target . . .
The cannon reported locked-on and firing-then stopped.
After several days of misuse, inexperienced handling, and lack
of routine preventive maintenance, and because the Russian-
made ammunition was not precisely compatible with its Amer-
ican counterpart, DreamStar's twenty-millimeter cannon fired
five rounds, then jammed solid. The M61 A5 cannon's automatic
jam-clearing mechanism tried to reverse the cartridge belt-feed,
spin past the portion of the belt where the jam occurred and
refeed the belt through the firing chamber, but the jam could not
be cleared in flight.
At the speed of thought, ANTARES transmitted several bits
of data to Maraklov's exhausted mind. The cannon jam was re-
ported in minute detail-he knew exactly where the jam was,
the status of the unsuccessful attempts to clear it and the chang-
Ing status of all the attack options that had been computed using
the cannon. He also knew the range to Cheetah, knew Cheetah's
Doppler-measured velocity, and knew that Cheetah was within
lethal gun range. And he knew to the nearest one-tenth of a knot
his own decreasing airspeed and the position of his wings and
canards to overcome his speed deficit. He commanded his last
AA-" missile to launch, but it was a desperate snap-shot, with
only one or two seconds guidance time and launched with a
much higher launch angle of attack than the Russian missile was
designed for.
With the realization that a defensive turn and descent away
from Cheetah was the last available option, the pain returned
full-force to Maraklov's already tortured nervous system. This
time, the pain was unbearable . . . He never knew that AN-
TARES' stabilization system automatically corrected the im-
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 493
pending stall condition. He also was not conscious enough to
realize that DreamStar had taken several direct hits all across its
wings and upper fuselage as ANTARES pulled its nose back to
the horizon.
Warning messages began flooding in from almost every sys-
tem on board the fighter, but Maraklov was too dazed by exhaus-
tion and too overloaded with pain to assimilate them all-now
the ANTARES computer was forced to take over all safety and
flight control functions. The computers aboard DreamStar de-
tected a fire in the engine compartment, momentarily shut down
the engine, put out the fire and restarted the engine all in a few
seconds. Engine-fuel feed was rerouted to draw fuel from leak-
ing tanks before they ran dry. The mission-adaptive wings re-
shaped themselves to compensate for hydraulic actuators
damaged by gunfire.
But through it all, Maraklov hovered on the brink of uncon-
sciousness. And without him, for all ANTARES' capability,
DreamStar was no longer capable of fighting.
McLanahan came out of military power and set the throttles to
eighty percent. He saw the BINGO low fuel warning projected
onto his windscreen-less than ten minutes of fuel remaining-
but for now he ignored it. He clicked open the interphone. -Ws
what?
"I see smoke coming out of his exhaust," Preston said. "Not
heavy but I can see it. He's flying straight and level, not maneu-
vering. You got him
McLanahan looked over far to his right and spotted
DreamStar. He turned toward him. Preston said, "You've got
two-hundred rounds remaining and two missiles. Take the shot.
We're low on fuel.
He lined up on DreamStar, selected an AIM-132 infrared mis-
sile, aligned it, hit the voice-command button: "Safe all mis-
siles. Safe cannon."
"Caution, all weapons safe.
"Patrick, what are you doing? You got to bring this guy down.
There's no other choice. He can turn on us .
McLanahan's reply was to click open the emergency fre-
quency: "DreamStar, this is Cheetah. I'm at your six, five miles.
I'm joining on your right side. Do you hear me?"
"Stay away The pain in his voice was obvious, even
494 DAIE BROWN
er ...
"It's over, I'm joining on your wing. When you see me stay
on my wing. We're landing. Do you understand'?"
He maneuvered Cheetah closer to DreamStar, finally overtak-
ing him. "I've got the lead, coming right. You're on the wing,
stay there." He began a shallow right turn.
I am not giving up this aircraft the computer-
synthesized voice said. "I am not ... not going to surrender
DreamStar .
"It's over. Listen to me. DrearnStar is damaged, you're hurt
bad. You'll destroy DrearnStar or force me to destroy you. You've
got a chance to live. Take it-"
Suddenly Marcia called out, "He's turning behind us ... ! "
But it was only a momentary deviation. A moment later
DreamStar moved into perfect fingertip formation with Cheetah.
:'That's it, stay in position. " On interphone McLanahan said,
'Marcia, get on the radio to an air traffic facility you can
reach. Tell them we need vectors to a hard-surface runway
ASAP.- 'Iwo
He paused, taking his first real deep breath, then added:
American military aircraft landing, both require assistance."
Vv%ffopue
XIP 40-
Brooks AFB Hospital, San Antonio, Texas
Thursday, 25 June 1996, 2037 PDT (2337 EDT)
"SHE'S A REMARKABLE woman," the doctor told him. "You
were right. She just refused to give up."
He I bent over and kissed her. " She's a tough broad.
Wendy returned the kiss, reached up and touched his face,
ran her fingers across his temples. "You've gotten a few gray
hairs in the past few days, Colonel." Her smile dimmed as she
saw his eyes, remembering. "I'm sorry I won't be there for
JC.'s service tomorrow. I'm going to miss him . . . "
He nodded. "I've never felt as secure, or as happy in an
aircraft until I started flying with And he was afriend.-
McLanahan was silent a few moments. "But seeing you like this
again, it overwhelms everything ... How do you feel?"
"Like they say, lucky to be alive. Also tired as hell. The
doctor says I'll be out of here in a couple of weeks, then a few
months' convalescent leave. I think that's too much. Four, five
weeks should do it." She took his hand, squeezed it tight. "I
... I heard about what you did before you left for Honduras
again. I heard everyone was ready to let me go. I--
Patrick put a finger on her lips. "I did it because I'm selfish.
What the hell would I do without you?"
He knelt down beside her bed and she wrapped her arms
around him, pulled him close to her. They didn't say a word.
Even one would have been superfluous.
They heard a polite cough behind them. Joe and Betty Tork
were standing in the doorway. "May we come in?" Betty asked.
McLanahan moved aside. Wendy's parents gave their daughter
496 DALE BROWN
a hug and spoke in low whispers. Then Joe Tork stood and faced
Patrick.
"Congratulations, Patrick," he said in a low voice. "Thank
God Wendy is doing all right."
"Yeah, well, I have to be going." Joe put a big hand on his
shoulder.
:'Hey, McLanahan, I'm trying to apologize."
'Colonel, it's not so bad for an ex-Marine. Okay?"
"Okay. All even."
There was one spot in the thousand-square-mile Dreamland
complex not classified top-secret or restricted access, although
it was one of the most difficult places to get in to visit. Sur-
rounded by a simple picket fence and a grove of trees, a green
oasis in the middle of miles of desert and rocks, was a cemetery
dedicated to the most extraordinary aircrewmen and support per-
sonnel in the world.
The cemetery, belonging to the men and women who died in
the service of the top-secret weapons and aircraft laboratory in
the high desert of southern Nevada, had seen a lot of use in the
past few days. The services for the dead security guards and the
crew of the Old Dog had already taken place here; their grave
sites, only a few yards away, still bore fresh flowers. Granite
walls had been erected near the plots, telling who these men and
women were and how they died; the walls were concealed by
black plastic covers because the incident was still classified and
under investigation. Now three more burial places and another
granite wall, covered with secretive black as well, had been pre-
pared for Alan Carmichael, Raymond Butler and Roland Powell.
No matter how much he prepared, the sound of the shots from
the seven rifles over the graves of his friends stung McLanahan
right to the heart. The echoes of the twenty-one shots reverber-
ated off the surrounding Groom Mountains, seemingly rolling
off the hills and echoing on forever.
As taps were played by a lone bugler, McLanahan heard the
roar of jet engines passing overhead. At first he had no desire
to watch the planes-the realization that he would never see these
three men again had hit him with full force. They were such an
important part of his life that their loss made him feel weak,
completely drained. Then he looked across to the grave site, and
the further realization of the deaths of Ormack, Pereira and the
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 497
other members of the Old Dog's crew made it especially hard.
There seemed to be no future beyond this place ... his future
seemed to be lying at his feet ...
He felt a hand on his shoulder, turned and saw Brad Elliott.
Standing on one side of Elliott was Deborah O'Day, and on his
other side was Hal Briggs. Elliott motioned skyward with his
eyes, and McLanahan looked up and saw the astonishing for-
mation passing overhead.
The sky seemed to be filled with planes. 'Me lead formation
was composed of some of the most high-tech machines in ft
world, led by a B-52 Megafortress. The formation also had
"flying-wing" B-2 stealth bombers, a B-1 Excalibur bomber,
one of the new stretched FB-111 bombers and a large aircraft
that looked a lot like a smaller version of the B-1, with its wings
pulled back to its fully swept high-speed setting. The second
formation was composed of five F-15F fighter-bombers, and it
was from this formation where one aircraft, 's Cheetah-he
recognized it immediately, its right vertical stabilizer was still
missing-peeled off from the rest to form the "missing man"
formation.
Among the onlookers was a man who had had more than a
little to do with this ceremony. Ken James . . . Maraklov. He
had been allowed, over protests of some members of HAWC, to
attend the service, handcuffed and surrounded by two security
guards. Eventually he was taken away by the security agents.
Elliott and McLanahan turned back toward the three grave
sites as the ceremony ended and the crowd dispersed. "I feel
like everything's come to an end here, General."
"Not quite." Elliott motioned skyward again, and Mc-
Lanahan followed his lead. The unusual B- I lookalike had moved
its wings up from its full aft-sweep position to a forward-swept
position like the XF-29 fighter's high-maneuverability wings. The
amazing hybrid plane then pulled up out of the formation, lit its
twin afterburners with a rolling boom and did a spectacular
climbing roll, accelerating quickly out of sight.
"The new XFB-5 Tracer," Elliott said in a low voice. "First
generation, designed for strategic escort-duties like the Mega-
fortress. We combined the technology of the F-29 and the B-1
and came up with a plane that's twice as good as the sum of its
parts. It's as fast and agile as a fighter, but with almost the same
payload and power as a supersonic bomber."
498 DALE BROWN
The officer in charge of the ceremony handed the folded
American flags to Secretary of the Air Force Wilbur Curtis, who
in turn handed them to the widows and families. Elliott said,
"Meet me in my office tomorrow afternoon, three o'clock," and
walked off with Deborah O'Day and Briggs to join Curtis and
pay his respects to the families.
The next day McLanahan walked into Elliott's office in the heart
of the HAWC complex. Elliott, O'Day, Preston and Briggs all
had snifters of brandy, and Hal offered one to McLanahan.
"To our friends," Elliott said, raising the glass. He took a
sip, then set the snifter down on his desk. "I never realized how
young Powell was. His parents still look like college gradu-
ates.
"Powell was the one who made it happen," McLanahan said.
"He gave me the key to beating DreamStar . . . no matter how
advanced a system is, human unpredictability and flexibility can
overcome it. Funny, the very thing that made DreamStar sup-
posedly unbeatable actually led to its defeat-its single-minded
command to attack meant it didn't know what retreat or caution
were. had the intelligence and insight to discover that."
"Well, he gave you the key just in time," Elliott said. He
turned to O'Day. "It was very . . . generous of you also to
recommend that James be allowed to attend the ceremony
"Very, " Briggs said.
McLanahan said nothing. His sentiments were obvious. This
was his buddy.
"My lieutenant says Maraklov wants to make a deal-asylum
for information," Briggs said. "I'm going to talk with him.
Frankly, Id just as soon turn his butt over to the Russian gov-
emment. I'm sure they d show him a good time."
"I have some bad news, people," Elliott said. "As you know,
the Defense Intelligence Agency, the CIA, and the Pentagon are
all conducting investigations at HAWC. I don't know what the
future of the Center will be. But we do know some of the first
casualties. As expected, Hal and I have been relieved of our
assignments, effective at the end of the year.
"That's lousy," McLanahan said. "Neither of you deserve
it-"
"There will be another casualty." He looked at McLanahan.
"S
orry, Patrick. I think the housecleaning will be total."
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 499
McLanahan looked neither shocked nor even surprised. "If any-
one didn't deserve this, it's you. Your actions during this whole
business have been above and beyond."
"So were 's. So were General Ormack's. Maybe I deserve
what I got-they sure as hell didn't."
"It's not the end, though," Elliott said. He turned to Deborah
O'Day, who took another sip of brandy and got to her feet.
"No, it is not the end. The fact is, in this room right now is
the heart of an entirely new outfit. We have groups that can
specialize in many different types of operations, all working di-
rectly for the President, and all supervised to various degrees by
Congress. This group,.including Marcia Preston, will carry on
with the type of work you've been doing for the past few years,
except now you'll be doing it directly and accountably for the
White House."
She picked up her brandy snifter. "Of course, all of this might
come to a crashing halt if Lloyd Taylor doesn't get reelected.
But that's not up to us. " She held up her glass. "Ladies and
gentlemen, all those here present interested in working more
long hours for low pay and probably lower recognition, but hav-
ing the absolute time of their lives, signify by saying 'aye.'
The ayes had it. Unanimous.
"Here's to the charter members of Future Flight. And may
heaven have mercy on the bad guys."
The whole second floor of Dreamland's small detention facility
had been turned into a huge high-security area. Guards were
posted on the stairways and in every hallway. All personnel were
screened and checked any time they came in or out of the build-
ing.
Andrei Maraklov was the floor's only occupant. He had a
room to himself in the center of the second floor, guarded inside
and out by armed soldiers and undercover CIA operatives. All
in all, twenty soldiers and agents were assigned to him round-
the-clock.
Even for other agents, it was tough to get near him. From the
time he came onto the grounds of the High Technology Ad-
vanced Weapons Center, Defense Intelligence Agency operative