“Copy that.”

“And, frankly, we have no clear evidence that they’re connected to that ship. We have their locations marked. We’ll continue tracking them by radar as long as we can, but helping Xray Pop is going to be a priority. We may need the Flighthawk for search and rescue.”

“Flighthawk leader,” said Zen, acknowledging.

SATAN’S TAIL

109

Dog nudged the throttle bar, bringing up his thrust to full military power. The weapons dispenser in the Megafortress’s bomb bay included a pair of Harpoon missiles capable of obliterating the patrol craft. Hitting them would feel good, and it might even be justified. But he wasn’t here to feel good, or even to avenge the death of American servicemen. He was here to accomplish a mission which, technically at least, had nothing to do with Xray Pop.

“I have Xray Pop,” said the copilot.

“This is Colonel Bastian. What’s your situation? Are you under fire?”

“Negative,” said the voice on the other end of the radio.

“There’s been an explosion on a nearby ship. We’re standing by to recover the wounded.”

“I understand,” said Dog. “Do you require assistance?

We’re about ten minutes flying time to your location. We can aid in search and rescue.”

“I require you to sink those bastard patrol boats,” said Storm, breaking into the line. “Sink them, damn it.”

Dog took a second before responding. He’d been in the other commander’s position; losing your people was a gut-wrenching experience.

“I’d like to sink them, Captain,” said Dog. “But my orders are not to engage the enemy if at all possible, especially in Somalian waters. Do you require assistance?”

“Sink the bastards!”

“We can help with search and rescue. It’ll take us a little under ten minutes to get there.”

“If you show up, we’ll shoot you down.” Storm, or someone on his ship, killed the transmission.

“Wow,” said McNamara, turning toward Dog.

That about sums it up, thought Dog, though he didn’t say anything else.

110

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Aboard the Abner Read , Gulf of Aden

2245

FORTUNATELY, THE BRIDGE HADN’T ACTUALLY CAUGHT FIRE—the smoke was from the nearby freighter, which had. While some of the computer systems had been knocked off line, the automated damage control system presented in the holographic display when Storm tapped the controls showed that the ship was in good shape. Her engineering spaces had not been harmed, nor had the structural integrity of the hull been threatened. None of the “zebra” fittings—closures in overheads, decks, and bulkhead, as well as fittings such as valves, caps, and plugs normally secured during general quarters—had been damaged, and all of the ship’s systems had green lights, indicating they were functioning properly.

While the damage control teams and different departments of the ship began verifying the automated system’s findings, Storm turned his attention to getting the boarding team rescued. The crew had already begun playing search-lights across the water, and manned the second boat for the effort. Shark Boat Three was contacted, and pulled out the stops to respond. Anyone without more pressing duties turned to topside, adding their eyes to the watchmen’s to scour the water.

The merchant ship had reeled over onto her side, the stern sliding low in the water. Flames shot from part of the hull.

The bastards had put a decent-sized bomb on it, and they knew a thing or two about maximizing their efforts.

Storm went out onto the deck over the helo hangar, scanning the waves with his infrared glasses. The wind and sea combined to form an angry howl in his ears—the sound of hell calling, an officer had told him once, on an equally dark and grim night years ago. A seaman had gone overboard during an Atlantic crossing. They never found the poor bastard, and the captain of the ship was never the same, haunted by the memory.

SATAN’S TAIL

111

“Man in the water!” called a lookout.

Storm turned to the left, training his infrared glasses in that direction as the watchman yelled to a rescue party along the port side of the Abner Read. For a moment he felt the urge to leap over the side himself, and in fact he might have if he’d spotted the man. But he mastered his impulse, and in any event by the time he saw the man, one of the boats from the other ships was bearing down on him.

Back inside, Storm checked with the bridge crew and Tac, then headed down to the launching area at the stern of the ship, where the boat would be recovered. The medical team scrambled ahead of him as he came down the ladder to the landing deck—the U-shaped enclosure at the fantail of the destroyer where the rigid-hulled boats were brought in and out. He heard some of the crewmen shouting and quickened his pace, arriving just as the corpsmen were carrying the recovered man into the dry landing deck, then watched as the two men worked over the victim. Finally, one of the corpsmen looked up and shook his head.

The dead man was Gordie, the officer who’d led the boarding party. His head and chest had been gashed by shrapnel. More than likely he had died before he hit the water.

The other corpsman leaned back, paralyzed, staring into space.

“You did your best,” said Storm. “Come on now. Let’s get ready for the next.”

Aboard Baker-Baker Two , over the Gulf of Aden

2245

“FOUR AIRCRAFT NOW, AND THEY ARE ON AFTERBURNERS,”

said Spiderman. “Computer has them ID’d as MF-type, upgraded radar of Elta type. They are within twenty miles. Inside visual range within sixty seconds.”

112

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Breanna needed eighty seconds to get to the next drop point.

“Our friends are going to get fairly close,” she told Delaford. “I’d prefer to hold off releasing the next buoy until they’re past.”

“There’s no hurry, Captain,” answered Delaford. “What are they up to?”

“Probably more intimidation,” said Breanna. “These are Russian-made MiG-21s with updated avionics. No indication yet if these aircraft have air-to-air missiles, but in theory these are slightly more potent. We’ll keep you advised.”

“Still coming,” said Spiderman.

“Wisconsin, this is Baker-Baker Two,” Breanna said over the Dreamland radio circuit. “We have four aircraft approaching from Somalian territory. We peg them for Ethiopians.”

“Copy that, Baker-Baker,” Dog replied. “We see them.”

“How do you want us to handle them? Should we hail them?”

“Negative. Maintain radio silence. We’re changing course.”

“Thought you were assisting Xray Pop.”

“They don’t want our help. We’ll be in your neighborhood in about twelve minutes.”

“MiGs have activated their weapons radars!” shouted Spiderman before Breanna could acknowledge.

Dreamland

1145

MACK LEANED BACK IN THE WHEELCHAIR, EXASPERATED. MAjor Natalie Catsman, Dreamland’s second-in-command, shrugged.

“I can’t help you, Major. The Werewolves are not your program. And even if they were your program, we don’t have resources for that work. Or the funding.”

“What funding do you need?” said Mack. “You just heard Gleason say that the computer program is exactly the same.

SATAN’S TAIL

113

You could use the Werewolf to deploy Piranha.”

“I didn’t say that exactly,” said Jennifer. “I said—”

“That’s not the point,” said Catsman, raising her hand.

“The point is, it’s not your program. And even if it were, the units we have are already allocated. Two Werewolves are joining Captain Freah in Saudi Arabia for base security as well as additional testing. They’re gone, as are their technical teams. That eliminates any possibility of testing the naval components this week, or next. Sorry.”