by Mike Jenne
“Major Ourecky, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll bounce your ass out of that chair and lock it up like your compadre,” recommended Wolcott. “I ain’t going to steal any of Mark’s thunder, because I know he’s had all weekend to formulate the ass-chewin’ you two will receive momentarily, but I will say that I’m glad to see you back on the ranch, safe and sound, and I appreciate what you did upstairs. And gents, for the moment, that’s all I’ll say on this matter.”
Ourecky had barely risen from his seat when Tew blew into the office like an anti-tank round exploding against the steel slab hull of a tank. He slammed the door behind him, rattling the walls, and took up a position across the table from the two men.
Red-faced and trembling, Tew said calmly, “On a positive note, your film arrived here on Saturday and has already been processed, and everyone is extremely impressed with the results. And that concludes anything positive that I will say this morning.”
Tew pivoted to face Ourecky, and said, “Major, I don’t know if you just fell under Carson’s bad influence or whether you saw fit to exhibit some horrifically poor judgment in your own right, but I fervently hope that you didn’t give away all of your captain’s bars, because I guarantee that you’ll be taking off those oak leaves before the sun goes down today.”
“Yes, sir,” stammered Ourecky. “Sorry, sir. And sir, I have to inform you that all my actions were of my own accord, and I will accept the consequences for them.”
“As if you had a choice,” snapped Tew, pivoting to face Carson. “Carson, I lack the words to effectively convey my anger and disappointment. By sheer providence, you accomplished your mission, but we could have suffered a profoundly different outcome, which you probably would have been spared the misfortune of witnessing, because you would have been dead. But even as you strummed your harp or adjusted your halo, we poor souls left on Earth would not only be mourning your passing, but we would be mourning the cancellation of this entire effort.”
“General, speaking in our defense, I thought that the mission warranted . . .”
Tew’s face turned an even deeper shade of crimson and his hand found the small pillbox in his pocket. “Major, I will not allow you to speak in your defense, because there is no plausible defense for your actions. For your information, I don’t formulate orders in a vacuum. I weigh the options that are presented to me, issue orders that are appropriate to the circumstances, and I expect those directives to be followed, Major Carson. I expect them to be followed immediately, without question or discussion. I . . .”
The phone rang on Tew’s desk. Simultaneously, his aide’s voice came over the intercom: “General Kittredge, sir. I know you don’t want to be disturbed, sir, but he said it was urgent.”
Still seething, Tew gritted his teeth and picked up the phone receiver. He listened for several seconds before speaking. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. It was quite a surprise here as well . . . Yes, sir, I do intend to be there for the classified briefing tomorrow. Yes, sir, they’re standing right here. Yes, sir, I’ll pass on your congratulations to them.”
He placed the phone back on the hook and turned to face Carson again. “Carson, regardless of your abilities, I cannot trust you to fly on behalf of Blue Gemini again. Ever. And that leaves me in a quandary, because I’m at a loss as to what to do with you. Normally, I would exile you to Montana to babysit a missile silo for a few years as you contemplate the error of your ways, but I will be damned if I’ll entrust you with the launch keys for a nuclear-armed ICBM because it is abundantly clear that you lack the ability or propensity to follow orders.”
“Yes, sir,” said Carson, swallowing.
“Since my options are limited, you will remain here to work with Crew Three until I divine an appropriate punishment for you and your partner in mutiny. Just so you have absolutely no misconceptions, let me be abundantly clear: You are grounded. You will not fly any spacecraft or aircraft for the remainder of the time you are assigned here, and I will do my damndest to ensure that your wings are permanently yanked.”
The phone rang again, followed by the aide’s voice on the intercom: “General Ames, sir.”
“Captain Parsons, didn’t I ask you not to disturb us?” growled Tew.
“Sir, General Ames said it was critical,” replied the aide.
Tew groaned before picking up the phone. As Carson and Ourecky stood rigidly at attention, he had a four-minute conversation with a four-star general; because the line was not secure, they spoke only in vague generalities. Tew ended the exchange with, “Yes, sir . . . Thank you, sir . . . Yes, sir, they’re both right here. I’ll pass on your appreciation. Thank you again, sir.”
Trying his best to appear stern, Wolcott could barely disguise his amusement at the circumstances. Rather than appropriately recognize their unprecedented feat, Tew treated them like a pair of recalcitrant cadets who were tardy to an afternoon parade.
And while Carson and Ourecky were probably overjoyed just to have safely returned to terra firma, they probably had no inkling what a serendipitous success their foray had been. They had been sent up to look at Object 2368-B, a suspected OBS platform. Ironically, even though their mission was technically a failure because Object 2368-B wasn’t an OBS, the Gemini-I crew had stumbled upon a truly momentous intelligence coup. Their mission had revealed an entirely new class of Soviet reconnaissance satellites, previously unknown to Western intelligence officials, which in turn lent a new perspective on the state of Soviet space technology and capabilities.
Before last week’s mission, everyone assumed that the Soviets relied almost exclusively on their Zenit series recon satellites. Like an annoying housefly, a Zenit’s lifespan was short—two weeks at best—so even if a Gemini-I was sent upstairs to pay a visit, the only thing they were likely to witness was a service module discarded after the reentry vehicle had descended to Earth with the goods. Thus, Blue Gemini’s mission planners stringently avoided targeting any object that even vaguely appeared to be a Zenit.
So why Object 2368-B? The first part of the answer lay in how Blue Gemini selected targets for missions. Their planning approach was almost opposite of NASA’s: Instead of starting with the mission objective and methodically working backwards to solidify a launch window, as NASA did, Blue Gemini started with the launch window and proceeded forward to identify a target. While it probably seemed like an irrational approach, there was a definite logic at work.
NASA’s launch windows had to be developed around a bewildering array of variables. Just the act of firing a rocket was a complicated matter; stringent airspace clearances and related issues constrained launches at Cape Kennedy. The Air Force faced similar restrictions with their secretive launch facility at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California. As an extreme example, although the base was situated in a unique geographic location to fire highly classified recon satellites southwards into polar orbits, Vandenberg launches actually required advance coordination with a railroad—the Pacific Rail Line—whose train tracks transited the base.
On the other hand, Blue Gemini’s primary consideration was the availability of critical hardware—the Titan II boosters and the Gemini-I spacecraft—necessary to execute the missions. Because the project owned the remote PDF launch site that could target virtually any prospective orbital plane, they could effectively launch at will. So once a launch window was determined, the mission planners selected a target from a prioritized list of Soviet satellites considered worthy of a mission.
Since they borrowed certain key resources from the overt space program, notably a few tracking ships and the EC-135E ARIA aircraft, Blue Gemini could not launch at those intervals when NASA missions were underway. Otherwise, if they possessed the requisite flight hardware and there was a crew available to fly, the sky was chock full of Soviet targets. Granted, it wasn’t like firing a shotgun into a barrel filled with fish, where it was a virtual certainty that at least one buckshot pellet would find a carp or catfish, but probably more like shooting a sco
pe-mounted precision rifle at a crowded aquarium from a few hundred feet.
But why Object 2368-B? To paraphrase British mountaineer George Leigh Mallory: Because it was there. More specifically, because Object 2368-B was there at the appropriate moment to coincide with the available launch window. With a multitude of eligible targets to pick from, the inauspicious Object 2368-B was selected primarily because it was very big, very stable and it happened to be in an orbit that regularly overflew the continental United States.
Otherwise, Object 2368-B probably wouldn’t have ever been contemplated with such fervor. And since the first mission had ended in catastrophe, Blue Gemini’s hardware and concepts had yet to be proven, so the massive satellite was also chosen to build confidence in everyone involved in the project, especially those two men who assumed the greatest risk.
Indeed, the mission to intercept Object 2368-B resulted from of a string of ironic occurrences. If the first mission had not culminated in a horrendous calamity, the second mission would have launched three months later, and then the third three months after that, and so on. Carson flew as early as he did solely because of the accident; otherwise, Howard and Riddle probably would have flown the first four missions.
Looking at Tew as he reamed out the hapless duo, Wolcott suspected that if Carson had followed orders and scuttled the rendezvous, then the mission planners probably would not have fussed with Object 2368-B ever again. And he also knew that if anyone else but the maverick Carson had been in that cockpit, given the same circumstances, they would have scurried to Earth at the earliest possible opportunity, without the slightest hint of discord.
As he listened to Tew bellow, Wolcott was confident that his friend’s anger would eventually subside, even if it took months, and the team of Carson and Ourecky would fly again. In the meantime, Tew had bumped them off the flight roster in favor of Crew Three, although Wolcott was not particularly confident that Crew Three could have pulled off the same sort of miracle that they had witnessed on Friday. In fact, he wasn’t sure that Jackson and Sigler could execute a rendezvous at all, at least without several more months of intensive training in the Box.
Wolcott smiled to himself as he glanced at a single black-and-white glossy photograph lying flat on his desk. Snapped by Ourecky during the proximity operations, the single image validated every penny spent on Blue Gemini, every life lost, and every risk taken. Not only was the photograph a vivid representation of the extent of intelligence that could be gleaned during Blue Gemini missions, it was revealing in an altogether different way.
Not so lacking in boost capacity that they fretted over stray ounces like their American counterparts, the officious Soviets had seen fit to install a brass data plate on the side of their satellite, obviously not anticipating that it would ever again be glimpsed by human eyes.
In meticulous Cyrillic script, the shiny data plate proudly stated the satellite’s pertinent details: weight in kilograms, physical dimensions, serial number, date of manufacture, and manufacturing facility. Captured in absolute clarity in Ourecky’s photograph, it would prove to be a virtual treasure trove in tracing the lineage and operational employment of Object 2368-B and its ilk. It was almost like receiving a postcard from the Soviets, politely saying “Direct Intelligence Operations Here.”
There was a quiet tap at the door, and the aide stuck his head into the office.
“Can you not see that I’m in the middle of something?” roared Tew. “Did I not specifically ask you not to disturb us?”
“Uh, begging your pardon, sir, but there’s a secure phone call downstairs in Communications, sir,” replied the aide sheepishly.
“I’m busy!” snarled Tew. “And frankly, damn it, I’m tired of listening to every other general in the Air Force trying to butter me up. Take a message and tell them that I’ll call them back!”
“But, sir,” answered the aide. “You might want to take this call. It’s the White House.”
Tew stood up and hurried for the door. Just before he went through it, he looked back over his shoulder and said, “Virgil, aren’t you coming?”
Wolcott spat in his brass spittoon and replied, “No, pardner. You made this all happen; I was merely a hired hand. It’s your turn in the sun, so go bask in it.”
As Tew left, Carson and Ourecky both breathed a sigh of relief, but then tensed up, anticipating a withering volley from Wolcott.
“Carson, Carson, Carson,” muttered Wolcott, slowly shaking his head and grinning. “What on earth can we do with you, pard? And you, Ourecky, as intelligent as you are, what kind of burr got lodged under your saddle that made you think you could wantonly disobey orders?”
Carson replied meekly, “Virgil, Major Ourecky was just following my orders up there. He’s not at fault and doesn’t deserve to be punished.”
“Save your breath, Carson,” said Wolcott, standing up. “Hombres, I ain’t condonin’ what you did, except to say that when you elect to climb out on a limb to defy an order, you had danged sure better deliver some results. And you two boys did deliver, in spades, and we’re indebted.”
“Thank you, Virg,” said Carson quietly.
Wolcott lit a cigarette. He inhaled a long drag from it before continuing. “Let me tell you something about obeyin’ orders. We would all be speaking German or Japanese right now if Billy Mitchell hadn’t been an obstinate, orders-ignorin’ son-of-a-bitch between the Wars. I ain’t implying that he won the War, but because of men like him and George Patton and some other cocky malcontents, the rest of us had the tools to beat the Germans and the Japs.
“So, betwixt the three of us, your transgressions are now water under the bridge, as far as I’m concerned. I can’t speak for General Tew, but I imagine that he still has some special purgatory set aside for you. Until you two gallant hands crawl out from under that misery, whatever it may be, I want you to keep your chins up and be ready for come what may. Now, you two, it’s a good time to make yourselves scarce. Go across the way and see Gunter Heydrich and his troops. They deserve your thanks, and you deserve to get your backs pounded until you can’t stand up straight.”
“Sir, what about General Tew?” asked Ourecky, adjusting his collar as he headed toward the open door. “I don’t think he was finished with us.”
“He was,” replied Wolcott, looking down at the photograph on his desk. “An old friend of mine called me this morning from the White House, so I know what this call is about. It’s partly about congratulations, but that ain’t all, not by a long shot. If you thought we were busy here before, you’ve not seen anything yet. Now, you heroes, get gone.”
Carson was almost through the door when Wolcott called after him. “Hey, pard . . .”
Carson stopped and turned. “Was there something else, Virgil?”
“Yup. As stupid as it may seem, no job is finished until the paperwork is done. Make sure you two fill out your travel vouchers and submit them at the admin shop.”
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Carson, grinning.
“Not in the danged least,” answered Wolcott. “You need to account for your travel out to Hawaii on the outbound leg. The last thing I need is a bunch of auditors tryin’ to hang us for fraudulent travel expenses. Make sure you two get them filed by the end of the week.”
Smiling to himself, Wolcott watched the two men leave. Stretching out his legs, he leaned back in his chair. As he had implied to Carson, he already had an insight into the call from the White House. As of yesterday, after the key players had their first glimpse at Ourecky’s photographs of Object 2368-B, Blue Gemini’s focus had immediately shifted. Despite Tew’s unwavering obsession with Orbital Bombardment Systems, the initial justification for Blue Gemini’s inception, they were now cleared to hunt and kill any suspect satellite, regardless of whether it was a suspected OBS or not. To a large extent, the change in mission evolved out of the Navy’s desire to target a particular satellite. Up until yesterday, given his narrowly defined charter, Tew could vehemently deny the
Navy’s demands. But now, armed with this new insight about the Gemini-I’s lethal effectiveness at chasing satellites, coupled with an unexpected new ally in Washington, the Navy was about to permanently change the game.
Flight Crew Office, Aerospace Support Project
11:05 a.m., Tuesday, June 17, 1969
“So, what are we doing for lunch?” asked Ourecky, setting aside a Skilcraft ballpoint pen as he looked up from a partially completed travel voucher form. “You do remember that the technical debriefing kicks off at one this afternoon, right?”
“Yeah. I’m not looking forward to that quiz session,” answered Carson, perusing a recent issue of Life magazine. The front cover showed a color photo from May’s Apollo 10 mission, depicting the shiny gold ascent stage of the “Snoopy” lunar module juxtaposed against the stark gray pock-marked surface of the moon; a caption read “Barnstorming the Moon.”
“I can’t imagine that it will be that bad. It’s just an engineering review.”
“Just an engineering review? Well, brother, since you’ve never been a test pilot, you haven’t had to suffer through a bunch of damned aeronautical engineers giving you the third degree about why something on their airplane didn’t work exactly as intended. I’m sure that we’re going to get wrung out over the batteries, like either one of us would have any idea what happened back there in the adapter.”
“I guess you’re right.” Ourecky gazed across the room at Tom Howard’s desk. It was exactly as he had left it before his February departure for Johnston Island, almost as if he was expected to be back in the office tomorrow, after a long vacation or extended business trip. “Well, on the plus side, at least Big Head and Squeaky didn’t have to submit to an inquisition.”
“Yeah, they didn’t,” answered Carson. “And they didn’t have to immediately come back to work the next week, either. This is so asinine. I sure can’t imagine that the NASA guys don’t get any time off after they get home. You would think that Virgil and Tew would grant us at least a day’s rest after coming back.”