by Dale Brown
Danny Freah held the pistol. A sensation came over him as he pulled the trigger. He wanted to fling the gun in, throw it into the water, one last offering to the universe. But he was an officer, and he was a man of discipline and self-control, so he simply turned and led the others back. As the chaplain thumbed through his Bible, he couldn’t help thinking this might very well be the first time Powder had ever sat through a reading from the Scriptures.
“I say unto you which hear,” began the reverend, “love your enemies, do good to them which hate you. Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you. And unto him that smitheth thee on the one cheek offer also the other …”
The words, from Luke 6, struck Danny off balance. Why was this idiot talking of mercy when his man was dead?
Turn the other cheek? Bullshit!
A new urge came over him. Danny wanted to grab the minister, throttle him, make him say something more appropriate, more comforting.
But Danny Freah was a man of discipline and self-control; he did nothing.
“Love ye your enemies, and do good, and lend, hoping for nothing again; and your reward shall be great, and ye shall be the children of the Highest: for he is kind unto the unthankful and to the evil.”
The words drifted away. The chaplain stepped back. On a tape player found by one of the Marines, a recorded bugle began its lonesome wail. Powder’s best friends in the universe each went to the corners of his remains, then gently placed him on board for the journey home.
Chapter 6
The verdict of fortune
South of Taiwan, aboard the command ship Blue Ridge
August 27, 1997, 1023 local
“What do you and your people don’t seem to appreciate here, Colonel, is that we’re suppose to be the peacemakers. Are you seriously interested in starting World War Three?”
Wood’s face puffed out with anger. The admiral turned sideways for a moment, staring at the wall as if he could see something through the ship’s steel.
“I authorize you to conduct a simple reconnaissance mission and you obliterate an atoll,” continued Woods finally. “Tell me—is your base located over radioactive material? Do X-rays fry your brains?”
“Admiral,” Dog stopped himself. There was no point in trying to explain the mission again. Not only had he told Woods everything, but the admiral had the tapes of the incident and Danny Freah’s report sitting on his desk.
“Well?” said Woods.
“Nothing,” said Dog.
The admiral turned back to the wall. Maybe he really could see through it—maybe he could see beyond it to the forces gathering on either side of the American task force. “In tow hours, the Indian and Chinese fleets will be able to bomb the hell out of each other. The President has sent the Secretary of State—the fucking Secretary of State—to New Delhi to negotiate a cease-fire. You know what my orders are, Tecumseh?”
“No, sir,” said Dog. It was the first time Woods had used his given name.
“If it were up to me, if it were truly up to me, I’d let them fight it out. Hell, I think it’s our best interests. I don’t have to tell you about the Chinese. The Indians are trouble as well. As long as the extremists are in control, the Indians are trouble as well. But if I had to choose, at this point, I’d side with the Indians. Hell, I’m tempted to help them even now. My orders, though—and unlike you, I actually believe in following orders—are to keep the two sides apart, and to do nothing to increase hostilities. Nothing! Now how the hell am I supposed to do that? Put myself directly between them?”
“I’m not sure, sir.”
“Twenty-four hours from now, that’s where I’ll be. Kitty Hawk and her escorts will be positioned to blow both of their fleets out of the water. Hell, I could do it now. If I got the order.
“Yes, sir.”
“But blowing them up wouldn’t bring peace, would it?”
“No, sir,” said Dog.
“Which is my mission, whether I like it or not. Now how can I fulfill that mission with a bunch of cowboys running around shooting things up? Very good cowboys,” added Woods before could object. “Excellent cowboys. But your job was reconnaissance—spying. Not fighting.”
Woods emphasized the words the way one might talk to a five-year-old. Colonel Bastian had pretty much reached the end of his patience.
“I thought the SEALs were bad,” added the admiral. “You guys make them look like kids on their way to First Holy Communion.”
“I don’t know that that’s accurate, sir,” said Dog. “On that atoll, my people were fired on; they responded. At sea, we shot down two missiles. Missile that surely would have sunk the Chinese carrier, which ought to count for something.”
The admiral frowned; Dog couldn’t help but wonder if he would have preferred the carrier went down.
“In the air, every incident with the Chinese was initiated by the Chinese,” said Colonel Bastian in a level voice. “You have the tapes and the data from every flight. We’re not cowboys, sir. We’re just our job, as ordered.”
“I’m not unreasonable, Tecumseh. Truly, I’m not. I had the Filipinos moved at you request.”
“ I didn’t say you were unreasonable, Admiral.”
“But?”
“You do seem to go out of your way to make me your whipping boy.”
“That’s because I don’t like you,” said Woods.
The two men stared at each other. Dog waited for Woods to soften what he’d just said, take it back by adding, “that’s what you think, isn’t it?” But he didn’t.”
“You’re in over your head on this operation,” the admiral said finally. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re competent, capable, even a hotshot. But Dreamland and Whiplash—you need perspective. You’ll understand what I’m saying in five or six years.”
“I understand now.”
“The surveillance mission with Piranha will continue,” said Woods. “That’s a direct order from the President I can’t and won’t ignore, but the mission will be carried out under my personal direction. You’re no longer in the loop, Colonel. You have a lot of work to do at Dreamland.”
“What?”
“It’s not necessary to embarrass you in front of your people. But I will. Go home.”
Dog had to physically bite his lip to keep himself from saying or doing anything else. It was only after he boarded his transport helicopter topside that he realized blood had dribbled down his chin.
Aboard Shiva in the South China Sea
August 27, 1997, 1326
They came to periscope depth cautiously, aware the sonar contact was a Chinese destroyer. Admiral Balin confirmed the crew’s prediction quickly; they were almost perpendicular, and close enough for Balin to see the two large guns at either end. The ship was surely a Jianghu frigate.
Captain Varka gave the order to change their course. They came around quickly and began closing on the Chinese vessel.
The Kali weapons and their assorted equipment had robbed Balin of precious space, leaving him room for only six torpedoes. He would fire two at the destroyer, holding the others for whatever target he would find later.
“Sir,” said Captain Varja. “We have additional contacts. A carrier.”
“A carrier?”
“Making good speed,” added the captain. “Other vessels as well. Beyond the destroyer.”
Balin put his eyes back to the periscope view. There was only gray beyond the destroyer.
They were using only their passive sonar. To use the active array would surely alert the Chinese to their presence—but would also provide a good deal more information.
He wanted it too badly; he must be cautious.
Balin stepped away from the periscope. His eyes met Varja’s. The captain surely had the same thoughts.
“We must find it,” said Balin softly.
“Agreed.”
Varja gave the orders to use the sonar.
One carrier, less than three miles away. It was the Sha
ngi-Ti; the sound signature left no doubt.
There was another—another very large contact in the distance, more than likely a vessel of the same size as Shangi-Ti.
A second carrier!
Again the gods had been beneficent, guiding them here so they could strike both.
The sonar room gave a fresh warning—the frigate was turning in their direction.
“Return to passive sensors. Take us to a safer depth.”
Swiftly, the crew moved to obey.
Philippines
1326
The water lapped at Danny Freah’s waist clear and warm, if it weren’t for the roar of the approaching F/A-18’s, he could have believed he was wading out from an exclusive private beach.
It wasn’t exactly private, but thanks to a contingent of Marine guards and Dreamland security protecting the island and this cove below the airstrip, it was very exclusive.
Danny slid onto his side and began swimming parallel to the shore. When he’d gone about twenty yards, he turned back. He used large boulders on the hillside as markers, treading back and forth as if working out, though he didn’t keep track of his many laps. He swam a backstroke to the south, the sidestroke or breaststroke to the north. He was not a big swimmer, and his muscles soon began to tire with the unfamiliar exertion. He kept on paddling, the burn creeping down from his shoulders to his arms, out from his hips to his thighs, and then all the way to his calf muscles. He swam until the tingling sensation weighed him down. Finally, he stopped abruptly, putting his feet down to stand on the coral and rock-strewn ocean floor, but his path had taken him into deeper water. He floundered for a second, water lapping over his face. He pushed up with his arms, and in a burst of energy began swimming and laughing at the same time. How ignoble would that be, he wondered to himself, to die recreating in a combat zone?
He didn’t stand until the water was less than waist-deep. When he reached his blanket on the shore, he saw Bison heading down the rock-strewn path from the airstrip.
“Hey, Cap—Colonel Bastian looking to talk to you up at the command post,” said the sergeant.
“Thanks,” said Danny, toweling off. Bison stood a short distance away, staring at the water. Danny suddenly felt modest and, though no one was looking at him, pulled his shorts off below his towel and then pulled his uniform pants up, forgoing underwear.
“Water warm?” asked Bison.
“Yeah,” said Danny, puling on a T-shirt.
“Say Captain, mind if I ask you something?”
“What’s that?”
“How come Powder chose that reading?”
“Sorry?” said Danny, thinking he’d misunderstood.
“Powder—Liu told me to make sure the chaplain got the verse right. That’s what he wanted read? Turn the other cheek and all that shit? I don’t get it.”
Danny pulled on his shirt. “I don’t know,” he said. he hadn’t realized Powder himself had chosen the reading.
“It’s supposed to be a message to us, sure, all right, I can understand that,” said Bison. “But from Powder? Man, he liked to shoot things up. Now he’s telling us to turn the other cheek? Shit. Powder?”
bison—who’d never gotten along particularly well with Powder while he was alive—looked a little as if he was going to cry.
“To be honest, I don’t get it either,” said Danny. “I miss him, though. Already.”
“Yeah, weird. Powder. Fuck. It sucks, Captain.”
“It does suck, Bison. Big time.”
“He told us about you in Sarajevo, how you saved his life that time.”
“It wasn’t Sarajevo,” said Danny. He ran his pinkie around the corner of his ear, clearing out the water. Bison was waiting for the full story, but Danny didn’t feel like telling it. He gave the short version. “We were in town about twenty miles south of there. Guy came around the corner. I popped him. That was it, basically.”
“I’m glad you did.”
Danny laughed as he pulled on his shirt. “Yeah, me too. Because the son of a bitch would’ve popped me next. Had a stinking Uzi—where the hell do you think he got an Uzi, huh? Those things are supposed tp be damn expensive.”
By the time the captain reached the trailer, Dog was already giving the pilots the lowdown. Even before he heard the words, Danny knew from the colonel’s face a heap of bullshit had gone down. Colonel Bastian always wore “the Pentagon stare” when he had to dish out a line he didn’t agree with. Today it was mixed with something else Danny saw even less often, genuine anger, though Bastian wasn’t venting.
“Bottom line, we continue monitoring the Chinese sub until further notice. Bree, your plane’s out in three hours, relieving Major Alou. My replacement will take Iowa six hours after that. We’ll keep turning it around until we’re ordered to go home.”
Zen raised his hand to interrupt. “Colonel, Jen and I have been doing a little thinking. With a little work, we may be able to squeeze the gear tightly enough and route things so Raven and Quicksilver can fly one of the Flighthawks and handle Piranha at the same time.”
“Well, that’s not really necessary,” said Bastian.
“It would keep the Chinese off us,” said Zen. “The way things are going, it makes sense for a Fligthhawk to be along.”
“Our orders are not to engage the enemy,” Colonel Bastian’s eyes were almost glassy—obviously that was the heart of the trouble.
“Flighthawks can help hold them off,” said Zen. “Bree wouldn’t have had to get that close to the Viking. Besides, if the subs surfaces, the Flighthawk can get up close and personal.”
The colonel turned to Jennifer Gleason. “Is it doable?” he asked.
One thing Danny had to give Dog—there was no visible sign that he was sleeping with her; his voice was as gruff with her as it was with anyone.
Another thing he had to give Bastian—the ol’ dog sure could pick ’em.
“We can do it, but only with Iowa because of the second control bay. I just don’t have the space to get the computer into Quicksilver and Raven. I mean, if we had more time—”
Dog held up his hand. “How long?”
“Six or seven hours. Tommy Jacobs is coming in on the next flight with the pilot, and he’s bring a full—”
“Okay,” said Dog.
“I’ll take Zen’s place on Quicksilver,” said Fentress.
Bastian’s Pentagon stare dissolved into a faint smile. He folded his arms in front of his chest. “So what else have you decided in my absence?”
“We didn’t decide,” said Bree innocently.
“We might have discussed it a little,” said Fentress.
Colonel Bastian shook his head and turned to Danny. “Captain Freah, you missed a little at the top there. I have business at Dreamland. The mission continues; reconnaissance only. You will continue to provide security for the Megafortresses. I realize it’s superfluous,” he added. “I trust the Marines, but I want at least a token presence. Work out what equipment and personnel we need to keep here.”
“Yes, sir,” said Danny.
“All right, well, let’s get cranking then. I have to pack. Commander Stein will be in charge of operation as of ten seconds ago.” Dog glanced at his watch, then back at them. “I expect everyone to follow orders to the best of their ability. And in some cases, beyond.”
Zen let his wheelchair slide down the ramp, rushing so close to Breanna he nearly spun her around.
“Hey, hot rod,” she said, grabbing hold of the side. “Watch where you’re going.”
“Gimps have the right of way,” said Zen.
“I thought you weren’t going to say that anymore,” Bree told him. “I hate that word.”
“I calls ’em like I sees ’em,” he told her.
“You like to piss me off, don’t you?”
“Favorite thing in the word, next to kissing you,” he said truthfully. “So you ready for the mission?”
