Free Target Utopia by Dale Brown Page A

above him. It was a strange, unearthly sound, a high-pitched sizzle that seemed to snap against the strong night wind.
    The explosion that followed was something else again.
    Turk fell as the ground seemed to dissolve beneath him. He landed on his side, and for a moment all the adrenaline that had kept him awake disappeared; he was dazed and confused, not sure where he was or even, in that moment, who he was.
    â€œIncoming!” yelled a Marine nearby. “Mortars!”
    Turk bolted upright, energy and consciousnessinstantly restored. He turned and ran back into the trailer he’d just come out of, screaming at everyone inside.
    â€œGet to the bunker, get to the bunker!” he yelled, directing them to one of the two shelters the Marines had installed immediately after taking the base.
    Men plunged from their rooms, charging into the barely lit corridor in various states of dress.
    â€œMortars,” said one of the NCOs. His voice was loud, but there was no excitement in it, let alone fear. “Move out!”
    â€œThe planes,” said Cowboy, coming out of his room at the far end. “We gotta get them off the field. Get the rest of the pilots! Pilots, come on! ”
    Turk ran to Rogers in the bathroom. He was still hunched over the toilet, his legs curled around him on the floor.
    â€œYou gotta get out of here,” Turk said and grabbed him by the back of his shirt.
    â€œMan . . .”
    â€œCome on, Marine. Stand up.”
    Rogers struggled to comply. Turk helped him out into the hall, then down toward the doorway.
    Two rounds hit nearby as Turk pushed Rogers out. He lost his balance, falling against the wall and letting go of Rogers. The Marine went down to his knees and threw up.
    The stench turned Turk’s stomach, but he managed to grab the shorter pilot and drag him over his shoulder. The compound lit with the flash of another explosion, this one up near the airstrip. The light helped Turk orient himself, and he turned in the direction of the nearest bunker.
    â€œYo, Rogers,” he said. “It would sure help if you could push your feet every so often.”
    D ANNY F REAH HAD just finished taking his boots off to go to sleep when the first mortar hit the base. It had been a few years since he was on the receiving end of a mortar attack, but it was an experience few people wanted to relive, and Danny certainly wasn’t one of them. He pulled his boots back on, grabbed his secure laptops and the satellite phone, and ran from his trailer toward the command bunker, built around the foundation of an old building at the center of the base.
    Captain Thomas met him a few yards outside the sandbagged entrance.
    â€œGreat way to wake up,” snapped the Marine captain. Two men ran across the field, M-16s in hand, hustling to a perimeter post. “We should have eyes on in a minute.”
    â€œYou gotta get all the planes off,” said Danny. “Where’s Greenstreet?”
    â€œHe ran up on the strip. I’m sure he’s got it under control. Let’s get inside the bunker.”
    Calling the structure a bunker was a bit of an overstatement. The interior had been dug out about three feet, and the sides built up with sandbags. The roof consisted of a series of corrugated steel panels covered with sandbags and dirt. Power came from a gas generator a dozen yards away.
    The Marines had launched an RQ7Z Shadow, and its controller was flying the aircraft west, attempting to locate the attack. Based on the originalRQ7B, the drone could carry a slightly heavier payload and was designed to be launched by one man rather than two; otherwise the performance specs were similar. Looking like a stick glider with a triangle at its tail and a ball turret below its wings, the UAV jetted into the sky from a small metal trailer. Once airborne, its infrared camera provided a 360-degree view of the battlefield; its laser designator could be tied into the F-35B attack