216 DALE BROWN

until given a Mexican controller freq and squawk and cleared to proceed. "

"Storm One copies clearance." switched his outside radios to standby and said on interphone to McLanahan: "Now let me guess-this air machine ain't gonna do no orbiting."

"You got that right. Take two-five-zero, maintain five-zero-zero knots. When we reach REEBO start a climb to three-niner-zero and switch to max speed power settings.

"We'll be sucking fuel like crazy," reminded McLanahan. "It'll be real tight if we don't have tanker support on the way back."

"We need to catch this Maraklov and get a shot at him. What counts is nailing that bastard. Right now I don't really much care if I make it back."

General Brad Elliott sat alone in the small battle-staff operations center of HAWCs command post. A wall-size gas-plasma screen was on the far wall, depicting the southern Nevada Red Flag bombing and aerial-gunnery ranges in which the Old Dog was located. The airspace was empty except for the cluster of aircraft, mostly security helicopters and shuttles for the investigation team, around the Megafortress' impact area.

Hal Briggs entered the conference room. He was carrying his automatic pistol in a shoulder holster and wearing a communications transceiver with a wireless earpiece to allow him to stay in contact with his command center wherever he went.

He studied General Elliott for a moment before disturbing him. More than ever, the sixty-year-old commander of Dreamland looked exhausted, physically and emotionally. Working out here in the Nevada wastelands was demanding for even the healthiest, but for Elliott it was especially tough., Briggs had seen the strain on him during day-to-day activities-increased isolation, moodiness. But this disaster looked as if it might push him fight to the edge. He needed some close observation from here on, Briggs decided. Very close.

Briggs dropped a piece of paper on the desk in front of Elliott.

"Preliminary report from the investigation team, crew-member disposition analysis." Elliott said nothing. Briggs paused a moment, then decided to read on: "Two members of the crew never tried to get out; Wendelstat in the I. P. seat and Major Evanston, the nav. Right side of the crew compartment was badly chewed DAY OF THE CHEETAH 217

up; Evanston may have already been dead. " Elliott winced as if struck in the face. Evanston was part of the "great experiment"

of the early 1990s, the project exploring the possibility of military women assigned to combat duties. A graduate of the Air Force Academy, she was easily the best qualified for the program, and she was accepted and soon became the first woman crewmember in a B-52 bomber squadron. Because of her engineering background, she had been temporarily assigned to HAWC to participate in the Megafortress Plus project-obviously headed for promotion. What a terrible waste.

Hal hurried on through the report to spare Elliott as much as possible: "I guess Wendelstat in the I.'s seat didn't have a chance for manual bailout unless he was at high altitude." Elliott nodded numbly. "Gunner's seat was fired but a parently malfunctioned. Remains still strapped in placer guess Dr. Pereira never tried manual bailout. Didn't have a chance . . .

Remains found in the debris believed to be of General Ormack; he ejected but landed in the fireball."

"My God . . .

"Khan might be okay, some bad cuts and lacerations, a broken arm but that's it. Wendy Tork is in critical condition. She's on her way to the bum unit at Brooks Medical Center in San Antonio. Her progress is not favorable. Ed Frost . . . died, sir.

They said he never got a 'chute .

Elliott rubbed his eyes. "I want Tork's progress monitored hourly. I want to make sure she's getting the best treatment possible.

"I'll see to it, sir.

"What about the families?"

"Being assembled at the base chapel at Nellis, as you ordered, " Briggs said. "Dr. Pereira listed no next of kin. All the rest are on their way."

Elliott shook his head, stunned. "This is the worst since the fall of Saigon. " He stared at the chart on the screen. "What the hell can I tell the families?

"Tell them what you just told me, sir.

"But they'll never understand, and why should they?"

"They understood the sort of job those crewmembers did, even if they weren't told specifics. What they need is every bit of support you can give them. They'll want to know their husbands or friends or sons or daughters didn't die for nothing.