Dreamland: Revolution Part 69

VODA HUGGED HIS WIFE AND JULIAN. BOTH WERE SOBBING. Someone had thrown a blanket over him; someone else handed him a plastic packet that produced heat when he grabbed it. The Osprey circled westward, climbing away from the gunfire.

He knew this was far from over. He had to pull himself up, ignore the smell of vomit on his clothes, ignore the throbbing pain in his leg, and regain control of his country. Now that his family was safe, his duty was clearly to Romania.

"I love you, Julian," he told his son, kissing his head. "And you, Mircea."

They grabbed him, but he pushed them away, rising to his feet.

"I need a phone," he told the Americans. "I need some way of communicating with my people."

ZEN SAT ON THE FABRIC BENCH ACROSS FROM THE ROMANIAN president, nursing a cup of coffee as Voda got to his feet. In barely the blink of an eye Voda seemed to have changed. He no longer had the look of a hunted animal. There was something deeper in his eye, something determined.

"You can talk to anyone you want," said Danny Freah, handing the president a headset. He showed him how it worked. "You're on a special line. Mack Smith will make the connections back at Dreamland."

"Good," said Voda. "We begin by calling the television stations, to let them know I am alive."

Voda looked out the window. He could tell from the moon and the highway they pa.s.sed that they were heading south. He turned to Danny.

"Is it possible to go over the troops that have surrounded my house?"

"I don't think so."

"Can you get a loudspeaker?"

"The Osprey is equipped with one but-"

"They have to be told that I'm alive. I want to see what their reaction is. Are they for me? Or against me? Are they for a free Romania, or a captive one?"

"No way, sir. I just can't go along with it. They have antiair guns in some spots on the road. Even for us-"

"I believe the soldiers will drop their arms when they hear me. And if not," added Voda, "then I need to know what I'm up against."

"Yeah, but we're not committing suicide."

"If you're just looking to test the reactions," said Zen, "maybe we can overfly some troop trucks farther along in the valley."

"Troops on the outskirts of the action will be acceptable," said Voda.

Danny shook his head. "No way."

"Are you here to help me?" Voda asked sharply. "Or am I your prisoner?"

"You're not my prisoner," said Danny. "But I'm not going to let you do anything dumb."

"Who are you to judge me? You're a captain. I am a president."

"There's plenty of troops stopped along the highway, Danny," said Zen. "We can just pick some away from the antiair guns. It won't be too much of a risk."

"I'll give the order to the pilot myself," said Voda, starting forward shakily.

"Zen, this is nuts," said Danny, leaning down toward him.

"Hey, if the army's not going to back him, he's screwed anyway. He might as well find out now."

"He's already screwed. They were trying to kill him on the hill. This is going to get us shot down."

"Not if we pick the right place."

"No way." Danny straightened.

"I can pull rank," said Zen.

"I'm calling Samson."

"That's an option."

Danny pulled on his headset. Zen reached for his.

Aboard Dreamland B-1B/L Boomer,

over northeastern Romania

0155.

TERRILL "EARTHMOVER" SAMSON HAD FLOWN B-1BS FOR a long time, but he'd never flown one like he flew Boomer. He'd never flown any plane like he flew Boomer-throttle mashed against the last stop on the a.s.sembly, wings pinned back so far against the fuselage the plane's sides were groaning.

The speedo bolted past Mach 2, but Samson wanted more. He needed more-the MiG was still three miles out of range.

But it was slowing-popping up.

To make its bombing run.

"You ready over there, Stockard?" he barked.

"I need two and half more miles," she answered. "And, General, we're too low. We have to be above him."

"The h.e.l.l with that, Stockard. You're firing upside down. Ready, Stockard?"

"I'm ready."

Samson held the control stick tightly. Not only did he have to time the invert just right, he had to be careful coming out of it-he was down below 10,000 feet, and using alt.i.tude to kick up his momentum.

Eight thousand, going through 7,500, going through 7,000, going- "In range!" shouted Breanna.

Samson flipped the aircraft onto its back, turning the laser director toward the MiG. The energy beam shot out, striking one of the missiles under the plane's right wing.

Two seconds later the missile's fuel ignited. Shrapnel peppered the MiG's belly. A piece of hot flying metal ignited the warhead on the missile sitting on the opposite hardpoint.

Flames consumed the MiG so quickly, the pilot couldn't hit the silk.

Samson didn't see any of it. He was too busy righting the B-1 and pulling out of its death dive toward the earth.

"Where do I need to be?" he shouted.

"Anywhere you want, Earthmover. Scratch Bandit Three."

Samson grinned.

"Incoming message from Whiplash Osprey," added Breanna. "Major Stockard and Captain Freah."

Samson hit the preset. There was no visual; Danny and Zen were on the line from the Osprey. Zen explained President Voda's request.

"Captain Freah believes it might be an unnecessary risk," added Zen. "Right, Captain?"

"I think it's unwise, yes," said Danny.

"You know what, Captain? Just this once I'm going to disagree with you. I'm glad to see that these people have a president with some b.a.l.l.s. Let him do what he wants, the way Zen just laid it out. Don't let him get killed."

"Um-"

"You have a problem, Captain?"

"Those two orders are in conflict. Sir. I mean-"

"Let the Romanian president do what he wants," said Samson. "Those are my orders. Boomer out."

"All MiGs are down, General," said Breanna. "All our aircraft are good. No casualties. Doesn't look like the Russians got a shot off."

Samson grinned. If some of the Dreamland people were a little full of themselves-well, if all of them were a lot full of themselves-now he saw why.

"You did a d.a.m.n good job there, Captain," he told Breanna. "You kicked a.s.s."

"Couldn't have done it without you, sir."

"You got that right," said Samson.

Breanna started to laugh.

"What's that?" he asked. Then he started to laugh as well. So maybe he was a little full of himself too.

So what?

Aboard Dreamland Osprey

over Romania

0205.

DANNY PULLED OFF THE HEADSET.

"He's only been here a few weeks," he said to Zen. "And already he's starting to sound like Colonel Bastian. Screw the risks. Get the job done."

"Dog has that effect on people," said Zen.

Reluctantly, Danny went forward and told the pilots what they had to do. The Osprey circled back north, skimming lower. As they came to the main highway leading to the road where Voda's house was, they spotted a pair of small jeeps guarding the intersection. It was about as safe a place as they were going to find.

"It's all yours," Danny told Voda, handing over the headset. "It's set to loudspeaker."

"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.

"s.h.i.t," said Danny.

But he nodded, and the door was opened. Voda looked down at the men.