Armageddon (34 page)

Water rushed all around. He spit and coughed as he worked himself up the log toward the stream’s bank. He kicked against something solid; thinking he could stand he tried to get his feet under him, only to lose his balance and nearly his grip on the log.

When Mack finally got to the side, he crawled up over a small, narrow bed of sand into the bushes. There, exhausted, he lost consciousness.

Dreamland command trailer, Malaysian air base
1220

Zen had just finished showing Starship how to work the communications board in the command trailer when Danny checked in from the platform.

“We have movement at the airport near the Megafortress,” said Danny. “I’m going to knock it out of action with the helicopters as planned. We’re just about to board the choppers.”

“Okay, do it.”

Danny hesitated a moment. “I have this other proposal—request, really. From the Brunei air force. They want to liberate one of their planes.”

“At the airport?”

“There’s apparently a section owned by a prince that has older aircraft, which could be used.”

“We’re talking about Prince bin Awg?”

“Yeah. We’ve examined the airport with the LADS blimps. There are no forces in that section, and we can cut off their access pretty easily once we disable the Megafortress”

“I’d say go for it. Just don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“Yeah. Dog’s not around?”

“Went to pay a courtesy call on the locals. He’s due back any minute. I’ll have him get a hold of you when he’s back if you want.”

“All right. I’m going to move ahead”

“I’ll have him get in touch, one way or another,” said Zen.

A peal of thunder rumbled in the distance as Zen signed off. Zen looked over at Starship, who glanced toward the nearby window. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

A second clap came so close that the trailer vibrated up and down.

“Was that thunder?” asked Starship.

The door to the trailer jerked open. “Incoming!” yelled Major Merce Alou. “We’re being shelled!”

“Shit. The planes,” said Zen, wheeling back. “We have to get the Megafortresses up. They’re sitting ducks.”

“Right,” shouted Alou, disappearing back outside.

“We’ll never get off the ground,” said Breanna.

“We have to,” said Zen, pushing his wheelchair for the door.

Off the coast of Brunei
1228

Jennifer took over the LADS system for Sergeant Liu as he left to join the assault team. Jennifer made sure the feed for the airport was directly available to Danny’s team via the Dreamland network, then began switching through the others. The images were also being monitored back at Dreamland. The command center there was also receiving some of the operating data from the blimps, but could not control them unless the takeover command was specifically ordered from the field terminal. The satellite link used up a large portion of the available bandwidth, and was somewhat kludgy; it was generally considered easier to operate them directly from the field.

It had been a while since Jennifer had spoken to Dog, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to check in with him at the Malaysian base under the guise of seeing if the two additional LADS blimps had arrived there yet.

“Dreamland command trailer, this is Whiplash base,” she said. “Looking for an update on the new units. What’s their situation?”

There was no answer. Jennifer glanced at the communications board, making sure that she had it set properly.

“Dreamland command trailer—are you receiving me?” she asked.

“We’re under attack,” blurted Starship over the radio. “We’re taking mortar fire.”

“Mortar fire, copy,” she said. “Do you need assistance?”

There was no answer. Jennifer looked at the screen showing where the LADS units were located; the nearest blimp was monitoring the Brunei-Malaysian border about a hundred and seventy-five miles away from them—much too far to see them.

“Do you need assistance?” she asked again, but there was still no answer.

“Dreamland command, this is Whiplash base,” said Jennifer, switching over to the direct channel back home. “The team with the Megafortresses in Malaysia is under fire.”

“Copy. We’re working on getting some local support,” responded Major Catsman, who was on duty in the center.

“Okay,” said Jennifer, her voice so soft it was nearly a whisper.

What could she do? Sending one of the LADS units there seemed like a futile gesture; even at maximum speed it would take the blimp close to four hours to arrive.

But she had to do something. She selected the control screen for unit eight and cursored into the target area, setting the course. Then she enabled the unit’s auto-pilot; the blimp would fly its course on its own without needing to be checked, and then politely buzz its minders when it was within ten minutes of its destination.

“Whiplash Leader, are you hearing me?” she asked Danny.

“Roger base. We have the Megafortress in sight on the ground at Brunei International Airport. We’re preparing to disable it via TOW missiles.”

“Dreamland team is under fire at their site,” she told him.

Danny didn’t respond. Jennifer suddenly felt foolish for giving him the useless information; all she was doing was sharing her anxiety.

“I’m sending a blimp for observation,” she added. “They’ve called local support”

“Understood,” said Danny finally. “Keep me informed.”

“Roger that.”

Malaysian air base
1232

Zen cursed the wheelchair, cursed the Brunei kingdom, cursed the Malaysians, cursed the Islamic madmen, and cursed his no-good legs as he pushed himself along the cement as fast as he could go toward the EB-52, determined to help get it in the air. The short field—and certainly the situation—demanded that the Flighthawks be used as boosters, helping the plane rocket off the runway.

The ground shook as a shell landed about a hundred yards away.

Shit, he thought to himself. This is crazy. But he pushed harder, determined to get the big planes off the ground.

And then launch the Flighthawks to pound the daylights out of whoever was firing at them.

Zen felt the veins in his face and chest straining as he wheeled onto the roadway. A geyser burst somewhere behind him, close enough to throw dust against the back of his head.

Something grabbed the back of his wheelchair and he felt himself jetting forward.

“Hey, Major, figured you wouldn’t mind a push,” yelled Starship in his ear.

“I’m in
Penn,”
shouted Zen. “See if you can get into
Indy.
They need the assist off the Flighthawks.”

“Yes, sir.”

If Starship thought it was crazy to try and take off under such circumstances, he kept his opinion to himself. Zen twisted around. “Where’s Kick?”

“I think he’s already aboard with Major Alou, there,” shouted Starship.

Another shell landed, this one in the jungle to the left. The Air Force Special Tactics people started yelling as they hustled to the aircraft. Zen couldn’t hear what they were saying though it wasn’t particularly hard to guess.

“You can let go,” Zen told Starship as Penn’s engines kicked to life. “I’ll take it from here”

“Talk to you upstairs,” said the lieutenant, giving him a push and then hustling for
Indy,
whose engines also wound into action.

Zen had to twist the wheelchair around and back into the ladder, which had a special clamp for his chair. He hooked the metal into the side, then looked down to make sure the wheels were locked. Set, he arched his back and shoved hard, as if trying to pop a wheelie. The abrupt pressure activated a micro-switch, which turned the ladder into a primitive elevator, hoisting Zen up. As he lifted up, yet another shell landed, this one on the runway; the wheelchair abruptly stopped, sagging against the metal pipe that held it.

“Come on, damn it,” cursed Zen. He leaned backward, trying to see how far he was from the hold. Just as he had concluded he was going to have to twist around and drag himself up the stinking ladder and into the ship, the chairlift caught again and he moved up into the hold.

Hell of a time to be a cripple, he thought.

BREANNA BROUGHT ALL FOUR ENGINES UP IN QUICK succession. The screens flew by on the glass cockpit wall, the indicators flashing green as the computer ran through its system checks. She’d grabbed a helmet from the rack at the back of the flightdeck, and pulled it on, connecting into the communications system. But she hadn’t had time for the rest of the flight gear.

“Override checklist,” she told the computer.

The screen beeped at her, telling her the override was not allowed.

“Override, authorization BreeOne”

“OVERRIDDEN!” flashed on the screen.

“Who’s with me?” she said over the com system.

“You and me, kid,” said Zen from below. “I need power to the Flighthawks if you want to get out of here.”

“Take too long,” she said. “I’ll jettison them and run down to the other end of the field.”

“All I need is sixty seconds,” said Zen. “And you’ll have enough thrust to take off from here.”

A shell landed close enough to rock the plane. “Do it in thirty,” she said, pounding the command sequence on the screen that authorized the Flighthawks’ engine ignition while they were still on the wings.

“I’m on it.”

STARSHIP FOUND KICK ALREADY RUNNING THROUGH THE Flighthawk checklists with the computer when he reached his station.

“Hey!” he yelled, sliding into his seat.

“Hey,” said Kick. “Major Alou wants a quick start—he’s got the engines up. Flighthawks are cycling.”

“Yeah, no shit,” said Starship.

“We have to give him a thirty-second burn on his signal,” said Kick. “Zen says just ramp it up and hold on. As long as we go together, we’ll get up in a shot.”

“Zen would know,” said Starship.

The airplane bucked as something landed nearby.

Hope we get the hell out here quick, Starship thought.

“Yeah, me, too,” said Kick over the interphone.

North of Meruta, Malaysia
1232

DOG COULD SEE THE THREE MEN WHO HAD THEM PINNED down. They formed a semicircle in the jungle; they’d crossed the road and moved in about ten yards.

“We pick the weak link on one of the flanks, and take him out,” said Lang. He’d torn a piece of his uniform off and tied it around his leg, which had been cut pretty badly.

“What if they have other people on the flank, watching their backs?” asked Dog.

“We deal with that when it happens.” Lang winced as he shifted his weight. “Can you do this?”

“Yeah, I can do it.”

The sergeant handed him one of the M4s.

“You better show me how to get it to fire,” said Dog. “I couldn’t before.”

Lang took the gun back and slid his thumb against the selector on the side above the trigger area. The weapon had been safed. As he watched him Dog realized he hadn’t even thought of checking.

“Brace yourself as best you can when you fire. You get three shot bursts,” said Lang, handing the weapon back. “You’ll probably tend to fire too high. Keep that in mind”

“I will.”

“We’re going to go after the guy on this side,” said the sergeant, gesturing to the left, “because if we get past him, we’re clear back to the village.”

“Okay,” said Dog. “Hold on a second, Sergeant,” he added as the soldier started to the left.

Lang gave him an intense stare.

“I’m sorry, but I forgot your first name”

“Tommy,” said the sergeant, scowling.

“Sorry I forgot. I’m Dog.”

“Yeah, I know, Colonel. Let’s do it, okay?”

Brunei International Airport
1232

Danny leaned forward in his seat in the helicopter as they settled into a hover a little less than a thousand yards from the Megafortress. The terrorists who had driven the tanker in from the city got out of the cab.

“They’re going to shoot at us,” he said calmly as the pilot stabilized the aircraft.

“Firing,” said the pilot.

A TOW missile leapt from the side of the small chopper. The six-inch warhead hit the right stabilizer at the rear of the aircraft, carrying through the structure and exploding next to the left fin. A second missile, fired at the rear section of the plane, struck a few seconds later, obliterating the back portion of the aircraft.

“All right,” yelled Danny. “Phase two, phase two.”

The helicopter whipped to the side, spinning back around over the civilian terminal. The other helicopter had already started in toward bin Awg’s three hangars. The video feed from the LADS that showed there were no terrorists nearby but Danny wouldn’t trust it; the helicopters did a quick circuit to make sure the ground was clear before depositing the Whiplash team on the ground.

“McKenna, you got twenty minutes,” Danny said over the com circuit. “If you can get that plane launched by then, it’s yours”

“I only need fifteen,” she shot back.

Malaysian air base
1238

Breanna brought the EB-52’s engines to full military power, the thrust rippling through the muscles of the big jet as it was held in place by its brakes.

“Ready?” she asked Zen.

“Ignition in three,” he said.

They counted down together. At two, Breanna slapped off the brakes and the big jet leapt forward, propelled by nearly a quarter of a million pounds of thrust from its four P&W engines. A second later the Flighthawks added their thrust. Within a blink the plane’s speed passed a hundred miles an hour. Bree started back on the stick and the aircraft rushed upward, springing off the pavement as if its landing gear were pogo sticks.

A black streak flew across the right side of her windscreen; by the time Breanna realized it was a mortar shell she was far beyond it. The impact of the explosion was lost in the turbulence behind the aircraft; if it affected the plane at all the computer controls compensated without Breanna noticing. She held the Megafortress steady as the plane rose over the runway and out of danger.