Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1)
Page 19
She grinned. “You think?”
“Uh, yeah. So, we’ll stay the night and leave at oh-dark-thirty on Sunday, and should be back here, what? About mid-afternoon?”
“Uh huh.”
“Okay, that’s plenty of time. The landing’s not till after midnight.”
Following a stopover in Wichita for fuel and lunch, Jeff and Abby finally landed at Long Beach Airport a little past 5:00 p.m., parked the plane at the AirFlight terminal and caught a cab for the two mile ride over to Jeff’s house in Bixby Knolls.
“This is cozy,” Abby said, entering the front door.
“Yeah, it’s a comfortable little place. Had it for years.”
“This is your wife’s house?”
Jeff smiled softly and nodded. “Uh huh.”
“So this is hallowed ground?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
She turned to him and smiled. “I’m honored.”
“Eh, Marsha would’ve liked you. And you would’ve liked her. Anyway, come on, spare room’s back here.”
Jeff showed Abby to the spare bedroom at the back of the house. “Just drop your stuff and we’ll go get some dinner.”
“Okay.” Abby peeked out the back window. “You have a pool!”
“Yeah, help yourself. Uh, word of warning: you’ll probably have an audience, the old guy next door, Ed. You wear anything too skimpy and you’re liable to give him a heart attack.”
“Hmmm, I didn’t bring a swimsuit. Maybe I should wait ‘til after dark.”
“Probably be a good idea. Come on, let’s go eat.”
Abby followed Jeff to the garage. “Whoa! Nice car.”
Jeff grinned. “Yeah, it is nice. Very first thing I bought after winning the lottery. Couldn’t think of anything else to buy.”
“Nice choice.”
“Hasn’t been driven much over the past few months. Mostly just sits here and gathers dust.”
“What a crime.”
“Hop in and we’ll blow the cobwebs off.”
Jeff drove sedately over to Atlantic Boulevard and south to the San Diego Freeway. As he turned onto the onramp he looked around, checking for police cars and, seeing none, floored the gas pedal of the S65 AMG.
“Jesus!” Abby howled, squashed back into her seat. “That’s like a cat launch.”
“604 horsepower.” Jeff grinned. “The mother of all passing gears.”
“Holy shit! How fast will this thing go?”
“The computer limits it to 155. Bypass that and I dunno, probably pretty close to 200.”
“Wow.”
Jeff backed off a bit and took the Long Beach Freeway south to the marina district and Gladstone’s, where a small gratuity got them a patio table, without a reservation.
They ordered drinks and when the waitress came to take their order Jeff looked at Abby. “Trust me?”
“Implicitly.”
He turned to the waitress. “We’ll start with a Rainbow Harbor Roll and follow that with a Gladstone’s Clam Bake for two.” The waitress nodded and left. Jeff suddenly glanced back at Abby, “You’re not allergic to shellfish, are you?”
Abby shook her head and smiled. “No. I think that’s a violation of Navy Regs.”
Jeff laughed. “Never thought of it that way.”
“So, how did you get to know Captain Dillard?”
“Met him in Kuwait in ’91. Our EOD unit there was pretty small and we looked around for somebody to hang out with and concluded we had more in common with the SEALs than the SeaBees. And Ralph and I got to be good friends and just stayed in touch. He’s a good guy, you’ll like him.”
Abby nodded and winked at Jeff. “Any friend of yours…”
Saturday, August 4, 2012 (T minus 1326 days)
A little before eight in the morning Jeff called down the hall, “You about ready? We gotta go.”
Abby came out of the spare room, sparkling in Navy Full Dress White uniform. “All set.”
“Good. Help me with this damn collar. I hate these things; half wish we all had your uniform.”
She walked down the hall toward him. “You’d look pretty funny in a skirt.” As she approached Jeff, she stopped in mid-stride, staring at the medals on his chest. “Holy shit! A Navy Cross?”
Jeff grinned sheepishly. “Yeah.”
“What the hell did you get into?”
“Eh, I’ll tell you about it on the drive down. It’s a long, boring story.”
She helped him with the hooks on his collar. “It may be long, but I’ll bet it’s not boring. They don’t hand those out for shoveling shit in Louisiana.”
Jeff twisted his neck in the choker collar, “Thanks,” then glanced at Abby’s chest. “Distinguished Flying Cross? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those on a woman.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Oh great, we’re gonna be swapping sea stories all the way to San Diego.”
Once on the freeway and headed south, Jeff went first, and related the story of he and Gar Stewart in Kuwait, for which he had been awarded the Navy Cross and Purple Heart. “And thus endeth the tale.”
Abby stared at him and shook her head. “Wow, I don’t know what to say. But if I’m ever in a minefield, I sure want you with me.”
Jeff grinned. “I vote we avoid minefields, we’ll live longer that way. Alright, your turn.”
“Uh, after that story, I’m embarrassed.”
“Come on, let’s hear it.”
“Okay. In 2003 I was flying long-range close air support off the Nimitz, mostly around northern Baghdad and Tikrit. We were returning from a mission and some son of a bitch on the ground had managed to find himself a leftover SA-8 Gecko and took a shot at me. Damn near got me. It scorched the paint and scared the pee out of me. We were out of ordinance and low on fuel, so couldn’t do anything about it, but he sure pissed me off. We landed and I wanted to refuel, rearm, go find the bastard and return the compliment, but my squadron leader wouldn’t let me. Ordered me to stay clear and let the ground-pounders deal with them. Well, I was having none of that; nobody shoots at the Bitch and lives to talk about it.”
Jeff laughed.
“So the next day I got the red shirts to load me a HARM in addition to my usual bomb load, and went back. I figured they’d be about in the same place and there were some hills about twenty klicks north. I left my wingman flying high and just out of range as a decoy – which he was none too happy about – and while the rags were trying to get a radar lock on him, I rolled in right on the deck behind the hills. Shit, I was so low I was kickin’ up sand. I popped up over the hills, acquired, launched the HARM, peeled off and called ‘Magnum’. They never knew what hit ‘em. That was the only time I ever got to do that. What a rush! Then I swung around and gave ‘em a couple 500-pounders just for spite. We returned to the birdfarm and my squadron leader promptly grounded me and threatened to court-martial me for disobeying a direct order. Eventually the wing commander decided that discretion was the better part of valor and gave me the DFC instead. Better publicity.”
Jeff howled. “That’s hilarious. Good for you. I can never understand that. Target of opportunity, you kill it, and some son of a bitch upstairs wants to lock you up and take away your birthday. Jesus!”
“Yeah, well, that was one of several areas in which the canoe club and I just didn’t see eye-to-eye.”
“Is that why you got turned down for Test Pilot School?”
“I dunno, probably had something to do with it. When they said I had an attitude problem, I didn’t argue with them. But it never stopped me from killing things that needed to be killed. But, you know how it is, attitude’s all fine and well on the front lines, but when you get into something like Test Pilot or NASA, it’s a whole different ballgame. They want team players, company men, not loose cannons.”
Jeff glanced at her and smiled. “Well, Commander Nolan, it would be my privilege to fly with you any time, any place.”
Abby returned the smile. “Thanks.”
Master Chief Stewart met them at the head of the walk. He snapped to attention, saluted both officers, and snidely remarked, “Nice of you to make it, sir, they’re about to start.”
Jeff and Abby returned the salute and stopped. “Morning Master Chief, nice to see you too.” He turned to Abby. “Commander Nolan, may I introduce Master Chief Explosive Ordinance Disposal Technician Garland Stewart. Master Chief, this is Lieutenant Commander Abigail Nolan.”
Master Chief Stewart held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
Abby took his hand with a look of astonishment. “No, Master Chief, the pleasure is all mine. Jeff… uh, Captain Grey, was regaling me of your adventures in Kuwait all the way down here. He neglected to mention that you’d be here.”
“Ma’am, the Captain tends to take some poetic license with the embellishments, if you know what I mean?” He winked at her.
Abby smiled. “Be that as it may, it’s a real pleasure Master Chief.”
“Alright, alright.” Jeff pointed to the auditorium door. “Shall we?”
The Master Chief showed them to a couple reserved seats up front and returned to the back of the room.
Looking at the stage, Abby leaned to Jeff. “Who’s the four-star?”
“Admiral Gaylord, Pac Fleet.”
“Pac Fleet here for a Captain’s retirement? Wow.”
“Yeah, Dillard’s big medicine, and they know each other.”
“You ever meet him?”
“No.”
Abby looked around. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much brass in one room before.”
“Yeah, anymore and the place might sink.”
Jeff clinked beer glasses with Ralph Dillard. “To retirement.”
Ralph smiled and nodded. “Amen to that.”
“Twenty-six years, hell of a career.”
“Hell of a long twenty-six years.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. But I’ll tell you, Ralph, there’s something about the image of the C.O. of SEAL Team 3 on a farm in New Hampshire that just don’t seem right.”
“God Jeff, I’m lookin’ forward to it. Finally, the quiet life.”
“You really don’t think you’d make flag?”
Ralph laughed. “Shit, you know as well as I do that about one in a thousand Special Forces officers get stars. I’m not gonna hang around to watch myself get passed over for O-7.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to go out that way.”
“Can’t say as I blame you. But hell, Ralph, anyone that’s worn that trident on their uniform for as long as you have deserves stars.”
Ralph shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, you and I don’t make the rules.”
Jeff nodded. “That’s a fact. Well, at least we’ll be pretty close again.”
“Yeah, how far is it to your place?”
“From southern New Hampshire? I dunno, maybe a three hour drive. You got an airport up there?”
“Yeah, there’s one just south of Keene, about ten miles from us.”
“Well hell, it’s probably only about a half hour by air.”
“That’s right, you’ve got a jet don’t you, you rich bastard.”
Jeff chuckled. “Yeah. Wow, what a trip this is.”
“You sure you want to do this?”
“Yeah, why the hell not? What else have I got to do with the rest of my life?”
“You do this and the rest of your life may be brief.”
“You think anybody’d miss me?”
“Yeah, Marilyn and me.”
“Anybody else?”
Ralph shook his head. “No, not that I can think of.” He glanced toward the bar.
Jeff followed his gaze and spotted Abby, surrounded by half a dozen SEAL officers. He grinned.
“I thought this was my party, but Abby’s quite the attraction.”
“Ralph, she’s a lot better looking than you.”
“No shit.” He stared at her for a moment. “There’s something about her. She has a strength.”
“Uh huh.”
“Sure could of used somebody like her on a SEAL team a few times.”
Jeff nodded. “If ever there was a woman that could have not only made it through the pipeline, but put all the boys to shame, you’re looking at her.”
“Perhaps she would miss you, Jeff.”
“Maybe. But if I go, she’ll probably go with me.”
“That would be a shame.”
Jeff took a long drink of beer and rapped the table with his glass. “Yes it would.”
Sunday, August 5, 2012 (T minus 1325 days)
It was ten p.m. and Jeff yawned and rubbed his eyes, “Gabe, it’s been a long day. Do we have to do this right now?”
“Why? You have a date?”
“Not for a few more hours. What have you got?”
“Let’s start with the easy part.”
Jeff took a seat at the conference table. “Okay, fire away.”
“On the outbound trip, there’s no margin for error on the SPS fuel. Simulations indicate we’ll be running on fumes when we arrive in orbit. That’s a bit disconcerting.”
“Yeah, I know. But, if the minimum wasn’t good enough, it wouldn’t be the minimum.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that before. Still…”
“What do you propose?”
“That following TMI, we reduce our mass by getting rid of anything we won’t need from then on. The EDS would be my first choice.”
“Well sure, but we’ll need that leftover O2 and H2 if we’re forced to abort the landing and make a powered swing-by and return home, and we have no place else to put it.”
“Yes, but not all of it. We should vent all but… the minimum.”
“Okay, that makes sense. Check with Sue and get some numbers.”
“Alright.”
“What else?”
“I don’t know. Non-recyclable waste?”
Jeff frowned. “Oh god, I hate to do that and just add more clutter to space.”
“Yes, I know but…”
“Yeah. I can’t imagine that’s gonna amount to a whole lot, particularly if we’re incinerating it.”
Gabe shrugged. “No, probably not, but it’s something.”
“See if you can come up with a number.”
“Okay. Is there anything else you can think of?”
Jeff sighed. “God, at this hour I’m not sure I’m capable of rational thought. Um, let me think.” He stared at the table and scratched his head for a minute, then laughed.
“What?”
“Oh, you’re gonna love this.”
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah. Speaking of the EDS, we’re not going to need the J-2 again, just the fuel and oxidizer tanks.”
Gabe gasped. “Oh my god, are you serious?”
“Well, immediately following TMI that engine is just 3600 pounds of useless junk.”
“Disconnect a J-2 and all its plumbing in space? Can that even be done?”
“I dunno. Take a look at the S-IVB schematics and see. And, since we haven’t built the things yet, there may be a way to engineer it to make it easier. I dunno, maybe some adapter fitted with explosive bolts so we don’t actually have to go outside and do it. Think about it.”
She shook her head. “Okay.”
Jeff grinned. “Hey, you asked.”
“Yeah.”
He held up a finger. “Ah, here’s something else that came to mind a while back when I was reading the original CSM documentation. In the original service modules the fuel cells and associated O2 and H2 tanks were all located in Sector 4. What was in Sector 1?”
Gabe cast him a puzzled frown. “Um, nothing.”
“Good grief, I know something you don’t.” He smiled and mused, “Hold on a second, I need to savor this for a moment.”
She glared at him and tapped her fingernails on the table. “Any time now.”<
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“No, not ‘nothing’. That sector was loaded with ballast to offset the mass of Sector 4. Around 1500 pounds, as I recall.”
“And your point is?”
“Well, with tanks, we could probably get another 1200 or 1300 pounds of fuel in there. That’s only around 3%, but it might just give us the breathing room you want.”
“Yes, but if we used that fuel, it would throw off the module’s center of gravity.”
“True, but would you rather deal with a minor wobble, or run out of fuel?”
“Hmmm, point conceded.”
He grinned. “Okay, well, take a look at it. In the meantime, I’ll think on the matter and see if there’s anything else. So, is that it?”
“Um, no.”
“What else?”
Gabe smiled politely. “Now comes the hard part.”
Jeff groaned, “Oh great.”
“First, allow me to say that, for an amateur, I’m really impressed with your work. You did a lot in a very short period of time, you have a good grasp of the subject matter, and you’ve got some interesting and original ideas. I really am impressed.”
He returned her smile. “Um, thanks. But, uh, you’re buttering me up for something. I feel the other shoe is about to drop.”
“Uh, yes.”
“What’d I do wrong?”
“Well, it has to do with the return trip.”
“What about it?”
“A couple things. First, you specify 31,500 pounds of N2O4 and Aerozine-50 to refuel the service module, but you can’t burn nearly that much so you can eliminate around 18,500 pounds of it.”
“Why can’t I burn that much?”
“Because an AJ-10-137 has a service life of about 750 seconds. Following orbital insertion that engine is only going to have around 185 seconds of life left in it – at best – before it devours itself. Why take that much fuel when 60 percent of it can’t be used?”
He frowned. “Um, crap. I was counting on that for part of the TEI Delta-V.”
“Yes, which brings us to part two. Um, I like your idea of using a Centaur modified to burn hypergolic fuel as a return booster. That’s interesting, and I think… doable. However, your return dates call for a Delta-V of 3,280 meters per second. You can’t get anywhere near that with the mass of this ship and that booster.”