first breath he’d ever taken at sea. He turned his head upward, and in the last half-second of his life saw the approaching shell descending toward his vessel’s hull.
They didn’t have time to finesse this approach. The Osprey banked low and slow. Danny jumped, so anxious he didn’t tuck his legs right before hitting the water. He shook off the shock and, without bothering to check for Bison, began stroking toward the raft, which bobbed about thirty yards away.
There were explosions nearby. The Chinese were firing, but not in his direction. They weren’t interested in the raft, or the Osprey.
When he was five yards from the raft, it ducked downward as if pulled toward the depths. Danny took a breath and prepared to dive after it, then saw it bob back up with Bison at its side. With one hard overhand stroke he reached it, grabbing the side with both hand and pulling his body over it.
“Dead,” Bison told him.
“Shit,” said Danny.
“Dolk,” added Bison, turning the prostrate body over. “I don’t see any wounds. Might’ve been internal injuries. Hey—” A plastic container slipped to the bottom of the raft; it was attached via a chain to Torbin’s wrist.
“Those are discs from the mission,” said Danny. “Security protocol is to take ’em out if you go. He did his job to the end.”
He saw Dolk’s radio near the dead man’s foot.
The Osprey was approaching, its hoist line draping into the water.
“Sucks,” said Bison, fitting a life preserver around the dead man’s torso.
“Yeah,” said Danny. “Big-time.”
Zen listened to the Osprey pilot calling off the Hornets, telling them the Chinese were not going after their people. Anger seized him, surging over his shoulders like a physical thing, a bear gripping its thick paws into his flesh and howling in his ear. The Chinese hadn’t just shot down Breanna; they had made her unfaithful.
He hated them. He’d kill everyone of them. he could order the Hornets in, claim he saw guns being trained on the Osprey or the people in the water. The F/A-18’s would sink the Chinese ships.
Maybe, in the confusion, Breanna herself would die.
He didn’t wish for that; he couldn’t wish for that, but he could accept it, willingly. His anger that great. Uncontrollable, unending rage.
“Dreamland B05 to Hornet Strike Leader,” he said, punching the talk button and transmitting on the strike frequency. “Confirming what you’ve heard. Chinese are not firing on our people. Repeat, Chinese are
The Hornets acknowledged. Zen took a deep breath.
“All right,” he told Major Alou. “We still have one crew member MIA. I’m going to set up for a fresh search pattern.”
Chapter 8
Into the future
Chen Lo Fann’s tea had turned slightly bitter, but he savored it anyway. his mission, while not quite an unqualified success, had cost the Communists one of their prized possessions. At the same time, he had gathered considerable information about their other capabilities, and, incidentally, gained information about the Americans as well. A successful mission indeed.
More importantly, it appeared he had not been detected. The Americans and the Chinese knew the spy ships were ROC vessels, and it was probably the Americans suspected the atoll spy stations had belonged to him, not the Communists, but there was no evidence to show he had assisted the Indians.
While the diplomats had succeeded in imposing a cease-fire, the enmity between the two South Asia powers still simmered. His hope of drawing the Americans into a war had been too ambitious — but that element had not been part of his original plan anyway. the Dragon had proven itself in flight and had, it seemed, gone undetected.
Objectively, a successful mission; but would his government see it that way?
Chen Lo Fann took a long sip of his tea. In some ways, he regretted he had not had the chance to use the robot plane to attack the Communists. Perhaps fate would provide an opportunity in the future.
Lao Tze had written it was wise to retire when the task was done. But the way was a subtle way, a myriad winding of various wills. Chen Lo Fann recognized this; it was how he, a man of action, could accept the passivity implicit in the Tao. For now he would retire, deal with his government and its requirements. Fortune would once more present itself, if he were patient.
Surely, he could.
Dog was on the stairs again in the Metro, back in his dreams, looking for his daughter. Zen was there, and by some miracle, he could use his legs. But he acted oddly, sulking behind Dog as he trotted up the steps, angry about something he wouldn’t share.
Breanna was just beyond the next turn, Dog thought. And yet she wasn’t. he pushed up the steps faster, worried about her, fearing he’d never get to her.
She was safe now, his conscious mind blurted, trying to break into the imaginary world. There was no need for him to be haunted by this nightmare.
“I’m not going any further,” said Zen behind him.
Somehow, in the dream Dog managed to keep jogging up the steps and yet turn around and yell to his son- in-law at the same time. “Don’t give up,” he heard himself say. “Let’s go. Don’t give up.”
“Sir?”
Dog jerked awake and found himself staring into the face of the C-26’s copilot. The lieutenant stood in the aisle of the transport with a quizzical look.
“Sir, Admiral Woods wants to speak with you,” said the copilot. “You said if there was anything important, to wake you up.”
“Yes, of course.”
Dog rubbed his eyes and forehead, shaking off the dream.
“So you hit a home run,” said Woods as Dog plugged his headset into the panel next to his seat. The light, dual-engined utility aircraft had Dreamland-issue communications gear, allowing secure transmissions via satellite like any other member of the Dreamland fleet.
“Admiral?”
“The Pentagon and the White House are singing your praises, Tecumseh. Admiral Allen told me a little while ago he’s convinced you averted a world war. Not to mention helped get the results on a top-secret Indian weapon and flush out a Chinese submarine no one had seen in the ocean before. Admiral Allen almost sounded like he wanted to have you come over to our side.”
“I
“I meant, join the Navy.”
Dog, who’d known very well what he meant, smiled to himself and leaned back in the seat. Colonel Bastian didn’t like Woods, and thought more than ever that he was a jerk. But his animosity toward Woods had dissipated. Maybe that was because, as Woods put it, Dreamland had hit a home run.
Or more likely, losing several of his best men in the interests of preventing a world war had left him with
