“God had to be watching out for you that day,” said Alou. “Peter, you ready back there?”

Peter Hall, the engineer in charge of the Hydro test, replied that he was. Breanna concentrated on her instruments. She hadn’t thought about what role, if any, a higher power had played in her survival. She rarely if ever thought about God at all. Not that she was an atheist; she and Zen had been married in a church, and after his accident she had often found herself praying. For him, though. Not for herself. And probably more out of habit than any firm conviction.

Lying on the stretcher, waiting for the ambulance to take her to the hospital, she’d thought at first she’d lost her legs. She hadn’t prayed then.

“How’s our altitude?” Alou asked.

“Ten thousand feet precisely,” she said. “Clear skies.

We’re set.”

“Quicksilver is ready when you are, Hydro Team,” said the pilot.

They hit their mark and turned the aircraft over to the computer for the launch. The handles grasping the long pipe snapped open as the plane nosed upward in an alpha maneuver, a shallow dive and recovery that transferred launch momentum to the Hydro. The missile’s nose an-

RAZOR’S EDGE

73

gled toward the earth at precisely fifty-three degrees once loosened; the angle increased slightly as it fell. The pilots watched the flight with the aid of cameras in Quicksilver and the nose of the Hydro; it wobbled unsteadily as it continued to pick up speed.

“Gonna be a problem when the wings deploy,” said Peter. “Deployment in five, four …”

Breanna watched the screen as the tube seemed to burst apart. The screen showing the feed from the Hydro’s nose whipped into a frenzy.

“Just a spin,” said Peter. “It can deal with that.”

“Coming to our turn,” said Alou, who’d retaken control of Quicksilver from the computer.

By the time they came out of their bank, the onboard controller for Hydro had managed to recover from the spin and turned the craft toward its designated landing area. Breanna and the others watched on their monitors as it skidded into a rough landing about two hundred yards beyond its target line—not great, but not horrible either, especially since they weren’t particularly worried about accuracy. The Hydro’s nose camera showed the recovery crew’s vehicle kicking up dust as it approached.

“Want to take the wheel?” Alou asked.

“Oh, sure, let me drive now that all the fun stuff is done.” Breanna laughed, but then pulled back on the stick abruptly and hit the slider for maximum power, pushing the big plane into a sharp climb.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our pilot is now Captain Breanna ‘Rap’ Stockard,” said Alou over the interphone in his best tour guide voice. “Fasten your seat belts, please.

Remember to keep hands and body fluids inside the car at all times. Things are likely to be hairy. The all-time record for climb to eighty thousand feet is in jeopardy.”

Breanna had in fact started to level off. But a remark 74

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

from Garcia about working on a farm—another obscure reference to a Dylan song—did encourage her to add a quick invert to the flight plan.

Dreamland

0845

DOG MET MAJOR CHESHIRE AS SHE CAME DOWN GALA-

tica’s access ramp in the Megafortress bunker.

“Better than new,” Cheshire told him. “I think the tweaks on the engines add ten knots to the top speed—we’ll break the sound barrier in level flight yet.”

“Major, come here a second,” he said as another crewman started down the ladder. They walked a few yards away, where he could tell her about the Whiplash order.

“We’ll need the two Elint planes, Raven and Quicksilver,” he said after giving her a brief overview of the situation. “Assuming Quicksilver can go.”

“She’s fine. The new nose hasn’t been coated because we didn’t want to take her out of service during the Hydro tests, but she can fly fine. The increase in the radar profile won’t make much of a difference.”

Dog nodded. He had already considered that, but wanted to make sure Major Cheshire agreed. The increase in the radar profile compared to a standard Megafortress had been calculated at roughly thirty-five percent, which was still a considerable improvement over a standard B-52. Given that unstealthy planes flew over Iraq all the time, it would not be much of a handicap.

“Major Alou and I will be ready to fly as soon as the planes are serviced,” said Cheshire.

“You’re not going,” said Dog. “Sending you will disrupt too many things. We still need to select a team for the Unmanned Bomber Project, and the congressional in-

RAZOR’S EDGE

75

spection of the new Megafortresses is set for Tuesday. I need you here.”

Cheshire’s face turned to stone. “With respect, sir, I believe I should be on the mission. I have the most experience of the Megafortress pilots.”

“You’re also project officer for both the Megafortresses and the XB-5 Unmanned Bomber.”

“I’m giving the XB-5 up.”

“We’re going to need someone on duty in the secure center twenty-four hours a day,” said Dog. “You may have to sit in for me there, and help with some of my other duties as well. I want you to take charge of drawing up the deployment plans. I would imagine Major Alou should head the mission. Choose another crew. Danny’s already on his way over.”

Though still unhappy, Cheshire was too good a soldier and knew Bastian too well to argue further. Her sentiments could only be read in the crispness of her “Yes, sir”

before she left to change.

Over Dreamland Test Range C

0930

THEY HAD JUST COME BACK LEVEL WHEN THE CONTROLLER

hailed them.

“Quicksilver, we have a message for Major Alou and Captain Stockard,” said the controller. “You’re needed back at base, stat. Priority Whiplash.”

Alou clicked the mike to answer but Breanna cut him off. “Acknowledged,” she said. “We’re inbound.”

“I have it,” said Alou.

“Sorry,” said Breanna. She concentrated on turning the big plane onto a new course for the runway as Alou cleared the security protocols to allow a coded communi-

76

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

cation with Major Cheshire. The direct link was available on their com sets only.

“We have a deployment situation,” Major Cheshire told them as soon as the line snapped on.

“I’m ready,” Breanna said.

“We both are,” added Alou.

“It’s a Rivet mission over Iraq,” said Cheshire. “Rivet”

was shorthand; it referred to Rivet Joint, top-secret Elint missions they had both flown in RC-135s. Two Megafortresses, Raven and Quicksilver, had been equipped to undertake similar missions, though under considerably more dangerous circumstances.

“Not a problem,” said Alou.

“Major, I’d like to speak to Captain Stockard alone.

Would you clear off the circuit?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Alou, who voided his connection with a verbal command. Bree felt her cheeks flashing red, embarrassed.

“Breanna, do you think you can handle a mission?”

Damn sure, she wanted to say. Let’s go kick some butt.

But instead she answered, “Yes, ma’am. Not a problem.”

“I want you to be honest with me.”

“I try to be. I was out of line the other day.”

“That’s forgotten. I want you to be honest with me.”

“Piece of cake, Major,” said Bree lightly. Then she asked about her plane.

“Engineers and ground crew did a great job,” said Cheshire. “I want you to pilot Quicksilver,” she added, changing the subject. “Do you want Chris with you?”

Chris Ferris was Galatica’s—Breanna’s—copilot.

He’d flown with her on every important mission she’d had at Dreamland.