"They'll hear me over the rotors?"
"Yes. We've used it for rescues and crowd control. It's very loud. Wait until the flares get their attention. At the first sign of trouble, we're out of here. So hold on."
Voda took the microphone as the Osprey sped toward the post.
Maybe Captain Danny Freah was right; maybe he was being foolish. Maybe he should just go on to Bucharest, make his speeches to the TV. It would be the prudent thing to do.
But what good would the speeches be if the people weren't behind him? And if he couldn't persuade two dozen soldiers to help him keep Romania free — well then, he had failed as president, hadn't he?
An illumination flare turned the night white. Two or three of the men pointed their weapons at the black aircraft as it hovered close, but no one fired.
"Open the door," he told the sergeant standing near it.
"Shit," said Danny.
But he nodded, and the door was opened. Voda looked down at the men. "I need to be lower." The captain shook his head. "Lower!" yelled Voda.
The microphone caught his voice, and it echoed through the cabin. The Osprey settled a little closer to the ground, close enough, at least, for Voda to see that the soldiers were kids: eighteen, nineteen. To them, the dictator was just some story their parents told when they were bored. They didn't know what it was like to be the slaves of a dictator.
Or free men, for that matter.
"Gentlemen of the army," began Voda, his voice shaky. "This is President Voda. I wish to thank you for your role in helping save me today. Our democracy has passed a great test, thanks to your help. Romania remains free! Romania for the people!"
The soldiers didn't react. Voda felt a moment of doubt. Then he leaned out the door.
"Thank you, Romania!" he yelled into his microphone. "We remain a free people, with a great future!"
The soldiers began to cheer. Voda waved so hard one of the Americans had to grab him to keep him from falling out.
"To Bucharest," he told Danny Freah.
"Damn good idea," said Danny. He waved toward the front. The door was closed and the Osprey wheeled back into full flight.
"Hey, Mr. President," said Zen Stockard, sitting across from him. "Whose fancy car is that?"
Voda crossed to the other side of the Osprey and looked out. It was a black Mercedes S series sedan with flags — one Romanian and the other…
The other bore the insignia of the Romanian army.
Locusta's car.
"I want that son of a bitch arrested!" he yelled. "Get him, now! Kill him if you have to."
"Now there's an order we can all live with," said Zen.
Locusta heard the aircraft but was confused.It couldn't be his helicopter — they were still several miles from headquarters.
A black beast swerved in front of the car. His driver hit the breaks. It was the Dreamland Osprey. What the hell were they doing?
Samson had ordered him to follow the Romanian president's orders. Still, Danny Freah didn't feel entirely comfortable shooting up the car.
"Get him to stop," he told the pilots. "Fly in front of him, train the guns on him. Then we'll have him surrender."
The Osprey pitched around, settling in front of the vehicle. Voda was on the loudspeaker, talking to Locusta.
"General Locusta," he said in Romanian, "I order you to place yourself under arrest. You are to come with these soldiers. No harm will come to you, unless you try to escape."
"Tell him to stop the vehicle," said Danny.
"General, stop the car," said Voda.
The Osprey was moving backward, its chin guns pointed at the Mercedes. Instead of slowing, the car picked up speed.
"Can he hear me?" Voda asked.
"Yeah, he can hear you. He's just being stubborn. I'm going to mash up his front end and take out his engine. The car is armored, but that's not going to be much of a problem."
"Do it."
"Yeah."
A second after Danny gave the order, the pilot began firing his chin cannon. The Mercedes veered to the side of the road.
Inside the car, General Locusta threw his arms forward, bracing himself as it skidded off the road.
How could this possibly be happening? How had Voda managed to escape — and not only escape, but come for him?
The Americans. Dreamland. The bastards. He'd kill as many of them as he could before they killed him.
He threw open the door and raised his gun.
Danny sprung from the side door of the Osprey, Sergeants Liu and Boston right behind him. The rear passenger side door of the car opened and a man leaped to the ground, rolled over, and came up firing a 9mm pistol.
The first two or three bullets flew wildly to the side.
Then one struck Danny in the chest, right above the heart.
His bulletproof vest saved him, deflecting the bullet's energy.
A second later Danny threw himself in the air. He couldn't fly without the MESSKIT, but flying wasn't what he had in mind. He came down on top of Locusta, who dropped the pistol under the force of the blow.
Two punches and it was all over. Locusta, stunned, lay limp on the ground, alive, breathing, but undoubtedly a condemned man.
His driver came out of the car with his hands high.
"You're under arrest by the authority of the president of Romania," said Danny.
"Under the authority of the people of Romania," said President Voda, picking up Locusta's gun from the ground. He hobbled forward, favoring his injured leg. "It's the people who have sovereignty in a democracy, isn't it, Captain?"
VIII
For Freedom
The evening before the Dreamland team returned home from their deployment, the president of Romania hosted a special reception for them. When he first heard of the plan, General Samson began to fret — because of the rush, he hadn't packed his Class A uniform, bringing only his battle fatigues and flight suits.
In another command the mistake might very well have been fatal. But when you headed Dreamland, people expected you to be a little different. Samson, though perhaps still not entirely comfortable, realized he was beginning to adjust.
President Voda didn't seem to care how the Dreamland people were dressed. He was back in control of his country, with the northern army corps dispersed and the units under all new command. General Locusta was in prison, as were his co-conspirators.
The guerrillas had stopped their attacks, though no one was sure whether they were simply biding their time or if the movement had collapsed, as Sorina Viorica had predicted.
The Russians, while not acknowledging that they had tried to attack the pipeline, had announced that they were appointing a new ambassador to Romania and overhauling the embassy personnel. More significantly, they had lowered the price of the natural gas they supplied to Europe.
President Martindale had personally telephoned Samson to tell him about the Russians.
"I'm surprised you went to Romania yourself, General," he said. "I thought your priority was at Dreamland."
"My priority is my people, Mr. President. And my mission."
"I'm glad you did," said Martindale. "You need a sense of what's going on. I like that sort of initiative."
So did Samson. The mission had shown him exactly how much there was to a Dreamland Whiplash deployment, how much it depended on the proper mix of technology and old-fashioned warrior spirit. It had also convinced him that while he still had trouble stomaching Tecumseh "Dog" Bastian at times, the lieutenant colonel deserved every accolade he'd ever received, and then some.