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“The helicopter plane?”
“Yes, sir. Air defense reports that the Russians have attacked them near the border, and that at least one Russian airplane has been shot down.”
What the hell was going on?
No sooner had the question formed than Locusta realized the answer: The Russians were gu
“Are any of our airplanes in the air?”
“Well no, General.”
“Get the air force chief of staff. Tell him I want to talk to him personally. And tell him that we need his precious MiG-29s. The Russians are attacking us.”
“Yes, General.”
“And then find the number or whatever it is that I must call to speak to the Americans directly. To Colonel Bastian, the so-called Dog.”
386
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Aboard EB-52 Johnson,
over northeastern Romania
0041
STARSHIP’S MAIN SCREEN BLINKED AND AN ICON APPEARED
in the upper right corner, indicating that long-range radar was no longer being provided to the Flighthawks. But the enemy MiG and the triangular cross hairs targeting it remained at the center of the screen, provided by the Flighthawk’s own radar.
Compared to the Megafortress’s radar, which was as powerful as the radar in an AWACS, the system aboard the robot was very limited. But it was fine for the task at hand—
Starship steadied his thumb on the trigger, pushing the spray of bullets into the MiG’s wing.
The MiG’s right wing suddenly seemed to expand. A thin gray fu
And then Starship’s screen went blank. He’d lost his co
ON THE FLIGHT DECK ABOVE STARSHIP, ENGLEHARDT LEANED
closer to the instrument panel, willing the big plane away from the missile. Panic vibrated through his arms and legs; his throat felt as if it had tightened around a rock. He struggled to control the plane, and himself, jerking back to the north as the copilot released another set of chaff.
“He’s terminal! Big flare!” yelled Kung.
Englehardt tensed, bracing for the impact. He cursed himself—he should have knocked off the radar sooner.
There was a flash to the right side of the cockpit.
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387
The missile?
If so, it had exploded before striking the Megafortress—far enough away, in fact, that the big aircraft shrugged off the shock of the ninety kilogram warhead without a shudder.
What?
incoming message flashed on the dedicated Dreamland communications screen. Englehardt tapped the screen with his thumb.
“You’re welcome, Johnson, ” barked General Samson from Boomer. “Now get that radar back on so we can see what the hell these Russian bastards are up to.”
Aboard B-1B/L Boomer,
over northeastern Romania
0042
BREANNA STOCKARD EXHALED SHARPLY AS SHE LEANED
back from Boomer’s targeting console. Her head was still spi
“All right, Stockard, good work.” The general’s voice was a deep growl. “Now let’s get ourselves up north and ready for anything else these bastard Russkies throw at us.”
“You got it, Gen.”
Samson turned his head toward her. “If you’re going to use a nickname, it’s Earthmover.”
“OK, Earthmover.”
“That’s more like it, Stockard,” said Samson, pushing the plane onto the new course.
388
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Aboard EB-52 Be
over northeastern Romania
0045
DOG’S COMMENT ABOUT TAKING OFF AS SOON AS HIS REstraints were buckled was an exaggeration, but only just. The Megafortress left the runway just on the heels of the B-1s, getting airborne in time to use its radar to help orient Boomer to the Russian missile tracking the Johnson. Data was shared over the Dreamland Command network with all aircraft in the battle package, and in fact could be shared with any Dreamland asset anywhere in the world.
“Sukhois are turning south over the Black Sea,” said Rager. “Looks like there are two more MiG-29s approaching, though, high rate of speed, very low to the water. You see them, Colonel?”
“I got them, Rager. Thanks.” Dog flicked the Transmit button. “EB-52 Be
“We’re holding together, Colonel,” said Englehardt, the Johnson’s pilot. “But we’re out of Scorpions.”
“Roger that. I want you to go west and cover the area near the president’s summer house for the Osprey. We’ll take your station here.”
Englehardt’s acknowledgment was overrun by a broadcast from General Samson, whose scowling face appeared in the communications screen. Samson’s visor was up, his oxygen mask dangling to the side, his frown as visible as ever. But to Dog’s surprise, Samson didn’t bawl him out for usurping his authority.
“Mike, Dog is right. You get yourself down there and stay out of trouble. You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sorry, General,” said Dog. “That was your call.”
“No problem, Colonel. I couldn’t have put it better myself.
Now, let’s get ourselves ready for these MiG drivers. You REVOLUTION
389
want to take them, or should we give the laser system another field test?”
Aboard Whiplash Osprey,
approaching Stulpicani, Romania
0047
DANNY FREAH PUT ON HIS SMART HELMET AND TAPPED INTO
the Dreamland database, asking the computer with verbal commands to display the most recent satellite photo of the area where the president’s house was located.
The picture was several days old, taken right after the attack on the pipeline, but it was adequate for pla
From the description that had been relayed to him, Alin Voda was hiding about a quarter mile northeast of his house, near an old structure. But the structure wasn’t visible on the map. Da
The hill was wooded all the way to its peak. There was a rift on the back slope about fifty feet down, where a drop created a bald spot. The Osprey couldn’t land there, but they could fast-rope down, put the president into a rescue basket, and haul him back up.
They’d need some close-in reco
“What do you think, Cap?” asked Boston, who was standing beside him. “Doable?”
“Oh yeah, we can do it,” Da
“Just need a little coordination.”
He checked his watch. The Osprey was roughly twenty minutes from the mountain house. Hopefully, Voda could hold out that long.
390
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Aboard EB-52 Be
above northeastern Romania
0049
THE TWO RUSSIAN AIRCRAFT APPROACHING THE ROMANIAN
coast of the Black Sea were brand new MiG-29Ms, upgraded versions of the original MiG-29. Equipped with better avi-onics and more hardpoints, the fighters were potent attack aircraft, capable of carrying a wide range of weapons. Because they were flying so low, the Be