The system had never been used in the field before, and though its chief engineer had come along to oversee its deployment, the Whiplashers were having trouble setting it up. The wind proved stronger and more complicated than the computer model could handle, and even the scientist had taken to cursing at the screen.
"We'll get it, Colonel," he said, without looking up. "Growing pains."
Dog smiled and gave him a pat on the back. Dreamland had gained quite a reputation for coming up with cutting edge technology, but in the colonel's opinion, its real ability was dealing with growing pains. That was what Dreamland was all about — taking things from the laboratory and putting them in the field, where the real tests took place. An old saying held that no battle plan survived first contact with the enemy; the words were doubly true when it came to technology.
A convoy of four Land Rovers and a black Mercedes with flags flying from its bumpers approached the security zone around the Megafortresses. Two Whiplash troopers, dressed in full battle gear, stopped the lead truck; within seconds, Danny's radio was squawking.
"A General Locusta wants to visit," Danny told Dog. "His people are kind of pissed that we won't let them through."
"Let's go make nice," said Dog, heading toward the stopped convoy.
General Tomma Locusta fumed as he sat in the rear of his Mercedes staff car. It was bad enough that he had to accept assistance from the U.S. Air Force, but now the arrogant bastards were preventing him from moving freely on a Romanian base.
An American officer appeared at the window, dressed in a pilot's flight suit.
"Lower the window," Locusta told his driver.
"General Locusta? I'm Lieutenant Colonel Tecumseh Bas-tian," said the man, bending toward him. "A lot of people call me Dog. I'm in charge of the people here."
"No, Colonel," replied Locusta. "You are in charge of the Americans here. Not the Romanians."
Dog smiled, leaning his hands on the car. "Yes, sir. That's true. I understand we're going to be working with you."
"You're going to be working for me," said Locusta. "To provide support."
"We'll do whatever we can. I wonder if you'd like to huddle for a few minutes and start making some arrangements?" "What's the word, 'huddle'?"
"Excuse me, General. Your English is so good I just forgot for a minute that you weren't a native speaker. I meant, should we sit down somewhere and talk about the arrangements for our working together? And if you're available, I'd like to introduce you to some of my people, and show you some of the hardware."
Locusta realized the American was trying to be nice to him, but it was too late as far as he was concerned. To a man, the Americans were arrogant blowhards who acted as if everything they touched turned to gold.
"My headquarters right now is just being set up. It's rather sparse," added Dog, who gestured toward a small trailer next to a hangar. "But it would give us a place to talk out of the cold."
"Let's go," said Locusta.
"Sir, the one thing I'd ask is that your people stay with you if they're inside our protective corridor. A lot of the security is automated and I don't want any accidents."
"Then see that there are no accidents," said Locusta, rapping the seat back to tell his driver to move on.
Dog turned and looked at Danny, rolling his eyes. Zen, sitting behind them, barely suppressed his laughter.
"Guess we got off on the wrong foot, huh, Dog?" said Zen as they started toward the trailer.
"Ah, he's probably not that bad," replied Dog.
"No worse than Samson."
Dog ignored the comment. "We are guests in his country," he said. "If the tables were turned, we'd probably be a little prickly."
"You're bucking for the diplomatic corps," said Zen. Dog laughed. "Maybe I am."
"He's just trying to prove he doesn't have a problem with all generals," said Danny.
"Samson's your boss now, Danny. And yours too, Zen," said Dog. While he didn't like Samson, the hint of disrespect in their voices bothered him. "You better remember that."
"I understand chain of command," said Danny. "I have no problem with that."
"It's generals I don't like," said Zen.
"Then you better not become one," snapped Dog.
He was still irritated when he reached the trailer. General Locusta stood there impatiently, waiting with a dozen aides. The entire contingent started to follow him up the steps.
"The thing is, General, I'm not sure everybody is going to fit inside," said Dog when he realized what was happening. "I'd suggest that maybe you choose—"
"My aides will stay with me."
"Yes, sir."
Not counting the communications specialist in the back compartment, twelve people could fit in the trailer, but it was a squeeze. Sixteen was uncomfortably tight. Locusta had twenty men with him.
Worse, the trailer had only recently been powered up— which meant the environmental system hadn't finished heating it. This wasn't a problem at first, since the body heat from the crowd quickly raised the temperature. But then the system had to switch into cooling mode. It couldn't react fast enough, and the small space overheated.
Dog tried to ignore the rising temperature. He concentrated on the paper map the general's aides had spread on the table. It showed the mountains and valley farm area to the south where the guerrillas had been operating. Filled with small agricultural communities, the area had been mostly peaceful since the end of World War II.
"Here is the pipeline," said General Locusta, taking over the briefing. "The network runs through here, along this valley, then to the west. It must be protected at all costs. We have forward camps here, here, and here."
Locusta jabbed his finger at a succession of small red squares.
"These mountains here, 130 kilometers from the border— south of Bacau, where our main base is — that is where we have had the most trouble."
"Where was the pipeline attacked the other day?" asked Danny.
"Here, west of Braila, south of Route 25."
"That's pretty far from where you say the guerillas have been operating."
"I considered complaining to them," said the general sarcastically.
The general's brusque manner softened, but only slightly, as Danny explained how his ground team would train soldiers to act as forward air controllers, working with the Megafor-tress and Flighthawk crews. The Romanians, he said, would be in charge; the Dreamland people would work alongside them, taking the same risks.
When the general's aides began making suggestions about how and where the training should be conducted, Dog noticed the corners of Locusta's mouth sagging into a bored frown.
"General, why don't you and I inspect some of the aircraft that will be available to support you?" he suggested. "We can let these men sort out the other issues and arrangements."
"All right," said Locusta, even though his frown deepened.
Locusta's apprehension grew as the American colonel showed off the Megafortress and its robot planes, the Flighthawks. He'd known the technology would be impressive, of course, but when he was shown a computer demonstration tape from an earlier mission, he was amazed by the ability of the radar to find ground forces and by the robot planes that would attack them. A Megafortress and two Flighthawks could do the work of an entire squadron of fighters.
They were potent weapons, and could certainly help him fight the guerrillas. But they could also upset his plans to take over the country if he wasn't careful.
"General, I'm looking forward to a strong working relationship," Dog told him as they walked back to his car. Lo-custa's aides were already waiting.
"Yes," said Locusta. "Just remember, Colonel — you are here to assist us. Not take over."