"You're right on beam, Colonel," said Sullivan.
"Hang tight, boys," said Dog, swinging Dreamland EB-52 Bennett onto the airstrip with a crisp turn.
Like all Megafortresses, the Bennett was named for a Medal of Honor winner — Captain Steven L. Bennett, who in 1972 had saved innumerable lives supporting Marines overrun by Viet Cong, then given his own life so his copilot/ observer would live, crash-landing his aircraft rather than ejecting when the other man's gear failed.
Dog was eligible to have a Megafortress named after him as well, but he'd already decided to do without that honor for the time being. He didn't quite feel up to the standards Captain Bennett and the others had set.
"You still have the touch, Colonel!" said Sullivan as they rolled to a stop on the far end of the concrete.
Despite the long flight, Sullivan was his usual overenthu-siastic self, bouncing in his seat as they secured the aircraft. When they were done, the copilot practically danced off the flight deck. Dog followed him down, waiting as Zen lowered himself into his wheelchair using the special lift attached to the EB-52's ladder.
Dog had debated whether to take Zen on the mission, given his recent ordeal off the coast of India. But not having him along on a mission was almost inconceivable, and Dog didn't even bother arguing when Zen volunteered.
Breanna, however, was another matter.
"Your daughter's never going to forgive you for leaving her home," Zen told him as they headed toward a pair of cars near the edge of the runway apron.
"She should blame the doctors, not me," Dog told him. "They say she needs rest."
"Hey, I'm just the messenger," said Zen. "Personally, I agree."
Two Romanian enlisted men and a major were standing in front of a boxy-looking Romanian-built Dacia near the hangar. The men snapped to attention as Dog and Zen approached. Dog gave a quick but sharp salute in return.
"You are Colonel Bastian?" asked the major.
"That's right." Dog extended his hand.
"I am General Petri's aide. I'm to take you to him immediately."
"Sounds good."
The major looked at Zen. Dog knew exactly what he was thinking: What was a man in a wheelchair doing on the mission?
"This is Major Jeff Stockard. Everyone calls him Zen," said Dog. "He's my second in command on the mission. He's in charge of the Flighthawks — the unmanned aircraft that will actually provide support."
Zen stuck out his hand. The Romanian major took it warily.
"This our ride?" Dog asked, pointing to the car.
"Yes," said the major. He glanced again at Zen.
"Don't worry about me," Zen told him. "I can just hold onto the bumper. Tell the driver to try and avoid the potholes, though, all right?"
Dog was not a tall man, buthehad agoodsix or seven inches over Romanian Air Force General Boris Petri, a gray-haired, hollow-cheeked man whose crisp uniform gave a hint of starch to the tiny office where he met the two Dreamland officers. Petri's English was serviceable, but to ensure that there were no mistakes in communication he called in one of his aides, a lieutenant whose brother was a star soccer player on the Romanian national team. The general was so proud of the connection that he mentioned it not once but twice as they waited for him to arrive. In the meantime, he offered Dog tea and brandy, sloshing them together in large cups that, to Dog's palate, held considerably more brandy than tea.
Once the lieutenant arrived, the talk turned serious, with the general briefing them not only about the guerrilla situation, but the air force in general. He seemed somewhat apologetic and defensive at the same time, noting that the Romanian air force was in the process of rebuilding itself and that it would soon be capable of defeating its enemies.
Dog slipped into diplomatic mode, assuring the general that his mission was first of all symbolic, demonstrating not the deficiencies of the Romanians but rather the country's strategic importance to Europe and the United States. Working with the Romanians would be of considerable value to the Dreamland contingent, he explained, since Dreamland's mission had recently been expanded to help in similar situations across the globe.
"It will be some time before our air force is ready to work with yours," said Petri.
"I understood there was a squadron of MiG-21s at Bacau."
"A squadron, yes." The general gave him a sad smile. "All but one of the planes is grounded because of a lack of spare parts. And there is no one there to fly the plane. The pilots have been shipped south to train on our new aircraft. Lamentably, those are not suitable for ground attack."
The new planes were four MiG-29s, front-line interceptors that could, in fact, be used in an attack role if their owner so chose. But for a variety of reasons — most especially the fact that the planes were deemed too precious to be risked in dangerous ground attacks — the MiGs were currently stationed at Borcea-Fetesti, far out of harm's way. The Romanians equipped them solely with air-to-air missiles; they had no ground attack weapons aside from iron bombs, and their pilots weren't even trained for the ground support role.
Officially, the Aviatez Militaire Romane had forty MiG-21s, older but still useful aircraft that would do reasonably well as ground support planes, at least during the day. But as Petri pointed out, only a minuscule number, less than a handful, were in any shape to fly. Romania even lacked attack helicopters; a few of its French-built Pumas had been fitted with .50 caliber machine guns that were fired from the right passenger door, but they were no substitute for actual gunships.
It didn't take a genius to realize that the country would have been much better off using the money it had spent on the MiG-29s for some lesser but more practical aircraft that could have been used in a counterinsurgency role, something like the American OA-10 Bronco, or surplus Russian Su-24s or Su-25s, all older planes that could be used for ground support. The left-over money could have been used for new parts and training for the MiGs they did have. But Dog wasn't there to offer that kind of advice, and General Petri wasn't in a position to implement it.
"You haven't finished your tea," said the translator when the general wound down his briefing.
"I'm a little tea'd out," said Dog, rising. "I'd like to arrange to meet with the commander of the ground forces as soon as possible."
"The general had hoped General Locusta would be here by now," said the translator. "Maybe within the hour. Certainly no later than dinner."
"Then with your permission, I'll get my people straightened out."
"Very good, Colonel."
Petri sprang up from his seat. "It's an honor to be working with a hero like you," he said, not bothering with his translation.
"Well, thank you," said Dog, embarrassed. "I hope I can live up to your expectations."
While Dog and Zen were meeting with the air force general, the Dreamland MC-17 arrived carrying the Whiplash ground team, the Dreamland mobile command trailer, and an Osprey. Danny Freah had already set up security perimeters and launched a pair of low-observable dirigibles as eye-in-the-sky monitors.
A second balloon system would be used to provide protection against rocket and mortar attacks: Four balloons would be lofted above the four corners of the aircraft and used to anchor an explosive net above them. The two layers of the net were meant to catch projectiles as they descended toward the aircraft, and small explosives would detonate the warheads, destroying them before they damaged the plane.