“I don’t remember giving that order. Storm has to approve all action.”
Jennifer looked up at him. “Does everyone who serves under him need orders to do the obvious?”
Eyes took a deep breath, then turned away.
*
*
*
390
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
DANNY HADN’T COUNTED ON THE WASH FROM THE WERE-wolf’s propellers. The gust pushed him down and to the side of the boat. He swung his hands madly, finally grabbing one of the skids. He thought it was too late, felt himself sailing to his right and braced himself for an unwelcome bath. But then he realized he’d managed to grab the skid of the helo.
“I hope this works,” he said to himself.
“I hope so too,” said Dancer, hearing him over the communications channel. “We’ll be right behind you.”
THE SHARK BOAT HAD A 25MM CANNON ON ITS FORWARD
deck, a devastating weapon against the two small boats, and Zen zeroed his sights into it as he made his run head-on to the bow. The gun began to fire as Zen came in, filling the air in front of him with titanium. Zen bore down, moving just fast enough to avoid the slugs. His stream of bullets blew out the gun housing just as the system began to catch up to the Flighthawk.
He took a quick shot at the sloped bridge of the Shark Boat as he passed, then started to bank, aiming to sweep around and rake the deck. But as he did, the Flighthawk yelped—the Shark Boat had launched surface-to-air missiles.
Zen dished flares and hung on, too low and slow to outrun the SAMs. He pushed the Flighthawk hard right; one of the missiles sailed past the aircraft.
Another exploded beneath his right wing.
AS THE DECK SLOWLY INCHED IN HIS DIRECTION, THE PAIN IN
Danny’s shoulders became unbearable. He felt his grip slipping.
“Hang on,” he said. “Hang on.”
“I am,” said Dancer.
He hadn’t been talking to her—or anyone—but her voice encouraged him, and there was the Shark Boat, right below him.
“Jen, I need to get down.”
“I can’t get too much lower.”
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He let go. The first thing he felt was relief in his shoulder.
Then he hit the deck hard enough to rattle his teeth.
ALI LOOKED AT THE SCREEN.
“Another mile,” he told Habib. “God will bring us victory.”
THE FLIGHTHAWK SPUN IN MIDAIR, GOING THROUGH TWO IN-verts before Zen could regain control.
Besides the other damage, the explosion had jammed the control surfaces of the wing, making it difficult to control.
The weapons system was offline, as the aircraft was limited to its infrared camera.
“Danny, I’m going to get the other Flighthawk,” Zen said.
“It’s going to take a bit.”
Danny didn’t answer. Zen explained the situation to Dog; they’d have to double back toward the coast to get into range to take control of Hawk Two.
“I think I can put Hawk One into a wide orbit over the camp area and continue feeding infrared down. It’s useless otherwise,” added Zen.
“All right. We’re changing course.”
“What’s going on with the Ark Royal?”
“I’m not sure they believe us,” said Dog. “They have two Harriers and a helicopter in the air.”
“Is that enough to stop the Shark Boat?” Zen asked.
“It’s never worked in the simulations,” said Ensign English. “If they figure out how to fire the Harpoons, that carrier’s going down. And I’ll only give them even odds against the torpedoes.”
DANNY SAW A RED OBLONG IN FRONT OF HIM—THE DOORWAY
to the ship’s interior.
He pushed forward, trying to stand and grab his MP-5 at the same time. He made it nearly to the opening before he lost his balance completely and fell to the left, sliding down and landing on his back. A shadow, two shadows, loomed out of the space. The shadows had pipes in their hands.
392
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Pirates with guns.
Danny pressed the trigger on his submachine gun. The first shadow jumped back, pulled off the side of the Shark Boat by some mysterious force. The second whirled on him, and turned from shadow to man: Danny’s bullets severed his neck.
JENNIFER PULLED THE WEREWOLF ACROSS THE LOW-SLUNG
superstructure. Green lights blinked at her—muzzle flashes. She picked the aircraft’s tail up and pressed the trigger to fire.
Nothing happened. She’d forgotten she was out of bullets.
“Son of a bitch,” she said.
The gunfire continued.
“Yeah—well, you can all go to hell,” she said, pushing the joystick to send the aircraft into the crowd of men firing at her.
THE HELICOPTER PLOWED INTO THE FORWARD SECTION OF THE
ship, exploding in a burst of flames. Ali turned away as shrapnel shattered the windscreen and the bulkhead of the bridge crumpled.
“Fire the Harpoon now!” he told Habib.
His lieutenant didn’t answer. Ali turned and found him on the deck, eyes gaping to heaven.
“God wills that I do it myself,” said Ali. “It is an honor.”
DANNY THREW HIMSELF INSIDE.
A body lay on the deck, the man he’d killed.
Someone charged from the compartment ahead of him, firing a rifle. Danny shot back, even as the bullets hit his carbon-boron vest and smacked him back against the bulkhead.
Gunfire exploded around him. He lowered his rifle, then realized the cue in his helmet’s visor indicated he was out of bullets.
He dropped the MP5 and swung up the AK47 he’d brought from the boat. After the submachine gun, the Rus-
SATAN’S TAIL
393
sian weapon felt awkward and unbalanced. But its bullets put down the two men who had been firing at him. As they fell, Danny dropped to one knee and reloaded the MP5.
Something tapped him on the head. Danny looked up to find a terrorist holding a shotgun at his visor, grinning.
The man reared back to fire—then flew backward.
“I’m sure your armor’s good,” said Dancer behind him.
“But I thought it better not to find out if it was that good.”
ABU WAVERED ON THE BICYCLE. HE LOOKED BACK AT HIS FAther doubtfully.
“You can do it,” Ali told him. They were living in Naples, and it was a windless, perfect day. He held the boy gently.
“You can. Go.”
The seven-year-old hesitated, but then started to pedal.
“Go,” said Ali.
Quivering, Abu pedaled, his pushes becoming stronger and stronger.
Ali removed his hand and watched his son ride the bicycle on his own. Abu glanced back. His confusion turned into a smile.
The happiest day of my life.
Ali pushed the memory away, pushed everything away.
The cursor was locked on the aircraft. He pressed the button, then pressed the function key to lock the second missile.
The dashboard exploded. He pressed the button to fire anyway. Someone yelled, and he heard his son calling to him, singing his name, welcoming him with great joy to Paradise.
“I’m coming, Abu,” he said, rising from the console. “I am here. The glory of God is everlasting.”
And then he slumped to the floor, killed by a bullet to the brain.
“HARPOON IS AWAY,” DISH TOLD DOG.
“Zen, can you get it?” said Dog.
“I’m not close enough.”
394
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
“All right. Hang with me,” said Dog, throwing the Megafortress into a hard turn back to the north. The big aircraft groaned as somewhere over eight g’s pounded her body. Dog felt the bladders in his pressure suit pressing at him; the world narrowed against the sides of his head, black unconsciousness threatening as gravity tried to extract her pound of flesh.
The Harpoon flew a bit over 500 miles an hour. The Megafortress could do close to 600, and he had several thousand feet of altitude he could use to his advantage. But the aircraft carrier was only ten miles away.
“I need an intercept angle on that Harpoon,” Dog told McNamara. “And we need it real fast.”