REVOLUTION

65

ercises he’d gone through early in the Flighthawk program, when the developers were trying to get a handle on how difficult it would be for someone in a plane maneuvering at high speed to control the Flighthawks. He didn’t feel exactly weightless, but the exoskeleton relieved what would have felt like a great deal of pressure on his shoulder muscles. He thought about this as he and Danny rose to fifty and then a hundred feet, practicing emergency procedures. Zen had a small, BASE-style parachute on his chest, just in case; the chute was designed to deploy quickly at low altitude if anything went wrong.

Confident that he could handle an emergency, he started putting the MESSKIT through its paces, accelerating across the marked course, then gliding into a circular holding pattern.

“You’re getting pretty good with this,” said Danny as they completed a figure eight. “You sure you haven’t flown before?”

“Ha ha.”

“How are your arms?”

“They don’t feel bad at all.”

“The thing to worry about are cramps,” said Danny. “When we were first starting the experiments, Boston cramped up so badly we had to replace him in the program.”

Danny was referring to Sergeant Ben “Boston” Rockland, another member of the Whiplash special operations team.

Zen got plenty of upper body exercise, and felt confident that whatever strain the MESSKIT was putting on his shoulders was minimal. His real concern was what he would do if he had a bad itch.

“All right, let’s do a few sprints, then see how you are at landing,” said Danny.

“Last one to the flag is a rotten egg,” said Zen.

He leaned forward and twisted his throttle. The wind rushed passed his helmet—but so did Danny. Zen pitched his body down farther, then felt as if he was going to fall into a 66

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

loop. He backed off, slowing immediately. He looked up, and saw that Danny had already crossed the finish line.

But Danny didn’t have any time to gloat.

“Captain, we have an automated alarm going off on Access Road 2,” said one of the security lieutenants, breaking into the frequency. “I have an aerial en route and hope to have a visual in thirty seconds. Maybe a car accident.”

An “aerial” was a small UAV, or unmanned aerial vehicle, used for surveillance.

“Go ahead and scramble the response team,” said Danny.

“They’re out at Test Area 12, covering a broken leg.”

“Call Team 2,” said Danny.

“They’re standing by for the fighter exercises. They’re already covering three ranges.”

Because of the distances involved, not to mention the danger inherent in the base’s experiments, Dreamland procedures called for a pararescue team to stand by near the range whenever live exercises were being held. The recent deployment and a ramp-up in Dreamland’s research activities had stretched the available personnel, and there were times, such as now, when only two full teams were immediately available.

“Stand by,” said Danny.

“Problem?” asked Zen, who’d heard the conversation over the radio.

“Maybe a car accident out on Road 2.”

“Why don’t we go check it out?” said Zen.

“Just what I was thinking. But—”

Zen knew what that but meant. He didn’t bother to answer, pushing his head forward and sliding the power reading to 15.

“Major, I really believe you should wait until you’re fully checked out,” said Annie from the ground.

“Thank you,” Zen replied, as if she’d paid him a compliment.

There were four access roads to Dreamland, but only Road 1, which ran from Nellis Air Base, was paved. The others were REVOLUTION

67

hard-packed dirt, or as his wife Breanna liked to say, hard-packed holes with rocks scattered in between. But even though it was about as smooth as a battered washboard, Road 2 was often used by base personnel as a shortcut. Not only was it a few miles shorter than Road 1, but its horrible conditions restricted traffic to those in the know, lowering the wait at the security post where it entered the main road. That could save as much as an hour during the busy times of the day.

Road 2 came off the southeastern end of the base perimeter and ran due south for a mile and half before jogging lazily east. Zen started in that direction, then increased his speed as Danny shot ahead.

“Security Command, this is Freah. I’m on my way via Exo3.

Major Stockard is with me. Alert the perimeter system—I don’t feel like being shot down.”

Friend or foe identifiers in the gear would prevent the Razor antiair lasers from firing on them, but any uncleared flight over the perimeter fence would elicit an armed response from the robot Ospreys, which would force them to land or simply shoot them down.

The surveillance UAV zipped ahead from the west, dropping into a hover over the road three miles from the perimeter fence. The small aircraft—its rotors would have tucked neatly under the deck of a household lawn mower—was flying about twenty feet below Zen. It looked like a hive supported by a swarm of bees.

“Car is upside down,” reported the security supervisor.

“Roger that, I see it on my screen,” said Danny. “I have a smart helmet. Have the aerial back off.”

“McDaniels and Percival are en route from the guard station. They’re ten minutes away.”

“Roger that.”

A FORD EXPLORER LAY ON ITS ROOF ABOUT THIRTY YARDS

from the side of the road.

“Zen, check your fuel,” said Danny as they approached.

68

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“It says ten minutes, plus reserve.”

“When you hit reserve, go back.”

Of course Danny wanted him to go back, Zen thought—he couldn’t be useful on the ground. “We’ll take it as it comes,”

he replied. “I’m going to check the area and see if anyone was thrown out.”

“Roger that. Good idea.”

DANNY WAITED FOR THE UAV TO BACK OFF BEFORE TUCKing his arms into a U-shape and sliding his power down. He settled onto the dusty road about fifteen feet from the spot where the Explorer had gone off. The truck had traveled a good distance before stopping, and the marks in the desert made it look as if it had flipped at least twice.

Dropping to his knees, Danny unlatched the wing assembly to keep it from getting damaged. Then he hopped up and ran to the wreck.

The front of the SUV was crushed. He could smell gasoline as he got down on his hands and knees to peer inside.

The driver was suspended in her seat, wedged against the roof and wheel, a deflated air bag wrapped against her face and torso. He couldn’t tell if she was alive.

The driver’s side window had been smashed, but the metal was so mangled it was impossible to reach her. He went around to the other side. There was a bit more room there, but it was still a very tight squeeze just to get his hand in.

Danny smelled gasoline as he groped with his fingers, trying to reach her neck and get a pulse. He snaked his arm back out, then took off his helmet, hoping he could reach in farther without it. As he started to slide his hand inside the car, he saw the woman move her head.

Alive!

He grabbed his helmet.

“Security Command, this is Danny Freah. I have a very injured woman trapped in the vehicle. Send Team 2 immediately. Order the test ranges closed down.”

REVOLUTION

69

“Roger that, Captain.”

“Give them a sitrep. Tell them to be ready with the Jaws of Life.”

“Yeah, roger, roger, Cap. I’m on it.”

The Jaws of Life was a special tool that worked like a hydraulic pry bar; in this case, it would be used to pull the squashed door away from the cab so the victim could be extricated. Danny took a step back from the wreck, frustrated that he had to wait, even for a few minutes, and worried that the gasoline he smelled meant there was a dangerous leak.