The Romanian ground controller called for a reconnaissance flight over a nearby village. Zen located it on the Megafortress's ground radar plot. A cluster of suburban-type houses sat south of the main road, the center of town marked by a fire station and a small park. He wheeled the Flighthawk overhead, low and slow. The houses, built of prefab concrete panels, looked like the condo development he lived in back home.
They made him think of Breanna. He shut down that part of his mind and became a machine, focused on his job.
Switching on his mike, Zen described what he saw, four-sided roofs atop sugar-cube houses aligned in eight L's around the crest of a hill. He described two cars he saw moving into the complex, the row of parked compacts at the far end of the lot. He saw two people moving on the lawn below the easternmost house: kids kicking a soccer ball around.
"Very much detail," replied the ground controller. "Thanks," he said. "Next."
Up on the Megafortress's flight deck, Dog turned the controls over to his copilot and got up to stretch. In remaking the plane so that it had a sleek nose rather than the blunt chin the B-52 had been born with, the flight deck had been extended nearly twenty feet. Calling it spacious would have been an exaggeration, but the crews had considerably more elbow room than in the original.
Dog walked to the small galley behind the two radar operators, poured himself a coffee from the zero-gravity coffeemaker — one of the Dreamland engineers' most cherished and appreciated inventions — then took a seat next to the ground radar operator to see what things looked like from his perspective.
"Place looks pretty peaceful," Spiff told him. "You sure they have a revolution going on here?"
"Don't let that fool you," replied Dog.
"No, I won't, Colonel. But we could be looking at the Vegas suburbs here. Minus the traffic. Kind of makes you wonder why these people want to fight."
Dog went across the aisle to check on Rager, who was monitoring airborne traffic around them. The rebels weren't known to have aircraft; Dog's main concern was that a civilian plane might blunder into their path inadvertently. The commercial flight paths to and from Iasi lay to the north and east of where they were operating.
"Here's something interesting on the long-range scan," said Rager, flipping his screen display to show Dog. "These two bad boys just came into the edge of our coverage area."
Two yellow triangles appeared in the lower left-hand corner of the screen. Rager hit another switch, and the ghost of a ground map appeared under the display, showing that the planes were south of Odessa over the Black Sea, 273 miles away.
"Just sitting there," said Rager. "Doing a racetrack pattern."
"Ukrainian?"
"No. Russian. Computer, ID contacts Alpha Gamma six-eight and Alpha Gamma six-nine."
Small boxes appeared next to the yellow triangles; they looked like dialogue balloons in a comic strip.
MIG-29
RS
ARM—4AA11, 2AA10
The computer's tags identified the aircraft as Russian MiGs carrying four heat-seeking AA-11 Archer or R-27R missiles and two radar-guided AA-10 Alamo or R-27R missiles.
"Russian air defense," said Rager. "I think they're shadowing us."
"Long way from home."
"Yeah."
"You sure they're watching for us? They're pretty far away."
"True. But if I wanted to sit in a spot where I thought I couldn't be seen, that's where I'd be, just at the edge of our coverage. They may not think we can see them," Rager added. "Two hundred and fifty miles is the limit of their AWACS ships."
"Do they have one out there?"
"Can't tell, but I suspect it. Maybe another hundred miles back. This way, if we come in their direction, it sees us and vectors them toward us."
"Keep track of them."
"Not a problem, Colonel."
Dog went back to his seat. If Rager's theory was correct, the Russians must have been alerted to the Megafortress's flight by a spy at Iasi.
"Ground team's done, Colonel," said Sullivan as he strapped himself back into his seat.
"All right, folks. We're going to knock off," said Colonel Bastian. "Danny, job well done. We'll talk to you in the morning."
"Thanks, Colonel. Groundhog out."
"Set a course for Iasi, Colonel?" asked Sullivan.
"No. Let's do a couple more circuits here. Then I want to break the pattern with a dash east."
"The MiGs?"
"Let's see how they react," said Dog.
Dog told Zen what was going on, then prepared to make his move. He waited until they were coming south, then jammed the thrusters to full military power and turned the plane's nose hard to the east, heading toward the Black Sea. Given their position and the circumstances, it was far from an aggressive move — but the MiGs reacted as soon as they were within 250 miles.
"Turning east," said Rager. "One other contact — Tupolev Tu-135—I see what's going on now, Colonel."
"Where are the planes?" asked Dog. Rager's theories could wait.
"They're all turning."
Dog flicked the long-range radar feed onto his display. The Russian planes were definitely reacting to him; all three contacts had headed east.
"The Tupolev is tracking our radar transmissions," said Rager. "That's how they know where we are."
The Tu-135—a Russian aircraft similar in some ways to a 727—was outfitted with antennae that detected radar waves at long range. It could detect the Megafortress a few miles beyond the EB-52's radar track because of the way the waves scattered at the extreme edge of their range. There wasn't much that could be done about it, aside from turning off the radar.
"All right," said Dog. He put the plane into a casual turn back toward Iasi, as if they hadn't seen the Russians at all. "Now that we know the neighbors are Peeping Toms, there's no sense calling them on it. Let's get back to the barn for the night."
General Locusta opened the folder and began running his finger down the list of regimental and battalion commanders and subcommanders, mentally checking off each man he thought he could count on once he made his move. His division commanders had already been taken care of, with promises and bribes. But in some ways these men were even more crucial — they were closer to the troops, and would be directly responsible for acting when he gave the word. All but a few owed their present positions to him, but he knew that was no guarantee they would fall into line. It was important that the groundwork be properly laid.
Tonight he would make three calls, all to men whom he didn't know very well. In each case he would have another reason for calling — something he hoped would cement the commander's loyalty.
Locusta picked up the phone and dialed the commander of his Second Armored Regiment, Colonel Tarus Arcos. He caught the colonel eating dinner.
"I hope I didn't disturb you," Locusta said.
"Not at all, General," lied the colonel. "How can I help?"
"I wanted to update you on your request for new vehicles. I have been arguing with Bucharest, and believe we have won, at least the first round."
"That is good news."
Locusta continued in this vein for a while, taking the opportunity to badmouth the government. Then he asked about the colonel's mother, a pensioner in Oradea.
"Still sick, I'm afraid," said the colonel. "The cancer is progressing."
Locusta knew this; one of his aides had checked on her that very afternoon. Still, he pretended to be surprised— and then acted as if an idea had just popped into his head.
"I wonder if my own physicians at Bucharest might be able to help her," he said, as innocently as he could manage. "They are among the best in the country."