Read Online Retribution by Dale Brown - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dale Brown
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Romance, Action & Adventure, Espionage, War & Military, Terrorism, spy stories, Nevada, Nuclear weapons, Air Pilots; Military, Proving Grounds - Nevada, United States - Weapons Systems
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from any ears that might report back to the admiral. And, naturally, they were accompanied by studious elbow bending.
“As it happens,” said Balboa, “Dreamland has been under the, uh, direction of a lieutenant colonel. Dog—what’s his first name, uh…”
“Lieutenant Colonel Tecumseh Bastian,” said Samson.
A decade younger than himself, Bastian had earned his wings as a fighter jock, a community unto itself in the Air Force, and so far as Samson knew, he had never met the colonel. But everyone in the Air Force had heard of Bastian and his incredible exploits at the helm of the EB-52 Megafortress.
“Presumptuous name,” said Balboa. “Goes with the personality.”
“A lieutenant colonel is in charge of Dreamland?” said Samson. He’d assumed Bastian was in charge of a wing at Dreamland, not the entire place. “I thought General Magnus took over after Brad Elliott.”
“Yes, well, General Magnus did take over—on paper. For a while. The reality is, Bastian has been in charge. And while he has, I’m sure, points to recommend him…”
Balboa paused, making it clear he was struggling for something nice to say about the lieutenant colonel. Then he also made it clear he had given up.
“In the end, Bastian is a lieutenant colonel,” said Balboa. “What Dreamland needs to reach its potential is a commander. A command general. You.”
Samson sucked air.
“Of course, it’s not just the base,” added Balboa, obviously sensing a problem. “The Whiplash people, the Megafortresses—”
Samson cleared his throat. “I had been given to understand that I was to…that I was in line for Southern Command.”
Balboa made a face. “That’s not in the cards at the moment.”
“When is it in the cards?”
“This is an important assignment, General. Weapons development is just one aspect of Dreamland. Important, but just part. We want to expand the capability—the Whiplash idea—we want to expand it exponentially. That’s the whole point.”
Samson felt his face growing hot. No matter how much sugar Balboa tried to put on the assignment, it was a major comedown. He was deputy freaking commander of the Eighth Air Force, for cryin’ out loud. Not to mention former chief of plans for the air staff at the Pentagon. Base commander—with all due respect to other base commanders, fine men all, or almost all—was a sidetrack to his career.
Years before maybe, when he was still commanding a B-1B bomber wing, this might have been a step up. But not now. They had a lieutenant colonel in charge over there, for cryin’ out loud.
And what a lieutenant colonel. No one was going to outshine him. The brass would be far better off finding a single star general a year or so from retirement to take things in hand quietly.
“Questions?” Balboa asked.
“Sir—”
“You’ll have a free hand,” said Balboa, rising and extending his hand. “We want this to be a real command—an integral part of the system. It hasn’t been until now. We’re going to expand. You’re going to expand. You have carte blanche. Use it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Samson managed to shake Balboa’s hand, then left the office as quickly as he could.
Air Force High Technology Advanced Weapons Center (Dreamland)
0630, 15 January 1998
J ENNIFER G LEASON ROSE AND PUT HER HANDS ON HER hips, then began pacing at the back of the Command Center. She was due at Test Range 2B to check on the computer guidance system for the AIM-154 Anaconda interceptor missiles in a half hour. There had been troubles with the discriminator software, which used artificial intelligenceroutines to distinguish between civilian and military targets in fail-safe mode when the Identification Friend or Foe (IFF) circuitry failed. She had helped one of the engineers with the coding and agreed to sit in on today’s tests of the missile to see if the changes had been successful.
But she’d agreed to do that weeks ago, before the trouble in India. Before her lover,
“As it happens,” said Balboa, “Dreamland has been under the, uh, direction of a lieutenant colonel. Dog—what’s his first name, uh…”
“Lieutenant Colonel Tecumseh Bastian,” said Samson.
A decade younger than himself, Bastian had earned his wings as a fighter jock, a community unto itself in the Air Force, and so far as Samson knew, he had never met the colonel. But everyone in the Air Force had heard of Bastian and his incredible exploits at the helm of the EB-52 Megafortress.
“Presumptuous name,” said Balboa. “Goes with the personality.”
“A lieutenant colonel is in charge of Dreamland?” said Samson. He’d assumed Bastian was in charge of a wing at Dreamland, not the entire place. “I thought General Magnus took over after Brad Elliott.”
“Yes, well, General Magnus did take over—on paper. For a while. The reality is, Bastian has been in charge. And while he has, I’m sure, points to recommend him…”
Balboa paused, making it clear he was struggling for something nice to say about the lieutenant colonel. Then he also made it clear he had given up.
“In the end, Bastian is a lieutenant colonel,” said Balboa. “What Dreamland needs to reach its potential is a commander. A command general. You.”
Samson sucked air.
“Of course, it’s not just the base,” added Balboa, obviously sensing a problem. “The Whiplash people, the Megafortresses—”
Samson cleared his throat. “I had been given to understand that I was to…that I was in line for Southern Command.”
Balboa made a face. “That’s not in the cards at the moment.”
“When is it in the cards?”
“This is an important assignment, General. Weapons development is just one aspect of Dreamland. Important, but just part. We want to expand the capability—the Whiplash idea—we want to expand it exponentially. That’s the whole point.”
Samson felt his face growing hot. No matter how much sugar Balboa tried to put on the assignment, it was a major comedown. He was deputy freaking commander of the Eighth Air Force, for cryin’ out loud. Not to mention former chief of plans for the air staff at the Pentagon. Base commander—with all due respect to other base commanders, fine men all, or almost all—was a sidetrack to his career.
Years before maybe, when he was still commanding a B-1B bomber wing, this might have been a step up. But not now. They had a lieutenant colonel in charge over there, for cryin’ out loud.
And what a lieutenant colonel. No one was going to outshine him. The brass would be far better off finding a single star general a year or so from retirement to take things in hand quietly.
“Questions?” Balboa asked.
“Sir—”
“You’ll have a free hand,” said Balboa, rising and extending his hand. “We want this to be a real command—an integral part of the system. It hasn’t been until now. We’re going to expand. You’re going to expand. You have carte blanche. Use it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Samson managed to shake Balboa’s hand, then left the office as quickly as he could.
Air Force High Technology Advanced Weapons Center (Dreamland)
0630, 15 January 1998
J ENNIFER G LEASON ROSE AND PUT HER HANDS ON HER hips, then began pacing at the back of the Command Center. She was due at Test Range 2B to check on the computer guidance system for the AIM-154 Anaconda interceptor missiles in a half hour. There had been troubles with the discriminator software, which used artificial intelligenceroutines to distinguish between civilian and military targets in fail-safe mode when the Identification Friend or Foe (IFF) circuitry failed. She had helped one of the engineers with the coding and agreed to sit in on today’s tests of the missile to see if the changes had been successful.
But she’d agreed to do that weeks ago, before the trouble in India. Before her lover,
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