Blue Darker Than Black

by Mike Jenne

  Tew stood up as the last of Tarbox’s protégés departed. Grasping his stomach, he ambled slowly to his desk, extracted a blue flask containing milk of magnesia, swigged straight from the bottle, and replaced it. His face was pale, almost entirely without color, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

  “This is not good,” he declared, regaining his seat at the conference table. “I’m sure you’re all aware that the admiral wields a lot of power and can exert a lot of influence, and I’m confident that he will relentlessly pursue this fiasco until he either gets his way or he’s slapped down. At this juncture, we have to assume that he’ll be successful, but I’m also confident that I can present a strong argument to adhere to our current flight schedule.”

  “That’s fine, pard, but what if that sumbitch pushes hard enough to force our hand?” asked Wolcott. “Whether we cotton to it or not, we may end up firing earlier than later.”

  Tew wiped his glistening forehead with a handkerchief before replying, “If that happens, then we’ll react accordingly. In the meantime, we will make sure that we have the time-sensitive pieces in place. With that said, here’s my plan. Virgil, call the HAF in San Diego and make sure that they’re ready to complete encapsulation of the stack and load it on the LST on extremely short notice.”

  “Consider it done, boss.”

  “And Virgil, since we’re really not sure when this thing will fly, I suppose it goes without saying that we’ll need to drastically accelerate training.”

  “Gunter, can you restart this morning?” asked Wolcott reluctantly, looking at his watch.

  Swallowing, Heydrich answered, “Ja, but …”

  “Wonderful. Gunter, after we clear out of this corral, ring up your boys and tell them to fire up the Box. Also let them know that they’ll be working this weekend, and probably the next several weekends to come. Jackson, I want you and Sigler to skedaddle straight over to the hangar and jump right back into the saddle. You’ll knuckle down until you get it right.”

  The weary pair looked as if they had been sentenced to a firing squad. Ourecky was sure that he saw tears welling in Sigler’s bloodshot eyes.

  Wolcott slid one briefing book towards Jackson and the other towards Carson. “Before any of you walk out of here, take some time to bone up on what the Navy is hankering to do.”

  Looking towards Carson and Ourecky, Tew emphatically declared, “For you two gentlemen, the only change is semantic. Yes, you are now elevated to back-up crew status, but I’m making that change strictly to ensure redundancy. Don’t delude yourselves: Jackson and Sigler will fly this mission. I’m only showing you some temporary leniency because I want you two training and working together again. Do you understand?”

  Carson and Ourecky nodded glumly.

  Wolcott looked towards a freshly printed TELEX on Tew’s desk and noted, “You know, Mark, maybe you should accept that invitation. A trip outside the office might do you a world of good, and you would be right smack in the middle of history as it’s being made.”

  “As if we’re not already?” replied Tew.

  “You know what I mean, boss. If nothing else, since Leon seems so anxious to sling his face cards around, it would be an excellent opportunity to show him that you can also play at the high stakes table. Tarnations, Mark, that invite couldn’t have dropped in our lap at a more opportune time. How often will you have the president’s undivided attention?”

  “Very true,” answered Tew. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt for me to make a trip out to the PDF. But before we get too far ahead of ourselves, we’re not even sure that this mission is viable. For all we know, this shot may be outside the range of our capabilities. Tarbox may already know that, and may have come here just to rattle us.”

  Loosening his back tie, Heydrich looked up from his briefing book and interjected, “Mark, we’ll run these numbers through our computers. I should have a solid answer for you by the middle of next week.”

  “It can be done, General,” averred Ourecky confidently. “In fact, this profile is very similar to our last mission. I can’t speak for Crew Three, but Major Carson and I could probably fly it right now, with minimal preparation.”

  “Ourecky, are you that sure?” asked Tew.

  “I am, sir.”

  “Well, Carson, before we arbitrarily pack you two boys into a rocket and shoot you into space tomorrow, how do you feel about it?” asked Wolcott.

  “I would have to look at it more closely,” answered Carson. “And although I do tentatively agree with Scott’s assessment, I’m definitely not going to decline any opportunity to train.”

  “What’s your take, Gunter?” asked Tew. “Is there any chance that Ourecky is right?”

  Heydrich sat up straight and answered, “I’ll certainly have to study it more closely, but I suspect that he’s correct. But even then, there are a lot of pieces to the puzzle, some of them completely outside our control, like the tracking network.”

  “Correct. Assuming that we’re compelled to go sooner than later, how difficult will it be to divert the ARIAs and other tracking assets?” asked Tew, examining a desk calendar. “When is the next lunar flight scheduled?”

  Heydrich looked towards the ceiling. “If nothing goes wrong this weekend that would cause a delay to the program, the next Apollo mission should go in November.”

  “You don’t think they will make it on Sunday?” asked Tew, raising his eyebrows.

  “I would be very surprised,” replied Heydrich. “I think that they might try for the landing, but I strongly doubt that they will make it. The parameters are just too close.”

  “Okay. Assuming that we can lock down the tracking assets, how about the recovery network?”

  “Isaac needs a minimum of three weeks’ notice to mobilize and deploy his troops,” answered Wolcott.

  “Well, give him a heads up that he might have to deploy on short notice,” stated Tew. “Tell him he is authorized to immediately start sneaking his LSO teams into their assigned countries once we have a better handle on the orbital tracks. I know that’s an expensive gamble, but we’ll figure out the budget issues later.”

  “Done, boss.”

  “I’m going to do my damnedest to head off this mission or at least delay it, but we have to be ready regardless. Now, unless anyone has any questions, I need to call the White House to make sure their invitation is still open.”

  9:25 a.m.

  As they entered the sanctuary of the Flight Crew Office, Carson looked to verify that they were alone, closed the door, whirled around at Ourecky and demanded, “What the hell was that about, Scott?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been watching Jackson and Sigler screwing up for the past month. It’s like witnessing the same damned train wreck over and over. Did you really have to rub their noses in it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Gee golly, General Tew, if Crew Three can’t do it, then Carson and me can fly that mission without even straining ourselves,” chided Carson in a mocking voice like a fifth-grader volunteering for the toughest word at a spelling bee. “And moreover, you shouldn’t be in such a damned rush to volunteer us for a mission without consulting with me first. Considering that we’re a team, or we’re supposed to be a team, I think you owe me that.”

  “I thought …”

  “Scott, while I will always bow to your theoretical knowledge, you should remember that I have a lot more flying time than you’ll ever have, and you should at least respect my position on whether we’re adequately trained or not. We’ve flown exactly one mission. Just because you’ve made it up and back in one piece doesn’t give you any leeway to get cocky.”

  Flustered, Ourecky slouched into his chair and shook his head. “But I thought you wanted to go upstairs again.”

  “I do, but this business isn’t like driving down to the local airport and renting a Piper Cub for a hamburger run or a beach trip,” snapped Carson, unwrapping a stick of Juicy Fruit. “Yeah, I want to
go up, but to be honest, I’m behind Tew on this one. I think it’s a lot more practical to stick with our schedule and shoot in December. I don’t think that I need to remind you about this project’s record: one rocket and crew vaporized on the first mission, and a major battery failure on the second. It’s foolhardy for anyone to believe that all the bugs have been worked out.”

  “But what if Tew changes his mind and we end up with the mission anyway?”

  “I don’t see that happening, but if it does, we need to spend time in the Box to tune up.”

  Ourecky all but cringed at the mention of the Box. “You don’t think we’re ready now?” he asked.

  “Ready?” Carson shook his head vigorously and asked, “Hey, do you know what you call a boxer who jumps right into a championship bout without training?”

  “No. What?”

  “You call him an ambulance, if he’s lucky, a hearse if he’s not.” Carson sat down at his desk and added, “Stick to what you’re good at, Scott, and let me handle the training. I’ll decide when we’re ready.”

  Delta Airlines 651, 23 miles south of Lexington, Kentucky

  4 p.m., Sunday, July 20, 1969

  Tightly gripping her stomach, Bea retreated to the sanctuary of the mid-deck galley. Several of her neighbors back in Dayton had been incapacitated with some sort of nasty stomach bug, and it appeared that she had fallen victim as well. She hoped that Scott hadn’t also caught it.

  “Bea, are you all right?” asked Sally, one of the other stewardesses. Bottle-blonde and petite, Sally was originally from Dallas but now lived in Atlanta. Bea stayed with her occasionally during the week but wasn’t overly fond of the raucous parties that seemed to be a nightly occurrence at Sally’s apartment complex.

  Woefully woozy, struggling to maintain her equilibrium, Bea sagged against a stainless steel shelf in the galley. “Oh, Sally, I’m just dying right now. I swear I would have called in sick if I knew I was going to feel this awful.”

  Adjusting her blouse, Sally shook her head and observed, “Honey, you look terrible. Why don’t you get off your feet? You can take the aft jump seat. If you need to stretch out some more, there are open seats in first class. I don’t even know why we’re bothering to fly today.”

  “Yeah, I know. Scott’s at home, glued to the TV set, just like everyone else in the country. He wanted me to stay home.” Bea opened the first aid cabinet and found a bottle of aspirin. She gulped down two tablets and chased them with lukewarm 7-Up.

  “You should have listened to him. Look, Bea, the plane’s less than a third full. Let me cover for you. Besides, there’s Trudy and Joan, if I can ever drag them away from flirting with that rich guy up front.”

  Bea weakly shook her head as she scooped ice cubes into a plastic cup and then grabbed a couple of miniature bottles from the liquor box. “I’m going to take you up on that. Let me deliver these up to 14-B, and then I’ll go back and cozy up in the jump seat for a while.”

  Walking forward, she regretted that she didn’t immediately latch on to Sally’s offer. Buffeted by mild turbulence, the plane shuddered slightly. Grasping the cup of ice and bottles in one hand, she used the other to balance herself on seat headrests. By the time she made it to the fourteenth row, her knees were wobbling and her head spun like a carnival ride gone awry.

  “Your Johnny Walker Red, sir,” she mumbled to the passenger, a neatly dressed regular who flew from Dayton at least once a month. She knew him only by appearance and not by name, but he seemed pleasant enough. At least he wasn’t grabby like some of the other Sunday afternoon regulars.

  “Thanks, darling,” he replied and looked at his watch. “It should be about time to celebrate.”

  Just then, the captain’s jubilant voice blared over the PA system: “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important announcement! We have just received word that Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin have landed safely on the moon. Apollo 11 is on the moon!”

  As the handful of passengers cheered and clapped, Bea was suddenly stricken by an overwhelming wave of nausea. Her lunch of chicken salad and crackers was coming up, and there was nothing that she could do to prevent it.

  Her panic was momentarily dispelled by years of emergency training; she instantly reviewed her available options, weighing a mad dash back to the mid-deck galley against a frenzied sprint to the first class lavatory, but decided that neither alternative was viable. Abandoning any pretense of ladylike decorum, she snatched an airsickness bag from a seat pocket, ripped it open, and then unceremoniously filled it.

  “Sorry,” she said sheepishly, sealing the bag closed with its wire tie.

  “Are you okay, honey?” asked the passenger sympathetically, offering his napkin.

  “I think so,” she answered, wiping her lips. “I just wish that you hadn’t seen that.”

  “So, little lady, I take it that you’re not a big fan of the space program, huh?” he replied, tipping up one of the miniature bottles.

  2

  DOWN TO EARTH

  Forest Park Apartments, Dayton, Ohio

  3:10 p.m., Monday, July 21, 1969

  Returning from his weekly trip to empty his post office box, Eric Yost clumsily negotiated his way through the door and into the apartment. He dumped the week’s accumulation on the kitchen table, hobbled into the living room, and plopped down in a chair. Grunting, he heaved his cast-encased foot into another chair. This was his fourth cast since December; the tiny bones in his foot and ankle were taking forever to heal. The foot throbbed with pain that never completely subsided, regardless of what he did to abate it. On a positive note, the plaster shackle was due to come off next week. If the follow-up X-rays revealed sufficient healing, Yost would not be fitted with a new cast, but his orthopedic doctor had warned him that he might have to endure the lingering pains for the rest of his life.

  He carefully parted the thick curtains, opening them just enough to peer out, and watched the parking lot for several minutes to see if he had been followed. He was absolutely certain that the loan shark was still dispatching his goons to prowl for him. Thankfully, they apparently hadn’t discovered he was staying at Kroll’s apartment and was driving Kroll’s Mustang. With his van safely stashed at a remote parking lot on base, he might as well have vanished from the face of the earth. He hadn’t been back to his house on Elm Street since he was ambushed in December, especially since a friend from his old neighborhood informed him that suspicious-looking men occasionally parked on the street and watched the vacant dwelling.

  Confident that he hadn’t been tailed, Yost pulled the curtains tight and focused his attention on the mail. The burgeoning stack contained little else but bills, junk mail, and bad news. Several pieces concerned the house on Elm Street. Accompanying a long overdue electric bill, a terse letter from Dayton Power & Light threatened to disconnect his power if he didn’t pay up in a timely manner. He hadn’t bothered to pay his bill in several weeks, so the warning was certainly not a surprise.

  The city had shut off his water back in March, but not until after he had received a massive water bill for February. It wasn’t difficult to surmise what happened. He hadn’t winterized his plumbing before abandoning the house, so without electricity, the pipes surely froze solid in the first cold snap and then later burst. He could only imagine the extent of the damage and was sure that the structure’s underpinnings had long since been reduced to a sopping mass of rotted wood and stinking mold. He wondered if the house would ever be worth returning to, or whether he could ever hope to sell it and recoup the money he had sunk into the dump. It was another bottomless money pit courtesy of his ex-wife; Gretchen just couldn’t be content living in the perfectly good quarters available on base.

  Winnowing through the batch of mail, he found an airmail letter from his former supervisor—Dan Kroll—all the way from Thailand. Kroll’s temporary duty assignment had been extended until the end of the year, but he stated that his wife had experienced a falling out with her mother in Oregon and probably wo
uld be coming back to Dayton soon. Kroll didn’t set an exact date, but made it clear that if Anna returned to Ohio before he came off TDY, Yost would need to make himself scarce. That was not welcome news; although he had planned to be here at least until August, it was highly likely that he would lose both the apartment and use of the Mustang in short order.

  He considered his options. Moving back to his old house obviously wasn’t practical, since it probably wasn’t even habitable. He had already looked into relocating into the transient billets on base, but the downside was that his behavior would be subject to much more intense scrutiny. He also considered volunteering for temporary overseas assignments, even Vietnam if no other gigs were available, but his records had been administratively flagged in such a manner that he could not leave Wright-Patterson. Besides that, even without the administrative flag, he couldn’t go TDY until the cast came off for good.

  Finally, at the bottom of the stack, he glimpsed a letter that offered at least a glimmering prospect of good news. Yost anxiously ripped open an envelope from Argosy magazine. He had held out high hope that the glossy “men’s adventure” monthly would be interested in his information about UFOs stored and studied at Wright-Patt, but his heart sank as he recognized that it was just another rejection letter. As he angrily ripped the paper to shreds, he realized that it was not just another rejection letter, but it was the last rejection letter. With this missive, he had been snubbed by every single publication—eighteen in all—that he had contacted back in February.

  Cursing, he shoved aside the heap of mail and contemplated what he had to accomplish before Anna came back. Long before it had disappeared, the cat had succeeded in ruining the carpet and virtually every piece of furniture in the apartment. Kroll would surely be outraged when he found out, but it certainly wasn’t Yost’s fault, any more than when the feline escaped through the door that he had briefly left open to ventilate the smoke from a pot of charred pinto beans. Yost was fairly certain of the cat’s ultimate fate; there was plenty of physical evidence in the parking lot to indicate that it had been brutally mauled by a roaming pack of stray dogs.