Retribution (32 page)

“Roger that.”

“I
NDIAN FIGHTERS ARE PASSING THE
F
LIGHTHAWK, STILL
coming for us,” said Daly at the radar.

“Let’s move farther north,” said Englehardt. “Let’s see how far we can bring them.”

“Should we target these guys or what?” asked Sullivan. “They’re just about in range to fire at us.”

Englehardt started to say no, then reconsidered. If he let them fire first, could he avoid their missiles
and
fire the Anacondas?

He started to reach for the radio to ask for instructions, then stopped. His rules of engagement covered the situation—avoid firing except to protect the mission, and himself. He didn’t need authorization from anyone, or advice.

If he called Dreamland Control, he’d look weak, wouldn’t he? That’s what he was really worried about.

So what was he going to do? Was there a threat or not?

Colonel Bastian had been right to bump him the other day. He couldn’t make a decision.

Screw it.

Just make a decision. Either way. Do it.

He took a breath.

“Hold off on the Anacondas,” he said. “If they get hostile, we have a bunch of things we can do.”

“Roger that,” said Sullivan, not sounding particularly convinced.

T
HE COMPUTER HELPING
S
TARSHIP FLY THE
F
LIGHTHAWK
beeped at him when he boxed the rocks at the side of the cliff on the weapons screen, asking if he was sure he knew what he was doing.

“Confirm target,” said Starship.

The computer replied by turning the small aiming reticule red. Starship pressed the trigger button at the top of his stick and began dumping lead into the pile of rocks. They disappeared in a cloud of dust.

A fine mist of dirt still covered the area when he swung back, and even the Flighthawk’s radar couldn’t see whether the road had been blocked or not. Starship continued past, moving down the road toward the Indian column a few miles away. Apparently they’d heard the commotion; the trucks had stopped and the men were crouched around them and in the nearby rocks.

As Starship turned to come back north, the computer warned him that the MiGs were past
Hawk Two
.

“
Bennett,
what are we doing with those MiGs?” he asked.

“We’re going to lead them away from the ground party,” replied Englehardt.

“Well, yeah, roger that, but they’re inside fifty miles.”

“I know where they are, Flighthawk leader.”

Starship changed course, angling in the direction the
Bennett
was taking. The MiGs had slowed down but were still about three miles ahead, out of range of sure cannon shot for the robot aircraft.

He went back to
Hawk One,
bringing it up the road. The cloud of dust had cleared. The road was blocked—but only partially.

“You seeing this, Danny?” he asked Captain Freah.

“Roger that,” said Danny.

“Good enough?”

“It’ll have to do.”

Jamu
2200

J
ENNIFER JERKED BACK AS THE
LED
S ON THE LARGER OF
the two circuit cards in front of her began to flash.

“Danny, I need the helmet right now!” she yelled, still staring at the lights.

Danny plopped the helmet down on her head, catching her ear in the process.

“Ray, I have blinking lights here,” she said, trying to make her voice sound calm. “What does this mean?”

“Move the helmet a bit so we can see,” said Rubeo.

He
sounded real calm, she thought. But of course, why wouldn’t he?

“Jennifer, locate the green wire with the white striping at the left, and snip it.”

“Snip it? You told me five minutes ago we weren’t cutting anything.”

“The thinking has changed.”

“Why?”

“Ms. Gleason, there comes a time when you have to let the pilot fly the plane. Just cut the wire.”

Jennifer leaned over, took the narrow-headed wire cutters from the blanket where she had laid it out, and moved her hand carefully beneath the circuit board. Gingerly working her fingers against the strands, she separated the wire from the bunch. Her hand shook slightly; she steadied the cutters against their target with the forefinger of her other hand and snipped.

Then began promptly cursing, because she had caught her finger as well.

“Jennifer?” asked Rubeo.

“The lights are out,” she said, looking at the tiny balls of blood that seemed to percolate up from the red line on her finger where she’d caught it. “The LEDs are out.”

“Very good. One more step and the warhead can be moved.”

“How good an electrical conductor do you think blood is?” she said as the small spheres turned to a large drop and oozed off her finger.

“Surprisingly good,” replied Rubeo. “I wouldn’t test it.”

T
HE TERRAIN WAS SO RUGGED TO THE SOUTH THAT THE
Marines manning the observation point there couldn’t even see the landslide. Sergeant Norm Ganson, in charge of the landing team security, didn’t trust the eye-in-the-sky assessment and sent two men down to assess the damage.

“Four vehicles, a dozen guys—we can hold them off, no sweat,” the Marine sergeant told Danny.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Danny replied. He trotted back to Jennifer, whom he found squatting next to the bomb, her left forefinger in her mouth.

“Jen?”

“We can move the warhead now,” she said, rising.

“What happened to your hand? It’s bleeding.”

“It got in the way. Can you spare anybody to attach those straps, or should I do it myself?”

An atoll off the Indian coast
Time and date unknown

I
T WAS THEIR WEDDING
,
BUT NOT THEIR WEDDING
. B
REANNA
danced in her long white dress, sailing across the altar of the church, into the churchyard, the walls and roof of the building vaporized by Zen’s dream. She floated on the air and he followed, alone in a white and brown world, stumbling on the rocks. The band played in a large, empty fountain, arrayed around a cement statue of a forgotten saint, his face chipped away by centuries of neglect. Every time he held his hand out to his wife, she danced farther away, moving through the air as easily as if she were walking. She lay herself down on a bench, holding her arms out to him, but when he arrived, she floated off, just out of reach.

A bird passed overhead, then another, then a flock. Breanna looked at them and started to rise. She was smiling.

“Bree,” he called. “Bree.”

As she glanced down toward him a look of sorrow appeared on her face, her sadness so painful that it froze him in
place. He felt his heart shrivel inside his chest, all of his organs disintegrating, his bones pushing inward suddenly. He wanted to say more but her look stopped him, her sadness so deep that the entire world turned black.

And she was gone.

Aboard Dreamland
Bennett
2202

E
NGLEHARDT KNEW HE COULD BEAT THE
M
I
G
S IF THEY
fired. He saw in his mind exactly what he’d do: jive and jab and zigzag while Sullivan hit the ECMs. He’d drop low, then come up swinging—fire the Anacondas at point-blank range.

The question was: What would he do if they didn’t fire?

“Still coming at us,” said Rager. “Slowing.”

Englehardt checked his position. The
Bennett
was close to the Chinese border—another problem, he thought; if he went over it, the Chinese might send someone to investigate as well.

That might be a good idea. He could duck out of the way and let the two enemies go at it.

“MiGs are thirty miles and closing,” said Sullivan.

Englehardt once again thought of radioing for instructions. But there was no point in that—he’d only be told to use his judgment.

That was the Dreamland way, wasn’t it? You were on your own, trained to make the call. A Megafortress flying alone wasn’t “controlled” by an AWACS or even a flight leader—its pilot was on his or her own. If he wasn’t up to the responsibility, he didn’t belong in the cockpit in the first place.

So do it. Just do it.

And yet he balked, inherently cautious.

“Are they talking to anyone?” Englehardt asked.

“If they are, we’re not hearing it,” said the copilot.

Englehardt flipped over to the Dreamland Command channel to speak to Danny Freah.

“Captain, we have a couple of Indian aircraft up here taking an interest in us. Are you ready to get out of there?”

“We need ten more minutes.”

“I’m going to lead these planes away from the area. When you take off, have the Osprey stay low in that mountain valley. The MiGs shouldn’t be able to see them on radar.”

“Good. Copy.”

He had it figured out now: he’d fool the Indians, diverting their attention while the Ospreys got away.

Was that the smart thing to do? Or was he wimping? Maybe he should shoot them down.

“I’m going to try talking to those bastards myself,” said Englehardt. “I’m going to broadcast on all channels and see what the hell they’re up to.”

“Take your shot,” said Sullivan.

Englehardt identified himself and the ship, saying they were on a Search and Rescue mission and asking the Indians’ intentions. Once again they didn’t answer.

“Ten miles,” said Sullivan. “Still closing.”

“Get ready on the Stinger air mines.”

“Yeah,” said Sullivan.

The two MiGs had widened their separation as they approached. They flanked the Megafortress, then slowly began drawing toward her wings, still separated from her by a mile or so.

“American EB-52,” said one of the Indians finally. “Why are you over Indian territory?”

“I’m on a Search and Rescue mission for American fliers,” said Englehardt. “Why didn’t you answer my earlier radio broadcasts?”

The Indians once more chose not to answer. The Megafortress’s radio, however, picked up a succession of squeals and clicks, indicating they were using an encrypted radio system to talk to someone.

“Gotta be talking to their ground controller,” said Sullivan. “What do you think? Did he just tell them to shoot us down or leave us alone?”

B
Y SLOWING DOWN TO MATCH THE
M
EGAFORTRESS’S SPEED,
the MiGs allowed
Hawk Two
to catch up to them. Starship angled
Hawk Two
toward the tail of the closest MiG, which was aiming itself roughly toward the
Bennett
’s right wing. The Flighthawk’s faceted body and absorbent skin gave it a radar profile about the size of a flying cockroach, and the black matte paint made it hard to pick up in the night sky. But even if it had been daylight the Flighthawk would have been nearly impossible for the MiG pilot to see; Starship had the plane exactly behind his tailfin.

“Computer, hold position on aircraft identified as
Bandit Two
.”

“Hold position.”

Starship took over the controls for
Hawk One,
still circling low over the recovery site. The Indian ground unit had stopped about a mile south of the landslide. The Americans, meanwhile, were getting ready to bug out.

This is going to work out, he thought. The Osprey was going to sneak away, and then the Megafortress would head over to Pakistan and go home without the Indians knowing exactly what was going on.

Then he noticed a flicker in the lower corner of
Hawk One
’s screen.

He pushed his throttle slide up to full.

“Hawk leader to Whiplash ground team—Danny, there are helicopters trying to sneak in up that valley behind the Indian ground units.”

Jamu
2205

S
TARSHIP’S WARNING CAME JUST AS THE WARHEAD WAS
secured and the Marines had been ordered to return from their lookout posts. Danny needed a second to work out in his head where everyone was. Then he jumped in the back of
the V-22, slipped through the nest of lines and straps holding the warhead in place, and ran to the cockpit.

“Helos coming up that road,” he told the pilot. “Can you get us out without them seeing us?”

“No way, Captain,” said the pilot. “I have to clear that ridge ahead or go right past them. Either way, they’ll see us.”

“All right. Go over the ridge as soon as we’re secured back here.” He switched his radio on. “Starship, see if you can slow those guys down a bit. We want to exit to the north.”

Aboard Dreamland
Bennett
2207

S
TARSHIP TOOK
H
AWK
O
NE
STRAIGHT AT THE LEAD
I
NDIAN
helicopter, a large Mi-8 Hip troop carrier. He got so close to the chopper that if he’d tipped his wing down he could have sliced through its rotors.

He cut over the second chopper—another Hip—then circled around for another pass. If either helicopter pilot had seen him, they didn’t let on; both aircraft continued flying through the valley. They were doing about seventy knots, flying so low that their rear wheels, which hung on struts off the side of the fuselage, couldn’t have been more than a foot off the ground.

“This time I’m going to get your attention,” said Starship. He pulled into the valley ahead of the helicopters, jammed his stick back and let off a bunch of flares, climbing into the night like a giant Roman candle. Both helicopters immediately set down. Their rotors continued to spin, and the sandstorm that had been following them caught up.

“Helicopters are down, Whiplash,” said Starship. “Get out of there while you can.”

A
MERICAN
M
EGAFORTRESS
! W
HY ARE YOU FIRING ON OUR
helicopter?”

“We’re not firing at all,” said Englehardt. “You’re sitting right with us.”

“Cease your fire!” repeated the Indian.

“MiGs are dropping back,” said Sullivan. “Getting into position to fire heat-seekers at us. Air mines?”