DOWNSTAIRS ON THE FLIGHTHAWK CONTROL DECK, STARSHIP
watched Commander Delaford completing the diagnostic series on the sentry buoy. The first buoy they had dropped was basically an automated listening post, transmitting the same data sets as the Piranha probe. It sank itself twelve feet below the surface, using a thin filament antenna to send its data. Shaped more like a tangled ball of yarn, the antenna sent its signals through the Dreamland dedicated satellite system at regular intervals; it could also be tapped directly 94
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
by the Megafortresses. The signal could be detected, which was one of its few disadvantages, but none of the countries in the region were believed to have equipment sophisticated enough to do so.
“We’re two miles south of Barim Island,” said Delaford.
“Looking good.”
“Guidance buoy is in the water,” reported Spiderman over the Megafortress’s interphone, or intercom system. The buoy was used to control Piranha from the Megafortress; it had to be roughly fifty miles from the probe and no more than fifty from the aircraft.
“Roger that, thank you,” said Delaford.
Starship shifted around in his seat, trying to get comfortable. For the time being, his job was to back Delaford up, continuing to learn how to operate Piranha. They’d run the simulations on the flight over, and except for the fact that the Megafortress was moving, he couldn’t have told the difference.
“Initiating equipment calibration,” said Delaford. “Bree, we’re going to need you to stay close to the buoy until we’re ready.”
“Roger that,” said the Megafortress pilot. “Be advised we now have two aircraft ID’d as Sudanese F-7Ms that are on an intercept. They’ll be in our face in about two minutes.”
“I need five,” said Delaford.
“Acknowledged,” said Breanna. “You’ll have them.”
Aboard the Abner Read , Gulf of Aden
6 November 1997
2115
“LOOKS DEAD IN THE WATER, CAP,” SAID COMMANDER MAR-cum, handing back the starlight binoculars. “No sign of the pirates around anywhere.”
SATAN’S TAIL
95
Storm took the glasses but didn’t answer. The Abner Read had a pair of small decks that could be folded out of the superstructure on either side of the bridge—almost literally flying bridges, which were generally kept inside to prevent disturbing the radar profile. They were small and narrow, and weren’t high enough to afford much of a view—one of the drawbacks of the ship’s stealthy design.
“There’s only one way to find out what’s going on over there. We have to board her,” said Marcum.
Storm scanned the vessel one more time from bow to stern. The ship had clearly been fired on; there were cannon holes in the superstructure and the bridge appeared to have been gutted.
“I volunteer to lead the boarding party,” said Marcum.
“Only way we’re going to find out, Storm. The only way.”
“There’s no question we have to board the ship. But you can’t go.”
“I’d like to. You would if you were me.”
“No I wouldn’t,” said Storm. He shrugged, because it was an obvious lie. “Send Gordie to lead the team.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Marcum.
Aboard Baker-Baker Two , over the Gulf of Aden
2116
“SUDANESE F-7MS ON A DIRECT INTERCEPT, AT OUR ALTItude,” said Spiderman. “Twenty miles and closing. What do you think, Captain?”
“I think they’re going to run out of fuel halfway home,”
said Bree. “Obviously someone told them we were here. The other Megafortress is well south.”
The EB-52 design was not as stealthy as the F-117 or B-2, but it nonetheless presented a small radar profile to conventional radars such as those used by the F-7M.
96
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Opening the bomb bay doors increased it exponentially, but still, the F-7Ms had help from somewhere.
“About sixty seconds to intercept,” Spiderman said.
“Should I hail them?”
“No. They want to play chicken. Be ready with the ECMs and Stinger just in case.”
She altered her course slightly and rearranged her orbit so the Megafortress’s tail was in their face as they approached.
This wasn’t meant just as an insult: She wanted the Stinger defensive weapon ready in case the other pilots did something stupid.
“Going over our wings,” said Spiderman. His voice had gone up two octaves. “Ten seconds.”
“Boys will be boys,” said Breanna. She flicked on the interphone, talking to the rest of the crew. “Preparing evasive maneuvers. Check your restraints, and please keep your hands in the car at all times.”
“Twenty feet over us, both of them.”
“Assholes,” said Bree, pushing her stick to increase the separation.
Aboard the Wisconsin , over the Gulf of Aden
2119
“WE’RE OVER YOU, BAKER-BAKER,” SAID DOG. “HAWK ONE
has the MiGs in sight. No weapons radar at this point.”
“Affirmative. I think they just want to play tag.”
“Any hostile acts?” he asked.
“Negative, unless you want to call aggressive stupidity hostile.”
“Depends on the circumstances,” said Dog.
“Question in my mind is who told them we’re out here,”
said Breanna. “They had to be vectored toward us from a good distance away. They’re breaking off.”
SATAN’S TAIL
97
They were—and headed toward the Wisconsin.
“I’m on them, Colonel,” said Zen, flying the Flighthawk.
“Looks like they want to check us out. No missiles.”
The Sudanese aircraft were roughly ten miles away from the Wisconsin, which was now a few miles north of Baker-Baker. Zen flew the Flighthawk between a mile and two miles behind them; it was probable that they couldn’t even see him.
“Coming at you,” said Zen.
“Let them come,” said Dog. “Just keep an eye on them.”
The air surveillance radar on Dog’s plane showed the Sudanese aircraft nearly merging as they approached. Close encounters at high speed were always reckless, but in this case the Sudanese pilots were being particularly foolish. Not only was it dark, but they had no way of knowing what the Megafortress was or would do. It was a large aircraft, one they’d surely never encountered before. That demanded caution, not hotdogging—and these bozos looked like they were going to knock each other out of the sky the way they were going.
He spun the Megafortress through its orbit as the planes passed. They rounded south and headed back toward land.
“All right, looks like they’re heading home,” said Breanna. “I have a mind to go and spank them.”
“Are you sure they’re from Sudan?” asked Dog.
“We’ll keep tabs on them and see. As I was saying, I still wonder who told them we were out here. I wonder if somebody at Khamis Mushait tipped them off.”
“Very possibly.” Dog checked his position. “Baker-Baker, I’d like to resume our patrol south closer to Somalia, get some idea of the area.”
“Go for it. We can take it from here.”
“Roger that.”
He tacked south and then eastward, riding over the gulf toward the coast. When they were about thirty miles from land, he banked gently and began running parallel to Soma-
98
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
lia, gradually fine-tuning his position until he was about fifteen miles from the craggy shore. The African continent lay roughly thirty thousand feet below, part of the dull blackness out the copilot’s side window. Zen’s Flighthawk slipped along below them at 2,500 feet, providing a close-up view of the shoreline and nearby ship traffic. The night seemed quiet, with a few empty tankers heading toward the Persian Gulf and a cluster of fishing boats tied up near a settlement on the shore.