by T I WADE
A year after she started flying, which was a couple of months before school ended, and on her eighteenth birthday, she went solo for the first time. Maggie suddenly realized that she was all alone up there in the world; something changed in her forever. She screamed as loud as she could; a scream of pure relief. She was free! She had just found a new exciting world of freedom.
The instructor noticed her emerge from her first solo hour with the first smile he had ever seen on her face, and realized that she had found something new inside herself; from then on Maggie Sinclair flew like a person desperate to learn.
A few weeks after leaving school, and on the same day she received her final school grades, she passed her flight test with a perfect flight under the examination of a very senior instructor. Maggie received the official paperwork for her Private Pilot License in a small ceremony with the flight school’s personnel and several other students in attendance; her parents did not show up. After the ceremony she accepted a celebratory dinner with her instructor and a few other pilots. “So what are you going to do now, Maggie?” her instructor asked.
“Join the United States Air Force Academy,” she replied simply. “Will you please write a letter of commendation? I have just received the necessary letter from my Congressman.”
“Really!” he replied pretty shocked. “Of course I will.”
“I used up some of my college funds to learn to fly, and I haven’t had much interest from any universities yet. My parents want me to study computer science, and now argue that there isn’t enough money for my education, so I’m going to go where it is free, to see what I can learn in the Air Force.” It looked like her mind was made up.
“A good idea,” he responded deciding to help her. He had seen a couple of his former students do the same thing, and assured her that he would get any pertinent information from them, write a letter, and see what he else he could do to help. His father had been a member of the U.S. Senate for three terms before his recent retirement a year earlier.
Chapter 9
Richmond Field, Nevada.
For Jonesy, Hangar Six was what he was really waiting for. As they walked in, their eyes grew accustomed to interior lighting for the sixth time, and the first of two shapes glinted back at them, the Halogen roof lighting made the silver craft in front of them flash all sorts of colors.
Both semi-complete craft were cordoned off behind plastic sheeting and looked relatively small compared to the C-5 in Hangar 3.
“These are our work horses, our earth to orbit space shuttles, two of them,” began Ryan. “The shuttles are identical, eighteen feet wide, twelve feet high and 140 feet long. If you remember the interior of the C-5, the space looks more like an oval than a circular cargo bay, so we have designed these oval cigars to fit perfectly into the Galaxy. Due to our fuel needs, Mr. Jones, we need to trash the rear C-5 cargo doors permanently. The whole cargo hold is filled by the aircraft, making the three large rocket motor exhausts sit outside the rear of the loading bay and directly underneath the high tail; this idea gave us our minimum first-stage fuel needs. Funny enough, this C-5 interior shape gave us easier design planning than we ever expected. Let me explain this shuttle’s systems. We have an hour before I need to get into a meeting with the hydrogen thruster department so I must be brief.
“Mr. Jones, you will begin work in this hangar, as well as begin training in the flight simulators in Hangar One. Mr. Noble, starting tomorrow your two hangars will be Hangars Five and Four, exoskeleton and spacesuit design, and the mining department.
“OK! This shuttle has been designed to get a 4.1 ton cargo into any altitude orbit above earth.
“It first uses two hybrid rockets using a mixture of solid and liquid fuels. You will learn about this before you fly her, Mr. Jones, so don’t worry about her technology just yet. Much like the British space program underway, she is ejected out of the C-5 at 50,000 feet or higher at a speed of 400 miles an hour, or higher. Her two hybrid first stage rockets ignite and within seconds propel her over the sound barrier at an ever-increasing speed that reaches 12,000 knots as she approaches 240,000 feet. Her second stage fuel, liquid hydrogen in a single large rocket motor, will take her the rest of the way up, to 380,000 feet at just under 17,000 knots. At this height, she will have enough liquid hydrogen to maneuver in space with her rear hydrogen rocket, added hydrogen side-thrusters, and two small ion drives for long distance travel in her tail. Her rear hydrogen fuel rocket will propel her back into the atmosphere, and once below 200,000 feet, she will glide in for landing here at the airfield.”
“But how can she glide without wings?” asked Jonesy puzzled.
“She does have wings, Mr. Jones,” replied Ryan. “Come closer and look at her outline,” and they walked over to stand directly in front of the craft. To Jonesy she looked sharp, but very fat and very overweight compared to an F-16, more like a very pregnant fighter jet.
Ryan asked the white coat who had joined them to prepare for wing deployment. A buzzer sounded and everybody cleared the first shuttle. Ryan directed both men to look at a slight indentation line two thirds above the two oval side-shapes of the craft. “See, there is a slight variation in the curvature of the side panels.” Both men nodded. “Now come to the rear and I’ll show you how she glides, Mr. Jones.”
They went to the rear of the aircraft, their eyes following the narrow line along the side of the aircraft. Here at the rear the same slight curve change was slightly more prominent. Below the narrow line on both sides of the lower two-thirds of the aircraft were the two massive first-stage rocket exhausts, each about six feet across. Center, and above the two lower engines on each side, and in a triangular design, as Ryan had explained, was the third massive exhaust of the second-stage hydrogen-fuelled rocket exhaust. On each side of the higher, third motor they saw a much smaller, and different looking rocket exhaust, one tenth the size of the big three. These Ryan explained were the ion drives or thrusters.
“The two big motors below the wings get her most of the way, the single upper liquid hydrogen rocket motor takes her up to a maximum of 400,000 feet, and the throttle can be manually controlled; this is not true of the first-stage hybrid rocket system. Gentlemen, this system is much the same as what is used by the latest space rockets. The most recent NASA shuttles, although twice the size of our shuttles, worked with the first and second stages only. Our major difference to the NASA shuttles is our ion thruster drives. As I said, the power going through the hydrogen second-stage, Mr. Jones, is controlled by the pilot. The first stage is full power, nothing more. Underneath the shuttle’s outer skin, and operated after opening the slots once the craft is in space, are two smaller hydrogen thrusters on either side of the shuttle. Much like a bow thruster in a ship these are to direct the shuttle in sideward and slowing movements. If rapid decreases in forward speed are needed, the side thruster can turn the ship around, which allows the pilot to use the upper, large rear hydrogen thruster as a braking system. Each shuttle can be made totally stationary in space if necessary, and then propelled up to a reentry speed, using the large hydrogen motor. The smaller iron drive motors use the same fuel our space craft will use for their long distant flights, xenon gas.”
Ryan nodded and suddenly a set of wings began to emerge from the thin line they had been shown, and also a small tail emerged from the upper fuselage. It rose three feet high.
“The wings are shaped like a triangle. At the front they extend out by six inches from just behind the cockpit. Here, at the rear, they extend out to a maximum four feet, controllable in one foot intervals, just enough to allow a glide pattern down to ground.”
“That is not very much,” stated Jonesy.
“Not very much for F-16 pilots, Mr. Jones, but enough for twenty percent glide slopes between Mach 3, and all the way down to 400 knots, or 440 miles an hour. She can fly on this down slope with a four-ton returning cargo, if necessary. Of course, this is all on computer print-outs, and you will make sure we are correct. Aft
er all, Mr. Jones, you are the best test pilot in the world, are you not?” Jonesy nodded. “At around 400 knots she will level out for landing. Both shuttles have small air brakes on top of each wing if needed, and her small undercarriage is extracted at 300 knots, 1,000 feet above ground,” continued Ryan.
“Ok, I get it,” interrupted the pilot. “She dives in and her wings expand like one of the old X-51s. As her speed slows, more wing can be used until they are fully extended at four feet for landing. But, won’t she be empty at landing, fuel and cargo?”
“Fuel yes, cargo no!” replied Ryan. She has been designed to come in with a four-ton cargo load.”
“Four tons of cargo will drop her like a brick at speeds under 500 knots,” suggested Jonesy.
“As with the old NASA shuttles twice her size, she will have a steep glide slope; yes, a fast landing speed of around 280 knots, 300 miles per hour with a set of three parachutes automatically ejecting to slow her down along our 10,000 feet of runway. You have precisely stated why I employed you, Mr. Jones, to get her up and down again safely.”
“How are the wings used for earth exit?” Jonesy asked.
“Once she ejects out of the C-5 at 400 knots or faster, her wings and tail extend out to maximum within four seconds, her first-stage rocket engines ignite a second later, her forward speed is estimated to drop to 350 knots and then rise rapidly at 50 knots per second allowing her pilot six seconds to direct her to her correct climb slope and angle of atmospheric exit. Then she is purely a rocket with limited control during her first-stage, but once the second stage motor ignites at 240,000 feet, you will have far more control of her. For atmospheric flight she has small ailerons on her wings and tail for control.
“Now I must get over to Hangar One. You guys are done for today; I’ll give you a ride, and we will start training tomorrow. The rest of the hangars are off limits for another few weeks.”
Chapter 10
Nellis Air Force Base, Las Vegas
Unbeknownst to her flying instructor, Maggie Sinclair had fantastic high school grades. Thanks to her parents, she had received three characteristics that would help her into the Air Force: brains, height, and eyesight.
Her instructor had been surprised at how sharp her eyesight was. She could see minute objects quickly on the ground when he pointed them out to her below them.
Unbeknownst to her parents, a few days after her day of screaming while going solo for the first time, she found the Air Force Academy’s address and information, recently obtainable if one searched carefully on the new expanding Internet, and sent for an application.
Once the papers arrived, she completed the application and sent the papers back to the Academy. The last items needed were her high school transcript, letters of commendation from her teachers, and a letter from her Congressman.
“Father, mother, I have been accepted into the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado; all I need is for you to sign the Parents Acceptance Document,” she stated out of the blue one night over dinner.
Both parents dropped their knives and forks and looked at her in shock.
“You have done what?” demanded her father. “What about UCLA or somewhere around us. There are dozens of universities, which have computer science programs, and that is what your mother and I want you to study. I will not sign those documents for you to waste your life, and our savings, and go and fly a stupid airplane!”
“I agree with your father, darling,” added her mother. “You are trying to enter a man’s world, and computer studies are much more a lady’s occupation! I couldn’t even imagine you doing that aerospace engineering stuff. Women will never fit, or even be accepted into that field.”
“Will you two please hear me out?” Maggie asked. They silently looked at her with worry. She had not been the same since she started that darn flying course. “I will be studying two fields at the Air Force Academy if they will allow me to. I wrote down the subjects I wanted to study, and they replied that it was possible. The subjects I have applied for are Computing and Computer Science, and Aerospace Engineering.”
This seemed to appease her parents somewhat. “And how much is this all going to cost us?” asked her mother regaining her composure. “You have already spent ten percent of our education savings.”
“Another ten percent for travel costs to Colorado, a car to get there—about another ten percent, and let’s say ten percent for books and school materials. $10,000 mother and I won’t need the rest,” Maggie replied, now knowing how to deal with her parents.
“Is that all for a Bachelor’s degree, Maggie? Don is she correct?” she asked her husband.
“If Maggie is correct dear, there could be enough left over for a Masters. Maggie, who is paying the rest?
“Our government,” she replied simply.
“A government funded education, hey? Now where was that when my parents had to put me through college?” he asked. Maggie wanted to reply sarcastically, but decided that silence was the best option.
They suddenly seemed pleased that she was pursuing a positive education, happily signed the papers, handed her the money a few days later, and helped her purchase her very own ride to Colorado.
They waved her off with as much enthusiasm as she had ever seen them exhibit.
That was over thirty-one years before she received the call that the base commander of Nellis wanted to see her.
She walked across the apron, leaving the C-5 crew with which she had just completed a round-trip supply run to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany. She was wondering what the good-looking, but married, General Saunders had in store for her this time. He was only several years older than her, had left the Academy in Colorado before she got there, and she knew that good-looking generals like him were never single. Her days of finding a good general or above to have a family with, were long gone. Maggie, now a full colonel and still flying, couldn’t really marry below her rank, and she never really met any civilians.
As she walked across the large cement apron, she remembered her Academy days, and thought back to her early days there.
Maggie fondly remembered driving all alone from California to Colorado to be put through her rookie months of dirt, mud, crap, shouting and the general unpleasantness she, as a protected child, never knew existed. It was horrible at the time. She couldn’t believe that people treated others that way. No respect, no softness, and no peace and quiet to think.
But, as quickly as it began, boot camp ended. A couple of the people she had started with were not there anymore. Her mother had been right; this was certainly a man’s world. Less than one percent of the 1,000 recruits on the parade square that day, her last day in boot camp, were female.
In the early 80s, she had been lucky to be an Academy rookie at all; many of the squad sergeants took pleasure in screaming that at her during the first six weeks. It was thanks to the second letter from her flying instructor’s father, the senator, that she was actually accepted.
After the shock of this horrible new world, Maggie became tough and independent. Her female peers shared a dorm which was so squeaky clean that even her mother would have been impressed. She had learned to clean and scrub, and clean and scrub until her fingers hurt. She found the shouting and bad language of peculiar interest, often looking up the new words she had been called by the drill sergeant. It surprised her to find new names for parts of her body she never knew had names. Scientific words she knew, but a few of those often used four-letter words were totally new to her vocabulary.
Thanks to her parents, it didn’t take her long to allow the words to shoot over her head, and she learned that smiling back at a screaming drill sergeant sometimes worked, but never on the parade square. Her knowledge of the English language certainly was revisited, mostly with short, sharp words during her first weeks.
Maggie’s first chance to return home arrived, and she happily phoned home. A newly installed answering machine told her nobody was home. A rather silly message from her mo
ther on the answering machine politely explained to the caller that the dwellers were out of town on a cruise, and then the machine stated that that the message section was full. So she stayed in camp for the whole of the first year.
Finally, civilization seemed to resume and she was allowed to attend the classes she had applied for. Unfortunately, computer science was a timing problem and without telling her parents, she quickly dropped it for other courses, like gliding and computerized aviation flight—smaller and far more exciting mini-courses—while she worked hard on the aerospace engineering she refused to let go of.
She excelled at what she did and now only had two interests, flying and engineering, which she managed to get her degree in.
During her second year she went home twice before she began to make excuses for why she couldn’t visit as often. Maggie had changed, but her parents certainly had not.
The base commander, General Saunders, returned her salute, and she was offered a seat and a cup of coffee. His phone rang and he answered it. The ringing reminded her of her last year at the Academy.
It was the end of her time in Colorado, and she was about to be transferred to Andrews Air Force Base in Washington, D.C.
As a new second lieutenant she had been one of the top students during her time there and was offered whatever type of transport aircraft she wanted to learn to fly. Female pilots weren’t allowed to fly fighters, or bombers in the Air Force. The country was in between wars—Vietnam and the first Gulf war—and her choices were transport or flight refueling.
Lieutenant Sinclair decided on transport and was to be based at Andrews, but would learn her transport aircraft flying career over several bases.
For the next several years, she learned on many types of aircraft, first learning to fly an old C-47. After propeller aircraft, she learned to fly jets and, ten years after her release from the Academy, newly promoted Captain Sinclair had her first training flight in a C-5 Galaxy.