Текст книги "Razor's Edge"

Автор книги: Dale Brown

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Bullshit, Zen said. He’d been shot down.

Alou hadn’t answered.

Water over the dam now. Zen knew his job was to encourage the kid, get him going.

Kid—why the hell was he thinking of him as a kid?

Guy was pushing thirty, no?

“Come on, Curly,” Zen said, wheeling ahead to the ramp. “Let’s get back on the horse. These things are flown by remote control for a reason, you know?

Could’ve happened to anyone. You did okay.”

Inside, Danny was laying out plans for an operation to hit a laser site in Iran—once they had a good location.

Merce Alou and the others, including Breanna, were nodding as he spoke.

“This’ll work,” Danny said. “I haven’t gone to the colonel with it, and we’ll need CentCom to come along, but it’ll work. Hey, Zen.” He leaned over the table, pointing his long black forefinger toward a lake and mountains in northeastern Iran. “According to what Jennifer figured out, the laser has to be somewhere inside this twenty-five-mile square. Mahabad is just to the north, there’s a major highway right along this corridor. The Dreamland mini-KH covered most of that area yesterday. The resolution’s limited, as you know, but we can ID the major structures.”

Zen pulled over the Iranian map while the others looked at the photos. Using a pen and his fingers as a RAZOR’S EDGE

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crude compass, he worked an arc from the target square.

“How sure are we of this?” asked Zen. “All of the shoot-downs were within two hundred miles of the edge of your box. Razor’s range is close to three hundred.” Zen slid the map back so the others could see.

“Rubeo says it’s likely this laser isn’t as effective,” said Danny.

“That’s where it was fired from,” said Jennifer. “Where in that area, I don’t know, but it’s there somewhere.”

“Radar?” asked Zen.

“There’s airport-type radar in the vicinity. The laser would be there, or simply wired into it,” said Jennifer.

“I’ve checked with our people—it looks like they’re using barrage firing.”

“Like the Iraqis with their missiles?” asked Zen.

“Except it works,” said Major Alou.

“The way to find out what they’re doing is to hit the site,” said Danny. “You missed this, Zen. There are five possible targets, X’d out on that map. We draw people from the MEU. Two Cobras or more on each possible site. Assault teams follow. The Megafortresses provide intelligence and fuzz the radar, that sort of thing.”

“Air defenses?” asked Zen.

“The Iranians have missiles near all of the sites, though it’s not clear what’s operational and what isn’t. There are three air bases within range to intercept. You know their situation, though—it’s anybody’s guess what they can get off the ground. The one break I see is that the Chinese aren’t this far north, so we don’t have to worry about them.”

“The Marines up for this?” Zen asked.

“I don’t know,” said Danny. “I imagine they will be, but I can’t talk to them until Colonel Bastian gives the word.”

“He has to go to CentCom to get them cleared for the mission,” said Alou. “We can’t just chop them.”

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“We have to do a quick hit,” said Danny. “Dr. Ray says it’s possible the thing is mobile and might be moved.”

“So when are we talking to the colonel?” asked Zen.

“Now,” said Alou.

Dreamland Command Center

May 29

2100

“THE PENTAGON LEGAL PEOPLE ARE RAISING HOLY HELL

about taking the prisoner,” said Magnus. “And CentCom’s furious that they weren’t told about the mission.”

“We saw an initiative and we took it,” said Dog, who decided he didn’t want to parse whatever boneheaded argument the lawyers raised. “I stand by both actions.”

“That won’t affect the political reality,” said Magnus.

“And going into Iran will only make it worse.”

“We have to destroy the laser, no matter where it is.”

“Have you been looking at the satellite data?”

“Of course.”

“Then you realize that Saddam is launching an all-out assault on the Kurds in the north. There are rumors he’s loading Scuds with anthrax to fire at the Kuwaitis as well as the Kurds.”

“I don’t put much stock in rumors,” said Dog.

“That’s not the point, Tecumseh. This is becoming an extremely complicated situation—a geopolitical situation. If things escalate, we may need Iranian help.”

“You’re telling me the Iranians are our allies now?”

“I didn’t say that at all.”

“There’s a laser in Iran shooting down our aircraft,”

said Dog. “We can get it.”

“If your data is correct.”

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“Given the number of aircraft that have been shot down, it’s worth the risk.”

“Not if it encourages the Iranians to ally themselves with the Iraqis. And not if it pushes the Chinese to declare war in support of the Iranians.”

“The Chinese are paper tigers,” said Bastian.

“Paper tigers with the world’s third largest army. Think of the impact of a nuclear strike on Saudi oil, Tecumseh.

Talk to your friend Brad Elliott about them.”

“I have the authority under Whiplash to stop whatever is shooting down the planes,” said Dog, making his voice as calm as possible. “That means the laser, and that means going into Iran. Are you withdrawing that authority or reversing the order?”

“You know I can’t do that,” said Magnus.

Only the President could.

“Are you saying that I shouldn’t proceed?”

Magnus stared at the screen but said nothing.

“We have a good plan,” said Dog softly. “All we need is support from CentCom. My people there have outlined a good plan.”

“CentCom doesn’t have authority to engage in ground operations in Iraq, let alone Iran.”

“We have to attack the laser quickly,” said Dog. “My scientists say there’s a good chance it’s mobile or at least can be made mobile. Even if it stays right where it is, no plane flying over northeastern Iraq is safe. Let alone one flying over Iran.”

A thin red streak, so bright it could have been paint, had appeared across Magnus’s forehead. “You know, Dog, you sound more and more like Brad Elliott every fucking day.”

The screen flashed and went blank.

Dog had never heard Magnus use a four letter word before.

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“So what now?” asked Major Cheshire, whom Dog had asked to sit in with him.

“We find a way to go ahead without CentCom,” Dog said.

“Magnus seems against it.”

Dog thought back to his conversation with Knapp. Not exactly something to hang a career on.

“The Whiplash order hasn’t been revoked,” he said.

“We have to proceed.”

“Do we destroy the laser, or try and send Danny in?”

said Cheshire.

He hadn’t anticipated using her as a sounding board when he’d kept her at the base, and until now she hadn’t been. But Cheshire did fill the role of alter ego admirably.

Mid-thirties, a career officer with a wide range of experience—a woman with the perspective of someone who’d had to fight her way into what was essentially a closed club, in reality if not in theory.

A good alter ego. A good wife, in a way.

Jennifer was the one he wanted. This would put her in more danger—she’d barely escaped the laser strike on Quicksilver.

Not a factor in his decision.

“If we can’t use CentCom, we can’t send Danny,” said Dog finally. “But we have to proceed.”

“What about the Chinese?”

“Questions, always questions,” he said with a laugh.

“Well? Are we risking World War Three here?”

Dog began to pace in front of the mammoth view screen at the front of the room. At the time the Whiplash order had been issued, the threat was largely thought to be a new radar system or a technique involving radar. The President had probably put Whiplash in motion as insurance for CentCom, intending them to augment the conventional forces. He hadn’t foreseen this development.

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But the fact that the threat turned out to actually be a directed energy weapon did not change the essential nature of the orders—something was still shooting down American planes, and he was empowered, ordered, to stop it if possible.

The orders were predicated on the threat being in Iraq, not Iran.

It wasn’t hard to guess why Magnus hadn’t volunteered to take the matter to the President. If things went wrong, and even if things went right, the mission could plausibly and legally be described as a rogue adventure by a mis-guided underling—Lieutenant Colonel Tecumseh Bastian. His head could be offered up to whomever wanted it: Congress, CentCom, the Iranians.

They had to proceed with the mission. If they didn’t, more Americans would die. The laser might be refined and sold to other countries, beginning with the Chinese—who might even already have it. It might be used to threaten commercial air flights or against satellite systems.

But proceeding might very well mean the end of his career.

And the death of his lover, daughter, and friends.

“Colonel?” asked Cheshire.

“Open the channel to High Top,” Dog told the lieutenant on the com panel. Then he turned to Cheshire.

“We’re moving ahead.”

Tehran, Iran

1000

FOR ALL HIS EXPERIENCE IN COMBAT, FOR ALL HIS BRAVADO, General Sattari still felt awe as he stepped into the chamber of the Council of Guardians in the capital. He might have no respect for the robed men who sat here, he might 288

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think that the Ayatollah Khamenei was essentially a coward and a traitor to his people, but he could not forget that these men, for all their failings, were teachers with a special relationship with God. Perhaps they abused their power, perhaps they made decisions motivated by greed or expedience rather than piety—but they nonetheless contemplated the Creator with a depth of attention that he could only admire.

The marble floors, the large open room, the rich tapes-try—all reinforced the humility of his position. His steps faltered; he felt his fingers beginning to tremble and his heart pumping faster, adrenaline mixing, accentuating his nervousness. When he saw Ayatollah Khamenei sitting calmly before him, he felt his tongue grown thick. He had been wrong to proceed without his blessing; he had been wrong to underestimate the religious leader’s skill and control.

He considered saying nothing. He considered, even, running from the building.

A glance to the Chinese guards flanking the door steeled his resolve.

“You have caused us great difficulty,” said Khamenei in a voice so low Sattari practically had to stop breathing to hear.

“The difficulties are with our enemies,” Sattari said. He reminded himself he was not without leverage. Nor was his weapon unguarded—before leaving Anhik he had deployed most of his men on the highways south of the base to guard against any move by the Chinese; spies at the air bases they used would warn if any bombers or transports took off. While Sattari did not believe Khamenei would order such an attack against him—he would have done so already, rather than summoning him here—the Chinese could well choose this time to move unilaterally.

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“How does the American attack on the dog Saddam help us?” asked the Ayatollah.

“Because, your excellency, it takes their attention away from us, and at the same time weakens our enemy. Our people in Basra pray for deliverance.”

The continued suppression of Shiites in the southern Iraqi city had been the subject of many of Khamenei’s edicts, but the Ayatollah showed with a frown that he would not be so easily persuaded. Sattari felt an urge to shout at him that they must take advantage of the American preoccupation and push off the Chinese; they could rearm with American help as long as the Americans were obsessed with Iraq. American weapons were far superior to the Chinese hand-me-downs; this had been proven time and time again. And even if the Americans offered no aid, they could be used to cow the Chinese into a better arrangement.

Surely Allah was against the pagan Communists as well as the demon Christians.

Did it matter that American planes were destroyed? Did it matter that Iraqis were killed? These were good things.

Sattari remained silent.

“We were not informed that the weapon was ready to be used,” said the Ayatollah when he spoke again.

“Reports of the tests six months ago were delivered in this very hall,” said Sattari. “At that time, readiness was discussed.”

And projected as being five years away, if not more.

Sattari had helped coach the scientists on what to say, and listened carefully. The laser’s actual location had also been carefully left out of the report.

Khamenei stared at him, not bothering to point out the contradiction.

“You wish your power restored,” said the black-robed 290

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imam instead. “You feel that by these actions you will restore yourself to a position of eminence.”

“My interest is Iran, and the glory of God.”

“That does not rule out your own glory, does it?”

He thought to supply a formula from the Koran to the effect that personal glory means nothing except as it contributes to salvation, but the stirring of some of Khamenei’s cohorts in the row behind him diverted him.

“My interest is Iran, and the glory of God,” he repeated.

“So be it,” said the Ayatollah. “But I will be the judge of the success of your action.”

Sattari considered the words. Khamenei had conceded nothing—but neither did he order Sattari to stop what he was doing.

He was willing to play the game. Perhaps he detested the Chinese and the Iraqis as much as Sattari. Or perhaps he had his own plans; his face gave nothing away.

It occurred to Sattari that he might be stronger than he realized. He didn’t have to angle for power—he had it. If he could arrange for a purge of some of the more religious junior officers in the air force, he might combine them with his Kurd allies and control the northwest provinces on his own.

It was not among Sattari’s plans, but the idea did warm his chest against the coldness of the hall as he took his leave.

Incirlik

1100

THE AMERICAN’S ARABIC WAS CLEAR ENOUGH, THOUGH HE

seemed an odd bird, limbs and legs constantly in motion as he stumbled for the right phrase. Neither he nor any of the other Americans seemed to realize that Tarik spoke RAZOR’S EDGE

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English, or that he had spent several years in America. He believed that was very much for the good, especially since he had overheard his captors say several times that he must be treated with care. Certainly they had been good to him so far.

They wanted to know how he managed the radar network. They asked of a laser, and missiles, but to every question he feigned ignorance.

He would say nothing. That was his duty.

High Top

1110

TORBIN HAD TROUBLE CONCENTRATING ON THE RADAR

screen as Jennifer Gleason reviewed the settings for him.

If the plane’s captain was the most beautiful woman Torbin had ever seen—and she was—Jennifer was number two.

Very different, though. Not military. Long hair, thinner.

Cursed like a stinking sailor. Smarter than any ten people he’d ever met.

“So you hit this sequence here, that just tells the computer to screw over its normal programming,” she told him. “Then you manually move the cursor to prioritize, or use verbal commands, like this.”

The scientist began speaking in a calm, almost quiet voice, using the screen ID codes to identify the targets.

“The thing to remember is that you have to precede instructions with the word ‘Computer.’ ”

“Got it,” said Torbin.

“Okay. You run through the simulation program I just set for you. I have to help install the laser detection gear in Raven, so I’m going to download some programming while you’re practicing. Then you’re going to come over to Raven with me and help calibrate it.”

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Jennifer bent down to examine something on the screen of her laptop, exposing a small bit of flesh near her waist-band.

“Okay,” said Torbin, wrestling his eyes away with great difficulty. “Okay, okay.”

High Top

1115

WITHOUT THE MARINES OR OTHER CENTCOM SUPPORT, the best they could do was blow up the laser. Even then, it might be tricky—they had only six JSOWs left, to use against the three likely sites.

“We can get there in the Bronco,” insisted Mack, who had suddenly become enamored of the turboprop plane.

“In and out.”

“Your loaded radius just won’t cut it,” said Zen. “Especially if it turns out to be that site out near the lake. I’m sorry, Danny. Colonel Bastian’s right. This is the way we have to go.”

“I’m worried that we don’t even have all the possible sites,” said Alou. “From what Rubeo says, those four smaller buildings could be it too.”

“Once they fire at the Quail, we’ll know for sure,” said Bree.

“If they fire at the Quail.”

“They will.” The Quail was a decoy drone, essentially a cruise missile with a profile and “noisemaker” that made it appear to be a B-52 on radar scopes.

“I think they’ll go for it,” said Zen. “And Rubeo’s wrong about it fitting in a small building. Jennifer says it has to be one of those three sites.”

“She’s not an expert on lasers,” said Alou.

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“She’s an expert on everything,” answered Zen.

Danny listened as they continued to discuss the contin-gencies, pondering how effective the JSOWs would be against a hardened site, even though Rubeo said it would be impossible to place the director or firing mechanism behind one.

In a perfect world, a massive strike by F-15Es would cover any possibility. But if it were a perfect world, Danny thought, he would have CentCom support.

He glanced at the map. If it made sense to survey the laser site when they thought it was in Iraq, it made even more sense now.

Two of the three most likely sites were within the Bronco’s radius, albeit just at the edge.

So maybe they should be in the air, just in case.

“What?” Zen asked him.

“Listen, if you’re going to use the Quail to try and find the site, then I’ll take a team in the Bronco in case it turns out to be one we can hit,” Danny told him.

“Now you’re talking,” said Mack.

“Iraqis’ll shoot you down before you get to the border,”

said Zen. “They’re running Zsu-23s up north like ants rushing to a picnic.”

“It’s an awful long shot,” said Bree.

“Granted. But the payoff would be high.”

“Not if you’re shot down,” said Alou.

“Hey, screw that,” said Mack. “I’m not getting shot down.”

“You almost got shot down by a helicopter,” said Alou.

“Not even close. And this time I won’t leave my Sidewinders behind.”

“Then you’ll never make it into Iraq,” said Zen. “It’s too far, Mack.”

“Don’t wimp on me, Zen boy.”

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The back and forth might have been amusing if so much weren’t riding on it. Danny wondered if he sounded like Mack—willing to take enormous risks just to get in on the action.

Was that what he was doing?

Dreamland Command Center

0100

THE FACE THAT FLASHED ONTO THE SCREEN SURPRISED

Dog so much he found himself momentarily speechless.

“I hear you’ve been looking to chew my ear,” said General Clearwater, CentCom CinC. “Fire away.”

“Well, actually, it’s academic now,” said Dog, who’d just come back to the command center after catching a few hours sleep. “I wanted to inform you of a mission into Iraq.”

Clearwater moved his closed mouth, as if shifting his teeth around. “Well, your boys pulled that off very well, Colonel. Congratulations. Were you looking for assistance?”

“Just wanted to keep the lines of communication open, sir. A heads-up.”

“Very good.” The general seemed ready to sign off.

“General Clearwater, I wonder if we might have your support on another mission.”

“What’s that?”

“We believe we know where the laser is that’s been shooting down our aircraft. We want to hit it right away.”

“It should be a target. Have you talked to Jack?”

Jack meant Jack Christian, the Air Force general in charge of target planning for CentCom.

“It’s in Iran,” said Dog. “What I’m looking for—”

“Iran’s out of bounds,” said the general. “Are you sure about this?”

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“Yes, sir.”

Clearwater moved his jaw again. The deep lines on his forehead grew even deeper. “How sure?” he asked.

“Very.”

“My orders at the moment are very explicit, and I’ve gone over similar ground with the Defense secretary twice. I understand your orders may be different,” added Clearwater before Dog could say anything else. “But for the moment at least, my hands are tied.”

The screen blanked before Dog could say anything else.

High Top

1150

THE IDEA HAD FORMED IN DANNY’S MIND EVEN BEFORE THE

Marine Corps major came to see him. It was outrageous and even far-fetched—which made it perfect.

“I know you’re busy,” said the Marine commander, helping himself to some of the coffee on the trailer counter near the worktable. “I was wondering if I could arrange a briefing on the valley you flew through on your way back from the Iraqi radar site. We have a mission just north of there. We’re going to pick up some Kurd leaders and bring them to Turkey for a conference. I’m authorized to take out anything that gets in the way.”

“I’ll give you the whole rundown,” said Danny.

“There’s a helicopter base down there that you ought to wipe out along the way. They have at least two Mi-24

Hinds on the ground.”

“We’ll nail them,” said the Marine.

“Wait. I’d like one of the helicopters,” said Danny.

“What for?” said the major.

“You don’t want to know,” said Danny.

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The Marine, who knew only that Whiplash was not part of the normal chain of command, nodded. A few minutes later Danny and he had worked out a plan to snatch one of the Hinds.

Zen and Alou were considerably more skeptical than the Marine.

“We take the helicopter into Iran. The Iraqis won’t shoot at it, because it’s theirs,” said Danny.

“The Iranians will,” said Zen.

“Not before we hit them.”

“I don’t know, Danny.”

“It’ll work,” he insisted. “It has the range, even without extra fuel. And we’ll take plenty. Payload’s there. It’s low risk.”

“Bullshit on low risk,” said Alou, and even Zen rolled his eyes.

A small part of him said to back off—he and the team were tired, this was way out there. But another part of him, the much larger part, pushed ahead.

They could do it.

“Who’s going to fly the helo?” asked Alou.

“I got a guy,” Danny told him.

“Who?”

“Egg Reagan. He has a pilot’s license and everything.”

“He’s flown Hinds?” Zen asked.

“He can fly anything,” said Danny. “We can take the chopper, no sweat. As long as the Marines can get us there, we can do this. Egg flew a Pave Low just the other day. He can do this.”

“We can’t go without Colonel Bastian’s approval,” said Alou.

“He’ll approve it,” said Danny.

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297

Dreamland Command Center

0210

“VERY RISKY, DANNY. I DON’T KNOW IF SERGEANT REAGAN

can fly the aircraft.”

“I know he can, Colonel. He’s been sleeping or I’d have him here to tell you himself.”

Dog started pacing. He knew as well as Danny what the sergeant would say; the word “No” didn’t seem to be in the Whiplash vocabulary.

But could he really do it?

“He flies the Pave Lows,” added Danny. “They’re more complicated, I guarantee.”

The payoff was immense. Pull it off, and they’d have a treasure trove of information.

But this was far riskier than the earlier plan.

He played back the conversation he’d had earlier with Clearwater. The general wasn’t opposed to hitting the laser. On the contrary, it seemed. But he clearly wouldn’t go against his orders, and clearly wouldn’t directly support a mission into Iran until the orders were changed.

That could take days. If the laser were mobile, it’d be gone then.

“Colonel?”

“CentCom needs one of the Megafortresses to help suppress antiair on a mission south about the time this is supposed to go off. We’re going to have to work that in,”

said Dog.

“Okay,” said Danny.

“I’ll talk to CentCom about the action inside of Iraq.”

“Hot dog.”

“I haven’t authorized the ground mission,” said Bastian quickly. “Let me think about it.”

“But—”

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“I’ll get back to you,” said Dog, punching the End Transmit.

High Top

1225

“KNOCK, KNOCK,” SAID EGG, OUTSIDE DANNY’S PERSONAL

tent. “Hey, Captain, you wanted to see me?”

“Come,” said Danny.

Powder and Bison came in with Egg, filling the tent with an odd odor.

“Enjoy your nap?” Danny asked Egg.

“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant.

“What the hell?” said Danny. “You guys smell like baby powder.”

“Hey, just checking on the kid, Cap,” said Powder.

“You know. We’re like uncles.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Listen, Egg, we have something a bit hard to tackle and I’m wondering if you’d be up to it.”

“Hard’s his middle name, Cap,” said Powder. “Just before ‘on.’ ”

“Yeah, and Powder would know,” said Bison.

Danny ignored them. “Egg, would you be up to flying a helicopter?”

The sergeant shrugged. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Good. It’s an Mi-24 Hind.”

“A what?”

“A Hind. Commie helicopter. Think you can handle it?”

“Jeez, I don’t know. I don’t know that I’ve ever flown one of those before.”

“A helicopter’s a helicopter, right? Jennifer Gleason says there’s a database on the controls and performance RAZOR’S EDGE

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aspects in the Megafortress database,” Danny added.

“She’s setting it up so you can review it. And I talked to Dr. Ray at Dreamland. He’s going to dig around for an expert to talk you through it. We can set up a direct line.”

“Jennifer, the babe scientist,” said Powder. “Jeez, I’ll do it.”

“I volunteer,” said Bison.

“I don’t know, Cap,” said Egg. “I mean, I probably could figure it out if I have a little time.”

“I’ll do it,” said Powder.

“Screw yourself,” said Egg. “This isn’t a bulldozer we’re talking about.”

“I can learn it, Cap,” insisted Powder. “Will she whisper in my ear?”

“All right, guys, back off,” said Danny. “Outside the tent.”

He watched Egg as they left. The normally self-assured sergeant wore a worried face.

“We can come up with something else,” Danny suggested.

“I can do it.” Egg flexed his shoulders back. Danny worried that he was pushing too hard—he didn’t want Egg to say he could do it just to please him.

On the other hand, a helicopter was a helicopter, commie or not, right?

“Where is it?” asked Egg.

“We passed it on the way home,” Danny told him. “The Marines are going to help us steal it.”

“Shit, I’ll do it, Cap,” said Powder outside.

“Fuck off,” said Egg.

“Go play with the kid,” yelled Danny.

Powder and Bison moved a few feet away from the tent, though he could tell they were still nearby.

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“I’ll figure it out, Captain,” said Egg. “If I get some help. When are we leaving?”

“Half an hour too soon?”

Egg just scratched his head.

Dreamland Command Center

0255

DOG WATCHED THE CNN FEED, HIS MIND DRIFTING BLANK.

The connection with High Top was pending; he intended to give Danny the go-ahead to use the Hind, long shot though it was.

He’d double-checked the sergeant’s piloting credentials, gone over the sat pictures, reviewed the flight plans.

He’d listened to the scientists debate the value of the intelligence. He’d spoken once more to Clearwater, who personally approved the Marine involvement in the helo snatch, but set the limits there. Dog knew he was making the right decision; the odds were against the mission, but it was exactly the sort of long shot they’d put Whiplash together to undertake.

And yet, he was still searching for some signpost, some indication that he was right to put his people at so much risk.

It wasn’t there. Even on an easy mission, nothing could guarantee everything would fall in place.

There were no easy missions. On the other hand, if they completely screwed up, if things went totally wrong, the implications were enormous.

Worse than the situation if they did nothing?

No.

The CNN footage showed Iraqi tanks continuing their attacks against the Kurds. Didn’t we fight this war already? Dog wondered.

RAZOR’S EDGE

301

“Captain Freah is on his way,” said the lieutenant at the com panel. “He should be on in five minutes, maybe less.”

“Okay. Where’s Jed Barclay?” Dog asked.

“Incirlik.”

“Get him, would you?”

The operator punched his keys. He spoke to someone on the other end of the line in Turkey, then told Dog they wouldn’t have video.

“Not a problem.”

“Colonel?” Jed’s voice boomed so loudly in the room the techie had to squelch the volume.

“Jed, can you get me to General Elliott?”

“He’s left to go back to Europe.”

“You can get me in touch with him, can’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. Take a minute.”

Two minutes later the technician said they had an in-coming transmission from Class Two—General Elliott aboard a VIP Gulfstream.

“How are you, Colonel?” boomed Elliott.

“Personally, not so good.” Dog laughed, facing the blank screen. “Want your old job back?”

Elliott laughed. “I’d take it in a heartbeat.” His tone grew serious. “It’s a little different being a colonel. You don’t have the perks to go with the responsibility.”

“I still have to do what I think is right.”

“It’s not always easy to figure out what that is,” said Elliott.

Dog didn’t intend on asking him what to do, and he’d known Elliott wouldn’t volunteer advice. So why had he contacted him?

Moral support? Word of encouragement?

Not even that. Talking to him, though—it was like making a pilgrimage to a sacred shrine or a battlefield. Looking out over the hills at Gettysburg made you understand something, even though you couldn’t put it into words.

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Elliott as Gettysburg—he’d roar at that.

“Thanks, General,” said Dog. “I have to go.”

“That’s all you want?”

“That’s all I need, sir.”

Dog bent to the console and picked up the land-line phone, punching in his office. Ax answered immediately.

“Ax, how are we doing with that expert on Russian helicopters?”

“Should be aboard the Dolphin by now, sir,” answered the chief master sergeant.

“Hustle him down here as soon as he clears security.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dog put down the phone and turned to the lieutenant.

“I’d like that connection to High Top today, son.”

“The connection’s there, sir. It’s Captain Freah we’re waiting on.”

Dog straightened and looked at the screen. When Danny Freah’s tired face finally appeared, Colonel Bastian said only one word: “Go.”

Aboard Fork One , over northeastern Iraq, 1400

DANNY FREAH STOOD NEAR THE DOOR OF THE MARINE HElicopter, watching as the CH-46 Sea Knight dubbed Fork One whipped across the landscape roughly twenty feet over the ground. The Marines liked the old helicopters, claiming they were more dependable than Pave Lows or even Chinooks, their look-alike big brothers. Danny wasn’t so sure. If he had to pick a Marine transport, he would have much preferred an Osprey or even a Super Stallion, the Corps’ three-engined version of the MH-53