Read Online Retribution by Dale Brown - Free Book Online

in.”
    Balboa’s tone suggested that Samson was the one who was late. Samson hadn’t risen in the ranks by insulting his superiors. Especially when, as he hoped, they were about to deliver good news. So he stifled his annoyance and rose, thanked theadmiral’s staff for their attention, and followed Balboa into his office.
    “You’ve heard the news about India and Pakistan, I assume,” said Balboa, sliding behind his desk. An antique, it was said to have belonged to one of the USS Constitution ’s skippers—a fact Samson wouldn’t have known except for the brass plate screwed into the front, obviously to impress visitors.
    “I read the summary on my way over,” said Samson.
    “What do you think of the developments?”
    Samson considered what sort of response to give. Though classified, the report hadn’t given many details, merely hinting that the U.S. had used some sort of new weapons to down the missiles fired by both sides. It wasn’t clear what was truly going on, however, and the way Balboa posed the question made Samson suspect a trap.
    “I guess I don’t have enough details to form an opinion,” he said finally.
    “We’ve shot down twenty-eight warheads,” said Balboa. “The Navy sank an Indian aircraft carrier and several Chinese ships that tried to interfere. The President is continuing the operation. He wants the warheads recovered.”
    “I see,” said Samson.
    “The Dreamland people were in the middle of things. They fired the radiation weapons. Power is out throughout the subcontinent.”
    “Uh-huh.” Samson tried to hide his impatience. A few months before, he had been mentioned as a possible commander for a new base that would have supplanted Dreamland, but the plans had never come to fruition—thankfully so, because he had much bigger and better things in mind.
    Like the job he’d hoped Balboa had called him here to discuss, heading Southern Command.
    “Some of the people in the administration didn’t understand the potential of the Whiplash concept,” said Balboa.
    He was interrupted by a knock on the door.
    “Come.”
    One of his aides, a Marine Corps major, entered with acup of coffee. The major set it down, then whispered something in Balboa’s ear.
    “I’ll call him back.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “The President,” Balboa explained to Samson as the aide left. “Always looking for more information.”
    “What exactly is Whiplash?” asked Samson.
    “Oh, Whiplash.” Balboa made a face that was halfway between a smirk and a frown. “Whiplash is the name the Dreamland people use for their ground action team. They’re air commandos. But the term is also the code word the President uses to deploy Dreamland assets—air as well as ground—around the world. The concept is to combine cutting-edge technology with special operations people. A few of us thought it would be a good idea years ago, but it’s taken quite a while to get the kinks out. The line of communication and command—the National Security Advisor and the White House had their fingers in the pie, which twisted things around, as I’m sure you’d imagine.”
    “Of course.”
    “Well, that’s finally been worked out. From this point forward, I think things will run much more smoothly. The concept—I fully support it, of course. But since I’ve been pushing it for so long, that’s understandable.”
    Samson didn’t know how much of what Balboa was saying to believe. Not only was the Chairman’s disdain for the Air Force well known, but Balboa didn’t have a reputation for backing either cutting-edge research or special operations, even in the Navy. Balboa loved ships—big ships, as in aircraft carriers and even battleships, which he had suggested several times could be brought back into active service as cruise missile launchers.
    Or cruise missile targets, as some of Samson’s friends at the War College commented in after-hour lectures. These sessions were always off campus, off the record, and far