Revolution

Small boxes appeared next to the yellow triangles; they looked like dialogue balloons in a comic strip.

MIG-29

RS

ARM—4AA11, 2AA10

The computer’s tags identified the aircraft as Russian MiGs carrying four heat-seeking AA-11 Archer or R-27R

missiles and two radar-guided AA-10 Alamo or R-27R

missiles.

“Russian air defense,” said Rager. “I think they’re shadowing us.”

“Long way from home.”

“Yeah.”

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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“You sure they’re watching for us? They’re pretty far away.”

“True. But if I wanted to sit in a spot where I thought I couldn’t be seen, that’s where I’d be, just at the edge of our coverage. They may not think we can see them,” Rager added.

“Two hundred and fifty miles is the limit of their AWACS

ships.”

“Do they have one out there?”

“Can’t tell, but I suspect it. Maybe another hundred miles back. This way, if we come in their direction, it sees us and vectors them toward us.”

“Keep track of them.”

“Not a problem, Colonel.”

Dog went back to his seat. If Rager’s theory was correct, the Russians must have been alerted to the Megafortress’s flight by a spy at Iasi.

“Ground team’s done, Colonel,” said Sullivan as he strapped himself back into his seat.

“All right, folks. We’re going to knock off,” said Colonel Bastian. “Da

“Thanks, Colonel. Groundhog out.”

“Set a course for Iasi, Colonel?” asked Sullivan.

“No. Let’s do a couple more circuits here. Then I want to break the pattern with a dash east.”

“The MiGs?”

“Let’s see how they react,” said Dog.

Dog told Zen what was going on, then prepared to make his move. He waited until they were coming south, then jammed the thrusters to full military power and turned the plane’s nose hard to the east, heading toward the Black Sea.

Given their position and the circumstances, it was far from an aggressive move—but the MiGs reacted as soon as they were within 250 miles.

“Turning east,” said Rager. “One other contact—Tupolev Tu-135—I see what’s going on now, Colonel.”

“Where are the planes?” asked Dog. Rager’s theories could wait.

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“They’re all turning.”

Dog flicked the long-range radar feed onto his display. The Russian planes were definitely reacting to him; all three contacts had headed east.

“The Tupolev is tracking our radar transmissions,” said Rager. “That’s how they know where we are.”

The Tu-135—a Russian aircraft similar in some ways to a 727—was outfitted with ante

“All right,” said Dog. He put the plane into a casual turn back toward Iasi, as if they hadn’t seen the Russians at all.

“Now that we know the neighbors are Peeping Toms, there’s no sense calling them on it. Let’s get back to the barn for the night.”

Bacau, Romania

1825

GENERAL LOCUSTA OPENED THE FOLDER AND BEGAN

ru

Tonight he would make three calls, all to men whom he didn’t know very well. In each case he would have another 152

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

reason for calling—something he hoped would cement the commander’s loyalty.

Locusta picked up the phone and dialed the commander of his Second Armored Regiment, Colonel Tarus Arcos. He caught the colonel eating di

“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” Locusta said.

“Not at all, General,” lied the colonel. “How can I help?”

“I wanted to update you on your request for new vehicles. I have been arguing with Bucharest, and believe we have won, at least the first round.”

“That is good news.”

Locusta continued in this vein for a while, taking the opportunity to badmouth the government. Then he asked about the colonel’s mother, a pensioner in Oradea.

“Still sick, I’m afraid,” said the colonel. “The cancer is progressing.”

Locusta knew this; one of his aides had checked on her that very afternoon. Still, he pretended to be surprised—and then acted as if an idea had just popped into his head.

“I wonder if my own physicians at Bucharest might be able to help her,” he said, as i

“They are among the best in the country.”

The colonel didn’t say anything, though it wasn’t hard for Locusta to guess that he was thinking it would be difficult to pay for special medical attention; seeing a specialist outside of your home region was not easy to arrange.

“I think that this would be a special service that could be arranged through the army, through my office,” added Locusta after just the right pause. “One of my men can handle the paperwork. A man in your position shouldn’t have to worry about his mother.”

“General, if that could be arranged—”

“There are no ifs,” said Locusta grandly. “It is done. I will have it taken care of in the morning.”

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“I—I’m very, very grateful. If I can repay you—”

“Repay me by being a good soldier.” Locusta smiled as he hung up the phone.

Near Tutova, northeastern Romania

1830

DANNY FREAH POKED HIS FORK INTO THE RED LUMP AT THE

middle of the plate, eyeing it suspiciously. His hosts’ intentions were definitely good, but that wasn’t going to make the meal taste any better. He pushed the prongs of his fork halfway into the lump—it went in suspiciously easily—then raised it slowly to his lips.

He caught a whiff of strong vinegar just before he put the unidentified lump into his mouth. But it was too late to reverse course—he pushed the food into his mouth and began chewing.

It tasted … not bad. The vinegar was mixed into a sauce that was like …

His taste buds couldn’t quite find an appropriate compari-son. He guessed the lump was actually a piece of beef, though the strong taste of the sauce made it impossible to identify.

In any event, it was not inedible, and much better than some food he’d eaten while on deployment.

“You like?” asked Lieutenant Roma, the leader of the Romanian army platoon Da

“Oh yeah,” said Da

Sitting across from him, Boston suppressed a smile.

“More?” offered Roma.

“No, no, my plate’s still half full,” said Da

“Hey, no, I don’t want to be a pig,” said Boston.

“Pig?” said the lieutenant.

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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Oink, oink,” said Boston.

“Animal?” Lieutenant Roma’s pronunciation made the word sound like anik-ma-mule.

“It’s an expression,” said Da

The lieutenant nodded, said something in Romanian, then turned to the rest of his men and began explaining what Da

The Romanian platoon was housed in a pair of farmhouses south of Route E581, about three miles from Tutova.