“I hate sending people into war,” continued the President.
“Because basically I’m sending them to die. It’s my job. I understand it. But after a while … after a while it all begins to weigh on you …”
His voice trailed off. Jed had never seen the President this contemplative, and didn’t know what to say.
“We’re going to recover the warheads,” Martindale said finally.
He turned, walked across the office to the credenza that stood opposite his desk, and paused, gazing down at a bust of Jefferson.
“Some people call Dreamland my own private air force and army. Have you heard that, Jed?”
Having heard that said many times, Jed hesitated.
“You can be honest,” added Martindale. “That’s what I value about you, Jed. You’re not involved in the political games.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dreamland is too important a command to be run by a lieutenant colonel. The Joint Chiefs want it folded back into the regular command structure. And I have to say, they make good arguments.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re going to appoint a general to take over. A two-star general for now—Major General Samson. He has an impec-cable record. An enviable one.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s your opinion of that?”
“I think whatever you want to do, sir—”
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“I haven’t used it as my private army, have I?”
“No, Mr. President, absolutely not.”
“This has nothing to do with you, Jed,” added the President.
“Or with Colonel Bastian, for that matter. I still have the highest regard for him. I want him involved in the warhead recovery. Him and his people—they’ll work with the Marines.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But it makes more sense—this whole mission has shown the real potential. We can double, maybe triple their effectiveness.” Martindale looked at Jed. “General Samson will handle informing the Dreamland people. Understood?”
“I shouldn’t tell them?”
“The news should come from the general, and the joint chiefs. That’s the way I want it. We’re following the chain of command. Dreamland is not my private army.”
The joint chiefs—and especially the head of the joint chiefs, Admiral Balboa—had been fighting to get Dreamland back under their full control since early in Martindale’s administration. With the end of Martindale’s term looming—and the very real possibility that he would lose the election—the chiefs had won the battle. It certainly did make sense that Dreamland, as a military unit, should answer directly up the chain of command, rather than directly to the President through the NSC.
In theory, Jed realized, he was losing some of his prestige.
But he knew he’d never been more than a political buffer.
Part of the reason the President and the National Security Advisor used him as a liaison, after all, was the fact that he was young and had no political power base of his own.
“I’ll do whatever job you want me to, sir,” he said.
“Good. You have a bright future. Let’s get through this crisis, get these warheads, and then maybe we’ll have a chance to sit down and see how best you can serve your country.”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
The President went back to his desk.
“You can go now, young Jed. Forward these reports to Admiral Balboa, with copies to Admiral Woods on the Lin-
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RETRIBUTION
coln. Make sure he has everything he needs. Dreamland is working with the Marines, under Woods. We’ll follow the chain of command.”
“Yes, sir.”
Aboard the Bennett,
over the northern Arabian Sea
2100
STEVEN L. BENNETT WAS A CAPTAIN IN THE U.S. AIR FORCE, assigned to the Twentieth Tactical Air Support Squadron, Pacific Air Forces, during the Vietnam War era. After completing B-52 training in 1970, Captain Bennett went about as far from strategic bombers as you could in the Air Force at the time—he trained to become a forward air controller, calling bombs in rather than dropping them, and flying in an airplane designed to skim treetops rather than the strato-sphere.
By June 1972, Bennett was piloting an OV-10 Bronco, an excellent combat observation aircraft with only one serious flaw—it was almost impossible to crash-land successfully.
The forward section of the two-seater would generally implode, killing the pilot, though the backseater could get out with minor injuries. Pilots quickly learned that it didn’t make sense to try and ditch an OV-10; “hitting the silk,” as the old-timers used to call ejecting, was the only way to survive.
On June 29, 1972, Bennett flew what was known as an artillery adjustment mission over Quang Tri Province in South Vietnam. His observer was a Marine Corps captain named Mike Brown. The two men pulled a three-hour sortie and were about to head home to Da Nang when they learned that their replacement was running behind schedule. Going home would leave ground troops without anyone to call on if they got in trouble.
Captain Bennett checked his fuel and decided to stay on station until the relief plane could get up. A short time later 70
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
South Vietnamese troops in the area called in for assistance; they were taking fire from a much larger North Vietnamese unit and were about to be overrun.
Bennett and Brown called for a tactical air strike, but no attack aircraft were available. They then requested that Navy guns bombard the attackers, but the proximity of the South Vietnamese to their northern enemies made that impossible.
So Bennett decided to do the job himself, rolling in on several hundred NVA soldiers with just the four 7.62mm machine guns in his Bronco’s nose. After the fourth pass, he had them on the run. He came down again to give them another snoutful, but this time his aircraft was hit—a SAM-7 shoulder-launched heat seeker took out his left engine. His plane caught fire.
Bennett headed out over the nearby ocean to jettison his fuel and the highly flammable rockets used for marking targets. As he did so, an escort aircraft caught up with him and advised him that the fire started by the missile was now so severe that his plane looked like it would explode any minute. Bennett ordered Brown to get ready to eject; they’d punch out over the water and be picked up by one of the Navy ships or a friendly helicopter.
Brown agreed. But then he saw that his parachute had been torn by shrapnel from the missile that struck the plane.
Not a problem, said Bennett, whose own parachute was in perfect condition. Get ready to ditch.
And so they did. The OV-10 cartwheeled when she hit the water, and then sank. If Bennett was still alive after the crash, his cockpit was too mangled for him to escape as the plane went under the waves. Captain Brown, fortunately, managed to push his way out and was picked up by a rescue chopper a short time later.
For his selfless devotion to duty and his determination to save another man’s life even at the cost of his own, Captain Steven L. Bennett was awarded the Medal of Honor posthu-mously. It was presented by then Vice President Gerald R. Ford to Bennett’s widow and daughter two years after his death.
* * *
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RETRIBUTION
STEVEN BENNETT’S NAMESAKE, DREAMLAND EB-52 MEGA-fortress Bennett, had begun life as a B-52D. And, in fact, the aircraft had actually served in the same war as Captain Bennett, dropping bombs on North Vietnam during two different deployments. It remained in active service until 1982, when it was mothballed and put in storage. And there it remained until the spring of 1996, when it was taken from its desert storage area, gutted, and rebuilt as a Megafortress. The changes were many. Its wings and tail section were completely replaced, new engines and electrical controls were installed, a radar “bulge” was installed in a spine above the wing roots, and provision was made for the EB-52 to carry and launch robot aircraft. Much of the new gear was simply unimaginable when the B-52 was first built.