pain until the faint memory of falling in love lulled him to sleep.
The water was as clear as a pool. Liu moved his wrist light around, playing it in front of him as he slid downward. The large rocks at the bottom were smooth and shiny white, as if they’d been polished.
A piece of jagged metal lay on the floor of the lake to his left. He paddled to it slowly, still getting his bearings. The water wasn’t quite as cold as he’d thought it would be, but it was far from warm. The scuba gear stored on the Osprey was standard Navy gear, without the heating circuits that were part of the Dreamland equipment.
The metal twisted into a C, the curved end pointing toward a shallow ravine twenty feet away. Liu swam toward it, guided by the light from Captain Freah’s wrist as well as his own. The captain pushed ahead of him, then moved to his right. As Liu began to follow, a shadow emerged from the rocky bottom.
The baby. Not breathing.
It wasn’t the baby. Liu knew it wasn’t, but he had a hard time clearing the notion from his mind. He forced himself to look away, but the idea persisted, as if the ghost had managed to get inside his skull.
Danny Freah was waving at him. He’d found the warhead.
Liu pushed up to the surface, grateful to get away.
“Here!” he yelled to the others. “Here!”
Jennifer watched from the shoreline as the Osprey settled over the spot where Liu and Danny had surfaced. A metal chain and strap dangled from its belly; the strap would be connected to a hastily rigged harness that Danny and the sergeant had put on the warhead.
The noise from the Osprey was so loud that Jennifer almost didn’t hear Danny’s smart helmet beeping with an incoming communication. She put the helmet on, cleared the transmission, and found herself talking to Dog.
He stared at her for a moment, clearly taken off guard. Jennifer felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him — but of course she couldn’t.
“There’s a fresh wave of Chinese fighters on their way,” said Dog. “Two other aircraft as well. May be transports with paratroops; they’re a little too far away right now. What’s your situation?”
“We’ve located the warhead in the water. They’re rigging the Osprey to pull it out now.”
“How long before you get it out of there?”
“It’ll take a couple of hours at least. Safing it is an hour-long procedure.”
“Move it along as quickly as you can,” Dog said.
“Tecumseh, I know you’re mad, but I only did—”
“This isn’t the time. Bastian out.”
Nailing the Sukhois was as easy as pressing a button.
Or should have been. The targeting system was having trouble locking.
“I can’t lock number three, Brad,” said Steve Micelli, the
“Yeah, keep trying,” snapped Sparks. The pilot put his hand on the throttle glide, urging more power from the turbos.
“Targets are at 160 miles,” said the airborne radar operator, Tom “Cheech” Long.
“Yeah yeah, Cheech, I know,” said Sparks. “Come on, Stevie. Get the missiles locked and away.”
“Targeting
The Anaconda whipped away, sailing out from under the Megafortress’s nose. Two more followed in quick succession.
Then more problems.
“Lost
“Steve, I’m going to get up and slap you on the side of the head if you don’t stop screwing around,” said Sparks. “And I’m only half joking here, dude.”
“I’m trying, Brad. I’m trying.”
Sparks glanced at his sitrep plot, which showed his position and that of the other aircraft in the sky. The Sukhois were moving at him from the northwest; he was nose-on with their leader,
“Missile launch from
“Steve?”
“Yeah — got it. ECMs.”
“Stand by for evasive maneuvers.”
As soon as the Anaconda missile was under way, Sparks threw the Megafortress into a hard turn south.
“Missiles are tracking us,” said Cheech. “Must be passive homers, just like Colonel Bastian said.”
“The ol’ Dog knows his stuff,” said Sparks, starting another turn, this one to the west. “Kill ECMs.”
“Moving at 2,000 knots,” said Cheech. “Coming for us. Both of them.”
“I only want to hear good news from you, Cheech.”
Sparks had turned the aircraft around so the missiles were now following him; he hoped to outrun them. The problem was, he didn’t know if it was possible, since he had no data on the missiles’ range. They were moving roughly 33 miles a minute to his ten.
“Hey, Flighthawk leader — you staying with me or what?” Sparks asked.
“With you,” said Lieutenant Josh “Cowboy” Plank. “We running away from these assholes?”
“Bite your tongue, Cowboy,” said Sparks. “This is merely a strategic retreat.”
Unlike the
“Missile one — bull’s-eye!” said Micelli. “Nailed him! Missile two — hit.”
Sparks listened with satisfaction as the copilot tallied the score — five Sukhois down.
“What happened to
“Still there. Missile is off the screen.”
Sparks had other things to worry about at the moment — the two missiles that had been launched at him were now just thirty miles from his tail. He began a series of hard jinks, pushing the Megafortress sharply left and right in the sky, hoping the trailing missiles would have a difficult time following.
“Stinger air mines,” he told Micelli. “Get ready.”
“Ten miles,” warned Cheech.
The air mines had a very limited range, and to make it easier for his copilot, Sparks had to hold the plane as steady as possible. Unfortunately, that would also make it easy for the missiles.
“Five miles. Stinger ready.”
“Well, shoot the bastards down!”
A
Sixty seconds later he realized they’d made it.
“Missile is off the scope,” said Cheech. “Gone.”
“I shot it down! I got it!” yelled Micelli. “I got them both. Yeah!
Sparks turned the Megafortress back in the direction of the Sukhoi and the two larger aircraft. They had altered their courses slightly, but were still moving toward the area where the warhead was being recovered.
“Computer is IDing those two aircraft as Fokker F27 airliners,” said Cheech.
“Go away,” said Micelli. The encounter had given him a serious adrenaline rush, Sparks thought, as if he could fly home without the airplane.
“No shit, that’s what it says,” said Cheech. “Two Airbus airliners.”
