pressed the throttle against its stop, trying to accelerate.

“We have a downed aircraft,” he said. “Osprey. Bad. No chance of survivors.”

“Acknowledged,” said Dog.

“I’m bringing Hawk Two overhead and then will provide fire support for the landing team,” said Zen. “Where the hell are those Werewolves?”

“Werewolves are still three minutes out,” said Dog.

“They’re doing their best, Zen.”

“They’re going to have to do better.”

Aboard the Abner Read

2351

STORM STOOD OVER THE NEWLY INSTALLED WEREWOLF CONsole in the Tactical Warfare Center. “Let’s move it, let’s move it,” he told Ensign Young.

“I’m doing the best I can, sir.”

Best wasn’t good enough, Storm realized.

“Dreamland,” he said, turning to Je

“Damn straight, if you let me,” she told him.

“Well do it. Go. Go, do it.”

She moved toward the console. The ensign hesitated, glancing back at Storm, then quickly jumped up.

“WEREWOLF CONTROL COMPUTER, OVERRIDE ESTABLISHED

programming, authorization JenJen4356,” said Je

She got a tone and instructions on the main screen: OVERRIDE.

DESIGNATE NEW ORDERS.

W1 & W2 WILL CONTINUE ON PRESENT COURSE UNTIL NEW ORDERS ENTERED.

324

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Auto designate mode, full pilot command, disregard safety protocols, authorization JenJen4356. Disregard tactical encyclopedia, authorization JenJen4356.”

As soon as the computer acknowledged, Je

“Free-form mode,” she told the computer. “Sitrep on main screen,” she added, asking for a bird’s-eye view of the aircraft and the battlefield.

The sitrep failed to come up.

All right, she told herself, you’re not thinking clearly because your adrenaline is blasting. Take a deep breath and go back to the begi

She took two breaths, neither as deep and slow as she wanted, then called for the sitrep again. Again the image failed to come up. She was sure she’d done it right; there must be a glitch in the co

There wasn’t any time to figure out where the problem was; the Werewolves were almost at their target and would begin firing on their own as soon as they arrived.

“Manual Command,” she said. “Complete override. Authorization JenJen4356.”

MANUAL COMMAND.

“Trial mode. W1 is lead.”

TRIAL MODE. W1 IS LEAD.

“Good computer,” she said.

UNKNOWN COMMAND.

Je

“Werewolf to Whiplash commander, what’s the important target?” Je

“The buildings,” said Storm.

“I’m not asking you, I want Da

The reply came back garbled.

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325

“Jen, they’re pi

“I’m there—give me the location. There’s a glitch in the system and I can’t get the data through you directly. I don’t have time to figure it out, but I can gun it manually.”

“McNamara will guide you in. I’m not even going to ask what’s going on over there,” added Dog.

“Talk to you later,” she said. “Kevin?”

“This is McNamara,” said Dog’s copilot. “Jen?”

“I have the Werewolves. Give me a rough idea where that mortar is so I can erase it.”

“Stand by.”

Northern Somalia,

on the ground

2355

DANNY TOOK THE MARINE’S MACHINE GUN. THE PLASTIC BOX

that contained the belt of 5.56mm slugs remained full; the Marine had two more boxes at his belt. A mortar round landed nearby; Da

“Captain Freah, this is Werewolf.”

“Je

“I’m going to take out the mortars. They’re firing from down near the beach.”

“Go for it,” said Da

He flipped the smart helmet’s screen into a sitrep mode, which should have shown him the location of his men. But the screen was blank; either something aboard the Wisconsin or in his unit had gone offline.

“Yo, Boston, where are you?” Da

326

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“We’re about twenty meters from the lip of the canyon,”

said the sergeant. “There’s a set of spider holes or maybe tu

“Do you have a good location?”

“I can get pretty damn close.”

“All right. Stand by.”

Da

“Do it.”

“Boston, move back and lase it. I’ll get the Werewolves in.”

“Working on it, Cap.”

“Whiplash leader, this is Werewolf. Tell your people to duck.”

There was a roar below as one of the Werewolves began chewing up the beach area with its chain guns. Then the ridge exploded with a barrage of Hellfires raining down on the spot Boston had designated with the laser. The AGM-114C was not the optimum weapon for the attack against the foxholes, but the roughly eighteen pounds worth of explosives in its nose did a more than adequate landscaping job anyway, permanently rearranging the geography of the cliffside.

“Boston, you OK?” Da

“Oh yeah, we’re cool. We’re moving up.”

“Pretty Boy, you on the line?” asked Da

“I’m your left flank, Cap,” Sergeant Jack Floyd replied.

“We’re moving to the ridge.”

“Bison?”

The sergeant didn’t answer. He would have been one of the last men out of the Osprey.

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“Everybody, take the ridge,” Da