Lash-Up

23 Bait and Switch

Admiral Schultz watched the Marine pilot go through the preflight of his F/A-18E Super Hornet. It was dark on the flight line, but the illumination from the open hangar doors and the rigged spotlights was adequate for him to conduct his inspection. The drab gray camouflage scheme reflected the light poorly and made the aircraft look like it was made from alternating light and dark, angled shadows.

The fighter was unarmed but carried three of the big 480-gallon drop tanks. The pilot and several NASA technicians were paying a lot of attention to them, particularly the centerline tank that was a little larger than the other two. Oddly, there was a thick coating of frost on it.

General Norman had also joined Schultz on the flight line. “It seems so simple,” the general said, looking at the plane’s payload. But his face betrayed his skepticism.

“It’ll work just fine,” Schultz reassured him. “This idea is based on a problem we used to have with the old A-6s and F-14s back in the day. In fact, once the pilots found out how to do it intentionally, we had to explicitly forbid the practice. This setup is basically the same thing, only on steroids.”

“Okay, but what I don’t understand is why you need to have liquid oxygen in the centerline tank?”

Schultz’s face broke out in a wicked smile. “Your basic reporter won’t realize there’s a different color in the flame shooting out of a rocket engine, although a retired engineer or shuttle astronaut might say something during an interview. But our opponents manning the Dragon Gun aren’t stupid. They would spot it immediately.

“We need to have a blue flame coming out the back end if we’re to fool them, and any fuel will burn blue as long as there is enough oxygen. So by carrying liquid oxygen and spraying it out behind the bird, we can ensure an oxygen-rich atmosphere when Major O’Hara dumps the fuel. It’ll look very impressive and make a hell of a lot of noise — just like a rocket being launched.”

The smile waned, and the tone of the admiral’s voice hardened. “But we are talking about dumping several tons of JP-8 along with lots of oxygen directly behind his aircraft. This will be one hairy ride. And there are risks with this stunt.”

“Which Major O’Hara tells me he understands,” Norman remarked. “But I’m taking all this on faith. I’m just a dumb grunt.”

“And I’m just an old pilot.” Schultz grinned at him. The admiral looked down at his watch and noted the time. “I’m needed elsewhere. Would you care to join me, Carl?”

“I’d love to, Bill,” replied the general.

Suiting up for the flight was still a novelty for Ray. He’d practiced donning his ACES suit twice before, as well as learning how to use it during a high-altitude bailout in case something went wrong during launch or reentry. Like the shuttle crew, they could work in a shirtsleeve environment once in orbit, but for this mission they’d wear the full rig the whole time. This wasn’t a supply run to the international space station or a scientific expedition. It was a combat mission.

The advanced crew escape suit was the standard attire for most space shuttle flights, and even though it wasn’t rated for extravehicular activity, it was a full-pressure suit with thermal insulation and liquid cooling layers. Under normal conditions, the ship supplied the oxygen for the crew to breathe, but the ACES suit also had two emergency oxygen bottles fitted in the same harness with the parachute and life raft. Colored a very bright orange, the international color for distress, the ACES suit was affectionately known as the “pumpkin suit.”

Ray moved through the morning’s activities in a total haze. He felt detached from what he was doing, just an observer, guided from one station to another by a helpful technician. Everything had happened so fast. His role in building Defender and preparing her for flight was over, and now he had to switch to his new role as astronaut. But Ray was so used to the immense pressure of the deadline that he still felt it weighing on him. Like taking final exams, it took a while to accept that they were over.

Added to that delayed realization was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream: He would fly in space. He’d flown before, of course, in light planes that he piloted and had taken joyrides in high-performance jets. This would be much different. He’d see and feel things he’d never seen or felt before.

Ray knew he was afraid. There were risks, of course. Mechanical failure or human error could bring them all to grief, but it was the importance of the mission that really frightened him. Did they have the right tools to do the job? Ray had become so closely tied with Defender, he felt as if he were part of her, and the thought of her failing almost paralyzed him. He then remembered his talk with Jenny and tried to say to himself the words he’d said to her.

The visit was just as important as fueling Defender or loading her software. Led by Major “Biff” Barnes, Defender’s crew filed up onto the scaffolding surrounding the slowly rotating globe of the earth. They were all dressed for the mission, wearing their orange ACES suits and, purely for photo purposes, carrying their helmets.

Although no one announced their arrival, someone, then several people, and finally the entire center began clapping and cheering as they made their way to Admiral Schultz’s position.

Ray felt embarrassed and proud at the same time. The BMC staff was applauding the crew, their faces beaming with pride, but Ray knew the crew would depend on these people while they were up. In fact, without them, he and the rest of the crew wouldn’t be able to accomplish their mission. They were a closely linked team, but Ray also understood that he and the others were the ones taking the risks.

Biff Barnes understood it better. There’d always been a special bond between the people who maintained the planes and those who flew them. Defender’s crew was here to acknowledge that bond and to let the ground-support staff have one more look at the crew before launch. They were the stars of the show, and stars need to let themselves be seen. It was good for morale.

Admiral Schultz also wanted to say his good-byes and wish them luck as well. After this, the crew would be bused out to the launchpad and would then strap themselves into Defender. With the crew in place, the final launch preparations would begin; there’d be no time for ceremony then.

Schultz shook everyone’s hand and had a few words for each member of the crew. When Ray took his hand, the normally outgoing admiral was silent for a moment, and he finally just said, “Good luck.”

Behind Schultz, Ray saw Jenny. She was smiling, but swallowing hard at the same time. Her eyes were alight with pride, but Ray also saw the tears welling up. She was struggling to keep her composure, and Ray suddenly wanted to go over and hug her. But that was the last thing she wanted him to do, and she had made that desire clear in no uncertain terms. They’d had their good-bye the night before. On the BMC watch floor, she was just another member of the staff, and even though everyone knew of their relationship, any “public displays of affection” would be inappropriate.

She nodded her approval as Ray held himself in check. Then, silently, she mouthed the words “I love you.” Ray echoed his feelings to her.

Suddenly, a hand grasped Ray’s left shoulder and gently started tugging on him. “Time to go, Ray,” whispered Barnes.

The crew left the ready room together and walked outside. Only a few people saw them, but they clapped and waved at the six as the crew approached Defender.

Ray had visited the Kennedy Space Center several times and loved the huge vertical assembly building and the massive tracked transporter that carried the assembled shuttle on its six-mile-per-hour crawl to the launchpad. They were tremendous technical achievements, needed because of the shuttle’s boosters and fuel tanks. They were also tremendously expensive. Defender required neither.

Late last night, they’d rolled the supporting shelter away from Defender and positioned her at the launchpad. Two rails helped them guide her onto the pad, where she was elevated to the vertical for launching. Fueling began as soon as she was locked in place. With a midnight rollout, she’d be ready for launch at zero six hundred. The sheer simplicity of the launch preparations still amazed him.

The spacecraft was still an overall white, a broad snowy wedge that reflected the work lights. The swept-back wings at the rear made her look wider and taller. The ship sat on a short framework over a large pit to deflect the exhaust gases; the beam used to elevate her was once again lowered.

The crew-access elevator took them two-thirds of the way up fuselage, where the square black of the open-access hatch led them inside. The technicians helped the crew into their seats and ensured their five-point harnesses were securely fastened. After a pressurization test of the ACES suits and a communications check, the technicians began filing out. The senior engineer gave Biff a thumbs-up and closed the hatch. A few minutes later, a slight bump told the crew the elevator had been disconnected. Defender was ready to roll.

“All right, people, let’s start going through the final prelaunch checklist,” ordered Barnes.

Ray grabbed his operating-procedures manual from its storage rack, opened it up, and started running down his checklist.

Major Tim O’Hara lined his Super Hornet up on the centerline of the main Edwards runway. Nighttime takeoffs always required extra caution, and this one would be a little trickier than most. He was following directly behind a pair of F-16s taking off to relieve the standing combat air patrol. The Marine kept his eyes glued to the two fighters in front of him. They’d led him down the taxiway and were now positioned some eighty feet in front of him. He set his brakes and listened for the air-traffic controller to clear the Falcons to take off. As he waited, he checked his radio, again. The transmit switch was off and would stay off until he was ready to land.

The runway was dry and clear, and the weather was perfect. The skies were absolutely clear, no clouds at all, with a thin waning crescent moon providing little light. The upcoming show would be visible for dozens of miles. O’Hara fought the urge to double-check his armament display. He did double-check that his navigation lights were off. He wasn’t supposed to attract any attention, which is why he would be following close behind the air force jets. The tower would keep all other traffic clear as the new CAP section took off. O’Hara heard the controller vector the standing fighter patrol to the other end of the base.

“Acme Six, you are cleared for takeoff, runway Two Two Lima,” squawked the radio.

“Roger, Tower.” O’Hara recognized the voice of the lead F-16 pilot, and as soon as he saw the aircraft’s navigation lights flash twice, he released the brake and moved the throttle forward. The F-16s were already moving quickly down the runway when their afterburners kicked in. The racket from the air force fighters would mask his Super Hornet’s departure. The runway lights slid past him on either side, quickly becoming streaks. With long practice, he pulled back on the stick, feeling the ship almost leap off the runway. He cleaned her up, bringing up the flaps and gear.

Throttling back, he stayed low and started his first turn to the right, away from the rest of the base and open territory. After passing NASA’s Dryden Flight Research Center, O’Hara turned sharply to the right and reduced his altitude to only one hundred feet. Once over Rogers Dry Lake, he spotted the brightly lit launchpad some sixteen miles to the southeast. He lined up his ship and slowed down to two hundred knots.

Even at this relatively slow speed, he crossed the parched lake bed in just under two minutes and spotted the IP ahead. They’d decided to use one of the rocket-engine test stands just three quarters of a mile to the northwest of Area 1-54. The test stands were almost on the exact same bearing as the launchpad from the news cameras’ perspective; the difference in distance would be imperceptible in the darkness. Turning to the east, he lined up for a straight shot to the orange blinker lights. O’Hara then heard the tower vector the F-16 CAP to the west to “investigate” an unidentified contact. That was the code phrase for the fighter pilots to make a nuisance of themselves with the CNN aircraft loitering just on the other side of the closure-area perimeter.

As he passed Area 1-42 to his left, O’Hara pushed the throttle to full military power. The jet built up speed and quickly passed over a small service building he’d noted on the map. It marked the spot where he had to begin his climb.

O’Hara pulled the nose up sharply, the g-forces pushing him down into his seat. By the time he’d reached the vertical, he was directly over the engine test stand. He hit the afterburner and, an instant later, the “dump” switch on his drop tanks. Fuel and compressed oxygen sprayed out of the extended nozzles on the back of the tanks and was immediately ignited by the jet’s exhaust. The view from the cockpit went from total darkness to a vibrant blue glow. The noise was beyond description.

Accelerating, O’Hara wrestled with the controls, concentrating on keeping the nose straight up, and watched as the altimeter spun wildly upward. Even from his limited viewpoint, he knew he was putting on a damned impressive airshow. Bouncing about in his harness, the Marine knew he’d be sore for the next few days. He could only hope that someone was getting a really decent video.

“FLASH. This is Mark Markin, CNN News, outside Edwards Air Force Base. We’ve just seen a huge flame rising to the west.” Turning to someone off-camera, he shouted, “Is it still there? Get the camera on it!”

Markin’s face was replaced by an intense blue-and-yellowish streak moving against a black background. Jerky camera motion gave the impression of an object at a great distance. The end of the streak flickered and wavered as the “vehicle” climbed skyward. It seemed to be going very fast.

“Less than a minute ago, a bright blue flash appeared in the direction of Area 1-54, the launchpad used by the Defender program. The flash shot up into the sky at terrific speed and is now fading at high altitude.

“Without any official announcement, and presumably to protect the American GPS constellation, Defender has launched.

“I repeat…”

General Norman watched CNN’s transmission, grinning. “That’s what you get for peeking over fences,” he joked at Markin’s image. The CNN reporter was rehashing the recent event yet again.

Schultz was listening on his headset and watching Jenny move among the launch controllers. Instead of paying attention to their screens, they read from a paper script. Normally used for training, it drilled the controllers in what they were supposed to say at each point as they guided Defender during its launch. They’d practiced the procedure dozens of times, but this time their transmissions were being broadcast. Because the transmissions were encrypted, it was extraordinarily unlikely anyone would have a clue as to what the launch controllers were saying. But if someone were listening in, they’d pick up the sudden jump in radio traffic, which is exactly what they would be expecting to hear if a spacecraft had indeed been launched.

From the look on the controller’s face, Shen knew it was an urgent call. He took the headset and heard Dong Zhi’s voice. “The Americans have launched. It’s all over CNN.”

“What did they show?” Shen asked impatiently, motioning to one of the technicians to bring up the news feed. Along with the rest of the Dragon Mother’s staff, Shen watched the launch and heard Markin’s commentary. The video coverage was impressive, but the flame looked like it had too much yellow in it.

“Time of launch was two minutes after five local, about ten minutes ago,” reported Dong. “We’ve also received word from the Second Bureau of the General Staff of a significant increase in radio traffic from Edwards. It would appear the Americans have launched Defender. We’re calculating the intercept position now.”

“Are you sure, Doctor? Didn’t the flame look a little odd to you? Do we have a good idea of what the exhaust from this new Aerospike engine should look like?”

“General, I appreciate your diligence, but the video from multiple networks showed a deep blue flame indicative of a high-oxygen-combustion process. A number of the videos did show some yellow, but others did not. Combined with radio traffic analysis from our intelligence arm, it argues strongly that the launch has taken place.”

“Very well, Doctor. We’re still seventeen minutes from launch here,” said Shen, checking the time. He could feel a prebattle excitement building inside him. The Americans had moved. Despite all his reservations, the Americans had somehow managed to launch Defender within the timeframe they had set — a most impressive feat.

“I recommend holding your launch until we finish the intercept,” the scientist replied. “I don’t want the staff having to deal with two vehicles attacking two distinct targets at once. Without worldwide tracking, we’ll have to move fast once the American appears.”

“All right.” Shen was reluctant to hold the launch but agreed with Dong. He knew the staff’s capabilities. “I’ll wait for your word.”

Dong reassured him. “Preparations for the booster have started and are on schedule. It should launch in ten minutes.”

Shen broke the connection and turned to find his launch crew suddenly busy at their posts. He should be worried about the American spacecraft, but he felt relief instead. The uncertainty that had plagued him was now gone. He really hadn’t expected the Americans to launch their vehicle so soon. It would have a short life.

Wrapped up in the launch sequence, Ray was almost irritated when Schultz’s voice came over the communications circuit. “BMC to all stations, SITREP, people,” Schultz announced. Conversation stopped immediately, and the admiral continued, speaking quickly. “We’ve got a launch from mainland China.”

Ray cursed their bad luck. Was their timing off? Intel had firmly assured him that they would be able to launch before the Chinese sent up another ASAT vehicle — maybe by less than an hour, but they needed that time to get into position for an intercept.

Then Ray saw it was from Xichang, south of the Dragon Gun’s location. The thin red line grew slowly, angling east and steadily climbing in a graceful curve. He heard a controller announce, “It’s faster than a Tien Lung.”

“A bigger gun?” wondered Ray amazedly.

“No, that’s one of their space centers,” replied Barnes. “The one that’s been associated with ASAT ops. It has to be a standard booster. But what’s on top?”

While the crew all studied their displays, Schultz explained about the decoy launch and the massive coverage on CNN. “It must have fooled the Chinese as well, and they’ve tipped their hand early.

“We’ll continue with launch preparations while intelligence tries to sort it out. Continue the countdown, T minus fifteen minutes and counting.”

It was less than five minutes later when Schultz interrupted their preparations again. With only a few minutes until ignition, Ray knew it would be important news. “The launch was from their Xichang space complex, and the telemetry is consistent with a Long March 2F space launch vehicle. That’s one of the rockets they use for manned launches, but it’s moving too fast for a manned spacecraft. We think it has a much smaller payload.”

“Aimed at us, no doubt,” Barnes remarked. “An orbital SAM.”

“Aimed at what they thought was us,” Schultz corrected him. “That fireworks display was more useful than we thought.”

“With that much energy, they may still be able to engage us,” Ray countered.

“And with what?” asked Barnes.

“Probably another Tien Lung,” guessed Ray. “But it could be modified.”

“Nukes?” Barnes didn’t look worried, but some of the other crew did.

“Anything’s possible. We’re at war, remember?”

Schultz asked tersely, “Are we go or no-go? We can hold on the pad.”

“With that thing waiting in orbit for us? No way,” Ray responded. Suddenly he remembered he was on a live mike. Barnes should be the one to answer for the crew. Ray looked at the major and said, “I recommend we go, sir.”

Biff nodded, then looked at the rest of the crew. All were silent, but they all nodded yes.

“They’re still aiming at something that isn’t there. Let’s go now, before they get a chance to regroup. We’re go,” Biff answered firmly.

“Very well, we are go for launch. T minus ten minutes and counting,” commanded Schultz.

Ray tried to keep himself busy as those last minutes ticked away, but he had a hard time keeping his mind on his display screen. All the checklists had been completed. All systems were operating normally. Everything was proceeding according to plan. There was really nothing to do but sit back and wait. When the count reached T minus 60 seconds, Ray felt his mouth become dry. He was breathing faster, and his heart rate could give a lab rat a run for its money. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek.

He was briefly thinking of opening his visor to wipe the sweat off when the launch controller announced, “Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

Ray saw the indicator light on his panel flash on; the main engines had just lit off. “Main engines start!” he yelled over the sound of the engines.

“Understood,” acknowledged Barnes. Then the whole vehicle began to shake, a little at first, but then growing to a bone-jarring rattle. Defender was taking flight.

Ray barely heard the launch controller say, “Lift off,” and he grasped the arms on his chair tightly. Vibrating in his harness he thought, OH … MY … GOD!

General Shen had left the CNN newscast on in the hopes that some additional information on the launch might be added, but after running out of ways to repeat themselves, they’d just started speculating. And while amusing, it wasn’t very useful.

He was in an unusual — in fact, unique — situation. The Dragon’s Egg projectile was ready; it had been for almost ten minutes, but they had not fired. Technicians sat idle, the gun crews crouched in their launch bunkers, and they waited. Xichang was still waiting for Defender to appear on their tracking radars, while the Long March interceptor raced to the best guess of Defender’s future position.

Shen found himself drawn to the CNN channel out of impatience. He needed something for his mind to work on. Much of the material shown was coverage of the war. Most was propaganda, but the coverage was extensive. He’d learned a few things that Beijing would certainly forbid them to discuss …

“FLASH. This is Mark Markin, at Edwards Air Force Base in Southern California.” Markin’s familiar image replaced the physics professor who had been explaining Defender’s engines.

“We have just witnessed another launch from the direction of Area 1-54, the launchpad associated with the Defender spacecraft.” Markin looked and acted rattled and confused.

“The launch that took place just a few minutes ago was louder — indeed, the noise was ‘shattering’ — much, much louder than the event earlier this morning. What?”

Markin looked off to the side, then answered, “Good, put it up.”

“Here is an image of the launch taken by a local resident who grabbed his camera when he heard the noise.” The picture showed a dark sky with an angled pure-blue pillar, almost a cone, across two-thirds of the frame. A small arrowhead sat on top of the pillar.

Markin’s voice said, “We’re going to enhance the picture.” A box appeared around the arrowhead, and Shen watched as it expanded, then rippled, and finally sharpened. Individual pixels gave it a jagged look, but he could see swept-back wings and make out clusters of flame at the base.

“Get me Dong!” he shouted to the communications chief, then stared at the image on the screen. “Somebody print that picture out, NOW!” he ordered as the chief handed him a headset.

“Dong! Are you watching it, too? I don’t know what we saw earlier, but this one looks real enough. Yes, yes, we’ll begin final launch preparations immediately.” Shen signed off and blasted out orders to the launch staff to begin the final countdown. As they scurried about, a tight knot formed in the general’s stomach.