Test Pilot's Daughter II: Dead Reckoning (32 page)

Pace got up and walked around the confines of Air Force One. He was getting antsy. After Gleason gave him a stern look, he went back to his console.

“All DefComs, Big Daddy, anything out of the North?”

“Imaging, not yet, sir, all quiet. We’re sequencing through every known site.”

Pace wondered why the Russians were stalling. They were monitoring a very large area, but it wasn’t clear if coverage was absolute. He worried that a launch might slip by undetected.

“All DefComs, all DefComs, is there any possible way the Ruskies can get one off without our knowledge?”

“Big Daddy, Imaging. No way sir, we have the entire country blanketed with radar, much of it covered with real-time imaging. If they launch, we’ll see it.”

It took a few more minutes for the B2 to deliver its return Christmas gifts. Precision laser guidance distributed an array of 2,000 pounders across the soccer field and its surroundings. Pace could hear another huge cheer that went up at Imaging as the entire sports complex was pulverized. Massive after-explosions lit up the sky with the destruction of volatile fuels. What had remained of Iran’s nuclear war-chest, remained no more.

Pace beamed with pride when he saw it on his monitor. He grumbled his approval. He shook the President’s hand, then got back on the air. “All DefComs. . .all DefComs, stay on the ready. We know they have at least ten of those birds. Look for another launch site. Stay alert. Imaging, anything. . .out of the North?”

“No sir, not yet. . .check that. . .yes, we have a bogey, a launch signature. . .wait one. . .grid 2-7-Foxtrot; it’s out of Omsk. Four clicks northeast of Omsk, on the western border of Siberia. No resources there. Repeat, we have no assets in that location.”

Pace felt a sharp pain in his midsection. He called his commander in Turkey. “DefCom 2 did you read that transmission, over?”

“DefCom 2, loud and clear, sir. Omsk is on the outer edge of our capability. AMMs armed and ready, but range is a problem. When we see it pop up, it may be too late.”

Pace called Christina, “DefCom 4 we have a launch out of Omsk in western Siberia and no local resources. May need you on this one, Commander.”

“Roger that, sir,” she snapped back a reply. “We’re over northern Europe, moving toward Moscow now. Can you give me the trajectory?”

“Imaging. Sir, we have a second launch, but something doesn’t compute. Radar data shows they’re not heading west like the Sari missiles. Just the opposite:
east!
Looks like China. That’s it! Trajectory track says Beijing and Hong Kong.”

“Oh shit! They’re goin’ for the goddam Chinks,” Pace let it slip.

“Imaging, this is NASA mission control,” Udahl knew what to do. “Can you uplink the radar data to us pronto? We’ll have to see if our resources are in play.”

Christina’s heart sank. With the suborbital missiles on a trajectory west to east, rendezvous would be that much more difficult. They would have to get lucky enough to fall within a narrow window of opportunity. With the ICBMs moving in the same general direction as the shuttle, calculations would have to be made in a matter of seconds to see if intercept was even possible. The dust cloud attack mode depended on a high relative velocity.

Pace was puzzled what to do. This scenario was
not
in the game plan. He turned to the President, “Sir you’d better get the Chairman on the horn and let him know he’s under attack. Also make sure he knows where they’re coming from, and that we are doing everything we can to put a stop to it. If he launches a counterstrike, it’ll set off a chain reaction.”

“Gotcha,” the President reached for his hotline to Chairman Lee.

Pace called Christina again, “Defcom 4, they’re heading east. Does that take you out of the picture?”

“Not sure, sir. Ground is uploading the coordinates now. We may be able to get there if our DROIDs have enough fuel. We’re going through the numbers.”

* * *

“New Hope, New Hope, mission control,” Udahl sounded calm.

Christina wondered how he always managed to stay so cool.
Must have ice in his veins,
she thought.
“This is New Hope.”

“Gonna be close, but we need to get those DROIDs moving, forward thrusters now. We want you to move the shuttle in formation until you’re in range to strike. Navigation data is being uplinked as we speak. Good hunting Commander.”

“Roger, sir. We’re rollin’.” Christina and John McCormick worked together in rapid succession. She marveled at the sight of four DROIDs flying in formation with the shuttle as they modified their orbit. The shuttle had to stay near enough to maintain the remote control data link; maximum separation was limited to twenty miles. After ten long minutes, the orbit of New Hope neared the apogee of the first Russian nuke. In minutes the ICBM would be decelerating for reentry.

McCormic came on the intercom, “I don’t think that dust pack is enough to take it out in this orientation, so I’m going to override the closing velocity and ram it. The video tracking system should take it right to the point of collision.”

“Will that work?” She hadn’t considered it. It was designed with a proximity fuse, but such a high-speed approach to collision had neither been tested nor simulated.

“If we ram it, it’ll blow.”

“Well, ram it then,” she made the call.

McCormic called the final approach, “Range one-thousand meters approaching at 100 meters per second, and accelerating. Explosives armed. Standby, forward thruster, two-hundred meters per second. Three, two, one, we have contact and detonation. You betcha! Yahooo!” he chortled.

“Michael, check that radar,” Christina said.

“Cross-section shows debris in five large pieces separating. Looks like a clean kill Commander.” He looked to her with a big smile.

“You damn right; I knew it’d work. We blew the shit out of it!” McCormic roared with laughter.

“Big Daddy, this is New Hope, target one destroyed.” She switched to Udahl. “Mission Control, we need immediate uplink for target two.”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a thud, more of a jolt that took her breath away.
What was that?
Christina felt a stab of panic.
Oh my God. . .debris!
They were some twenty miles from the target, and she hadn’t expected it. A booming noise shook the entire structure. She knew what it was, and held her breath for the consequences. Any penetration of the skin meant instant death. Serious damage to the tiles meant death on reentry.

Michael turned to her with a knowing look of dread. The shuttle began to roll, then tumble. She dove for the stick and wrestled with the thrusters. Finally, the spacecraft stabilized, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

There was no time to report the impact. Trying to remain calm, she spoke to the crew, “All right people, we’re okay. Any major damage and we’d know it by now. We got a job to do, so buckle up and let’s get ‘er done.” She got back on the horn with a determined voice, “Get that fucking data to us right now, Udahl, or it’ll be too late!”

“Roger Commander, check your uplink. You must proceed to the new orbit within thirty seconds, I repeat thirty seconds, or it’s over.”

“Got it, we’re moving.” Christina and McCormic sorted out the remaining DROIDS. She was sweating profusely. Struggling to stay together in formation, they maneuvered the Shuttle toward the second Russian nuke.

“New Hope, Mission Control,” said Udahl, “target is five-zero-zero miles and closing, eleven o’clock. Target firing retros, rapidly decelerating for reentry. Relative velocity minus 5,000 and growing to ten. Your only chance is to deploy remaining DROIDs in the burst mode behind the target. Drop the cloud in its reverse path, and get the hell out of there.”

“Got it on radar, sir. DROID acquisition, closing. McCormic you got that? Lay ‘em in behind. Gonna to have to eyeball a burst before impact.” Christina hit her forward thrusters to climb to a higher orbit.

“Gotcha,” McCormic was concentrating on the display, sweating bullets, working the remotes to control both DROIDs. “We’re right on closing trajectory, relative velocity minus nineteen-K, five seconds, four, three, two. . .detonation!”

Both DROIDs exploded simultaneously scattering a huge debris field in the reverse path of the decelerating ICBM.
Will it be enough?
she wondered. In any case, they were out of resources and had done all they could do. She flew the shuttle clear and wiped the sweat off her forehead. “Damn, somebody needs to crank up the air conditioning. Michael. . .radar. . .what do you see?”

“Big cloud, but the target appears intact.”

Michael put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Nice work Commander. I’ll tell the guys at JSC to quit calling you Stick. From now on it’s Christina the Space Warrior; you earned it.”

“Space Warrior, huh? Yeah,” she agreed, “it’s a little long, but I like it. Stick sucks.”

“DefCom 4, this is Big Daddy. What the hell’s goin’ on up there?”

“Gotcha Big Daddy,” she piped in. “Sorry for the delay; we were quite the busy beavers. Looks questionable. Video shows we put a large sand burst right in its path, but we only have one radar return. No way to assess damage until reentry. That bad boy is heading right down the shoot. God only knows where.”

“Roger DefCom 4, we’ll call Beijing and check their radar imagery.” After a short delay, he said, “Target has been notified, and all stations monitoring reentry. Good work Commander, that’s a lot more than we thought you could do. Now we just have to pray to God those MIRVs don’t make it to the ground.”

Christina prayed for the countless innocent lives that laid in the balance. She also prayed no more ICBMs would be launched.
Those Russians are insane.
What if China counters?
She shuddered at the prospects but had other business to handle.

“Mission Control, we’re moving to a hundred mile orbit, over. We had a debris strike on the first engagement and need to get out there and take a look-see.”

“How bad was it Commander?” Udahl asked.

“Don’t know. We got a pretty good jolt; I expect some damage.”

“DefCom 4, this is Big Daddy, you are dismissed from the battlefield. All other DefComs, stay alert.” Pace came back on the air. “Wait a minute, what’s that? Standby one. . .All DefComs hear this. We have confirmation; that second Russian bird disappeared from radar. Yep, that’s it! Target vaporized on reentry!” he screamed with excitement
.
“Good shooting, Defcom 4. All other DefComs, stay at the ready in case they try it again.”

A virtual roar went up in New Hope. All four crew members were doing high-fives and weightless summersaults. Christina was bursting with pride, and Michael almost tackled her in a bear hug. Against slim odds they had engaged two ICBMs with untested, experimental DROIDs and had taken them out. Thousands, if not millions of lives were saved.

My God,
she thought,
what are the implications? It’s a whole new age in space warfare.
She had a throbbing headache, and her ears were buzzing, but at that moment, she was overcome by euphoria. It didn’t take long for her to come back to reality.
What about that debris strike?

After two death-defying hours of intercontinental, nuclear warfare, the war was over almost as fast as it started, and she was proud of her crew and their contribution. It was time to relax, and the four astronauts decided to celebrate by breaking out the best meal on board: fish sticks, mashed green peas, orange Jell-O and baby carrots. They looked at each other in disgust. Somehow, it didn’t seem appropriate for conquering heroes.

“Pity we don’t have any champagne,” Michael said.

“Damn, this crap sucks!” Christina complained with a chuckle. “Where’s the filet mignon?”

Chapter Twenty-One

While Michael prepared for his EVA, Christina mulled over the physics of reentry and the Law of Conservation of Energy. Her standard astronaut lecture, the one she had given time and time again to high school and college students, rambled through her mind.

Reentry is serious business. NASA has lost astronauts on both the ascent and the descent. Both are equally dangerous. Energy is neither created nor destroyed, it can only be transformed. One of the most difficult aspects of space travel has always been reentering the Earth’s atmosphere. The wings on a commercial jetliner get piping hot as they travel through the air at 500 knots. You might only imagine what would happen at 20,000 knots. All of the energy involved in the massive, controlled explosion that lifts the astronauts into orbit has to be completely dissipated on the way back down. Common logic says what goes up must come down, but few realize the energy involved in both processes is exactly the same.