by Dale Brown
the same size as a shuttle's, the spaceplane was not designed to bring large objects like Skybolt back from space. A second PAM was being carried as a spare or, if the first was successful and if there was time, to boost Armstrong Space Station's command module itself into a storage orbit.
A huge crane was lowering a large cylindrical object, eight feet in diameter and ten feet long, into the forward part of the cargo bay. For some reason its stark simplicity made it even
more painful to look at. Ibis was a spaceborne crypt, a huge coffin, the device that would be used to bring back the bodies of the crew of Armstrong space station and the space shuttle Enterprise.
Ann looked at it, then turned away. "It looks like an old fuel tank," she said to Marty. "It is," he said. "The kind brought up on shuttle flights to
refuel satellites. it's been heavily insulated to protect the ... he paused, swallowed hard, "the crew during reentry. The cargo bay can get as high as a thousand degrees Fahrenheit during reentry. "
She touched him lightly on the shoulder. "I don't like what we're doing here," she said. "We're being pushed around by the Russians, even told when and how to claim our own dead. Damn, I really wish Jason ... General Saint-Michael were going with us. Somehow right up until now I thought he'd manage it. . . . " (As, she thought, he'd managed to make love to her after a sickness that would have kept most men in a hospital for weeks .... )
The American and Soviet carrier battle groups were still separated by over two thousand miles of ocean, but even one-eighth of a world apart they had already started the first few tentative steps toward a conflict both knew was all but inevitable.
The Nimitz carrier group had moved out into the Arabian Sea to allow its escort ships room to spread out more and maneuver at higher speeds. The group had been augmented by three frigates, two cruisers and two armed reserve supply ships from Diego Garcia, the tiny island naval base south of India. It was still enforcing a strict blockade of Soviet-bloc ships trying to -enter the Persian Gulf, which prevented the weakened Brezhnev from refueling from Iran, and airlifted fuel and supplies were not sufficient to allow the Soviet carrier battle group to operate at peak efficiency.
The Americans had sent several flights of B-52 bombers with F-15 fighter escorts from Diego Garria to shadow and test the response pattem of the huge Arkhangel carrier group, which had just crossed the Eight Degree Channel west of Sri Lanka and was now in the Indian Ocean. The B-52s, the assault aircraft of choice because of their fuel capacity, were armed with twenty-four Harpoon medium-range antiship missiles apiece, making them formidable threats against the carrier fleet.
But the Arkhangel was not about to let the B-52s anywhere near the fleet. The Soviets first engaged the B-52s as far as three hundred miles away from the carder, using their Sukhoi-27
Flanker carrier-based fighters in seemingly never-ending streams. The Soviets knew that at high altitude the B-52s' improved Harpoon missiles had a range of one hundred miles; they simply doubled that figure and set up a stiff air cordon. The Su-27s were docile at three hundred miles, shadows at two
hundred and fifty miles and aggressive in warning off the B-52s and their escorts at two hundred twenty miles. Waming shots were fired at two hundred miles, with more emphatic verbal warnings given.
The F-15s were at a huge disadvantage. They had to leave their vulnerable KC-135R and KC-IOC aerial refueling tankers far behind, out of range of the Su-27s, so their combat range was severely limited. The B-52s could count on enough fighter protection only to break through the first wave of Su-27s from the Arkhangel; then they were on their own for the last dangerous one hundred miles to their launch points.
The B-52s obeyed the very last verbal wamings received and turned around right at the two-hundred-mile point. Even so, they were able to accomplish their primary mission, which was to collect valuable data on the shipbome tracking and acquisition radars that had been sweeping them, as well as radar data from the Su-27s that had pursued them. But the scraps of information the B-52s collected did not alter the basic fact: it was going to be a nightmare, if not an impossibility, trying to get close to the Soviet fleet.
Like the Arkhangel's carrier group, the Nimitz's had to contend with airborne threats of its own. The Nimitz was only a thousand miles south of Tashkent, the Southern Military District headquarters, where ten - Tu-95 Bear bombers were now based. The Bears carried the naval-attack version of the ASr6 cniise missile, which could be launched against the Nimitz well within the protection of Soviet land-based surfaceto-air missile sites in occupied Iran. The Soviets also had a
new weapon, the AS-15 cruise missile, a long-range, nucleartipped supersonic cruise missile. The AS- 15 could be launched from well within the Soviet Union, or its shipbome version could be launched from one of the Arkhangel's escorts at extreme range. Supersonic land-based bombers from the Soviet Union were also a major threat against the American fleet.
Another series of strategic maneuvers were being accom-
plished in an entirely different realm: under the sea. A small fleet of American attack submarines had moved into the Indian Ocean and were edging closer and closer to their adversaries. But unlike the sky-spanning maneuvers of a highaltitude B-52, this precombat dance was measured in single miles or even in yards. It irdght take days for a Los Angelesclass attack submarine to move two miles closer to the escort ships surrounding the Arkhangel; then, in a chance encounter, it would be discovered by a lucky helicopter sonar dip or a tiny telltale sound from within the'submarine, and then the sub would be forced to run off and start aH over again. Four subs were involved in this tension-filled chase, maneuvering bit by bit toward their huge target,
The Nimitz was a bit more fortunate: the four Soviet attack submarines from Vladivostok remained with the Arkhangel battle group in a defensive posture, prowling the seas close to their battle group. Other subs were being reassigned from Havana and from the Mediterranean toward the Persian Gulf, but they could be tracked as they made their way through the Suez Canal or Strait of Gibraltar or around Cape horn. If hostilities erupted they at least could be intercepted before they reached the Nimitz battle group. What the outcome would be was, of course, uncertain.
The battle lines were already drawn. Even though the combatants were still several hundred miles apart, the chief players in the final battle of the Persian Gulf had already been chosen. The confrontation would soon be at hand.
There was no jovial prelaunch breakfast with family members and politicians, no press conference, no words of congratulations or encouragement. The crew of America had the traditional steak-and-rggs breakfast, but it was served in strict privacy in the HTS Launch Control Facility mess hall. A few words passed between the crewmembers, but they were hushed and confined strictly to the flight or the launch.
After breakfast the crew filed toward the life-support shop for their prelaunch suiting-up. The four crewmembers pulled anti-"g" suits over their coveralls, which would protect them against the sustained five to six "g"s they might experience in the first ten minutes of flight. Because breathing
might be difficult in the high "g- environment, each would also wear POS facemasks, with oxygen fed into the masks under pressure.
After their last-minute physical and suiting-up the crew
walked to the loading dock on top of the spaceplane. America was still in her loading hangar, sitting on top of the huge sled, with the sled's hydrogen-oxygen rocket engines on either side. They took a long escalator ride to the top of the loading dock, walked across a catwalk to the top entry-docking entry batch and then rode a moving ladder down to America's airlock on the flight deck.
In spite of America's huge size, the flight deck was no
larger than a shuttle upper deck. They moved through die large airlock chamber and into the flight deck area. The galley, waste-control-systern facilities and storage lockers were
on the left. The right side of the cabin held numerous storage lockers for space suits and EVA equipment.
Forward of the airlock were two permanently mounted seats with space beside each seat for another temporary jump seat. The HTS seats were hydraulically dampened, heavily padded seats that would help the occupant to better withstand the high "g- forces.
Forward of the passenger seats was a small area with auxiliary controls and circuit-breaker panels, and forward of that was the cockpit. The entire flight deck forward of the airlock was a huge, life-support capsule. In an emergency the flight deck would explosively cut itself free of the spaceplane, rocket away from the stricken craft and parachute to earth under a two-hundred-foot-wingspan delta-wing parasail.
Under strict Master Mission Computer ("Mimic") control, preflight preparations in the cockpit were already well under way by the time the crew had boarded, so Ann and her fellow crewmernbers had little else to do but strap in and monitor the computer's progress. A wall of four large computer monitors on the front instrument panel expl[ained each preflight step being performed. As a sort of token gesture to the humans, the computer would pause after each step and ask if the humans wanted to proceed. The reply was always 1. yes"; the computer would proceed anyway if no reply had been given within five seconds. After only thirty minutes of computer-
actuated switching and lightning-fast electronic commands and replies, America was ready for launch. "Falcon Control, this is America," Colonel Hampton radioed. "Mimic reports prelaunch checklist complete. Acknowledge. " "America, we confirm. Checklist complete. Be advised, launch sled fuel-pres-arization complete." :'Roger. Awaiting final clearance. 'Stand by, America. "
The last radio exchange puzzled Ann: it was an unusual amount of human intervention for a normal hypersonic spaceplane launch. Usually any clearances required for launch were obtained by Mimic enquiries to various other computers around the facility. Humans were not ordinarily consulted.
Ann turned to Marty and keyed her interphone switch. "Is there something wrong? I don't recall this step in the simulator rides."
Marty hesitated before replying: "I'm sure with all the brass observing this flight, someone just hit the pause button somewhere to give the brass time to get caught up. Mimic can
move pretty fast. "
The wait lasted for some five minutes, then a sudden voice on the radio announced: "America, this is Falcon Launch Control. Ignition sequence interrupt. Launch abort. Launch abort. "
Ann had her harness buckles, oxygen hoses, "g"-suit hoses and communication cords off in five seconds. Marty followed suit and immediately got to his feet. "Remember, get a good tight grip on that safety belt on the rescue tower," Marty was saying. "It'll jerk you pretty hard when it pulls you away from die-"
They heard the sound of the upper airlock hatch being wrenched open. "Someone's out there," Marty said, not quite believing. "How? They just called the abort. . . They both hurried across to see who could possibly have made it on top of die spaceplane only five seconds after the abort was called.
In reply the huge curved airlock door swung open and a tall figure stepped through. Ann's eyes showed stunned recopi-
tion, but before either Ann or Marty could speak, the figure addressed them: "No time for explanations now," Jason Saint-Michael said straight-faced and moved quickly past them toward the cockpit.
Ann merely stared at the back of the cockpit seats for several moments, then turned around to see two launch technicians dropping through the open hatch. She moved to the cockpit as Horvath slid past her and Hampton began strapping
into the right seat. "Jason - . . you're all right ... ? You're going to fly . T'
"Looks like it." "But you told me your plan was disapproved ...... "It comes down to good old-fashioned arm-twisting. More later," he said as he strapped into the left-side commander's seat. "Get ready for launch; we can't delay too long or we'll lose the optimal launch window. We've only got ninety minutes to pull that damned casket thing out of the cargo bay and put a fuel tank on board-a full fuel tank this time."
She squelched her questions and went back to her seat. Schultz and Horvath were helping the technicians assemble a
spare crew seat beside the two permanent ones. Marty motioned Horvath into his permanent seat. Horvath accepted and began strapping himself into the seat beside Ann while Marty began securing himself onto the flimsy-looking tubular seat
they had just assembled. "You're going to fly in that?" Ann asked. "You bet," Marty said. He gave his best swashbuckling grin. "Only rookies need anti-'g' seats." "But what about the mission to retrieve the bodies.... "Looks like it's a different mission now," Marty said. "They sure cut it close, though. It's dangerous as hell to interrupt a launch countdown after the rocket fuel tanks have been pressurized. A few more minutes and it would've been too late without a week-long abort.
He jabbed a thumb aft. "If I know General Saint-Michael, he's organized the world's fastest cargo switch in history. .One of those fuel tanks can hold five thousand pounds of liquid oxygen and ten thousand pounds of liquid hydrogenmore than enough to refuel Silver Tower's depleted fuel cells.
The PAM boosters? They'll make great boosters for Armstrong Station." "So we're really going to do it ... we're reactivating Arnutrong Station. . . ."
TYURATAM, USSR
Marshal Alesander Govorov was on a late afternoon tour of Glowing Star, the Soviet spaceflight center in south-central Russia. He had shunned his military escort, although his staff car with armed driver was following along a few dozen meters behind. In the growing dusk, wandering around his Elektron launch facility-now, by Stavka decree, unquestionably his--he preferred solitude as he observed his workers scurrying around the launch pads.
He looked ahead and saw his dream standing before him, illuminated by banks of spotlights on tall towers: three SL-16 Krypkei rockets, service gantrys and umbilicals in place, ready for launch. On top of each booster was an Elektron spaceplane, gleaming in the Space Defense Command colors of silver and red.
Each spaceplane, he knew, was armed with ten Scimitar hypervelocity missiles, now for the first time being massproduced in the Leningrad Malitanskaya-Krovya exotic weapons factories. They had proved their worth in combat with stunning results. He also had three top Soviet cosmonauts, hand-picked and personally trained, on twenty-four-hour alert at the Space Defense launch center.
His newly formed combat unit, the first of its kind, was the talk of the Soviet military, but despite--or perhaps because of--the unit's success much effort was being expended in instituting refinements and improvements. Changes had already been proposed, for example, in Govorov's simple but effective hypervelocity missile-weapon design. Undoubtedly the changes would end up complicating things, requiring
more cosmonaut int ervention before launch, but that, Govorov thought, would be considered a reasonable price to pay.
One change already made was an added explosive warhead to the Scimitar missile, needed because some midlevel engineer had noted that fifteen Scimitar missile hits on the space station Armstrong did not produce the devastation everyone had expected. With new explosive Scimitars in the Elektron's cargo bay, it was that much more dangerous to fly, but that was always the way. The better, the more dangerous.
Govorov also knew that careers were made by those eager to make such refinements,
and sometimes those men would steamroll over those in their way. He was on the lookout for such men, but at the same time he was careful not to hold on too tightly to his precious Bavinash missiles. Progress, for better or worse, was inevitable.
More important, his big gamble had paid off. Even in the Soviet military hierarchy those with the guts to stand for what they believed in could have some success. High rank usually meant heavy inertia, and the members of the Kollegiya had more in common than they would ever want to admit.
But leaders could reward, as well as strike down-when they perceived their own self-interest. Govorov, once commander of a small tenant unit at Tyuratam, now was commander of half of the entire base---over two thousand square kilometers, a dozen launch pads with
support equipment and two thousand men and women-and he could summon as much hardware as he required from any corner of the Soviet Union to fill those launch pads. On his own authority, he could launch a half-billion kilograms of men and machines into earth orbit. He could do everything and anything except attack a foreign spacecraft, and then he needed only the word of one man, the general secretary of the Soviet Union himself, to attack any spaceborne target he Telt was a threat to the nation.
It was a level of responsibility unprecedented in the Soviet Union-and, with very few exceptions, anywhere else. American nuclear submarine commanders, under extreme circumstances, could launch an attack in dine of war; the commander of the American strategic bomber forces could launch his planes at
his own discretion to improve their survivability in case of attack or natural disastrr; the three Israeli fighter-bomber theater commanders could assemble their stockpiled nuclear weapons and launch an attack if provoked or in danger of being overrun. But not one of them had the power to take command of outer space. Only Marshal Alesander Govorov of the Soviet Union had that.
Take command of outer space. Govorov reflected on the implications of that as he moved down the main concourse toward the launch control center. He had been in the control center only a few minutes later when Colonel Gulaev approached him. "Sir, launch-detection report has been relayed to us by our reconnaissance satellites. The spaceplane America has launched from southern California . . . ...
Govorov glanced at the chronometer over the command center consoles. "Ninety minutes later than their announced schedule. Has the launch been confirnied by any other means?"
Gulaev checked his watch. "Yes, sir. Agents in place near Edwards Air Force Base reported it to intelligence, and the news reports of several countries were filled with detailed descriptions of the launch." He paused. "Trouble, sir?"