Eagle Station

Eleven

From the outside, activity at Beijing’s Aerospace City — the center of China’s national space program — appeared normal. Civilian engineers, scientists, and other workers arriving at the main gate for their shifts were still only subject to the usual, routine identity checks. Nothing else immediately suggested anything out of the ordinary, though a keen observer might have wondered why so many lights were on all night in various office buildings, labs, and spacecraft production facilities scattered across the 577-acre complex.

Once beyond the main gate, however, it was clear that significantly tighter security measures were in effect. Type 08 eight-wheeled infantry fighting vehicles armed with 30mm autocannons were parked near key intersections. Soldiers in camouflaged battle dress and body armor manned checkpoints outside several buildings. Civilians entering these facilities were subject to a much higher level of scrutiny.

Even more troops were currently deployed around Production Building Number Five. Three full platoons formed a protective cordon around the three Harbin Z-20 medium-lift helicopters that had recently touched down in a nearby parking lot. No one was taking any chances with the safety of the three VIPs those helicopters had ferried to Aerospace City.

Inside Building Five’s cavernous main hall, Marshal Mikhail Leonov, President Li Jun, and General Chen Haifeng walked together along a raised platform. A gaggle of aides and security guards trailed them at a respectful distance. From time to time, the three men paused at large, clear windows, intently examining several of the spacecraft under construction in separate clean rooms.

Leonov stopped longer at one of the observation windows. Gowned and masked technicians were carefully fitting a docking collar to the top of a four-legged space vehicle sheathed in layers of what appeared to be gold foil. Others were at work at various points around the upper half of the ungainly-looking craft — inspecting thrusters and a number of dish and wire antennas.

“That is one of our Chang’e landers,” Chen said with pride.

Leonov nodded. He’d studied schematics and photographs, but seeing the actual spacecraft up close like this was far more impressive. “It bears a striking resemblance to the American Apollo vehicle,” he commented.

Li Jun shrugged. “That is so. After all, form follows function.” He smiled. “But the Chang’e benefits from all the technological advances of the past fifty years. Its flight controls, electronics, and other systems are orders of magnitude beyond anything the Americans possessed in 1969.”

“Will your lander be able to dock successfully with our Federation orbiter?” Leonov asked. The Federation was Russia’s next-generation manned spacecraft, replacing the antiquated Soyuz. Similar in shape and size to NASA’s Orion and SpaceX’s Dragon, each Federation could carry up to six crewmen into space. Its robust life-support systems and substantial stores of food, water, and oxygen allowed missions of up to thirty days in duration.

“Without a doubt,” Chen confirmed. “Fortunately, our docking mechanisms are completely compatible. A team of top aerospace engineers from our two nations has already run hundreds of simulations — working through every detail of the necessary approach and docking procedures. Other groups are busy refining the plans for our first series of joint space missions.”

“And crews of your military cosmonauts and our taikonauts are training together now in some of our facilities,” Li Jun added. “My advisers tell me they are making good progress.”

“That is excellent news,” Leonov said, and he meant it. Necessity had forced him to delegate preparations for many of the first, crucial elements of Operation Heaven’s Thunder to his Chinese allies. After all, their space program had the required expertise and it was providing essential hardware. Of almost equal importance, China was much harder for Western intelligence organizations to penetrate. Decades of repression and propaganda had created a population wary of anyone who might be a spy. This atmosphere of government-stoked paranoia, combined with an enormous and highly efficient internal security apparatus, made it almost impossible for foreigners to operate unnoticed.

He moved on to the next observation window. The spacecraft being assembled in this clean room was even bigger. Like the Chang’e, it had four retractable landing struts, but it was dominated by a large spherical fuel tank mounted below an open deck studded with attachment points and what appeared to be a small cargo crane.

Leonov glanced toward Li Jun and Chen. “And this machine?”

“That is the first prototype of our new Mă Luó automated cargo lander,” Chen explained. “Its payload capacity is close to ten metric tons.”

Leonov whistled softly, impressed. Translated, Mă Luó meant “mule.” It seemed an apt name for a spacecraft able to carry far more payload to the lunar surface than anything ever built before. But, like its Chang’e counterpart, there was something hauntingly familiar about this design. He looked closer, studying its key features. Then he saw it. With a wry smile, he turned back to his hosts. “That’s an enlarged version of the American-designed Blue Moon lander, isn’t it?”

Chen nodded, matching his amused expression. “We were able to acquire the technical specifications and design blueprints from its creator, the private space company Blue Origin.”

“Without their knowledge, I suspect?” Leonov said dryly.

“Naturally,” Chen replied.

Leonov felt a moment’s envy. Over the past several decades, China’s Ministry of State Security had painstakingly planted deep-cover intelligence officers and agents-of-influence in many of America’s government departments, private corporations, and universities. As a result, its ability to pry secrets loose far surpassed that of Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service, the SVR, or the GRU, the armed forces’ Main Intelligence Directorate. While that was a clear advantage now, it was also an unwelcome reminder of just how dependent Russia was on its larger and richer Asian ally.

But then he looked down again at the prototype cargo spacecraft. It was much too heavy for any existing Chinese launch vehicle to carry into Earth orbit — let alone send to the moon. Only Russia’s powerful Energia-5VR rocket could do the job. He let his momentary irritation subside, soothed by this realization. So long as Beijing remembered that Moscow brought its own strengths to this combined enterprise, all would be well.