League, perhaps fomenting revolutions in Egypt and Saudi Arabia, or at least intimidating their government sufficiently to get them to join the Iranians.
Damn unlikely.
Maybe not. Impossible for him to know. In any event, what happened in the wider world was largely irrelevant; what happened to him was what mattered.
Knife pulled his arms around his knees, digging the chain into the flesh. It made no sense to think about things he couldn’t control. But what else was there to think about?
Dreamland. The JSF. His career. Breanna Stockard. Zen.
Poor dumb Zen. Crippled.
Maybe Stockard hadn’t screwed up. Maybe he had been a good enough pilot, and just been nailed by bad luck.
Like Mack.
Was it just luck, though? He’d never put much stock in luck, preferring to trust ability and effort. What a shock now to find they might not matter at all.
“You should rest, Major,” said the Imam. “You and I have a long journey ahead.”
Startled, Knife jerked around. The Iranian had come into the tent without his guards. He’d moved so silently he seemed almost to have materialized there.
“We will be leaving at dusk,” said the Iranian. His hands were folded in front of him; it was possible, probable, that he had his pistol in his sleeve, but it was not visible. In fact, he gave the impression not merely of being unarmed, but of being far removed from any conflict – far removed from here, as if he were in a mosque, preparing to pray or more like to preach.
“How did it feel?” Smith asked.
The Imam’s eyes gave nothing away, yet he obviously knew that Mack was talking about shooting Jackson, for he answered. “Within Allah’s grasp, all is justified.”
“How do you know you’re in his grasp?”
“I know,” said the Iranian confidently.
“Why him and not me?” Mack asked.
“Your role has been ordained.” The Imam nodded, as if he had actually answered the question. He gazed at Mack as if he were a penitent seeking guidance. “You should not question fate. You must learn to accept it.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You are feeling guilty that your soldier died. But he would have died eventually.”
“I’m not feeling guilty about anything.”
“When you can say that truthfully, you will be at peace,” said the Imam. He nodded again. “I pray the day will come.”
Mack felt a surge of anger, but something seemed to hold him in place, fatigue or perhaps something else. He wanted to ask how a murderer could have the gall to cite God as his justification, to pretend to be holy and wise. But he stayed fixed in place, unable to move.
“Submit yourself to your fate, and to the will of Allah,” said the Imam. “Then you will find peace.”
He stepped backward, leaving the tent.
Dreamland
23 October, 0800 local
As reamings went, it was first class. Four general tag-teamed Bastian during the conference call, chewing him out relentlessly for sending the Megafortress to Africa.
And all he could say in his defense was – a second was on the way, with even more untested top-secret weaponry and a civilian scientist aboard.
Magnus especially was angry. “I spoke to you less than twenty-four hours ago,” said the general who’d earlier congratulated him for his JSF report. Though influential, he was actually the junior member of the chew-out team. “You sure as hell could have given me a heads-up.”
“I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“You, Colonel, should not think,” Magnus snapped.
Bastian was being treated as if he were a green-grilled tadpole airman, not the commander of the country’s most advanced weapons-testing facility. He bridled, but he kept his cool, holding his tongue as the generals continued to berate him. Because he knew – and they knew – that in the end, he’d been right. The Megafortress had made it possible for the downed F-117 to be destroyed. And, according to preliminary intelligence, Whiplash had just barely missed snatching the pilots back – again, thanks largely to the Megafortress. One major Somalian base had been smashed, two Iranian MiGs had been shot down, and two others apparently forced to ditch. The Iranian plan for a pan-Islamic rebellion against the West was falling apart, largely because he’d decided to send an ‘experimental’ aircraft as a transport.
Well, more or less.
“The bottom line here, gentleman,” said Ms. O’Day, finally rejoining the conference call after the others had vented for nearly twenty minutes, “is that we have a continuing situation. Colonel Bastian has helped us considerably. You and I may not approve of what he has done – and undoubtedly we may consider sanctions in the future. But at the moment, well, let’s make some lemonade here. His aircraft and personnel are under operational control of the Madcap Magician commander. I believe that’s where they should stay – with the local commanders, who are in the best position to know what they need to get the job done. Now if you want to reverse that, it’s possible. I will carry the recommendation personally to the President. I won’t support it, but I will relay it.”
“We can relay it ourselves,” snapped General Gold, the Air Force Chief of Staff.
“Your call, Martin,” said O’Day.
Dog wished the conference call had been made via video. He’d give anything to see his bosses fuming at O’Day.
On the other hand, they might see him gloating. And that would be fatal. Assuming he wasn’t already cooked.
“I don’t think we should reverse it,” said Magnus. “Frankly, between you, me, and the lamppost, Tecumseh, I would have done the same thing.”
“Then you’d be out of line,” snapped General Alcane.
“In line, out of line, the bottom line is results. We’ve got them,” said Magnus. “What we need now is for Madcap Magician to pull the pilots out. if that takes Megafortresses and robot planes, I’m all for it.
“What we need now it to nuke Iran,” said Alcane.
“If that’s your recommendation, I’m sure the President will want to hear it personally,” said O’Day coolly.
“Gentlemen, Ms. O’Day, there’s no need to discuss this further with Colonel Bastian,” said Gold. “Colonel, you have a difficult assignment at Dreamland. You’re trying your best and doing better than expected, but I realize that you may be slightly in over your head.”
“I hope not,” said Bastian.
“Brad Elliott is still well thought of around here,” continued Gold. “And he supports you.” Gold laughed. “Hell, he thinks you should have sent more. But – and this is an important but – we have a chain of command that must be followed. Granted, your situation is special. But from this moment on, you are to report directly to General Magnus. That pertains to everything – testing, operations, budget, latrines. Keep him informed. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” said Dog. Before he could say anything else, his end of call was shut down.
“How’d you do?” asked Ax, barging in a millisecond after Bastian hung up.
“Well, I got my head chewed off and threatened with unspecified sanctions. Then about twelve layers of bureaucracy above us were cut away, and the only general in the Air Force who thinks I’m worth anything was just made my boss. The Chief even said I was doing a good job.”
“Not bad,” said Sergeant Gibbs. “You’re learning. Keep going and in a couple of weeks you may be ready to take over for me when I go on vacation.”
Ethiopia
23 October, 1820 local
They used an old SAC trick to help Raven get airborne with a full load of fuel, firing the Flighthawks in sequence with the main engines, as if the U/MFs were rocket-assist packs. They then refilled the Flighthawks’ fuel
