by Dale Brown
Mack preferred to think it was the former—not that he didn’t like Dog; on the contrary, he liked the colonel quite a bit. He had to—the colonel’s blessing was needed for him to work out the arrangement as Brunei’s new chief of the Air Force Command.
Chief of the Brunei Air Force Command. His own title. At the moment, he was still technically a member of the U.S. Air Force on duty as Whiplash’s political officer. But that was just a technicality—he already had his office, two floors of plush offices in the capital, complete with a lounge and an office for the chief that looked like a lounge.
No staff yet, but he’d take care of that this afternoon. Talk to Starship again, and maybe some of his old cronies. Paradise here, my friends—the babes are unbelievable, and boy do they put out.
Next order of business—purchasing twelve F-15s from America, along with six Megafortresses.
Mack didn’t particularly want the Megafortresses himself, but the sultan insisted. And hey, it was his dough.
Getting the aircraft from America was probably going to take some heavy-duty diplomacy. Megafortresses had never been sold overseas. Even F-15s weren’t sold to just anyone. In fact, only Japan, Israel, and Saudi Arabia currently had them.
Mack could fix that with a little charm in the right places. He was a born diplomat.
Secretary of state someday. Though personally he’d prefer defense.
Once they got the planes, they’d pull a few mods from the Dreamland playbook. Which meant he needed some brainpower as well.
And some mechanical monkeys. Not that he’d call them monkeys to their faces.
Chief of the Brunei Air Force Command Mack Smith. A boss in paradise—what more could he ask for?
Beijing
1240
THE HOTEL WHERE the Chinese had put up the Dreamland crew was not exactly handicapped-friendly, and Zen found himself having to ask two of the staff to help him down the two steps from the hallway to the lobby. As indignities went, it was hardly the worst he’d ever suffered, but after struggling with the sink upstairs in his room and pushing his way through the narrow maze they called a hallway, he was hardly in the best of all moods. And the fact that he couldn’t call the States from his room didn’t exactly calm his mood.
Nonetheless, he managed to ask for a phone politely, explaining that he wanted to call home. It took three tries—the hotel personnel all spoke English, but his accent apparently was difficult for them to decipher. Finally he managed to mime what he wanted, and was led behind the desk to the manager’s own office. The door was just wide enough—just—but Zen was used to that, and the man seemed genuinely hospitable, anxious to do right by his American visitor. He punched the buttons on the phone to allow the international call, then waited to make sure Zen had no problem connecting.
Zen used the “open” number for Dreamland, which actually connected through Nellis Air Force Base. It was highly likely, of course, that the conversation was being recorded, and so he had to be careful exactly what he said. Still, he wanted to talk to Bree.
“This is Major Stockard,” he told the operator on duty who answered. “I’m looking for Captain Stockard.”
“Yes, sir!” snapped the operator.
The line clicked, and a few seconds later, a male voice answered.
“Yeah?”
“Who’s this?” asked Zen.
“Deke James. Who’s this?”
“Zen Stockard.”
“Why’d you wake me up for?” said James.
“I’m looking for my wife,” said Zen.
“She ain’t here.”
Zen felt his jealousy spiking up—what the hell was James doing in their apartment?
“I want to talk to Bree,” he said.
“Yeah?”
The line went dead. Zen held the phone out, confused and angry. Deke was one of the engineer dweebs on the Unmanned Bomber Project.
What the hell was he doing in their apartment?
He was just about to put the phone down and try again when someone suddenly picked up on the other end of the line.
“Major!”
“Ax?”
“What, you’re away a few days and you forget who runs this place?” said Chief Master Sergeant Gibbs.
“How’d I get you?”
“Just lucky I guess. Deke James transferred you. Why’d you call him? What’d you do, wake him up?”
“I got the wrong number. What time is it there?”
“About 2100. He goes to bed early. Want to talk to your wife?”
“It’d be nice,” said Zen.
“Hold the phone. And listen, Zen—you kicked butt big time. We’re prouder than hell of you.”
“Thanks, Chief.”
Zen waited while the line once more went cold. Another voice picked up—male.
“Hey hero,” said Greasy Hands Parsons.
“Grease—what the hell are you doing?”
“Partying with your wife,” said Parsons. If Ax ran the administrative side of Dreamland—and he did—Greasy Hands essentially owned the planes. The chief master sergeant and Zen had known each other pretty much forever.
“She’s okay to party?” said Zen.
“Better than ever,” said the chief.
“Give me that phone,” said Breanna in the background.
“Bree—”
“Jeff—”
Her voice was like a spell. He felt his body suddenly relax.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Am I okay?” she said. “I’m fine. How the hell are you?”
“Just tired. I want to see you.”
She laughed. He could hear her talk to the room. “Hey, I got Zen on the phone—”
There was a general shout. Zen made out some congratulations from the assorted tumult.
“Where are you?” he asked, but Bree didn’t hear. Someone took the phone from her.
“Zen?”
“Hey, Jennifer. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” she said, with a tone that seemed to be meant to reassure herself as well as him. “Is Colonel Bastian there?”
“No, he’s hooked up with some ceremonies and crap,” said Zen.
“Tell him I said hello, okay?”
“I will. I think your program helped us nail the clone.”
She didn’t answer. Zen imagined seeing her turn red and push back her long, strawberry blond hair.
Breanna took the phone back. “So?” she asked.
“So what?”
“When you coming home?” Bree asked.
“Haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Well, get moving, Major. Get the lead out. Here, listen, everybody wants to say hello.”
Zen didn’t particularly want to talk to them, but somehow it felt as if it was his duty to. He leaned back in his wheelchair and listened as Breanna reminded them it was an open line.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
DALE BROWN is the author of multiple New York Times bestsellers including Flight of the Old Dog and Wings of Fire. He also created the Dreamland series, co-authored by Jim DeFelice. A former U.S. Air Force bombardier, Dale Brown is an instrument-rated private pilot and can often be found flying his own plane across the United States. He lives near Lake Tahoe, Nevada.
JIM DEFELICE’s technothrillers include Brother’s Keeper (2000) and Havana Strike (1997). Jim has also written more than a dozen works of fiction and nonfiction for young people. He lives with his wife and son in upstate New York, and can be contacted by email at [email protected].
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Also in the Dreamland Series
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
(with Jim DeFelice)
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND: NERVE CENTER
(with Jim DeFelice)
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND: RAZOR’S EDGE
(with Jim DeFelice)
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND: PIRANHA
(with Jim DeFelice)
Titles by Dale Brown
WINGS OF FIRE
WARRIOR CLASS
BATTLE BORN
THE TIN MAN
FATAL TERRAIN
SHADOWS OF STEEL
STORMING HEAVEN
CHAINS OF COMMAND
NIGHT OF THE HAWK
SKY MASTERS
HAMMERHEADS
DAY OF THE CHEETAH
SILVER TOWER
FLIGHT OF THE OLD DOG
RAVES FOR THE NOVELS OF NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
DALE BROWN
"The best military writer in the country today."
Clive Cussler
"Brown puts us in the cockpits of wonderful machines and gives us quite a ride. . . . [His] flying sequences are terrific. Authentic and gripping, they will have you breathing a bit heavily."
New York Times Book Review
"Dale Brown has an uncanny talent for putting his millions of fans into the middle of his action stories. . . . His knowledge of world politics and possible military alliances is stunning. . . . He writes about weapons beyond a mere mortal's imagination."
Tulsa World
"One of the premier writers [of] techno-thrillers."
Virginian-Pilot
"Brown [writes] consistent page-turners."
Booklist
"Brown is a master . . . bringing to life his characters with a few deft strokes."
Publishers Weekly
"The talk makes Brown's novels authentic. What makes them riveting is the rapid pace and headline urgency of his plots."
San Francisco Chronicle
"[His] richness of detail will appeal to the many readers taken with military weaponry, air combat, and the Byzantine secrets of military command."
Chicago Tribune
"Brown can spin a suspenseful yarn."
Richmond Times
"Nobody . . . does it better than Brown."
Kirkus Reviews
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND: Strike Zone. Copyright © 2004 by Air Battle Force, Inc.All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
“E-Book Extras.” Copyright © 2003 by Air Battle Force, Inc.
EPub © Edition DECEMBER 2003 ISBN: 9780061741067
First Avon Books paperback printing: January 2004
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