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“Nellis,” said the F-15 flight leader, acknowledging though clearly unhappy.
“Good outburst, Mike,” Dog told Englehardt over the interphone.
“Colonel, I think I can fly right over him and push him away from the city,” said Englehardt. “If the F-15s stay out of the way, I can herd him out over the desert and have them shoot him down there. We’re never going to get him back out to sea.”
“I have a better idea,” said Starship.
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Over Nevada, approaching Las Vegas
2141
KERMAN’S HEART FELT AS IF IT WERE BEING JOLTED BY ELECtric shocks. It was racing, and every so often skipped a beat.
He was here. He was here. The Las Vegas airport directly below him. In little more than half an hour the city would be gone. All that waited was for the timer to run its course.
He checked his altitude. He’d come down to 15,000
feet.
Every nuclear weapon had an optimum detonation altitude, where the effects of the blast were at their highest. Not being privy to the design of the Indian warhead, Kerman simply pla
Fifteen thousand feet would be fine, though. So would the ground. There’d be plenty of destruction no matter where it exploded.
But he needed more time. His bluff about being hijacked had to work. He had to make it work.
“Pakistan Air Crating Flight 201 to tower,” said Kerman.
“Requesting emergency clearance to land.”
“Pakistan Air Crating Flight 201, you are not cleared to land. Follow Air Force instructions.”
“We are having trouble with our radio,” said Kerman. “Is our landing gear down? Can someone confirm that our gear is down?”
There was a clunk from the back of the plane. The Airbus rocked, buffeted by something. Kerman glanced at the panel for the landing gear—he hadn’t put the wheels down, had he?
Of course not.
Then he realized what was going on, and jammed his hand on the thrusters.
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Aboard Dreamland Be
2143
STARSHIP CURSED AS THE AIRBUS LIFTED AWAY FROM THE
Flighthawk.
“Didn’t work,” said the pilot over the interphone.
“Try again,” said Dog. “Get Hawk Two in. Try them together.”
Hawk Two, which Starship had used to continue checking airliners, was just catching up. The pilot told the computer that he wanted to control them in parallel, and had it help him line them up precisely together.
By the time Starship was ready, the Airbus had begun to circle to the south.
Maybe they’d made a mistake—maybe it actually had been damaged by hijackers, perhaps the men with the bomb.
The real crew would take it out to sea, now that they were convinced the Americans were serious.
No such luck—it was turning back now, headed toward Vegas.
“Flighthawk leader, this is Nellis One. Take one more shot at it. Then we’re going in.”
“Keep your shirt on.”
ENGLEHARDT FOUND HIMSELF ABOUT TWO MILES BEHIND
the Airbus as the aircraft began banking back to the north, once again moving in the direction of Las Vegas. He had a good view of the Flighthawks as Starship eased them in, one under each wing. The operation was a delicate one; Starship didn’t want to damage the Airbus and make it crash.
The small jets slid in close to the wing roots.
“You’re there,” said Englehardt.
“All right, all right,” said Starship. “We’re going north.”
The Airbus lifted slightly—then dropped abruptly. One of the Flighthawks twisted off to the left, slowly at first, as if it were a leaf being pealed from a tree. A few seconds later smoke began pouring from the robot aircraft.
Pakistan Air Crating Flight 201, meanwhile, banked back toward Las Vegas.
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
“Dreamland aircraft, back off,” said Nellis One. “We’re going to fire.”
“I’m taking a shot,” said Englehardt. He reached for the throttle. “Come on, Sullivan. Help me.”
Sullivan was silent for a moment, then sprang to help.
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s what we got to do.”
Englehardt had worked with the 757 tanker project, and had a great deal of experience pulling up under two-engined aircraft similar to the Airbus. But he’d never tried to pick one up before.
Screw that. This was happening. He could see it in his head.
The airliner’s shadow grew steadily. The computer’s automatic warning system was screaming alerts.
“Kill the auto system,” said Englehardt, narrowing his focus to the small area in front of him.
“Killed,” said Sullivan.
Slowly, the Megafortress eased forward. Then, just as he was going to nose up, the Airbus lurched to the left.
Englehardt felt a hole open in his stomach. His hands trembled and all of sudden he was sweating again. His entire body turned to water. There was no way he could do this. No damn way.
Tears welled in his eyes. He was scared, too scared—not good enough.
A coward. A failure.
“Hang in there, Mike,” said Colonel Bastian, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You almost had him. Just hang with him and push it in. I know you can do it.”
“Yeah, I’m go
Over Las Vegas
2144
SOMETHING CRACKED BELOW HIM. THE AIRBUS FELT AS IF
it were being pushed upward, shaking violently with a loud scraping and crackling.
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Kerman cursed. He was so close—he needed only a few more minutes. Only a few more. He pounded his hand on the throttle and pulled back on the yoke.
Aboard Dreamland Be
2145
ENGLEHARDT FELT LIKE A BULL HAD CLIMBED ON HIS BACK
and he was struggling to hold it there.
“Power!” he yelled at Sullivan.
“It’s working!” Sullivan shouted back.
The Be
“Starship—take out the bastard’s engines!” yelled Englehardt, pushing his nose up to stay on the Airbus.
The two planes were now rocking violently. Englehardt struggled to keep his nose angled up while Sullivan concentrated on the power. The Megafortress drove against the Airbus, pushing and pulling the lighter commercial plane through the air. Three or four people, including Nellis ground control, were trying to talk over the radio, but Englehardt kept them blocked out. He was sweating and his head pounded and his stomach was a knot, but he was doing this, he was definitely doing this, and no one was going to stop him.
HAWK ONE’S CONTROL SURFACES HAD BEEN BADLY DAMaged by the pressure from the Airbus; worse, her engine had sucked in bits of metal, shredding most of her turbine. Starship tried to get the aircraft to the west of the city, into the open terrain, but he didn’t have enough momentum. The Flighthawk spun toward a tight cluster of homes, their light brown roofs looking like the sides of a zipper. White sand appeared—Starship pulled back on the stick, trying to push the plummeting aircraft into a golf course built in the middle 416
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
of a condo development. Green grass flashed in the screen, and then everything went blank.
“Co
There was no time to see whether he had missed the houses. He took over Hawk Two, selecting the ca
The computer refused to let him fire. He was too close to the mother ship.
“Override,” he said.
“Forbidden.”
“Override Authorization StarStarTwoTwoTwo.”
“Forbidden,” insisted the computer.
“I can’t get the Flighthawk to fire!” he told Englehardt. “It thinks it’s shooting on us.”