by Mike Jenne
“I thought we discussed this,” she said. “You said you would be here when the time came.”
“And I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything. You know that. General Tew and Virgil Wolcott are doing everything they can to make sure I’m here in March and April. They’re really trying, Bea. Why are you being so stubborn? Can’t you at least consider seeing a doctor on base?”
“No,” she muttered, closing her eyes and grimacing. “Scott, did I ever tell you about my brother Charlie?”
“Charlie? I thought that was going to be your name if you were a boy. I thought you didn’t have any brothers or sisters.”
She reached out and took his hand. “That’s not entirely true, Scott. I had a brother, Charlie. He was born in 1951, on base, about three weeks before my dad shipped out to Korea.”
“But you never told me. What happened?”
“Charlie was turned the wrong way as he came out, and got tangled up in his umbilical cord. He died during the delivery, and my mum almost did also. She told me years later that the hospital did an investigation afterwards. The doctor could have saved Charlie if he had been paying attention, but apparently he was distracted. So, Scott, don’t ask me to have our child on base. I have enough bad memories about that place.”
“I understand now,” he said. “I wish that you had told me before. And I’ll try to be here when the time comes.”
“Don’t try. Just be here, Scott. That’s all I ask: just be here for this baby.”
Dayton Airport, Ohio
8:30 a.m., Monday, September 8, 1969
Tew glanced at his watch; just as planned, he was fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. He took a seat opposite the Delta Airlines gate where Bea was checking in passengers for a flight to Logan Airport in Boston. Next to the gate, a mass of anxious businessmen lined up at a bank of ten payphones, waiting impatiently for their turn to make a hurried call or two before boarding.
He watched Bea as the line gradually dwindled. Although striving to be cheerful and attentive to every passenger, it was obvious that she was harried, even though her workday had barely begun. Her pregnancy was just starting to show; she wouldn’t be able to wear her form-fitting stewardess uniform for more than another couple of weeks at best.
As he waited, he pondered tomorrow’s planned launch of Mission Three. He desperately wished that that he could leap forward in time so that the agonizing wait could be over, the mission would be complete, and Carson and Ourecky would already be safely home.
Although the last mission had theoretically been a success, Tew wasn’t confident that the massive battery failure had been a one-time fluke, just as he wasn’t sure that there wasn’t another gremlin lurking deep within the guts of their overwhelmingly complicated machines.
He closed his eyes, mentally grappling with the seemingly endless details necessary to prepare for each mission. Were they ready? With ten more missions yet to fly, and possibly more if they were granted an extension, he wasn’t sure how many more times he could suffer through this stressful ordeal. Although he had earned his third star, which he was due to pin on in October, he strongly considered dropping his paperwork for retirement if the Project was extended. Unlike Wolcott, he intended to go home and stay there after he retired. No consulting or government work, just endless rounds of golf and doting on grandchildren yet to arrive.
He opened his eyes as Bea greeted the last few passengers, and walked over just as the last traveler passed through the boarding door. Smiling as she recognized Tew, she counted ticket stubs and compared her tally against the seat assignment sheet.
With the figures reconciled, she picked up a red phone and spoke into it. “Gate Eighteen, eighty-two boarded for Boston. Plus the flight crew, so seven more is a total of eighty-nine. Straggler? What’s the name? Smith? Okay, I’ll hold the gate open five more minutes.”
“Tea?” asked Tew, offering a cardboard cup from the airport’s lunch counter. “There’s a teaspoon of honey in there. I think that’s how you like it, right?”
“Oh, you’re such a dear,” she replied, gratefully taking the steaming cup. “What brings you this way, Mark?”
“Same as everyone else. I have a plane to catch. I’m early, so I thought that maybe we could chat if you have a moment or two to spare.”
Checking the clock, she nodded. “The next flight is due in eighteen minutes. So are you headed to the same place where Scott and Drew went? They left this weekend.”
“No. I’m not that fortunate. I’m bound for Washington. Budget meeting this afternoon, and then I fly right back this evening. So, how do you like working at the airport? Scott implied that you were grounded until the baby comes.”
Leaning against the counter, she sighed, rolled her eyes and said, “I’m thrilled to be home every night, but I can’t wait to fly again. This gate work is tedious; same thing, day in and day out. Everyone is in such a rush, and they’re so rude and obnoxious.”
“Sorry.” He slipped his hand inside the inner pocket of his jacket to check his ticket folder. A shrill voice blared over the PA speaker, requesting that a passenger named Mr. Knowles pick up the nearest courtesy phone.
She sipped the tea, smiled, and said, “So is it still okay for me to call you Mark even though I’m officially an Air Force wife now? I certainly don’t want to land Scott in any hot water.”
“No need to worry about that, Bea.”
“Mark, you might be here to catch a flight, but I suspect that this isn’t just a casual social call. Do we need to talk about something? Is Scott okay?”
Tew nodded. “Scott’s fine. He’s just very busy, but you know that. He’s a hard worker; my life would be a lot easier if I had three or four guys just like him.”
“Well, if not Scott, is there something else on your mind?”
“There is,” answered Tew. “Look, Bea, to tell the truth, I’m concerned about you and your pregnancy. Scott tells me that you’re reluctant to go to the hospital on base. It’s sure a lot closer to where you live than Grandview, and the doctors are …”
Frowning, she shook her head vigorously. “No, Mark, I’m not reluctant. I refuse to set foot in that hospital and that’s final. Scott may be in the Air Force, but me and this baby are not,” she said emphatically, gently patting the slight swell of her stomach.
He leaned towards her and said quietly, “Bea, I know what happened to Charlie.”
She swallowed. “You do? How could you know?”
“I was between tours in Korea when it happened, back here on leave. Your parents were devastated. I can understand why you don’t want to have your baby on base.” Tew refrained from mentioning that he convinced Bea’s father to go to Korea in the same timeframe.
“So then you know why it’s futile for us to discuss it any further.”
He grimaced and said, “Look, Bea, it’s not that simple. From the first time we talked, I swore I would be honest with you and share everything I could, to the extent that I can. I owe you that.”
“Mark, you owe me nothing. I don’t know why you feel that you’re indebted to me. Look, I’m really snowed here. Can we dispense with the pleasantries so you can just get to the point?”
He nodded solemnly. “Bea, the truth is that Scott is exposed to a lot of potential hazards in the course of his work, and while I’m not concerned about him being harmed as a result, there’s not a lot of research to tell us how it might affect your baby.”
“So that’s what this I really about,” she fumed. “You’re not really concerned about me or the baby. You’re more concerned with covering your tracks, aren’t you?”
“Bea, it’s not like that …”
“It’s not? Well, Mark, put yourself in my shoes. I know men are fighting and dying in Vietnam. I see it every single night on television. It breaks my heart. I feel so sad for their wives and families, and I’m grateful that Scott’s not over there, but sometimes I suspect that he would be safer there than … doing whatever it is that he does for you
. When you told me he was going back to school, I was so confident that we would finally have a normal life. Then suddenly he’s back here working on some classified project that he can’t talk about. And a week rarely goes by when he doesn’t come home with strange scars or marks that he can’t explain.”
She continued. “I hear rumors about secret things that go on at the base. There are people who swear that the Air Force keeps crashed UFOs in some hangar, and that they’re trying to make them fly. Can you tell me that Scott’s not caught up in that? Is that what this is all about? Is that why you’re so worried about my baby?”
He shook his head. “We’ve talked about it before, Bea. I can’t tell you what Scott does, but if it will dispel any of your fears, I can assure you that he’s not involved in any form of UFO research. I swear. Does that help any?”
“If not UFOs, then what? Does he work on atomic bombs? Poison gas? Death rays?”
He tried to shrug off her question. “Bea, there’s no simple answer, except to say that he’s exposed to a lot of things that might be hazardous. We have a fairly good understanding of what’s harmful, but it’s not an exact science. It’s like radiation. Years ago, people didn’t have even the foggiest notion how dangerous radiation was. Now we know that even X-rays can be dangerous, but back around the turn of the century, they were a novelty at carnivals and fairs.”
“So he is involved in atomic stuff,” she declared, slapping her hand on the counter.
“Don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions. Scott is routinely around a lot of potential hazards: strong radio waves, chemicals, all sorts of things. By themselves, they’re probably not harmful, but we don’t know what the cumulative effects might be. I doubt that he’ll suffer any ill health as a result, but for you and your baby, I would rather err on the side of caution.”
“I appreciate your concern, Mark, but I am not going to the base hospital. Period.”
Tew capitulated, loosening his tie. “Okay, Bea, we’re obviously at an impasse, but I think we can resolve this situation, if you’re willing to make some concessions. Here’s my perspective: I want to do everything possible to ensure that you have a healthy baby. I can’t make promises, but I will do my utmost that Scott is here when the time comes. Fair enough?”
Bea nodded and said, “Plenty fair, but I think you’re wasting your breath if you expect me to see a doctor on base. I really don’t think that there’s anything else for us to discuss.”
“Let’s not be too hasty, Bea. As I see it, there’s no need for you to go on base if you don’t want to. It will always be an option that’s available to you, especially in an emergency, but no one is going to force you to go there.”
Lugging a duffle bag strapped over his shoulder, a young soldier sprinted up to the counter. Wheezing for breath, he said, “Smith. PFC Walt Smith. I’m on the Boston flight. Am I too late?” Painfully thin and darkly tanned, the soldier was dressed in Army khakis that seemed two sizes too large. He furtively glanced to the left and right, as if he wasn’t comfortable in crowds.
“Mr. Smith?” asked Bea, smiling as she examined the passenger’s ticket. “Right through that gate there, sir. They’re expecting you.”
Without replying, the soldier rushed to the door. Bea paused to amend her paperwork and call the revised numbers to the airline’s operations desk. Setting down the phone, she said, “Sorry, Mark. You were saying?”
“I’ve talked with a couple of doctors at the base hospital. They can arrange with your physician for some extra blood work and additional tests. You might have to go in for a few extra visits, but we’ll pay for everything.”
“How lovely!” muttered Bea. Finishing the tea, she crumpled the white cup and dropped it in a waste can. “More poking, prodding, and needles. You men just don’t know how lucky you are.”
“No argument there,” replied Tew. “We definitely won that coin toss. If men had to carry babies, the world’s population would fit in a broom closet. Bea, I hate to rush you, but I have a plane to catch. Do we have an agreement?”
“Well, it sounds like a workable plan, except the airline is not going to let me off for any additional visits. I’m stretching my off-time as it is, and all the other girls are covering for me.”
“I’ll take care of Delta,” replied Tew, recalling that one of his B-17 bomber squadron mates from England was now a senior vice president in the airline’s corporate headquarters. “I’ll make a few calls, and you’ll have all the time that you need.”
“And you’ll let us know if there’s anything wrong with the baby, right?”
Tew nodded. “Immediately.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” replied Tew.
“Then I think we have an agreement, General Tew.”
8
KILLING A DRAGONFLY
Mission Control Facility, Aerospace Support Project
6:05 a.m. Eastern, Wednesday, September 10, 1969 (GET: 31:05:03)
Although Mission Three was well underway, the atmosphere within Mission Control was calm, almost casual. Only five of the controllers were actively manning their consoles; the rest mingled to smoke and chat. Their real work was accomplished over three weeks ago, when they assembled and polished all aspects of the flight plan. Like skilled clockmakers of olden times, they wound the spring and set the intricate gears in motion, but once the action was started, there was scarcely little they could do except to maintain a vigil and hope for the best.
Unlike NASA’s flights, where mission controllers analyzed an almost continuous stream of telemetry from spacecraft, the Gemini-I transmitted only snippets of data during the periodic contact windows. The intermittent communications were by design. The Soviets’ capacity to track, assess, and catalog orbiting objects was not nearly as sophisticated as the American space surveillance network. Consequently, the Blue Gemini flights were planned to launch, execute their mission, and return to Earth long before the Soviets became aware of them. Additionally, radio transmissions—both voice and data telemetry—were kept to a bare minimum, and the short communications windows were restricted to remote areas where eavesdropping—even by the Russians’ infamous “fishing trawlers”—was highly unlikely.
Even after the telemetry was received at the remote sites, it had to be relayed to Wright-Patterson for analysis, so the controllers typically looked at information that was at least thirty minutes old. If they spotted an anomaly, their options were limited to recommending that the mission continue or be curtailed. In most instances, the crew would have already diagnosed the problem and arrived at a similar conclusion. At this point, there were probably no two men as intimately familiar with their machine as Carson and Ourecky. Their actions on the last flight clearly demonstrated that they knew the Gemini-I spacecraft probably as well or even better than the engineers who designed and built it.
Gazing out over the room, Heydrich wished that he could relax and adopt the nonchalant attitude of his subordinates, but he had information that they were not yet privy to, and it weighed heavily on him. Leaning back in his chair, he was sure that a heart attack was imminent. The veins in his temple throbbed, his breathing was labored, and his chest pounded like a kettledrum in the pivotal crescendo of a Wagnerian opus. He removed his headset as he reviewed a report on projected fuel consumption but finally had to set his clipboard aside when he could no longer compel his eyes to focus on the numbers.
On one hand, he thought, massaging his aching temples, things could not be any better. Unlike the first two flights, the current mission had proceeded without the slightest flaw or delay. Carson and Ourecky were due to complete their close proximity operations in less than two hours. They were in the homestretch: all that remained was for them to deploy the Disruptor, descend to a lower orbit, loiter for few hours, reenter, and then land at Edwards Air Force Base. Their flight was stacking up to be the most perfect mission in the relatively short history of manned space flight, even though it would never be annotated in any official record
books.
On the other hand, he mused, gazing at the nicotine-stained and well-chewed nails of his trembling fingers, things could not possibly be any worse. Since they were chasing a suspected ocean surveillance satellite, this was a Navy mission. Certainly, it was an Air Force crew in an Air Force spacecraft launched from an Air Force launching pad, supported by Air Force resources scattered all around the globe. Logically, then, the Air Force should call all the shots.
But in forcing the hasty mission to knock out the nemesis Soviet satellite, Admiral Tarbox had vigorously tugged on some significant political strings, some leading into the Oval Office itself. That probably should have been enough, but the die was definitely cast when he played the most sinister card in his hand: based on Tarbox’s recommendations, the Navy committed to fund the entire mission—lock, stock, barrel and booster—so that not a solitary Air Force nickel would be expended in the effort.
Heydrich had toiled within bureaucracies—American and otherwise—long enough to appreciate the unique power of money, so he knew that there were few venues where money spoke louder than in the military budgeting process. The Navy’s largesse carried a significant consequence: they were also granted considerable authority over the execution of the mission. To that end, eight Navy officers presently encroached in Heydrich’s domain.
To their credit, the Navy overseers were largely satisfied with the Air Force’s plan and had no desire to meddle, so the mission was proceeding as envisioned. But there was a ninth member of the Navy delegation—Ed Russo—and therein lay the problem. In the waning phases of an otherwise flawless operation, the headstrong interloper felt compelled to make changes.
Worse still, his proposed changes were by no means subtle, and he had succeeded in capturing the ear of Tarbox, the senior member of the Navy contingent.
