Siege of Lightning

by R. J. Pineiro

  “Fall out!” Siegel screamed as he came around the back.

  Ortiz and Zimmer pushed the tailgate down and jumped off, hauling their gear. Ortiz looked over his right shoulder and stared at the blurry shape of the light-gray Lockheed C-141 StarLifter parked a few hundred feet away. The scorching plume of the four large turbofans, combined with the hot air rising off the blistering tarmac, made the StarLifter a wavy mirage in the sun, but Ortiz could still make out the open paratrooper door at the aft end of the cabin. A military police jeep carrying the CIA contingent rushed past them and stopped next to the aircraft.

  “All right, let’s go!” Siegel screamed.

  Ortiz picked up his gear and followed Zimmer toward the waiting craft.

  * * *

  Cameron got out of the jeep and watched the line of soldiers approaching the StarLifter.

  “So, what do you think of Mambo, Cameron?” asked Pruett from the passenger side.

  Cameron glanced at his superior, then at Marie sitting in the rear seat, and back at Pruett. “They look young and unseasoned. None of them have experienced real battle before. Not even their commanding officer.”

  “General Olson seems to think they’re the best.”

  Cameron sighed. “We’ll see.” He continued to stare at the soldiers now climbing inside the aircraft. The sight brought back memories. Funny, he thought. Some things never change. Regardless of how much military technology advances, the real work is still done by the grunts.

  Nothing could replace boots on the ground for this type of mission. No fancy helicopters, armored vehicles, or fighter aircraft. The soldier in the field was the one who got the job done, Cameron firmly believed. He had learned that lesson in Vietnam. Sure, Air Force planes came in low and dropped load after load of napalm to clear the way for the advancing troops, but a hill was not assumed captured until the infantry took it.

  As the last of the soldiers disappeared behind the opened paratroop door, Cameron felt the old adrenaline rushing through his body—the uncertainly, and the fear of battle—a unique feeling experienced only by those who participated in war. But beneath it lay grief, sadness. Boys would die today.

  “Ready, Cameron?”

  Cameron shifted his gaze back to Pruett and Marie.

  “Yep. Let’s go.”

  The three followed the soldiers into the plane.

  LIGHTNING

  The ear-piercing sound thundered through the entire vessel. Kessler jumped up and hit his forehead against the ceiling of the horizontal sleeping station. He felt momentarily disoriented. His head stung and his ears still rang, but not from the explosion. Alarms now blared in the flight deck as interior lights flickered off and on.

  Now what?

  Kessler bolted from the mid-deck up to the flight deck, where after a brief scan he realized the seriousness of their situation. The control panel warning lights indicated that two fuel cells had failed. Lightning had a total of three fuel cells. During peak and average power loads, all three cells came on line; during minimum power loads only two fuel cells were used. A profound sinking feeling rushed through Kessler. Lightning’s fuel cells generated electricity through the electrochemical reaction of liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen. Each fuel cell had its own set of oxygen and hydrogen tanks, and an independent combustion chamber. Coolant flowing through the fuel-cell stack controlled the temperature inside the chamber. As the coolant left the stack, Lightning’s General Purpose Computers measured its temperature. No alarms or warning lights came on as long as the coolant temperature remained between 170 and 240 degrees Fahrenheit. The warning lights told Kessler that the cells somehow had overheated. The explosion that followed had not only destroyed the fuel cells, but had also resulted in the loss of all the oxygen from the tanks that supplied the damaged fuel cells, the same oxygen used by Lightning’s life-support system.

  Puzzled that the GPCs hadn’t automatically shut down the overheated cells to prevent an explosion. Kessler quickly switched from the two damaged cells to the third fuel cell, which they’d been holding in standby mode. The lights inside Lightning stabilized. Kessler knew that one fuel cell operating alone could not adequately power the on-board environmental-control and life-support system. The system was composed of three main subsystems: the atmosphere-revitalization subsystem that controlled the crew module’s atmospheric and thermal environment; the food, water, and wastewater subsystem; and the active thermal-control subsystem, which maintained Lightning’s sensitive electronic components within manufacturer-specified temperature limits.

  “Houston, Lightning here. We have another problem.”

  “Lightning, say again,” Kessler heard Hunter say.

  “Ah, we have another problem, Houston. A critical one, I might add. We just lost two fuel cells.”

  Silence. Kessler sighed. Houston had put him on hold to prevent him from hearing their reactions. The radio came back on. Hunter’s voice was calm.

  “Lightning, Houston. We have just received confirmation from the CIA that the orbiter has been sabotaged.”

  “Nice of them to tell us after we’re up here.”

  “It looks as if they’ve just figured it out.”

  “Any ideas on what else has been sabotaged?”

  “Ah, negative, Lightning. All we know is that someone is trying to destroy the orbiter.”

  Kessler shook his head. “Hell, that’s just fucking great! And in the meantime we just sit up here and wait for something else to blow?”

  “We’re running a computer simulation to determine the best course of action. In the meantime the CIA and FBI are going at it full blast. All we can do down here is try to get you guys back home safe. Status of third cell?”

  “I just brought it on line but it won’t be enough to handle the entire life-support system. The cell is working at one-hundred-ten-percent capacity. I’m gonna have to unplug something soon to relieve the load. It’s a priority call.”

  “Roger, Lightning, we copy. We have two Rockwell engineers with us in the room. Their suggestion is to disconnect the food, water, and wastewater subsystem, and see the effect of that on the loading.”

  “Just a moment.” Kessler switched off the automatic life-support system which kept all three subsystem on line, and switched to a manual. That way he could select the subsystem he preferred to maintain operational. “It’s done, Houston. Cell operating at ninety-eight-percent capacity. I’ve also noticed a decrease in the oxygen content in the crew module. I’m afraid that even with the food, water, and wastewater subsystem off there isn’t enough power to maintain a proper oxygen level, and even if there was enough power, remember that we just lost two oxygen tanks. Pretty soon there’s not going to be much oxygen left for the system to circulate.”

  “Lightning, our simulation confirms your suspicion. If our data is correct, it shows that you have less than twenty hours before the oxygen content drops to a hazardous level.”

  Kessler inhaled deeply and stared at the Earth slowly rotating overhead. Their situation was critical. In twenty hours they would have to suit up and rely on the oxygen inside their space suits. The life-support system backpacks came with a seven-hour supply of oxygen. Kessler estimated they each had used less than an hour’s worth during the EVA. Damn! In less than twenty-six hours they were going to be out of air. They were stuck, marooned, their hopes for an early Earth re-entry dashed. Even though he could route the remaining helium and propellant from the right OMS tanks to the RCS primary jets to slow down the orbiter enough to achieve re-entry, Lightning would incinerate the moment it reached the upper layers of the atmosphere, since the payload bay doors were open and there were at least a dozen thermal tiles missing.

  “Roger, Houston. Twenty hours, plus the six-hour supply in the PLSS backpacks.”

  “Don’t forget the three rescue balls, Michael. There’s a two-hour supply in each.”

 
Kessler nodded slightly. Hunter was referring to the personal rescue enclosures, or rescue balls. Since there were only two space suits on board an orbiter flight, in the event of an emergency the rest of the crew—which in Kessler’s case was none—would use the rescue balls. The problem with that, he reflected, was that the balls were zipped shut from the outside by another crew member. With Jones still unconscious, it meant that Kessler had to rely only on suits and Jones on the rescue balls. Even if Jones was awake, he decided, one of them still had to use the suits.

  “I’m aware of that, Houston. In any case, it looks like thirty hours max. Any way we can close the payload bay doors with one fuel cell?”

  “Stand by, Lightning.”

  Kessler kept his eye on the oxygen level. Still within the normal range, but not for long. The only good news in the whole situation, he reflected, was that it was just Jones and him, and not six or seven occupants like so many other shuttle missions. Under those conditions, they would have been lucky to get more than ten hours’ worth of oxygen.

  “Ah, negative, Lightning. A minimum of two fuel cells is required.”

  “Great. Any news on whether or not I can fill that gaps left by a dozen tiles with the tile repair kit?”

  “Bad news on that front also, Lightning. The kit doesn’t have enough epoxy foam to fill all the holes.”

  “Well, Houston? Can’t close the payload bay doors and can’t repair the tiles. What’s next?”

  “Hang in there, Lightning. We’ll figure a way out of this one. In the meantime, try to keep still and relax to conserve oxygen. It’s preferable that you even sleep. You will consume less oxygen that way. Also, shut off all lights and redundant systems to give the life-support system more juice. Perhaps you can last a few more hours than calculated. We will contact you in five hours.”

  “Copy, Houston. Over ‘n’ out.”

  Kessler switch off most of the crew compartment’s lights and all payload bay floodlights. Lightning was engulfed by the cold darkness of space. Kessler remained on his flight seat just staring at the Earth. Only his steady breathing disturbed the total silence in the flight deck, and that would cease soon unless NASA got very creative, but how? How can they possibly help us out? Even if they somehow figure out a way to close the payload bay doors, the missing thermal tiles will do us in during re-entry.

  The problem went beyond the fact that Lightning’s underside had several spots where its internal, all-aluminum skin was exposed. Those unprotected spots by themselves would account for some internal damage, but probably not enough to destroy the orbiter. Kessler’s primary concern with the missing tiles was that the exposed aluminum would reach extremely high temperatures during the critical twenty-minute re-entry. The melting heat would propagate across the aluminum skin and cause adjacent tiles to become loose and eventually fall off. The process would degenerate into a massive tile loss and inevitable orbiter burnout.

  Kessler rubbed his eyes and sighed. There had to be a way out of this one.

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  In the Oval Office, the President sat on his leather swivel chair and watched Carlton Stice across his desk working the phone to get all concerned parties on the line. The latest news from Lightning was distressing. The two astronauts literally were going to die from asphyxiation.

  The President got up and drove a fist into his palm, startling Stice. Then he grunted and turned to the windows facing the south grounds. There must be something NASA could do. Something, but what?

  “I think I have them on the line, sir.” Stice said.

  The President signaled him to press the speaker box. He did

  “Tom, can you hear me?” the President asked as he sat back down on his chair.

  “Hello, Mr. President,” Pruett said, his voice coming through.

  “Good. Hold on, Tom.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hunter, are you there?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Tom, can you still hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, gentlemen, we’re talking on a secure line. I want to know everything that’s going on. And when I say everything, God Almighty, I mean everything. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir!” was the unanimous response.

  “All right. Tom, what’s your situation?”

  “We left Howard two hours ago, sir. We expect to reach French Guiana in one more hour. The platoon has been fully briefed and armed.”

  “What’s your confidence level as a special ops expert?”

  “Well, based on what I’ve learned from General Olson, sir, this team—they call themselves Mambo—is about the best there is. In my opinion they have more than a fifty-percent chance of success.”

  “Fifty percent? Why so low? Didn’t you just say they’re the best?”

  “Well, Mr. President, considering the short notice and their lack of familiarity with the base they are attacking, I believe that—”

  “Don’t we have satellite reconnaissance for that? And also, isn’t that Guilloux woman providing additional intelligence?”

  “Ah…yes, sir, and every man has had a chance to fully review the data on the compound as we know it.”

  “Then?”

  “In the past—on missions that I’ve been involved in, that is— we were always able to build a mock-up of the target and run a week or two of simulated assaults prior to the real thing. That’s the difference, sir. Without that familiarity factor the odds are almost against them.”

  “I guess I’ll have to live with those odds since we’re out of time. Hunter?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “What’s the orbiter situation?”

  “Lightning has less than thirty hours of oxygen left, sir.”

  “What’s the plan of action?”

  “We’re going full blast on Atlantis, sir, but it’s going to be close.”

  “Explain.”

  “Atlantis was hoisted to the External Tank and Rocket Booster Assembly just two days ago, sir. It was not scheduled to launch for ten more days. Now we’re trying to get up there in less than twenty-four hours. We’ll do the best we can, but I hesitate to launch prematurely and risk more problems. By that I mean two stranded orbiters instead of one.”

  “How is the press being handled on this?”

  “We’re keeping them out of it under the pretext that Atlantis will join Lightning for an emergency rescue drill as part of NASA’s overall strategy to get Freedom operational before the end of the century, sir.”

  “You think they’re really buying that?”

  “I think so, sir. The press conference went relatively well.”

  The President rubbed the tips of his fingers against his temples, inhaled deeply, and exhaled. He opened his eyes. “Listen up, Hunter. We’re out of time. The lives of two astronauts are in danger here. I want all of you to do whatever it takes to launch Atlantis as soon as humanly possible, without, I repeat, without compromising the safety of Atlantis and its crew.”

  “Believe me when I tell you, Mr. President, we’re doing all we possibly can to launch as soon as possible.”

  “I know, Hunter, I know. That will be all for now, gentlemen. Both of you have direct access to my office at any hour of the day. I may be tied up with other matters, but the Defense Secretary will be handling the issue in my absence. Remember that security is of the utmost concern. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” The President hung up the phone and faced Stice. “What do you think?”

  “Well, sir, you probably already know I’m not very keen on the military operation. It’s much too risky. Too many things can go wrong. What happens if some of our men get caught by the enemy? What should I do? Deny intervention?”

  “Give me a call.”

  “What if you’re unavaila
ble and I have to make a split second decision, sir?”

  “You’re gonna have to rely on your best judgment. Just keep in mind that although this is a covert operation, there are American lives involved.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Good. Now get the Kremlin on the line.”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “The Kremlin. I must speak to the President of Russia immediately.”

  Stice jumped out of the chair and reached for the phone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  COALITION

  We believe that when men reach beyond this planet, they should leave their differences behind them.

  —John F. Kennedy

  MIR SPACE COMPLEX, 205 MILES OVER NORTHERN AFRICA

  Commander Nikolai Aleksandrovich Strakelov switched off the radio after a ten-minute conversation with Baikonur Control, the primary cosmodrome for support of Mir, and the main center for rocket and satellite research and development. To his right was Flight Engineer Valentina Tereshkova. She looked at him and frowned. Things had not really been going well since their arrival at the space complex two months ago. First had been the problem with their heat shields flaring out of the space module during disengagement from the booster section while approaching Mir; then Progress VI had mysteriously blown up after reaching orbit, and now the standing order from Moscow meant another week-long postponement of a carefully planned schedule of experiments for their eight-month stay at Mir. Strakelov exhaled. They didn’t have a choice. Their American comrades were in trouble and needed help.

  He motioned to Tereshkova to follow him into the Kvant-2 module. The Mir complex was made up of modules that had been launched into space one at a time over a period of two years to achieve their current T-shape configuration. In the center was the original Mir module, which had a multiple docking unit on one end and a single docking unit at the other. Two modules were connected to Mir’s multiple docking end at 180-degree angles from one another. They were known as Kvant-1 and Kristall. Kvant-2 was docked at the single end of Mir. The Soyuz TM-15 spacecraft was docked at the other end of Kvant-2. The main living quarters were in Mir. The other modules contained a variety of laboratories and space observation gear. There was a temporary module also connected to Mir’s multiple docking unit: a cargo spacecraft, Progress VII, that had arrived two weeks ago, carrying water, food, air supplies, reading material, film, fuel, and new experiments for Mir’s crew. Strakelov and Tereshkova had nearly completed the long and tedious process of unloading Progress VII’s cargo, and were ready to use up the last of Progress VII’s fuel to push the Mir complex into a higher, safer orbit before jettisoning away the empty module to burn up upon Earth re-entry. Now Moscow had given them new instructions: Progress VII’s remaining fuel would be used for another purpose.