Authors: Dale Brown
Voda followed the elbow of the creek, walking along the rocks for about twenty yards. He could hear the dogs now, barking loudly. He turned and started down. But his weakened knee betrayed himâhe collapsed, falling through a spread of prickle bushes.
At least Julian was safe. He could accept death knowing that.
What a strange life he'd had. Mozart and politics.
The Sonata in A Minor, K. 310, began playing in his head, The pace of the music quickening, matching his pounding heart.
Grabbing onto a small sapling, Voda pulled himself up and began walking. The pain in his leg seemed to have fledâor maybe he'd stopped feeling anything at all. Then his feet gave way. He tumbled down five or six yards, smacking hard against a tree.
He pushed to get up, but found he couldn't.
This was where it was going to end, he thought. He reached for his pistol.
It was gone. He'd lost it somewhere above.
Aboard Dreamland EB-52
Johnson,
over northeastern Romania
0153
S
TARSHIP SLID HIS HEADSET BACK
,
WATCHING THE CLOCK
dial revolve on the Flighthawk control screen. Finally the hand stopped. The screen blinked, and update loaded appeared in the center.
He pushed the headset back into place.
“Ready,” he told Englehardt.
“Let 'er rip,” answered the
Johnson
's pilot.
Easy for him to say, Starship thought. If the update screwed up, he was the one who'd lose total control of
Hawk Three.
And knowing General Samson's reputation, it was a good bet he would be paying for the aircraft out of his own pocket.
He and all his offspring, for the next seven generations.
“Reboot C
3
remote, authorization alpha-beta-six-six-beta-seven-four-zed-zed,” he said, giving his authorization code. “I am Lieutenant Kirk Andrews.”
The computer thought about it for a second, then beeped its approval.
“
Hawk Three
is coming to course,” Starship told Englehardt. He banked the Flighthawk out of the figure-eight patrol orbit it had been flying and took it near the hill. He had to stay above 10,000 feet or he'd be heard; he nudged the aircraft to 10,500.
A yellow helix appeared on the screen. The symbol was usually used by the computer to indicate where a disconnected Flighthawk was; now it showed the location of the cell phone they were tracking.
No. It was three miles from the hill, to the south, near an army watch post. It was the wrong transmission.
Starship took the Flighthawk farther north.
Nothing.
“Hey, you sure this guy is on the air?” Starship asked Englehardt.
“We'll have to ask Mack.”
“Well, get him on. I'm not picking up anything.”
Dreamland Command
1558 (0158 Romania)
“T
HE CELL TRANSMISSION DIED
,”
THE COMMUNICATIONS
specialist told Mack.
“What do you mean, it died?”
“He lost his connection or his battery died. I don't know.”
“Call him,” said Mack.
“I don't know, Major. We don't know how close he is to the people looking for him.”
“Call him the hell back.”
“Incoming transmission from the
Johnson.
”
“Screen.” Mack turned around. Lieutenant Mike Englehardt's face bounced back and forth. Though Mack was sure he'd been told a million times to keep his head still while he spoke, the pilot still jerked around nervously. Good thing he didn't fly that way.
“Major Smith, we're having trouble here with the cell phone from President Voda.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm on it. Keep your speed pants zipped.”
“Major, we're getting a broadcast over the Romanian air defense frequencies you want to hear,” said the communications specialist, cutting into his conversation. “Channel Two.”
“Stand by
Johnson
.” Mack felt the hives on his hands percolating as he flicked into the transmission. “Damn, man. This is in Romanian.”
“It comes back in English.”
A few seconds later the English version began.
“All planes flying above latitude 46 degree north will immediately cease operations and return to base. This airspace is closed to all military and civilian flights, foreign and domestic. All flights will vacate this space immediately.”
“What a load of crap,” said Mack. He looked up at the communications desk. “Get me Samsonâno wait. Let me talk to Dog.”
Aboard EB-52
Bennett,
over northeastern Romania
0200
M
ACK
S
MITH'S FACE SNAPPED INTO
D
OG'S VIDEO SCREEN
.
“Did you receive that Romanian air defense broadcast?” Mack asked.
The sound of the wind in the depressurized cabin was so loud, Dog had to crank the volume to hear.
“We're listening to it now,” he said.
“What are you going to do, Colonel? Tell them to shove it, right?”
“I'm not going to tell them that,” said Dog. “That's General Samson's job.”
Mack frowned.
“He's the reason you have your job as chief of staff, Mack. You got what you wanted.”
“Wasn't that a mistake.”
“I'll talk to him,” said Dog. “I'm sure he's heard it by now anyway.”
Dog tapped his screen. His daughter Breanna's helmeted face appeared.
“Bree, I have to talk to the general.”
“The no-fly order, right?”
“Yeah.”
“He's talking to one of the Romanian air force generals right now. Not that it seems to be doing any good.”
“I can wait.”
Dog checked his position on the sitrep. They were flying an oval-shaped orbit at 8,000 feet east of the president's vacation house, roughly between it and the border.
Hawk One
and
Two
were in a standard patrol position fore and aft of the
Bennett,
flown entirely by the computer.
Despite the blown hatch, the Megafortress flew a level course, responding to the control inputs flawlessly. As long as they made easy maneuvers and stayed in their pressurized suits, the crew shouldn't have any problems.
“What a bunch of blockheads,” said Samson, coming on the line as blustery as always. “Locusta must be behind this.”
“Absolutely,” said Dog.
“I'll be damned if I'm going to comply.”
“Agreed. We only need a few more minutes,” said Dog. “Zen is almost at the Osprey rendezvous.”
“I better tell Washington what's going on. Someone may get their nose out of joint.”
Dog was about to suggest that Samson might not bother to pass the information along for a few minutes, just in case someone at the White House decided they should comply immediately. But he was interrupted by his airborne radar op
erator, who shouted so loud he would have easily been heard even if Dog didn't have his headset on.
“Colonel! We have more MiGs! A lot of them this timeâ¦
sixteen!
And they are coming at us like wolves at a pig roast!”
Near Stulpicani, Romania
0205
Z
EN FELT A BIT OF STRAIN IN HIS SHOULDER AS HE ROSE
over the second hill and started downward. The exoskeleton handled the enormous strains imposed by flying, but the weight of Mrs. Voda and her son was mostly borne by his body. They tugged him away from the wing unit; like an ancient Roman enemy of the state, hitched to a pair of chariots and about to be pulled asunder.
The Osprey sat like a vulture ahead to his right, opposite a small barn. Zen leaned slightly in that direction, adjusting his movements to the extra weight he was carrying.
“Almost there,” he yelled. “You'll be on the ground in just a second.”
Near Stulpicani, Romania
0205
V
ODA SAT STARING AT THE SKY
,
LISTENING TO THE MUSIC
in his head. He was lost, done. But at least he had saved his wife and son.
That was a man's duty.
But was it a president's? Should he have put them ahead of his country? Should he have gone and left them to die?
History would have to judge.
His body began to buzz. His leg was on fire.
No, it was the cell phone, vibrating.
He reached for it, took it out.
“Yes?”
“Yo, Mr. President, I was afraid I'd lost the connection for good,” said the American, Mack Smith. “You need to keep the phone on.”
“I had it on. It must have turned off when I fell.”
“Well don't fall anymore, all right? What's going on?”
“They're coming for me. I can hear them nearby. Above me.”
“Well hide. Go. Go!”
Yes, thought Voda. There were some fallen trees not too far away. He pulled himself up, then started for them, dragging his aching leg.
As he reached them, Voda realized they wouldn't provide much cover. But they did give him an idea. He stripped off his shirt and tucked it between the tree branches, making it just visible. Then he began moving in the other direction.
The dogs barked nearby.
Near Stulpicani, Romania
0205
“T
HEY THINK THEY HEAR HIM
,” M
AJOR
O
ZERA TOLD
L
OCUSTA
. “It won't be long now.”
“I want no more reports until he is dead,” Locusta said.
His satellite phone rang. Locusta answered it. It was his aide, back at headquarters.
“General Karis of the Third Division has ordered his troops back to their barracks.”
“What?” demanded Locusta.
“That's the only report I have.”
Karis was a key ally. Locusta didn't understand what he was doing, except that it was not what they had agreed. The troops would be needed to keep order.
He would have to talk to Karis personally.
“The Dreamland people want to talk to you as well. General Samsonâ”
“I don't have time for them. Tell them they are to return to Iasi. Things are critical.”
Near Stulpicani, Romania
0206
D
ANNY
F
REAH WATCHED
Z
EN DESCEND
. T
HE LANDING
wasn't the most elegant he'd ever seenâZen came down too fast before cutting his power, and the trio collapsed forward like mail sacks thrown from the back of a truckâbut it did the trick.
Boston reached them first, pulling Zen upright.
“Man, how'd you tie this?” he asked. He yelled to Sergeant Liu, who was running up with the med kit. “Nurse, where's the knife?”
“Don't cut it,” said Zen. “I got one more to go.”
Danny knelt down and unhooked Mrs. Voda, then handed her off to Liu. Julian, the president's son, looked at him as if looking at a ghost.
“She's in shock,” said Liu. “But OK.”
“Get them into the Osprey,” said Danny as Boston finally undid the knot. He picked up the boy and gave him to Boston, who cradled him in his arms and began double-timing toward the rotor plane.
“I'll be back in about twenty minutes,” said Zen. “Maybe less.”
“Wait.” Danny grabbed his shoulders. “Give me the MESSKIT. I'll go.”
“I got it.”
“Zen, they're closing in on him. Voda's going to be hiding. You won't be able to find him.”
“We'll just tell him to run to the clearing.”
“They're all around him.”
Zen lifted his arms to fly. Danny tried to push them down. Zen was too strong and shrugged him away.
“Let's not screw around,” said the pilot angrily.
“If you get killed, the Flighthawk program stops,” Danny told him. “If I'm lost, it's no big deal.”
“It is a big deal.”
“Listen, we've been through a lot together. I'm the best person for this job. You know it. Don't let your pride get in the way.”
A long moment passed. Then, finally, Zen reached down and began undoing his straps.
Aboard Dreamland B-1B/L
Boomer,
over northeastern Romania
0208
E
VEN FOR A PAIR OF
M
EGAFORTRESSES AND TWO
B-1B/L
S
, sixteen MiGs was a lot to take on. And General Samson's force wasn't in the best position to do so either. The
Johnson
was out of long-range missiles, and had to stay near the hill to help pinpoint President Voda. The
Bennett
had a depressurized cabin and no one to fly its Flighthawks.
But Samson liked challenges. And he had one of the best combat air tacticians alive to help him meet this one.
“Forget borders, rules of engagement, all that other bull crap,” he told Dog. “Come up with a plan to kick these bastards in the teeth.”
“Missiles engage the leaders, Flighthawks break up the flight, lasers pick them off one by one,” said Dog without hesitating. “The sooner we engage them, the better. The
Johnson
stays with the Osprey. We leave
Big Bird
back as free safety while you and I go out over the Black Sea.”
“We're on it. Give us a heading,” replied Samson.
Near Stulpicani, Romania
0208
V
ODA CRAWLED ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES UNDER THE
narrow rock ledge. It looked like the best hiding place he could find, though far from perfect.
“Still with me?” asked the American on the cell phone when he held it to his ear.
“I'm here,” said Voda.
“Your signal is real scratchy.”
“I'm beneath a rock ledge.” A beep sounded in his ear. “What was that noise?”