by Dale Brown
“I’d try raking the trees with the gun,” said Zen. “But I just can’t tell where they are”
“I have a better idea,” said Breanna. “Let’s show them we’re here and maybe they’ll back off.”
“Bree, they may decide we’re a good target—” said Zen, but she’d already started the aircraft downward. The Megafortress cleared the treetops by maybe five feet.
“Trying to break their eardrums?” Zen asked as she climbed.
“If it’ll help,” she said.
Southwestern Brunei, near the Malaysian border
1352
McKenna put the MiG-19 into a steep descent and got ready for her landing. She had to bleed off speed but keep the engine up in case she blew the approach in the unfamiliar plane; even a veteran MiG pilot could find the combination challenging on a rough field. The tiny runway came up quickly in her windscreen as she descended; she glanced at the dial tracking her engines’ rpms, making sure she had enough power to abort if necessary.
The MiG’s air speed plummeted from 325 knots to just over 200 as she dropped toward the hard-packed surface at the edge of the runway. Her flaps were open all the way and she was committed now. The craft sank abruptly, threatening to pancake. She got past it, the tail twitching slightly but her nose right, flaring up so the plane could help itself slow. But she reached prematurely for the throttle to throw it into neutral — a minor mistake in another plane, a potential catastrophe in the MiG-19 on a short runway. Cutting the speed so sharply caused the back end of the plane to slip downward abruptly once more, this time perilously close to the ground. She felt her heart thump, and then in the next instant felt something kick her from behind — her father, she thought, telling her not to be a jerk.
That was all it took. She managed to get the rear wheels down solid without scraping her butt on the runway. With her nose still up to increase drag, her speed quickly fell; when she slipped under 130 knots she dropped the front of the plane and went for the brakes and chute and brakes.
And brakes and brakes and brakes. She stopped with her nose over the end of the field.
“Never a doubt,” she said as she climbed out of the plane.
“My MiG!” exclaimed Prince bin Awg, materializing from the back of the crowd that ran out to greet her.
“She’s a beauty,” said McKenna.
“How did you rescue her?”
“She kind of called to me,” said McKenna.
The prince looked at her, then smiled. “For your bravery, you deserve a present.”
“I’ m not much for medals, Prince,” she told him. “Besides, it was mostly the Dreamland people. The terrorists made a move to the Megafortress and they decided they had to keep her on the ground. They took her rear stabilizer off and wiped out the fuel truck they’d brought in from outside the city somewhere”
“The Megafortress was destroyed?” asked the prince.
“Temporarily disabled. They blew the back section of it off. It’ll fly again someday”
“And my planes?”
“I saved this one,” said McKenna. “Best I could do.”
The prince nodded grimly, as if lamenting the passing of a dozen old comrades — which in a way he was. “You deserve a reward,” he said. “It is yours.”
“What is?”
“The MiG.”
“Really?” McKenna looked back at it. “No kidding?”
The prince looked at her solemnly. “My uncle owes you his life. I would give you twenty such planes”
“I’ll settle for this one and a new set of brakes,” said McKenna. “Mind if we get some grub? Those Dreamland people were nice, but the only thing they had to eat were MREs. One more peanut butter and jelly sandwich in a tube and my stomach would have hit the eject button.”
Brunei International Airport
1352
Sahurah watched as the men pulled the last of the metal from the wrecked hangar entrance. Two of the hangars at the prince’s side of the airport had been completely destroyed, but only the doorway to this one had been blown up. A large aircraft sat untouched a few yards away.
“It may be of use,” said Yayasan, the pilot who had deserted from the sultan’s air force. “It hasn’t been used often, but it was flown recently. The Russians called it a Tu-16. The Western nations referred to it as a Badger. This model was used for maritime patrols, and some bombing.”
“Could we use it against the sultan’s forces?” asked Sahurah.
“Certainly. There are machine-guns, those racks are there for bombs or missiles. Missiles, but we could use bombs.”
“Can you fly it?”
“I have never done so.”
“That is not my question.”
Sahurah looked into the pilot’s face, filled with fear. Sahurah knew from his own experience how difficult a foe fear was. He wished he had the ability to inspire others to face it, but realized he did not. Sahurah turned and started to walk away.
“I will try, Commander,” said the pilot behind him. “I will try.
Chapter 92
North of Meruta
1402
Dog tried the radio again, but once more all he got was static. The terrorists had stopped firing their weapons but they were still in the jungle somewhere across the road.
“I think they’ll follow us all the way to the coast,” Dog told Lang as they crouched in the weeds, catching their breath. “They’re persistent bastards.”
“No, they won’t go that far,” said the sergeant. He pointed to the south. “There’s another group coming up on our side. Look.”
Dog saw the last man in the small column as he ducked over a hilltop in the brush about a quarter of a mile away.
“Shit,” said Dog. He picked up his radio to broadcast again. “Wait,” said the sergeant. “Listen.”
Dog raised his head and heard the chopper approaching from the distance.
* * *
Sitting in the front seat of the Quick Bird as it whipped toward the area where Colonel Bastian had been located, Danny caught a glimpse of the Flighthawk darting back and forth in the sky. It looked like a crow protecting its young from a prowling cat.
“I see you, Zen,” Danny said over the Dreamland satellite circuit. “Are you in contact with them?”
“On and off. I haven’t had anything from him in the last ten minutes, but I have a rough idea of the location. The terrorists are very close by.”
He gave him GPS coordinates, and then described the spot as just west of the highway, about a hundred yards from a sharp bend.
Danny discussed it with the pilot, who thought their best bet would be to take the Quick Bird directly in while the Flighthawk laid down some covering fire near the terrorists. The pilot told Danny they could hover above the highway; if Dog came out they could pick him up, and if the bad guys came out they could fire at them themselves.
It was a risky plan, but the pilot claimed he’d done things twenty times as dangerous when he was flying with the 160th SOAR, the Army’s special operations helicopter regiment. Danny didn’t doubt that he was telling the truth.
They flew south a mile and a half, then made a wide turn on the side of the jungle where Zen thought Dog was. They dropped low and hovered over the road as the Flighthawk dipped down toward the trees, looking for something to shoot up.
“There,” said Boston. “On the left, your left, just in the ditch near the road.”
“And there,” said Danny, pointing ahead. “Terrorists at two o’clock”
* * *
Dog watched as the helicopter whipped over the road behind them and then started to turn. Before he could get up and run for it, it began firing at the row of trees to the north. The terrorists there answered, one of them firing a rocket-propelled grenade. Dog watched in horror as the grenade flew toward the cockpit of the plane and then seemed to disappear inside it. Fortunately, it had actually sailed to the side, curving like a baseball hit down the line. By the time it exploded in the jungle,
the Quick Bird had unleashed a pair of TOW missiles into the tree line.
Lang began firing his M4, and Dog whirled around just in time to see six or seven terrorists throwing themselves down about three hundred yards away to the south. He too began to fire; as he did, something darted down overhead and he heard a roar and a grating sound, the kind of thing a garbage truck might make it if digested a load of steel.
“To the road, to the road,” Lang shouted, pulling him away as another grenade flew through the air. Dog fell backward; bullets flew nearby and he seemed to be breathing dirt.
“Stay down, stay down!” Lang yelled. The Flighthawk roared right overhead, its cannon roaring.
“The helicopter,” said Dog.
Lang didn’t reply. Dog raised his head, then felt something push it down as a fresh gunfire erupted nearby. Something hot creased the back of his neck.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” yelled Lang, and Dog found himself running up onto the road. The helicopter appeared on his left, moving along slowly with its skid a foot from the ground. One of the Whiplash people, dressed in his black body armor and helmet, leaned out and started firing his gun toward the rear, while someone else leaned from the front of the cockpit. Dog threw himself toward the helicopter, grabbing for it; as he did he felt it lifting away from him. His M4 slipped away but he knew better than to fish for it; he felt himself falling to the rear and his stomach revolted for a moment. Green and black swirls passed before his eyes and his head rattled with the roar of the engine. He saw something green below his feet and realized he was not quite inside the helicopter, even though they were lifting up above the trees.
* * *
Zen saw the helicopter dart upward. Three figures were clinging to the side.
“Clear,” Zen told Breanna.
“Launching”
The bomb fell from the belly of the Megafortress, sailing on a direct, short dive to the roadway where the terrorists were emptying their assault weapons at the helicopter and Flighthawk. The helicopter managed to clear away before the weapon exploded, but Zen had doubled back to keep the terrorists interested, and the blast of the thousand-pound warhead was so immense that the small plane stuttered momentarily, tossed so severely that Zen thought he’d lose it.
“Good shot,” said Zen finally, back in full control of the plane. “How’s your fuel?” Breanna asked.
“Have to tank inside twenty minutes. How’s yours?”
“We’re fine for four or five hours. Let’s escort the helicopter back, then set up a refuel. We may have to head back to the Philippines or to one of the Malaysian airports,” she added. “I don’t know that they’re going to be able to move Indy off the end of the runway any time soon.”
“Roger that,” said Zen, sliding over the Quick Bird.
* * *
Danny pulled Colonel Bastian into the helicopter and held him as they rushed to get away. He pressed his weight down against Dog’s back as the chopper whipped over the nearby tree tops.
“We’re all right,” said the pilot as the airstrip appeared ahead, but Danny didn’t stop leaning against Dog until the helicopter’s engine had been cut, a few minutes later.
“You look like hell, Colonel,” he told him as he helped the colonel out onto the concrete.
“I feel better than I look, I think,” he said. “You okay, Tommy?”
The SF soldier started to grin — then leaned over and threw up. “My stomach feels like his,” said Dog, taking a step away. “What happened here?”
“Base was hit by a mortar attack,” said Danny. “That’s all I know. What happened to you?”
Dog recounted how they had been ambushed, and what had happened to the driver. By the time he finished, the Special Forces soldier who had stayed behind had found them. He filled them in on the casualties, which included Major Alou and Kick.
“Why the hell did they try to take off when they were under fire?” said Dog. The cuts on his face had turned deep red. “Danny? What the hell did they do that for?”
“I don’t know, Colonel,” said Danny. “Maybe they were trying to save the planes.”
“God damn it. God damn it.”
“It’s lucky for you they did,” said Danny finally.
“Losing two of my people is not lucky for me,” said the colonel angrily, stalking toward the hangar bunkers.
Chapter 93
Southwestern Brunei, near the Malaysian border
1420
Prince bin Awg waved his hand over the map as he finished his summary of the situation. All over the country, people had shaken off their initial shock and were fighting back against the madmen; there were uprisings throughout the areas held by the terrorists.
That was the good news. Here was the bad: the terrorists were slaughtering many innocents, indiscriminately killing women and children as well as legitimate combatants.
“It is a grave, grave sin and evil,” the prince told McKenna and the local commanders, whom he had gathered for a briefing. “To spare our people, the army must launch its attack against the capital as soon as possible. The sultan has ordered it.”
The army was already on the move. Two separate columns of armored cars, augmented by pickup trucks and a few private vehicles, were now within ten and fifteen miles of the capital, approaching from different roads. They were being helped by intelligence flowing in from Dreamland’s LADS system, which was fed directly through a video hookup at the sultan’s headquarters.
“Troops should reach Bandar Seri Begawan by nightfall,” said Prince bin Awg.
“By nightfall?” asked McKenna.
“The people are rising everywhere. We cannot move quickly enough.”
“Well, fuel my plane and let’s get going,” said McKenna. “We’ll fly out in support of the column, bomb whatever we see, come back, refuel, and bomb some more.”
She punched her wingman’s arm. “You too, Seyed,” she told him.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Captain Seyed.
McKenna turned to the techie who’d come in with the prince to maintain the planes. “Can we put the bullets from the Dragonfly into the MiG?”
He shook his head. The bullets were the wrong caliber and there was no way to adapt them or the gun so they could be used. “Can we put bombs on, at least?” she asked.
“Bombs, sure. You have four hardpoints.”
“Do it.”
“The MiG is not much of a bomber,” said the prince. The sight on his MiG was an afterthought, added by the Poles after the aircraft had become too antiquated even for them to use as an interceptor. Bin Awg had purchased the plane through an intermediary when the Poles surplused it after years of storage; it was likely the plane had never dropped more than a dozen bombs, and those had all undoubtedly been dummies.
“Not much of a bomber’s better than no bomber at all,” said McKenna. “Let’s load her up.”
Chapter 94
Southeastern Brunei
Exact location and time unknown
Mack felt his leg starting to go to sleep. He rose, shook it, and then walked back and forth. The man with the pistol paid no attention to him.
What would happen if he just walked away?
He had started toward the door when the man who had brought him here came in, followed by two others whom Mack had not seen before. The men started talking to the man with the pistol excitedly; they seemed to be arguing.
“Say, uh, you mind if I ask some questions?” said Mack finally.
One of the men gave him a disdainful look, then signaled for the others to go outside.
“Don’t leave on my account,” said Mack, watching them go. He sat back down.
“They’re arguing about what to do,” said one of the women near them.
“You speak English?”
One of the other women reached to stop her but she pushed away, defiant. “They said they would kill us and our children if we spoke. They’ve taken the men who were here. They arrived two days ago. They wore white uniforms
until today. Now they seem scared.”
“Where did they take the men?” asked Mack.
The woman said nothing, instead looking toward the door.
The two men Mack had seen before came in. They walked to the nearest woman, yanking her up so ferociously her baby slipped from her hands. They pushed her, not letting her bring the child.
“What the hell?” said Mack as they left. “What the hell?” The answer came a few seconds later, with the muffled crack of a pistol fired into a skull at very close range.
Chapter 95
Off the coast of Brunei
1720
Jennifer watched the display as LADS Vehicle One tracked the two ships approaching from the north. Both were Malaysian navy vessels, according to their markings and flags. The first appeared to be a Spica-M class attack craft; the computer ID was tentative but Malaysia had several, and it was of roughly the right size.
The second ship, larger and better armed than the first, was clearly the Kalsamana, an Italian-built corvette obtained only a month ago with her sister ship, the Laksamana. The Kalsamana packed Aspide anti-aircraft missiles and Otomat anti-ship missiles, along with a sixty-two-millimeter cannon and a twin forty-millimeter gun.
“Sergeant Garcia, what do you make of this?” Jennifer asked, calling Garcia over to the control station. “These are Malaysian navy ships.”
“Maybe they’re looking for those bastards we took care of the other night,” said Garcia. “They claimed they were rebels who had stolen the ship.”
“Maybe we should send the helicopter up, just to get it off the platform so we don’t call attention to ourselves,” said Jennifer.
“Let me get Sergeant Liu,” said Bison.
Liu and the helicopter pilot came down and took a look at the screen, staring at it as Jennifer explained how she had tracked the two ships.
