Dale Brown - Dale Brown's Dreamland 04 - Piranha(and Jim DeFelice)(2003) (49 page)

 
          
“The
Indian planes?” he asked Professor Ai.

 
          
“They
are still in their patrol pattern to the south.”

 
          
“Look!”
said one of the men at the console. He jumped to his feet and pointed at the
LCD screen.

 
          
Something
blossomed beyond the Chinese aircraft carrier, the dull bud of an early spring
flower.

 
          
There
were two other wakes approaching it.

 
          
Torpedoes.
Either they had come from the Indian submarine that had failed earlier, or from
the American.

 
          
It
must have been an American. For surely, the Indian was gone by now.

 
          
“Halt
the attack,” said Chen Lo
Fann
, his satisfaction so
deep that he could not possibly hide it. “Stay only close enough to observe the
destruction, but remain undetected if possible.”

 
          
Aboard the Quicksilver

 
          
“Can
we stop the torpedoes?” Bree asked.

 
          
“No
way,” said Chris.

 
          
“They
see them,” said Collins. “They’re trying to get out of the way. Too late.”

 
          
There
was an explosion in the water, a geyser back near the carrier force. But
Breanna was too busy to watch it.

 
          
“Long-range
radar I can’t ID,” said Torbin.

 
          
“Indians?”

 
          
“Wrong
direction,” said the radar intercept officer. “I-band, okay.
Woah
,
woah
. APG-73—no way!”

 
          
“
Torbinm
what the hell are you talking about?”

 
          
“The
radar—the computer is
IDing
the source as an F/A-18
unit. No way.”

 
          
“One
torpedoes hit the carrier, maybe two,” said Chris.

 
          
“I
have telemetry out near your contact,” Collins told Torbin

 
          
“I
don’t know what the hell kind of radar this is,” said Torbin. “Shit. I mean, it
could be an F/A-18. Chris?”

 
          
“No
American flights within a hundred miles. I have nothing on radar. You sure
about this?”

 
          
“Sure
as shit.”

 
          
“All
right, everybody take a breath,” Breanna said in her calmest command voice.
“Fentress, did we sink that buoy?”

 
          
“Still
trying to get the connection to the first one.”

 
          
“Tell
me when we’re on.”

 
          
“Explosion!”
said Chris. “Carrier’s hit.”

 
          
“I
need you to stay close to the buoy,” said Fentress.

 
          
“Sukhois
are trying to lock on us—we’re spiked!” said Torbin. The RWR screen flashed
with a warning as well, showing the bearing of the radar looking for them.

 
          
“Full
ECMS,” said Breanna. “Hang on everyone.”

 
          
Breanna
threw the Megafortress into as sharp a turn as she could manage, dipping the
wing and sliding in the direction of the buoy. Fentress, Collins, and Torbin
all tried to speak at the same time; the computer gave her a warning she was
approaching maximum Gs. Breanna filtered everything out but the plane, trying
to beam the Doppler-pulse radar that had locked on them. There was a missile
warning—one of the Sukhois had launched.

 
          
“Chris,
when you have the chance, broadcast the we’re-the-white-hats message in every
language you can think of,” she said calmly.

 
          
“I
am.” His voice was three octaves higher than normal, which itself wasn’t
exactly a bass.

 
          
A
silver needle shot across Quicksilver’s bow, no more than fifty yards away. It
was the missile.

 
          
“Optically
aimed flak from that destroyer,” said the copilot. “Way out of range.”

 
          
“I
see it,” said Bree.

 
          
“Sukhois
coming down through ten thousand feet. “We’re jamming. They’re going to line up
for an IR shot.”

 
          
“Get
the Stinger ready.”

 
          
“On
it.”

 
          
“SAM
radar active. I’m jamming,” said Torbin.

 
          
“Fentress,
we have to get moving here, friend,” said Bree.

 
          
“I’m
still having trouble with the link,” he said. “We’re too high. I need you as
close as you can get. The
jinking’s
not helping.”

 
          
“Getting
shot down won’t help either.” She regretted snapping back like that, but there
was no time to apologize—one of the ships launched antiaircraft missiles.

 
          
“SA-N-4,
basically an SA-8 tweaked for shipboard use,” reported Torbin. “We’re at the
far end of their envelope. Jamming.”

 
          
“Chaff,
flares, kitchen sink,” she said.

 
          
Breanna
began to turn, then realized she was moving toward the Sukhois. She pulled back
on the stick abruptly, then twisted her left wing downward. The big jet did a
half-gainer toward the waves, gravity and momentum pulling at its wings badly,
one of the sensors in the wing-root assembly freaked out. The alert board lit
with possible structural damage and the computer squawked at her for exceeding
the design limit of the plane—not an easy feat.

 
          
Breanna’s
body was pounded by the rush of Gs; she felt as if her head had been pounded by
an anvil. A gray fuzz pushed in from her temples and something cold and prickly
filled her lungs; she started to cough, but something scraped deep down in her
throat. There were all sorts of warning lights now, but she rode the wild
maneuver steady, forcing the plane through an invert as the Sukhois she had
spotted earlier fired its missiles from almost head-on. Fortunately, they were
both heat-seekers, and despite their advertised all-aspect ability, were easily
shunted by the flares Chris had managed to dish out into the air.

 
          
As
the gray veil pulled back, Breanna saw a much darker one reaching up from the
sea to smack her. Her maneuvers had taken her back toward the Chinese fleet.
She was now dead-on for the flak; there was nothing to do but ride it out,
struggling to keep the Megafortress level as they passed through percolating
air.

 
          
“Damage
to our right wing,” reported Chris. He was breathing hard. “Lost the Sukhois at
least.”

 
          
“All
right,” said Bree, suddenly conscious of her own breathing. “Kevin, we need
that connection, and we need it now.”

 
          
“You
have to get closer.”

 
          
“They’re
launching more planes,” reported Collins.

 
          
“Indians
too. This it total war,” said Chris. He was gasping for breath,
hyperventilating.

 
          
“Dreamland
Command to Quicksilver.” Major Alou “Gat”
Ascenzio’s
voice sounded a little tinny on her circuit; Breanna glanced at her com screen
and saw that the message wasn’t coded.

 
          
“Quicksilver.”

 
          
“Get
out of there.”

 
          
“We’re
trying,” she said. then. Remembering the line was in the clear—and hopefully
being intercepted by the Chinese—she added. “We’re taken no hostile act. We
believe an Indian submarine fired torpedoes at a Chinese aircraft carrier.”

 
          
“We
confirm one hit and one near miss,” said Gat. “Serious damage. Fires. Get out
of there.”

 
          
“Quicksilver,”
she said.

 
          
“I
got it!” said Fentress.

 
          
“Sink
the first buoy.”

 
          
“I
need you to get lower. Get over it.”

 
          
“Bree,”
said Chris. He didn’t have to say anything else; his meaning was clear—we have
to leave now.

 
          
“I’m
trying, Kevin,” she told Fentress.

 
          
“Missiles
in the air!” said Torbin.

 
          
Philippines

 
          
“Fuck!”

 
          
Once
again the video feed in his Flighthawk control helmet dissolved into a test
screen. Zen slammed his fist on the console and leaned back, cursing.

 
          
“I
know, I know,” said Jennifer over the interphone. She was in the bomb bay,
helping one of the technicians adjust the link server. “We’ll get it.”

 
          
“Yeah,”
he said. He slid the headset back off his head, letting it fall around his
neck. He was restless, frustrated.

 
          
It
was more than difficulties getting the Flighthawk linked back into the
circuit—he could feel his heart pounding.

 
          
He
thought of Bree.

 
          
He
was pissed at her for acting like a jerk before.

 
          
That
wasn’t it.

 
          
She
had been a jerk, but he wasn’t pissed at her, not exactly.

 
          
He
was worried about her.

 
          
He
picked up the headset, put it back on. His heart pounded so badly, he could
feel the phones reverberating against his ears.

 
          
“Hey,
Jen, I’m going to take a break,” he said.

 
          
“Okay.”

 
          
“Yeah.
I’m going to go get something to eat. Ring-Dings or something.”

 
          
“Ring-Dings?
I thought you couldn’t stand Ring-Dings.”

 
          
He
couldn’t—they were
Bree’s
favorite pig-out food.

 
          
“I’m
going to swing by the trailer and see what’s up on the way,” he told her.

 
          
“We’ll
have it ready by the time you get back.”

 
          
Aboard Quicksilver

 
          
A
giant snake wrapped itself around Stoner’s body and squeezed, pushing his blood
toward his mouth. He felt the warm liquid on his tongue, knowing he was forcing
himself to breathe the long, quiet breath of purity. The universe collapsed on
top of him, but Stoner sat as still as a pillar, remembering the advice of the
bent old man who had taught him: you are the light of the candle, the flame
that cannot be extinguished.