Dale Brown's Dreamland--Strike Zone

by Dreamland--Strike Zone(Lit)

  Danny and Stoner had worked out a straightforward plan to secure the factory site at Kaohisiung.Penn would launch a laser-guided E-bomb at the start of the assault, wiping out all unshielded electronic devices at the target site. Whiplash would parachute in, secure the building, and hold it. The Marines would come in with the Osprey as well as some small boats, providing backup and extra security. The devices would be evacked out via the Osprey to this airport—the hangar area would be secured by more Marines—and then taken away by the MC-17 to Brunei.

  Stoner would ride with the Marines in the Osprey, carrying backup detection gear and his own hot link back to Dream Command, where a team of experts would be providing real-time analysis of the data the assault team gathered. Major Alou andPenn would fly offshore, with two Flighthawks—one piloted by Starship, the other by Kick, providing cover. About the only difficulty Danny could see was persuading the Marines to take what was drawn up as the secondary role in the operation.

  While the site was being secured, Zen andRaven would head south to observe the ship Dreamland had just tagged as the possible UAV operator. With the help of signal intelligence the Navy routinely collected as it tracked ships on the ocean, the Dreamland team had matched seemingly innocuous radio transmissions to those Jennifer Gleason had ID’d as belonging to the UAV control mechanism. The transmissions had been traced to theDragon Prince , a small oil tanker. According to Jennifer’s theory, it operated the UAV with the help of a network of buoys and a satellite, disguising transmissions to appear as routine navigational inquiries or as “junk” reflections from other systems. The latest intelligence, cobbled together from a variety of sources, showed that the ship was due in Kaohisiung harbor tomorrow.

  Undoubtedly to get the bomb.

  If the robot launched, Zen would destroy it.Raven had been tabbed for the mission because its computers had the UAV frequency data; Dog would take the helm.

  TheDragon Prince would be apprehended by two U.S. Navy destroyers in international waters after the ground operation was under way. The ships were already en route, though they had not yet been informed of their exact mission or situation.

  “Washington is worried about security concerns,” explained Dog.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” said Stoner. “The ship captains may not think it’s a high priority. They ought to have the entire situation laid out for them.”

  “It’s not my call,” said Dog. Zen realized from the sharpness in Colonel Bastian’s voice that he didn’t agree with the decision, but was prepared to carry it out. “The concern is not only to preserve the element of sur- prise, but to keep the Mainland Chinese from finding out. If they knew there were nuclear devices on the island, they might use that as a pretext to launch an all-out attack.”

  Major Alou brought up a few practical issues about which non-Dreamland frequencies would be used during the operation, as well as the availability of refueling assets that were being chopped from Pacific Command. Zen found his mind drifting as the discussion slanted toward minutiae; he worried about Kick and Starship, who’d be working without a net.

  And then he remembered he’d still forgotten to call his wife.

  What was up with that?

  He eyed his watch, waiting for the briefing to end.

  Bright Memorial Hospital, Honolulu

  1800

  (Dreamland, 2100)

  BREANNASTOCKARD HADjust finished packing her things when the phone on the bedstand rang. Thinking it was probably her mother—her mother had taken to calling her every hour on the hour—she blew off the first few rings. Finally, she reached for it, grabbing it just in time to hear whoever had been calling hanging up.

  Probably Zen, she thought, instantly angry with herself for not picking up the phone. She took her bag and went out, glad to finally be out of the small whitewashed space.

  As she rode the elevator downstairs, Breanna felt a surge of concern for her husband. She knew he’d deployed on a mission somewhere, but security concerns had prevented him or anyone else from saying exactly where he was or what he was doing. As a member of the military—not to mention the same elite unit—Breanna was expected to understand that there would be times when duty demanded she not speak to Zen. But it wasn’t easy, just as it wasn’t easy for the literally thousands of other men and women—and children—who found themselves in similar situations around the country. Breanna accepted this as a given, a part of her life. Even so, as she made her way to the elevator, she felt an undeniable ache, a longing to be near her husband.

  The ache turned into something else in the elevator downstairs, something sharper, a jagged hole.

  Fear. She was worried about him, afraid that something was going to happen.

  She was sure of it. Convinced. Her hands began to tremble.

  The door opened. Bree’s mother stood a few feet away, talking to some other doctors. Breanna managed to bite the corner of her lip and pushed herself out of the elevator. She forced a smile and suffered through her mother’s greeting and introductions, looking toward the floor not out of modesty as her mother bragged, but hiding the emotion suddenly washing through her. She signed herself out, the words on the papers at the desk invisible behind a thick fog.

  Spotting a phone nearby, she gave in to the temptation to call Dreamland, even though she knew she wouldn’t get Zen himself. She dialed the number, her finger sliding off the keys.

  No one would be able to talk to her anyway. It was an open line. All she’d do was make other people nervous.

  The phone rang and was answered before she could hang up.

  “This is Breanna Stockard,” she told the airman handling the phone. “I—”

  “Captain, how are you?” said the operator, and before she knew it she was talking to Chief Master Sergeant Terrence “Ax” Gibbs.

  “Everybody’s who’s anybody is out seeing the world,” Ax told her. “If you know what I mean.”

  The twinkle in the chief’s eyes translated somehow into his voice. Breanna’s apprehension didn’t melt—it was too deep for that—but her hand stopped trembling and the ground beneath her feet felt solid again.

  “Something up?” asked the chief.

  “No, chief, thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Sure I can’t do anything for you?”

  “You have, kinda,” she said. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

  “Red carpet’ll be waiting.”

  Taichung Air Base

  2300

  BOSTON HAD NEVERworn one of the fogsuits before, and Sergeant Liu had to help him into it. Covered with a thin layer of LEDs, the suit was designed to emit light in a pattern that blended with the surroundings. In pitch black, of course, it was completely dark. But in a grayish setting it would appear gray, and on a splotchy brown background it would look splotchy brown. The technology was still being worked on at Dreamland, and the scientists predicted that within a few years, new versions would make foot soldiers practically invisible to the naked eye.

  For now, they were just extremely hard to see, especially at dark.

  Sergeant Liu unfurled the hood from the back of the suit, covering all but the visor area of Boston’s helmet. The six Whiplash troopers looked like aliens, ready to take over the earth.

  Or at least a small part of it.

  “Check your tasers,” said Liu.

  Because of the political ramifications of operating without authorization in an allied country, the White House had ordered the Whiplash team to use nonlethal weapons “to the extent practical and possible” to take down the factory. Each team member carried a special Dreamland shotgun taser as his primary weapon. The gun looked like an Olin/HK CAWS RHINO (Repeating Hand-held Improved Non-rifled Ordnance) Special Forces shotgun with a large box in front of the trigger area. Traditional tasers fired two darts at a target that were connected to the weapon by a wire, allowing the shock to be administered. While potent, the need for the wire limited most tasers to relatively short range—fifteen yards was an i
ndustry standard. That was perfect for many police applications, but would put a Whiplash trooper at a severe disadvantage.

  The Dreamland gun—officially known as T-3, though the troopers usually just called them tasers or sometimes phasers after the weapons used in theStar Trek sci-fi series—fired a shell containing two bullets that looked like the jacks used in a child’s game, except that their points were considerably sharper. The bullets housed capacitors charged as the gun was fired; the shock when they contacted a target was enough to put down a horse.

  While the weapon could fire its cartridges beyond a hundred yards, technical difficulties with the separation of the bullets meant the team had to decide between short or long-range cartridges, with effective ranges between five and fifty yards or forty and one hundred yards. In both cases, the bullets would not separate or set the charge properly before the minimum range, and beyond the maximum they tended to be wildly inaccurate. All team members carried clips packed with both sets of ammo, color-coded and notched so they were easily ID’d.

  The team members also carried standard-issue M-4s—shortened M-16s favored by Airborne and SF troops—or MP-5s beneath their fogsuits; they were intended only as weapons of last resort.

  “We’re ready, Captain,” said Liu over the shared team frequency in the Smart Helmet as the last trooper signaled he was good to go.

  “Good.” Captain Freah’s rich baritone reverberated in Boston’s helmet. “Now remember, the E-bomb will go off just as we hit the ground,” he added. “It may not get everything, and they may start looking for us once their lights go out. Questions?”

  Bison made a lame joke about plugging his taser into an outlet and charging the city for electricity.

  “Any real questions?” asked the captain, and the silence told Boston they were ready to board the plane.

  AboardPenn , over the Taiwan Strait

  2335

  STARSHIP TOOK THEFlighthawk from the computer as the launch sequence completed, tucking the U/MF down toward the water as Kick authorized his own launch. It was damn good to be back in action.

  He wasn’t feeling any jitters, and the pressure wasn’t even up to football game levels. The fact that Kick had his hands full with his own aircraft reassured him somehow.

  Bottom line, Starship knew he was twice the pilot Kick was. Having his rival next to him in the Flighthawk bay flying his own aircraft seemed easier to deal with than having him hovering over his shoulder.

  It didn’t hurt either that Zen was off in the other plane.

  “Hawk Oneis coming through 25,000 feet, on course and ready,” he toldPenn ’s pilot, Major Alou. “Systems are solid. Instruments are in the green. I’m ready, Major.”

  “Roger that,” said Alou, his voice so calm it sounded as if he were ready for a nap. “Preparing for alpha maneuver and launch onHawk Two .”

  The big aircraft began to dip, sleighriding downhill as it fell into the launch maneuver for the other U/MF. The launch went perfectly; Starship saw his wingman pop onto the sitrep to the west, picking up speed as the computer and pilot double-checked their systems.

  “As we drew it up, boys,” said Major Alou. “Starship, you have the first run over the target area. Keep your altitude up; we don’t want anyone hearing us. You ready?”

  “Born ready,” said the pilot, tacking onto his course back toward land.

  Aboard Dreamland MC-17Quickmover over the Taiwan Strait

  2355

  DANNYFREAH WAITEDuntil he had the infrared feed from the Flighthawk before clicking the bottom of the visor to get the computer-interpreted view from the Dreamland tactical computer system. Located deep in the computer bunkers below the Megafortress hangars, the computers were sifting through the data supplied by the camera and radar inHawk One , interpolating it with what was already known about the site.

  Building Two, their primary objective, was occupied by a single guard at the shore side of the compound. Another dozen men were nearby, in a building about a hundred yards away, most of them clumped in a basement suite they had identified as the security headquarters. The suite and its sensors would be blinded by the E-bomb, which would effectively fry any unshielded electronics within a half mile of its air-burst explosion. The bomb—actually a small laser-guided missile that could be controlled by Danny once launched—sat inPenn ’s bomb bay, ready to go.

  “All right, listen up, you can see the schematic,” said Danny as the image of the site flashed into his team’s helmets. “As we planned it. Liu and Boston on Shed One. My team has the security headquarters building. Bison and Reagan, you have the approach. Make sure the Marines don’t kill us,” he added, knowing it would get a laugh from his men.

  Six Marines, all trained in SF warfare, were jumping with the team to help take control of the perimeter. They too were armed with nonlethal weapons—Remington shotguns, equipped with crowd-control shells, along with M-4s as backups. Frankly, the hardest part of his job so far had been convincing the Marines they had to stay behind his guys once they got on the ground.

  Two companies of Marines had squeezed aboard the Dreamland Osprey and would roar in once the Whiplash team was down. Four small boats sat about a mile offshore, filled with Marines, ready to race into the harbor. Danny had worked with a number of Marine units over the past few years and was confident that, despite a bit of jawing back and forth, they’d do as good a job as his troopers.

  What he hadn’t worked with before in combat was the fogsuit. It was a great idea in practice, certainly, and had done well during the exercises. But jumping from a large aircraft in the middle of the night was always a risky venture. If the bulky suit felt uncomfortable to him, he was sure it would feel uncomfortable to most if not all of the others.

  And being uncomfortable was never good.

  But it was too late to take them off. The light flashed. The ramp at the back of the aircraft cranked open. The wind howled.

  “We’re going,” he told Major Alou aboardPenn .

  “Missile launch is counting down,” replied the pilot over the Dreamland circuit.

  Bison, the jumpmaster, put up his fist.

  “Let’s go,” Danny heard himself say.

  AboardRaven , over the Taiwan Strait

  15 September 1997

  0002

  ZEN HAD SPLIThis lower control screen in half so he could see a sitrep feed from Dream Command showing the assault. The screen was tiny, especially in the helmet viewer, but he avoided the temptation to make it his main view—he was controlling two Flighthawks from the hold of the Megafortress, orbitingDragon Prince , and watching for signs of activity. While the computer was presently doing most of the work, Zen couldn’t afford to let his attention stray too far from the controls.

  “First wave is out of the plane,” relayed Dog, who was piloting the plane. “Looking good.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Merce is ready to go with the E-bomb.”

  “Roger that.”

  Zen checked his instruments, purposely trying to draw his attention away from the other operation. His guys were good. They could handle it.

  Best thing to do was let them.

  “Hawk leader, you want to take a run over the ship’s deck?” asked Dog. “Get a real close-up and see if we can spot the clone?”

  Zen acknowledged, then took the helm ofHawk Three —his U/MFs were designatedThree andFour to avoid confusion—and tucked toward the oil tanker, which was about ten nautical miles from the mouth of the Kaohisiun harbor.

  The sitrep for the assault flickered.

  “E-bomb went off as scheduled,” said Dog. “The power is gone in that part of the city. Everything’s on schedule.”

  “Roger that,” said Zen, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

  On the Ground in Kaohisiung

  0004

  DANNY HIT THEroof of the building square in the middle, only a quarter meter from the point the computer had designated. With two quick snaps, he had unhooked his chute. He press
ed the trigger on his taser lightly, activating its targeting mechanism. Its aimpoint appeared as a crisp red circle in his Smart Helmet visor. With the helmet’s starscope vision showing him the night, there was no need to pop on the LED wristlight that was an integral part of the fogsuit; instead, he made his way to the end of the building above the door closest to the security headquarters. He saw the door open as he reached it. Kneeling, he waited as two of the company guards emerged from the building, each carrying a handgun. As the door started to close behind the men, he fired.

  Vvvvrooop.

  Vvvvrooop.

  A net of blue light enveloped the men. Both Taiwanese spun slightly, stunned by the shock of electricity pulverizing every muscle and nerve in their bodies. Danny climbed over the edge of the roof and swung down, landing on his feet a few feet from the men he had downed. The shock had rendered them semiconscious. He kicked the guns away, then Danny took a small plastic canister from his pocket. It looked like a grenade with an extra-long spoon handle. He pulled the handle and tossed it between the men, stepping back as netting material expanded over them. The sticky material was not escape-proof, but it would easily hold them in place until the reinforcements arrived.

  Egg Reagan, meanwhile, had come around the side of the building. He slapped what looked like the head of a plunger on the door; it was actually a man-portable radar unit similar to SoldierVision to help them see inside. Using the unit rather than their own Smart Helmets would prevent anyone from homing in on the source of the radio waves and targeting them. Egg strung a wire to the unit and stepped around the corner, viewing it in his helmet visor after attaching the wire at the back.

  “Clear,” said Egg.

  The door was locked. Danny took out a Beretta loaded with metal slugs and fired point-blank through the mechanism.

  “Still clear,” said Egg.

  “In.”

  The hall, dark because both the electricity and backup lighting had been knocked out by the E-bomb, made an L about twenty feet from the door. As they cleared the corner, the yellow beams of small flashlights danced at the far end.