Satan's Tail

“Da

“It’s going to take a bit.”

Da

“I think I can put Hawk One into a wide orbit over the camp area and continue feeding infrared down. It’s useless otherwise,” added Zen.

“All right. We’re changing course.”

“What’s going on with the Ark Royal?”

“I’m not sure they believe us,” said Dog. “They have two Harriers and a helicopter in the air.”

“Is that enough to stop the Shark Boat?” Zen asked.

“It’s never worked in the simulations,” said Ensign English. “If they figure out how to fire the Harpoons, that carrier’s going down. And I’ll only give them even odds against the torpedoes.”

DANNY SAW A RED OBLONG IN FRONT OF HIM—THE DOORWAY

to the ship’s interior.

He pushed forward, trying to stand and grab his MP-5 at the same time. He made it nearly to the opening before he lost his balance completely and fell to the left, sliding down and landing on his back. A shadow, two shadows, loomed out of the space. The shadows had pipes in their hands.

392

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Pirates with guns.

Da

JENNIFER PULLED THE WEREWOLF ACROSS THE LOW-SLUNG

superstructure. Green lights blinked at her—muzzle flashes. She picked the aircraft’s tail up and pressed the trigger to fire.

Nothing happened. She’d forgotten she was out of bullets.

“Son of a bitch,” she said.

The gunfire continued.

“Yeah—well, you can all go to hell,” she said, pushing the joystick to send the aircraft into the crowd of men firing at her.

THE HELICOPTER PLOWED INTO THE FORWARD SECTION OF THE

ship, exploding in a burst of flames. Ali turned away as shrapnel shattered the windscreen and the bulkhead of the bridge crumpled.

“Fire the Harpoon now!” he told Habib.

His lieutenant didn’t answer. Ali turned and found him on the deck, eyes gaping to heaven.

“God wills that I do it myself,” said Ali. “It is an honor.”

DANNY THREW HIMSELF INSIDE.

A body lay on the deck, the man he’d killed.

Someone charged from the compartment ahead of him, firing a rifle. Da

Gunfire exploded around him. He lowered his rifle, then realized the cue in his helmet’s visor indicated he was out of bullets.

He dropped the MP5 and swung up the AK47 he’d brought from the boat. After the submachine gun, the Rus-

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393

sian weapon felt awkward and unbalanced. But its bullets put down the two men who had been firing at him. As they fell, Da

Something tapped him on the head. Da

The man reared back to fire—then flew backward.

“I’m sure your armor’s good,” said Dancer behind him.

“But I thought it better not to find out if it was that good.”

ABU WAVERED ON THE BICYCLE. HE LOOKED BACK AT HIS FAther doubtfully.

“You can do it,” Ali told him. They were living in Naples, and it was a windless, perfect day. He held the boy gently.

“You can. Go.”

The seven-year-old hesitated, but then started to pedal.

“Go,” said Ali.

Quivering, Abu pedaled, his pushes becoming stronger and stronger.

Ali removed his hand and watched his son ride the bicycle on his own. Abu glanced back. His confusion turned into a smile.

The happiest day of my life.

Ali pushed the memory away, pushed everything away.

The cursor was locked on the aircraft. He pressed the button, then pressed the function key to lock the second missile.

The dashboard exploded. He pressed the button to fire anyway. Someone yelled, and he heard his son calling to him, singing his name, welcoming him with great joy to Paradise.

“I’m coming, Abu,” he said, rising from the console. “I am here. The glory of God is everlasting.”

And then he slumped to the floor, killed by a bullet to the brain.

“HARPOON IS AWAY,” DISH TOLD DOG.

“Zen, can you get it?” said Dog.

“I’m not close enough.”

394

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“All right. Hang with me,” said Dog, throwing the Megafortress into a hard turn back to the north. The big aircraft groaned as somewhere over eight g’s pounded her body. Dog felt the bladders in his pressure suit pressing at him; the world narrowed against the sides of his head, black unconsciousness threatening as gravity tried to extract her pound of flesh.

The Harpoon flew a bit over 500 miles an hour. The Megafortress could do close to 600, and he had several thousand feet of altitude he could use to his advantage. But the aircraft carrier was only ten miles away.

“I need an intercept angle on that Harpoon,” Dog told McNamara. “And we need it real fast.”

“Working on it, Colonel.”

The course plugged into his screen. Dog compensated—he needed to get ahead of the missile and use the Stinger air mines.

“Get on the horn to the Brits and tell them not to shoot us down,” said Dog. “They might miss the Harpoon, but we’re a hell of a lot bigger target.”

THE BODIES LAY WHERE THEY FELL—FIFTEEN TERRORISTS AND

five American sailors. The ship was theirs.

Da

“Tired, Captain?” asked Dancer.

“A little,” Da

“That was something you did with that helicopter.”

“Stupid, huh?”

“Yeah. But we couldn’t have gotten on the ship if those men had made it onto the deck. You took them out just in time. We owe you a beer.”

“Yeah, well, I owe you two. That shotgun would have pen-etrated the visor.”

“I intend on collecting,” said Dancer. She smiled at him.

“Let’s see about getting this thing back. Dad said I was sup-

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395

posed to be home before midnight, and he’s got a hell of a temper.”

DOG COULD SEE THE ARK ROYAL IN HIS WINDSCREEN AS HE

pushed the stick of the Megafortress forward.

“Antiaircraft system is coming up,” said McNamara.

“Tell them we’re friendly.”

“I keep telling them that.”

“They’re still not locked on the Harpoon,” said Dish, disgusted.

“Stinger,” Dog told McNamara.

“Stinger ready. Seeking.”

Dog pushed the Megafortress down. To strike the Harpoon he had to get almost right in front of it and pull up abruptly. The missile skimmed along the ocean only a few feet above the waves; Dog basically had to walk his air mines right in front of it.

The ocean loomed in front of the windscreen. The altimeter in the heads-up display tumbled lower and lower—nine hundred feet, eight hundred, six hundred, five hundred …

Even in a small aircraft, pulling up from a power dive at precisely the right spot at very low altitude was not as easy as it looked. It pitted two different forces—gravity and aero-dynamic lift—against each other. Often gravity won. In fact, gravity never really lost; engineers and pilots just figured out a way to hold it at arm’s length.

Four hundred feet, three hundred …

The Megafortress screamed a proximity warning.

“Got it! Locked!” shouted McNamara.

“Fire,” said Dog calmly, pulling back on the stick.

The nose of the Megafortress scraped the waves and the rear of the aircraft rumbled—though whether from the sound of the tail smacking against the water or the air mines exploding in the face of the Harpoon missile, who could say? The B-52’s toughness was legendary, and the Wisconsin added to the legend that day, pulling herself through the air 396