Nerve Center

Nerve Center

by Dale Brown, Jim DeFelice

Narrated by Christopher Lane

Unabridged — 12 hours, 34 minutes

Nerve Center

Nerve Center

by Dale Brown, Jim DeFelice

Narrated by Christopher Lane

Unabridged — 12 hours, 34 minutes

Audiobook (Digital)

$14.99
FREE With a B&N Audiobooks Subscription | Cancel Anytime
$0.00

Free with a B&N Audiobooks Subscription | Cancel Anytime

START FREE TRIAL

Already Subscribed? 

Sign in to Your BN.com Account


Listen on the free Barnes & Noble NOOK app


Related collections and offers

FREE

with a B&N Audiobooks Subscription

Or Pay $14.99

Overview

Hidden in the Nevada desert is America's most advanced aerospace weapons-testing facility. Dreamland is the place where the nation's top minds come to develop artillery and aircraft that push beyond the cutting edge. And where the Air Force's top guns come to test them - on the front lines of a new era in warfare...

As politicians push for more budget cuts, Colonel "Dog" Bastian must do what he can to salvage a key experimental program known as ANTARES - a method of merging electronic data with a pilot's natural senses. In need of quick results, a test pilot is hooked into the system - a system that allows him to operate several planes at once directly from his brain. But when he can no longer distinguish reality from computer-induced delusions, Dreamland's worst nightmare comes to life.

Praise for Dale Brown's Dreamland:
"Few novelists can craft an aerial battle scene more strategically than former U.S. Air Force Captain Brown, and he and DeFelice are in fine form here." - Publishers Weekly

Product Details

BN ID: 2940169554533
Publisher: Brilliance Audio
Publication date: 05/01/2012
Series: Dale Brown's Dreamland , #2
Edition description: Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Dale Brown's Dreamland

Never Center
By Dale Brown

Berkley Publishing Group

Copyright © 2002 Dale Brown
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0425187721


Excerpt

Chapter One

Bright Memorial Hospital, Honolulu
3 September 1997
0302 (all times local)

It looked like an arrow as she turned to get away from it. Breanna pushed hard on her control stick, but the plane barely responded. Caught with little forward momentum, the Megafortress waddled in the air, finally managing to jerk its nose back to the right just in time to avoid the missile.

A second and third homed in. Breanna Stockard put her hand on the throttle slide, desperate to get more speed from the power plants.

It was too late. She could see one of the missiles coming at her right wing, riding the air like a hawk. Bree had ECMs, flares, tinsel - every defensive measure the experienced Megafortress pilot could muster was in play, and still the hawk came on, talons out.

And then, just as it was about to strike the fuselage in front of the starboard wing root, it changed. The slim body of the Russian-designed Alamo missile thickened. Wings grew from the middle, and the steering fins at the rear changed shape. Breanna was being tracked by an American Flighthawk, not a missile. For a moment, she felt relief.

Then the robot plane slammed into the wing.

Breanna shook herself awake. The pale green light of the hospital room threw ghost shadows across her face; she could hear the machine monitoring her heartbeat stuttering.

"Damn drugs," she said.

They'd given her a sedative to help her sleep, fearful that her injuries would keep her from resting for yet another night. Breanna had bruised ribs, a concussion, a sprained knee, and a twisted neck; she was also suffering from dehydration and the effects of more than twelve hours exposure to a bitter Pacific storm. But the physical injuries paled beside what really ached inside her - the loss of four members of her crew, including her longtime copilot Chris Ferris and Dreamland's number two Flighthawk pilot, Kevin Fentress.

Breanna rolled onto her back and shoved her elbows under her to sit up in the bed. She was angry with herself for not flying better, for not avoiding the Chinese missile that had taken her down. The fact that she had sacrificed her plane to rescue others was besides the point. The fact that the Piranha mission had been a stunning success, averting war between China and India, mattered nothing to her, at least not now, not in the room lit only by hospital monitors.

She should've saved her people.

Her father would have. Her husband would have.

She ached to have them both here with her. But her father, Colonel Tecumseh "Dog" Bastian, and her husband, Major Jeff "Zen" Stockard, had been called back to Dreamland, to deal with problems brewing there. She was sentenced to sit in this bed until her injuries healed.

"Damn drugs," she muttered again, reaching for the control at the side of the bed to raise it.

What the hell had that stupid dream been about? She'd been taken down by a missile, not a Flighthawk. The Flighthawks were U.S. weapons, not Chinese.

But as they were going down, before she gave the order to abandon ship, Torbin Dolk had said something about a Flighthawk. What the hell had he said?

"I have a U/MF at long range."

Those were his words, but they had to be wrong. Their own Flighthawks had been lost, and there were no other Megafortresses with their robot scout fighters nearby.

What the hell did he say? Had she got it wrong?

The confusion and static and storm of the shoot-down returned. She closed her eyes, wishing she hadn't failed.

"Damn drugs," she said, playing with the bed control in a fruitless effort to make herself more comfortable.

Outside Taipei, Taiwan
1700

Chen Lee waited until the chime of the antique grandfather clock at the far end of his office ended, then rose slowly from his desk, following a ritual he had started many years before. His movements were weighted by eighty years of exertion, and so it took longer for him to cross the large office than it once had, but the familiarity of the afternoon ritual filled him with pleasure. He had long ago realized that, no matter how much wealth one had - and he had a great deal - the more important things, the things that gave life meaning and value, were less tangible: family affection and respect, dreams and ambitions, ritual.

Chen Lee went to the chest at the right side of his large office and took the bottle from the top, carefully pouring two fingers' worth of Scotch in the glass tumbler. He had developed a taste for single-malt Scotch as a young man during the last days of the war with the communists when he'd been sent to London as part of a delegation working to persuade the Western allies that Mao must be stopped at all costs. The mission had been a failure; worn out by the World War, the British couldn't stop their own empire from slipping through their fingers, let alone send an army to help Chiang Kai-shek and the rightful rulers of the great Chinese nation. Not even the Americans were willing to help them until the communist treachery was made obvious in Korea. Even then, the only assistance they would begrudgingly afford was to prevent the invasion of Taiwan by the mongrel bastards who had marched among the peasants, pretending moral superiority when all along practicing opportunism.

The tingle of Scotch as he took his first sip reminded Chen Lee of his bitterness, and he welcomed it wholeheartedly. For it was only by acknowledging the past that he could look toward the future.

Much had changed in the nearly fifty years that had passed since his stay in London. Chen Lee had left the government to become a man of business ...



Continues...


Excerpted from Dale Brown's Dreamland by Dale Brown Copyright © 2002 by Dale Brown. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

From the B&N Reads Blog

Customer Reviews