by Dale Brown
No, he realized, subtlety was out the window here. The Space Force crew about to head for the moon on his orders would just have to bull ahead and hope luck broke their way.
Thirty-Seven
Over North America
A Few Days Later
Two hundred and fifty miles above the cloud-dappled peaks and snow-choked mountain valleys of the Rockies, two large black spaceplanes flew in tandem—circling the world together at more than seventeen thousand miles per hour. One was a Space Force S-29B Shadow now configured for a voyage to the moon. It was piloted by Colonel Scott “Dusty” Miller and Major Hannah “Rocky” Craig. The second was an unarmed civilian S-29A refueling tanker with two Scion pilots, Peter “Constable” Vasey and Liz Gallagher, at its controls.
Aboard Shadow Bravo One, Hannah Craig peered up through the forward cockpit windows. The other spaceplane hung just a few yards above the top of their fuselage—sharply outlined against a deep black sky strewn with the hard, bright pinpoints of uncounted thousands of stars. Relative to them, the S-29A was flying upside down and backward. A long, flexible boom extended from one of the two silver-colored fuel tanks inside its open cargo bay. The end of the boom was now seated firmly inside the S-29B’s refueling receptacle.
“How’s it look from your angle?” Miller asked from the left-hand pilot’s seat.
“Real solid,” she replied. She radioed the other spaceplane, “I confirm contact, Shadow Alpha Three.”
“Roger that,” Gallagher replied. “Commencing JP transfer now.”
Aboard the tanker, pumps whirred. Inert helium gas was used to “push” JP-8 jet fuel into the S-29B Shadow’s tanks in zero-G conditions—replenishing the stores consumed during its rocket-powered climb into orbit. Earlier in this evolution, the S-29A tanker had refilled their separate oxidizer reserves with highly explosive borohydrogen metaoxide, or BOHM. BOHM was essentially refined hydrogen peroxide and, when mixed with ordinary jet fuel, it enabled combustion inside their five LRDRS engines outside the atmosphere.
Minutes passed as the two spacecraft swung southeastward high over the lush Mississippi River valley, the cloud-covered Appalachians, and then out across the Atlantic. Ahead through their cockpit windows, Miller and Craig saw a patch of lighter-colored green-blue shallows appear, surrounded on all sides by the dark ultramarine waters of the deeper ocean. They were coming up on Bermuda.
“JP-8 transfer complete,” Liz Gallagher reported from the tanker. “Detaching the boom now.”
With a gentle CL-CLUNK, the boom’s nozzle slid back out of their fuel port slipway. Tiny thrusters attached to the end puffed in microsecond bursts as the long boom slowly retracted back into the S-29A tanker’s cargo bay and latched along one end.
Miller flipped a switch to close the slipway doors above and behind their cockpit. His hands settled on the controls for spaceplane’s hydrazine reaction thrusters. “Separating now, Shadow Alpha Three,” he radioed.
Peter Vasey’s English-accented voice replied through his headset. “Copy that, Bravo One. We’re on the move, too. Good luck. And give my regards to those bastards on the far side of the moon, will you?”
“Thanks, Constable. We’ll do our best,” Miller promised with a quick grin. He activated the controls. His hands made small, precise movements to fire thrusters positioned at different points along the spaceplane’s nose, fuselage, wings, and tail. Brief flashes of light against the darkness of space showed that Vasey was using his own thrusters. Slowly, carefully, their two spacecraft edged away from each other, separating both vertically and horizontally.
Now several miles away, and with its job done, the S-29A tanker lit its main engines. Decelerating fast, the other spaceplane dropped out of orbit—heading for the atmosphere as Vasey and Gallagher began the powered reentry maneuver that would eventually bring them back to Battle Mountain.
Miller keyed his mike. “Peterson Mission Control, this is Shadow Bravo One. We’re gassed up and ready to go. What’s the status on that Falcon Heavy?”
“The Falcon Heavy is go for launch, Dusty,” Major Tony Kim radioed. Kim was one of the Space Force pilots tapped to act as CAPCOM, their intermediary with the mission controllers working this lunar flight from the ground. “T-minus thirty seconds and counting.”
Miller glanced across the spaceplane’s crowded cockpit. “Wanna see this?”
“Oh, yeah,” Hannah Craig said simply. She checked one of her flight control menus. “You came in way under our thruster-use budget while refueling, so we’ve got plenty of hydrazine to spare.”
More quick bursts from their thrusters spun the S-29 end-over-end so that they were facing back toward the distant east coast of the United States. The SpaceX launch site at Cape Canaveral was already invisible over the curve of the earth. Through their headsets, they heard Kim echoing the countdown. “T-minus six. Side booster ignition. Four . . . three . . . two . . . ignition . . . and lift off!”
Seconds later, they saw a wavering spark of light rising steadily through the lower atmosphere. Even from nearly fifteen hundred miles away, it was the brightest object in sight, outshining even the stars above them. Their own rapid flight carried them too far around the earth to spot the Falcon Heavy’s self-landing side boosters when they detached, but they did see the trail of fire from its main engine reappear above the horizon as the rocket climbed higher—accelerating toward orbital speed. Moments later, that bright light winked out.
“MECO. And first-stage separation!” Kim reported. Almost immediately, a new, dimmer point of light appeared, now just above the sharp blue band that marked the division between the earth’s atmosphere and space. “Second-stage start-up. Payload fairing separation confirmed. Everything’s looking good. The Falcon’s on its way, Dusty.”
“Copy that,” Miller replied. Quick tweaks on his thruster controls flipped the S-29 back around so that its nose was pointed along their current orbital path. Satisfied that they were back in the groove, he turned to his copilot. “Looks like this mission is a go!”
Jubilantly, Craig nodded. Her fingers danced across her multifunction displays, pulling up navigation and flight control displays. She set a series of automated checklists in motion. If necessary, they could have completed several more orbits before conducting the next maneuver. But with the definite success of that Falcon Heavy launch there was no further reason to delay. “Translunar injection insertion burn in five minutes.”
Those minutes passed in a blur of activity as they double-checked the S-29B’s computers at every step.
“Stellar navigation systems are go,” Craig announced. That was vital. Once they left Earth orbit, there would be no GPS to guide them. Like the earlier Apollo astronauts, they would have to rely entirely on triangulation using the relative bearings of prominent stars to determine their current position. “Position cross-checks complete. TLI trajectory confirmed.”
“Communication and encryption systems look good.”
“Our targeting laser radar system is operational. All indicators from the weapons laser itself are green.”
“Life support systems are go.”
“LPDRS engine readouts are nominal. Ready for relight.”
At last, Miller sat back. “Peterson Mission Control, this is Shadow Bravo One. We are go for TLI. Repeat, we are go for TLI.”
“Roger that, Bravo One,” Tony Kim replied. “Stand by for a final go/no go on that translunar injection burn.”
Impatiently, Miller and Craig waited while the mission controllers along with General Kelleher back on Earth conducted a last-minute poll to decide whether or not to approve their planned flight to the moon. For both of them, the seconds seemed to tick by with agonizing slowness. At last, Kim came back on the circuit. “Shadow Bravo One, this is Peterson Mission Control. We confirm that you are go for translunar injection.”
“Understood, Peterson,” Miller acknowledged. He glanced at his head-up display, checking their computer-driven countdown clock. “Thirty seconds to TLI.” He
tapped their thrusters again, pitching the S-29’s nose up to align the spaceplane for its upcoming burn.
His eyes flicked toward Hannah Craig. “You ready for this, Major?”
In answer, she laughed. “I suppose it’s too late to hit the john?”
Miller grinned back. “Afraid so. You’ll just have to hold it—” The indicators on his HUD flashed green. Cued by the flight computer, he shoved their engine throttles all the way forward.
With a muffled whummp, the S-29’s five big rocket motors fired.
Immediately, G-forces slammed Miller and Craig back against their seats. “For . . . just . . . a few . . . more minutes,” he grunted, forcing the words out against the sudden intense acceleration.
Those minutes dragged on and on. Steadily, the spaceplane’s speed increased. “Nineteen thousand miles per hour,” Miller said tersely. They were now pulling around five-G’s. He nudged the sidestick controller slightly to follow the steering directions sent to his head-up display. In response, all five LPDRS engine nozzles swiveled a degree, minutely changing their direction of thrust. “Nineteen thousand five hundred . . . miles per hour. Still accelerating.”
Beside him, Hannah Craig strained to read the engine status readings on one of her MFDs. They were starting to blur out as the blood drained out of her brain and pooled in her lower body. “Temperatures and pressures . . . still look good,” she reported.
Nearly ten minutes after their TLI burn started, Miller saw the readouts on his HUD shift. “Ten seconds to engine cutoff . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.” He pulled all the way back on the throttles. “Shutdown.”
The engines cut out. And as quickly as it had come, the powerful acceleration that had slammed them back against their seats disappeared. Now back in zero-G, they floated forward against the safety harnesses holding them in place. Through the cockpit canopy, stars blazed across the black depths of space. The earth was somewhere out of sight behind them, receding fast. The moon, still far, far away, hung out in space off to the side of their spacecraft.
Miller let go of the throttles and controller and locked them out. He tapped at his own displays, checking their numbers. “That was a good burn. We’re outward bound at a scooch over twenty-one thousand miles per hour,” he said in satisfaction.
“Well, nuts. I guess we’re not gonna break the record,” his copilot said with a wry smile. On their way back from the moon in May 1969, the crew of Apollo 10 had captured the all-time speed record for any manned flight, hitting 24,791 miles per hour.
“Afraid not,” Miller agreed. He turned more serious. “How’re we doing on fuel?”
Craig pulled up the readings from sensors inside their tanks. “Our JP-8 and BOHM are down to eight percent, a little better than we’d hoped. Thruster hydrazine looks very good, with ninety-five percent remaining.”
“Outstanding,” Miller told her. He keyed his mike. “Peterson Mission Control, this is Shadow Bravo One. Our TLI was good. Our fuel status is nominal. We’ve got enough gas to make our rendezvous burn when needed.”
“Copy that, Bravo One,” Kim responded from Earth. “We confirm your good burn. You should intercept that Falcon fuel load in approximately ten hours.”
Several hundred miles ahead of the S-29B Shadow, the Falcon Heavy’s spent second stage detached from its payload—two connected BOHM and JP-8 fuel tanks coupled to a pair of remote-controlled booms identical to those developed for the S-29A tanker spaceplane. Thrusters studded around the Falcon booster fired. Slowly, it drifted away, deflected onto a trajectory that would impact the moon’s near side in several days. The twin JP-8 and BOHM fuel tanks flew onward, gradually being overtaken by the slightly faster spaceplane coming up from behind.
Three hours later, aboard the Space Force Shadow, Dusty Miller and Hannah Craig finished an array of final post-TLI navigation, life support, and other systems checks. Then, obeying their mission plan, they dimmed the spaceplane’s cockpit lights and settled back to try to sleep while still strapped into their seats. The next several hours were set aside as a mandatory crew rest period. Both of them knew they would need to be fully alert when the time came to make the first-ever deep-space refueling attempt.
Thirty-Eight
Sky Masters Aerospace Inc., Battle Mountain, Nevada
That Same Time
Sky Masters technicians had converted one of the company’s conference rooms into a miniature replica of the Space Force mission control room at Peterson Air Force Base. Computer displays echoed the telemetry and video received from the spacecraft on its way to the moon. And secure communications gear allowed those present to monitor all transmissions between the crew and ground controllers. For the duration of the S-29B’s lunar reconnaissance mission, this room would be manned around the clock by Sky Masters and Scion personnel—ready to offer technical assistance or tactical expertise as needed.
From his station, Brad McLanahan listened to Dusty Miller and Hannah Craig sign off from their S-29 Shadow out in cislunar space. With a frustrated sigh, he slipped off his headset. Then he frowned. “Man, I hate this.”
“Hate what?” Nadia asked quietly.
“Just sitting here doing nothing, and watching other people take all the risks.”
Patrick McLanahan nodded sympathetically. “Welcome to the higher echelons of command, son,” he said. “The ones where other men and women put their lives on the line carrying out your plans or following your orders.”
“Does it ever get any easier?” Brad asked.
“No, it really doesn’t,” his father said simply. He shrugged. “Which is why I did everything I could to make sure I still flew combat missions myself.” Then, with a twisted smile, he tapped the metal LEAF exoskeleton that helped keep him alive. “Given how I ended up in this semi-robotic hunk of junk, that was probably for a lot longer than I should have.”
Brad nodded grimly, remembering the horrifying moment when a Chinese fighter jet’s 30mm cannon shells riddled the bomber he and his father were flying. But as bad as that had been, at least they’d been together, sharing the same risks. Sitting safely on the ground like this, hundreds of thousands of miles from the action, still felt deeply wrong somehow.
“Colonel Miller and Major Craig are very competent,” Nadia said softly, offering what comfort she could.
“Yeah, I know,” Brad said. “And if it comes down to it, General Kelleher was right when he pushed to make this a Space Force mission. They’ve got way more hours of advanced combat training in those spaceplanes than we do.” His gaze shifted back to one of the displays. It depicted the S-29B’s projected path as it curved away from Earth—heading toward the point in space where the moon would be in roughly seventy hours. His jaw tightened. “But I also wish we weren’t in a position where we have to bet everything on one roll of the dice.”
“It’s always good to have a backup plan,” his father said. “That’s why I’ve had a team going through everything in the Sky Masters inventory—including prototypes, whether they’ve ever been flown or not—looking for any other space hardware that could give us another way to get to the moon . . . if we need one.”
Brad looked hard at him. Ever since he was old enough to notice, he’d realized that his father had a habit of playing his cards close to his chest—keeping everyone else at a distance while he worked out his own plans. “You sure kept that pretty quiet, Dad.”
His father shrugged again. “It seemed like a long shot. Plus, I didn’t want to distract anyone from the mission prep for Miller and Craig’s recon flight. In most ways, that’s still our best option.”
“So did your team find something?” Nadia asked sharply.
“Possibly,” Patrick said cautiously. “Originally, it was a piece of civilian space technology we thought might come in handy for a Sky Masters bid on part of the president’s lunar helium-3 mining operation.”
“And now?” Nadia demanded.
Patrick smiled at her. “Now we think this equipment could be just wha
t we need. Well, after some serious, and seriously expensive, modifications, anyway.”
Brad pushed back his chair and stood up. Beside him, Nadia did the same. “Okay, Dad,” he told his father. “Let’s go see this rabbit you think your guys just pulled out of the hat.”
Korolev Base, on the Far Side of the Moon
That Same Time
Colonel Kirill Lavrentyev stared at the split-screen images of Marshal Leonov and President Li Jun in disbelief. “The Americans are doing what?”
“One of their armed spaceplanes is now headed toward lunar orbit,” Leonov repeated patiently. “Based on its current speed and trajectory, it will reach the moon in something under three Earth days.”
Colonel Tian Fan leaned in beside his Russian counterpart. “Do we know yet what combat capabilities they have sacrificed to make this long-range mission possible?”
“An excellent question, Tian,” Li said in satisfaction. He nodded to someone offscreen and his image disappeared, replaced by a grainy picture of the winged American spacecraft. “Our ground-based telescopes were able to take several photographs before the American S-29 moved out of range.”
Lavrentyev and Tian studied the fuzzy image of the American space vehicle with great care. One alteration was immediately obvious. The wing and fuselage pods Russian and Chinese intelligence had tentatively identified as microwave emitters were gone. Both men nodded in sudden understanding. Removing those microwave pods and their associated electronics had allowed the Americans to add additional life-support and navigation equipment to the spaceplane.