Retribution

“We’ve brought the warheads back to the Poughkeepsie,” Danny told him. “Base Camp One has been evacuated. We have no further information on the last warhead; it just wasn’t there.”

“I understand.”

“The prisoner we took insists they didn’t recover the warhead before we got there. Maybe the Pakistanis were there yesterday or the day before.”

“It’s possible. Dreamland Command is already working on some theories with the CIA,” said Dog. “It’s all right. You did a hell of a job. A hell of a job. Where’s Sergeant Liu and the others?”

“They’re getting some rest.”

“We have to arrange for them to go back to Dreamland,” Dog told him. “General Samson wants to talk to them personally, before anyone else.”

“Samson?”

Dog explained that Samson had taken over as the new commander of Dreamland.

“Admiral Woods directed that they be taken over to the Lincoln.”

“Samson wants them himself.”

“It was an accident, Colonel.”

“I know that. Samson does too.”

“OK.”

Neither man spoke for a moment.

“We’ve found Zen and Breanna,” said Dog finally.

“You found them!” Danny practically yelled.

Colonel Bastian’s voice remained drained as he told Danny what had happened — once more the calm, understated commander.

“Jesus, that’s great, Colonel. That is damn great. Damn great.”

“It is,” said Dog.

For a moment Danny thought his commander’s voice was going to break. But it didn’t.

“All right,” said Dog, preparing to sign off.

“Colonel, there’s something else,” said Danny.

He told the colonel about seeing the airplane wreckage as the Osprey headed out to sea. The plane, he said, had almost certainly been a civilian aircraft.

“The Osprey pilot had the Lincoln call in a location with the Indian authorities. It was a pretty severe crash; I doubt there were any survivors.”

“I see.”

“The Navy people are investigating. It’s possible one of the Tomcats fired at it, but they think the Indians accidentally shot it down.”

He gave Dog the approximate location.

“Things were pretty heavy up there,” Danny added. “All sorts of stuff was in the air.”

“Thanks for the information,” said Dog. “We’ll make arrangements to get you to Diego Garcia as soon as possible. Bastian out.”

Diego Garcia

1502

Dog rocked his shoulders back and forth as he walked down the ladder from the MC-17, fatigue riding heavy on each one. He’d managed to talk to one of the doctors on the Lincoln and found out that Jennifer was all right; the doctors believed she’d keep her lower leg, though her knee would have to be reconstructed.

Maybe now he’d be able to keep up with her when they went jogging, he thought.

Breanna and Zen were aboard the Abner Read, very dehydrated. Breanna had a broken leg, badly bruised ribs, and a concussion — but she was alive, damn it, alive, and that was more than he’d hoped for, much more.

“There you are, Bastian! It’s about time.”

A large black man stepped from the passenger side of a black Jimmy SUV. It was General Samson.

“General, what brings you out to Diego Garcia?”

“I’m taking charge of this operation personally, Bastian. You’re headed home.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Dog, struggling to keep his anger in check. “Because we’re done. All of the warheads, save one, were recovered. My people have been picked up.”

Clearly flustered, Samson shook his head.

“I’m going to turn in,” said Dog. “I don’t need a lift. Thanks.”

“Listen to me, Bastian. I know you think you’re untouchable, but that’s about to change. Your men created an international incident—”

“Which men?” demanded Dog, facing the general. “What incident?”

The general and the colonel stood facing each other on the concrete, both with their hands on their hips. Samson was several inches taller than Dog, and wider. More important, he outranked the lieutenant colonel by a country mile. But they were evenly matched where it counted — in their anger and distaste for each other.

“Your Whiplash people, on the ground, shooting up that house. The UN got ahold of that. I’ve just been on the phone with our ambassador.”

“Those people were trying to deliver a baby and save the mother’s life,” Dog said. “You know that.”

“Whether I know it or not isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Dog turned and started away, but his anger got the better of him. He pitched around. “You have a lot to learn if you think any man or woman who works for me, who works for Dreamland, anybody in this command, would kill innocent people deliberately. That’s just total bullshit. And if you’re going to lead these people, you better stand up for them, loud and clear, right now. Loud and clear.”

“Go to bed, Bastian.” Samson jabbed his finger in Dog’s direction. “Get the hell out of my sight.”

“Gladly.”

* * *

Starship ran his fingers across the top of his skull. His hair, normally cut tight to his scalp, was nearly two inches high. It felt like a thick brush.

“So what do you think, Starship,” asked Sullivan, the copilot of the Bennett, “are you with us or against us?”

“I don’t know how far you can really push this,” said Starship.

“Man, Englehardt almost got us killed. All of us. Including you. You were in the belly of the plane, you know. Not out there with the Flighthawks.”

Starship looked across the cafeteria table at Rager and Daly, the other members of the Bennett crew. He didn’t know them very well, nor did he really know Sullivan, except to occasionally shoot pool with on a night off.

“I mean, basically, you guys want to call the guy a coward,” Starship told them finally. “I don’t know. I’m not saying he made all the right decisions, but who does? And we had orders—”

“First order is not to get shot down,” said Sullivan. “He ran away from every battle, he didn’t want to use his weapons—”

“He used them,” said Starship. “Listen, you guys haven’t been in combat before. I’ll tell you, you just don’t know how some people are going to react. Bottom line is, he got us home. Flying that plane on two engines—”

“I had something to do with that,” said Sullivan.

“So you do agree, he wasn’t aggressive enough,” said Rager.

Starship shrugged. It was a tough call. There was no doubt Englehardt’s decisions could be questioned, but he’d been in a no-win situation. Starship knew from his own experience how hard it was to make the right call all the time, and how easy it was to be second-or even third-guessed.

“Look, we were hundreds of miles inside hostile territory, or what turned out to be hostile territory,” he said. “Give the guy a break, huh?”

“He’s against us,” said Sullivan, standing. “Thanks, Starship.”

The others rose.

“This isn’t an us versus them,” said Starship.