by Dale Brown
“I can’t hold all three,” Zen told them. “Maybe two. Come here. On my lap.”
Julian began to cry as Voda helped him on. Zen wrapped his arm around him.
“Mrs. Voda. Come on.”
Mircea hobbled closer. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“When I press this button, the engines will activate, and we’ll go up. These skeleton pieces along my arm will help hold your weight. I have only one clasp on the harness set here, so we’ll secure you and hold your son between us.”
The dogs were barking.
“They’re coming,” said Mircea. She turned away from Zen, but he grabbed her, pulling a belt around her and locking it onto the strap on his chest.
“This isn’t going to take long. I want you to hold on tight,” he told them. “Very tight. Mr. President, it’s going to take me ten minutes to get there, and maybe ten back. Will you be OK?”
“Yes.”
“Stay on that line.”
Zen snapped the helmet back into place. He attached some wires to the base, then held both hands out and started the jet pack. The sound was like a loud vacuum cleaner. As Voda watched, Zen began to rise. Mircea seemed stuck for a moment, but then she too rose, clinging to his arms. Julian was tight between them.
And then they were gone.
Presidential villa,
near Stulpicani, Romania
0142
“THEY’VE JUST HEARD SOME SORT OF NOISE!” SHOUTED the major. “It’s the far side of the hill. They’re going down.”
About time, thought Locusta. But he only nodded and took out his satellite phone. The Russian had driven a hard bargain.
“This is General Locusta,” he told the air force officer who answered his call. “I need a no-fly zone across my entire army corps area. That includes all planes, military and civilian.”
“The Americans too?”
“Everyone,” he said. “Tell them we are at a delicate stage. Tell them we want them to return to their bases. I’ve spoken to their general, but he is a pigheaded idiot. Complain to the ambassador. Do whatever you must.”
He killed the transmission without waiting for a response. The Americans undoubtedly would ignore this latest order, but they would pay heavily for it.
Near Stulpicani, Romania
0143
ZEN FELT THE BOY SLIPPING AS SOON AS HE CLEARED THE first set of trees. He couldn’t grab him because of the wing assembly, and instead tried to push in his stomach toward him. But that started to pitch him forward.
“Hold on, hold on,” he said, though he knew the kid couldn’t hear. Mircea pushed tighter, gripping the boy, but even so, Zen felt Julian’s weight slipping.
The road was on his left, two or three hundred yards away. Zen turned toward it, then realized he wasn’t going to make it.
Where was the cutout from the gravel pit?
To his right?
The kid clawed at him. There wasn’t any time—Zen pushed right. The clearing appeared just a few yards away. He leaned forward, gliding to it, then backing off on the power. As he did, Julian slid between his mother and Zen, who cut his power abruptly. All three of them fell together, until at the last second, Zen jerked the engines back to life, preventing another hard landing.
“Let’s try again,” he yelled, adjusting the thrust from the engine so his feet were hovering just above the ground. “Mrs. Voda, loosen the strap at my arms and string your son through it.”
Mircea didn’t move.
“Come on now. I have to go back and pick up your husband. Go!”
She still didn’t move. Zen started to undo the strap that held her to him, then saw Julian stumbling toward him.
“Come on, Julian,” he said. “We have to move so we can help your dad.”
The strap, custom-designed to fit Zen’s body, didn’t have any play in it. The only other thing he could use was the belt that strapped his lower body to the MESSKIT. Loosening it meant he wouldn’t have as much control over the device, but there was no way the kid was going to be able to hold on.
Zen slid his hand out from the wing assembly and helped Julian climb up between him and his mother, then undid the lower torso strap and threaded it around the boy’s arms, pulling it so tight that it must have hurt, though Julian didn’t react. Then Zen hooked it around his chest strap in a knot.
“Hang on,” he said, and they started upward once more.
Dreamland Command
1543 (0143 Romania)
MACK PACED IN FRONT OF THE BIG DISPLAY SCREEN. HIS stomach was rumbling and he had a headache. Every time he scratched the side of his head, more hairs fell out. And he swore he saw hives on the back on his hand.
This behind-the-scenes crap was hell on the nerves. Much better to be on the front line actually doing something instead of pacing back and forth and disintegrating miles from the action.
“Jennifer Gleason for you, Major Smith,” said the communications officer.
“There we go.” Mack punched in the line. “Got it?”
“I do. It wasn’t as easy as Ray thought. First I had to code—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. What do we do?”
Near Stulpicani, Romania
0145
AS SOON AS HIS WIFE AND SON ROSE INTO THE SKY, VODA remembered that he hadn’t kissed them good-bye. He’d never been an overly sentimental man, but he cursed himself as he started down the slope. He might very well never see them again.
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 him—he 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 fled—or 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
STARSHIP 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 C3 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.
&nb
sp; 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)
“THE 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 Samson—no wait. Let me talk to Dog.”
Aboard EB-52 Bennett,
over northeastern Romania
0200
MACK SMITH’S FACE SNAPPED INTO DOG’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 operator, 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 time…sixteen! And they are coming at us like wolves at a pig roast!”
Near Stulpicani, Romania
0205
ZEN 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
VODA 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
“THEY THINK THEY HEAR HIM,” MAJOR OZERA TOLD LOCUSTA. “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 Samson—”
“I don’t have time for them. Tell them they are to return to Iasi. Things are critical.”
Near Stulpicani, Romania
0206
DANNY FREAH WATCHED ZEN DESCEND. THE LANDING wasn’t the most elegant he’d ever seen—Zen came down too fast before cutting his power, and the trio collapsed forward like mail sacks thrown from the back of a truck—but 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
EVEN FOR A PAIR OF MEGAFORTRESSES AND TWO B-1B/LS, 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.”
