Drone Strike: A Dreamland Thriller (Dale Brown's Dreamland) Read Online Free

when landing with the B-1? Or would they reform and fly on their own? If that happened, there was no telling what they might do next.
    Which explained the flight of F-22s from nearby Nellis air base that were being vectored to the north side of the range. The radars that worked the Dreamland defense lasers were also tracking them.
    “Whiplash Observer, how much fuel do you have left?” asked the controller.
    “We’re good for another half hour or so,” he told the controller, looking at Old Girl’s gauges. The instruments were still old-school clock-style readouts. “Add twenty to that in reserve. You know. Give or take.”
    “Give it another ten minutes, then plan to land. The Hydras will be low on fuel by then.”
    “Gotcha.” Turk clicked off the mike, then remembered the admiral. “Roger that, Control. Copy and understood,” he added in his most official voice.
    “We’re landing?” asked the admiral.
    “Affirmative, sir. The swarm is just about out of fuel. Sir.”
    “You knock off all the sirs, Captain.” Blackheart’s voice sounded just a hint less gruff.
    “Thanks, Admiral.”
    Turk took a few more lazy turns, circling and finally lining up on the runway for his final approach. Emergency vehicles were waiting a respectful distance—nearby, but not so close as to imply they didn’t think he’d make it.
    B REANNA FOLDED HER A RMS, WATCHING THE LA RGE screen as the Phantom made its way toward the long stretch of cement. They had switched the video feed to a ground camera mounted in an observation tower near the runway. From a distance, the F-4 seemed to have a black shroud above its body.
    “They should be staying at altitude, shouldn’t they?” Breanna asked Armaz. “Why are they descending with him?”
    “I’m not sure. They may not think it’s the right altitude.”
    “You still can’t get them back, Sara?”
    “I keep trying,” Rheingold said. “Short of sending another shock through the range, I don’t know what else to try.”
    “Bree—Dreamland Control wants us to keep Old Girl in the air,” said Paul Smith, turning from his console. He was practically yelling. “They want to recover their tankers first. They’re worried the nano-UAVs will attack them.”
    “For crap sake? Why didn’t they tell us that five minutes ago?”
    “Ma’am—”
    “Bob?”
    “On it,” said the controller.
    T URK EYEBALLED HIS INSTRUMENTS QUICKLY AS HE continued on course for the emergency runway, then unfurled his landing gear. He tensed, then felt his breath catch—he’d been worried the UAVs would object somehow. But they seemed content to let him land, adjusting their own speed as he slowed.
    “Tech Observer, abort landing,” said Stevenson, the controller. “Go around.”
    “I have to ask why,” he said tersely.
    “Dreamland has a couple of tankers they want to get down first,” said Breanna, breaking in. “They’re not sure what the UAVs will do when you land.”
    “Well, in theory, they’ll land with me, right?”
    “We agree, Whiplash,” said Breanna. “They’re just concerned. Can you go around, or should I have the tankers divert elsewhere?”
    “Negative, negative, I’m good. Going around.” Turk tamped down his frustration as he clicked into the interphone. “Admiral—”
    “I heard. Do what you have to do, son.”
    “Will do. Thanks.”
    Turk pushed his throttle and cleaned his gear, restoring his wheels to their bays. The aircraft’s speed picked up immediately. The UAVs started to scatter, momentarily left behind.
    In the next moment, he heard a faint clicking noise on his right. It was an odd sound, something like the click a phone made over a dead circuit. He filed the noise away, too busy to puzzle it out.
    Two seconds later a much louder sound on the right got his attention—a violent pop shocked the aircraft, seeming to push it backward.
    And down.
    Turk struggled to control the plane, hands and feet and eyes, lungs and heart, working together,