by Mike Jenne
If matters couldn’t be any more infuriating, Russo and Tarbox were now talking to Wolcott. Judging by Wolcott’s enthusiastic nods and broad grin, it was clear that Russo had won another convert. The mission’s objectives were to intercept the suspect satellite, inspect it, and then deploy the Disruptor. According to the plan, the Disruptor’s needle thruster would destabilize the Soviet satellite over the course of a three-week period, before it was gradually de-orbited.
Merely selling the Navy on the plan had been a monumental struggle, but they were eventually won over to the merits of incremental failure versus a catastrophic failure. As Tew had successfully argued, it was far preferable that the Soviets convince themselves that their design was faulty rather than arbitrarily blowing the satellite to smithereens.
Now, Russo had concocted a scheme in which the Gemini-I would back away a safe distance before firing the Disruptor’s powerful main charge. The main charge was a ten-pound shaped explosive penetrator, similar to the warhead of an anti-tank bazooka rocket, which would blast through the exterior shell of even the most thick-skinned satellite. Carson and Ourecky would photograph the event, in order to provide a graphic record of the destruction.
In a sense, Ourecky’s infamous photograph of the Soviet satellite’s data plate, snapped during the June mission, had been their undoing. In classified briefings describing Blue Gemini, Tew and Wolcott frequently concluded their presentations with the startling image of Object 2368-B, much to the delight of their high-ranking audiences. Thus, it made perfect sense if the Navy was paying the freight to neutralize the satellite, they would desire a keepsake of similar dramatic impact to trumpet the success of their mission. Never mind that it was two Air Force officers who would be placed at risk to capture a glossy photograph of a Soviet satellite being obliterated, so long as a suitable trophy could be nailed over Tarbox’s mantel.
But there were three significant flaws in Russo’s shortsighted plan. First, the standing mission rules stringently dictated that the Disruptor’s main charge was to be not employed unless there was substantial evidence that the target was an Orbital Bombardment System. And even under the most exigent circumstances, the main charge would not be triggered until the Blue Gemini crew had returned safely home.
The second drawback was that the mission change would add three hours to the proximity operations. Taken by itself, the delay was negligible, but that three hours would subsequently force a twenty-eight hour hold in returning the spacecraft to the planned landing site at Edwards Air Force Base under the cover of darkness.
Although he would never admit to it, Heydrich wasn’t overly concerned about the potential dangers the crew might face as they fired the main charge. While he didn’t relish the notion of contributing more scrap metal to the growing constellation of space junk girdling the Earth, he felt confident that Carson could back away to a safe standoff distance that would enable them to fire the charge and get a good record of the shot. But tacking on twenty-eight additional hours was just begging for trouble.
Time was their constant enemy; the longer they lingered upstairs, the more likely that something would fail. Consequently, they planned the missions to finish the job and return home as swiftly as possible. The extended delay would entail at least a partial power-down to conserve batteries, and their power-up procedures—used to awaken the spacecraft from its slumber—were far from foolproof. The possibility always remained that if one switch or breaker was in the wrong position at some point during the complicated sequence, the finicky spacecraft might not return completely to life.
The third shortcoming was that while Tarbox could request the deviation, it still had to be blessed by Father Tew, and once a mission was underway, Tew wasn’t inclined to tinker with an established flight plan. And he certainly would be leery to approve a revision of this magnitude.
Watching the three men stand up and walk towards the glassed-in office space at the rear of the center, Heydrich knew that Russo had convinced Wolcott that the concept needed to be presented to Tew. “Hey, Gunter!” said Wolcott, beckoning with a wave as he paused at the second row of consoles. “Wander up to the aquarium and hear this, pard.”
Heydrich grimaced as he pushed himself up from his chair. “I’ve already heard it, Virgil,” he said quietly, looking back over his shoulder to watch Tarbox and Russo entering the office.
The worn heels of Wolcott’s cowboy boots clicked on the scuffed linoleum. He grinned and said, “Well, though I don’t cotton to most crap that spews from Russo, even I have to admit that this is a mighty interestin’ concept. It’s a perfect opportunity to evaluate the main charge with the side benefit of getting’ a good snapshot to verify that this stuff works as advertised.”
“I don’t like it, Virgil,” uttered Heydrich, straightening his black tie and adjusting his belt. “I don’t like throwing changes upstairs with short notice, and I don’t like violating the mission rules after we’ve worked so hard to establish them. If this was an OBS, I might—”
“Rules are made to be broken, pard,” observed Wolcott. “The fact is, Gunter, you worry too danged much. We only have nine more flights after this one, unless the program is extended. I don’t know about you, but I’m bankin’ on that extension. A dramatic shot of a Russkie satellite being pulverized in orbit would travel a long ways towards securing it. And let’s face it, hombre, we ain’t going to parlay into this sort of lucrative opportunity again. Mark would never buy off on it under normal circumstances. The only reason we’re gettin’ this chance is because the Navy is payin’ the freight. So, ride with me on this, why don’t you? Just this once, Gunter?”
Heydrich didn’t respond but followed Wolcott into the office and closed the door.
With the decision-makers assembled, Tarbox spoke tersely, “Mark, Russo here has a proposal. Time is of the essence, so I want you to hear him out, and if there’s no significant reason why we can’t execute his concept, then I want it done.”
“Yes, Admiral,” replied Tew politely.
Russo took over, articulating his plan in roughly two minutes.
“Gunter, you’ve apparently already heard this plan and have had some time to digest it,” said Tew. “What’s your take?”
“I would strongly caution against it,” said Heydrich abruptly, vigorously shaking his head. “It will add over a day to our profile. And besides violating our mission rule on indiscriminately firing the main charge, we have no substantial data on what constitutes a safe stand-off distance when it’s fired. Granted, it’s a shaped charge that would be oriented away from our vehicle, so it should be relatively safe, but there’s still the potential of a secondary explosion.”
Tarbox whirled to face Heydrich and fixed him with an icy glare that could readily render tropical seas into icebergs. “Since you feel so compelled to nitpick, Gunter, what do you recommend for a safe stand-off distance?” he asked. His voice was a high-pitched squeak that grated deeply in Heydrich’s ears.
“At least a hundred and twenty-five miles, Admiral.”
“Ludicrous!” sneered Tarbox. “They’re up that high as it is.”
“That’s my point, sir. General Tew asked my opinion. I don’t recommend firing the main charge until our crew is back on the ground. That’s what is stated in our existing mission rules, and I think we need to abide by them.”
“But we wrote those rules to be almost unduly safe,” interjected Wolcott. “There’s ample room for flexibility, pardner, and I think the potential payoff here is worth the risk. Don’t you?”
“We’re squandering precious time,” snapped Tarbox, obviously losing his patience. “Rather than continue this discussion, I will make this very simple for you gentlemen. General Tew, unless you can immediately offer a substantial reason why we cannot execute this plan, then we need to send up the appropriate instructions to the crew on their next contact window, or we’re going to lose this opportunity. Now, do you have any particular reason why we can’t execute?”
�
�I don’t,” said Tew. “But I don’t think it’s safe, and I won’t place my crew at risk.”
Given the unusual circumstances, Tarbox seemed absolutely determined to flaunt his fleeting authority over Tew. “It’s not your crew, General. They’re flying my mission, a Navy mission, and the risk is tolerable to me, so we waive your exalted mission rules and execute. And while I don’t want to formally order you to act, I will, and if you’re not so disposed as to follow my orders, then I’ll just pick up the phone and call someone who can and will order you to comply.”
Anxiously watching Tew, Heydrich felt as if he were trapped between two hulking behemoths, squared off and staring at each other, anxious for battle. He had a sudden intense desire to be invisible; in lieu of anonymous transparency, he simply desired to be somewhere—anywhere—else right now.
Squelching any opportunity for Tew to reply, Tarbox abrasively added, “I’ll remind you of something else, General. I’m very conscious that we had to come begging because you have the only platform flying, but that’s subject to change. Don’t be surprised if the tables are turned in a couple of years. In the meantime, make this happen and make it snappy.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Tew.
Heydrich was stunned; he had never seen Tew cave in. It was as if Superman’s cape had been snatched away and a glistening lump of green kryptonite jammed down his throat.
“Good,” sniffed Tarbox, ending his abrupt tantrum. “I’m glad you came to your senses, Mark. Since we don’t need to discuss this any further, I’ll leave you gentlemen to your work. I have phone calls to make.”
As Tarbox left the office, Tew opened his desk drawer to locate a nearly depleted bottle of Pepto-Bismol, took a swallow, and then replaced the cap. Looking to Russo, he said calmly and quietly, “Let me offer you a little career advice, son. Shifting allegiances to suit your immediate interests is a dangerous game. It can have disastrous consequences. Suffice it is to say, when you’re done currying favor with the Navy, you’re eventually coming back to the Air Force. From this point on, I would strongly recommend that you adjust your behavior accordingly, so that the remainder of your career is not entirely miserable. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Russo meekly.
“And one more thing. After this mission is over, when you leave here, don’t come back. You’re not to set foot on these premises again, under any circumstances. You are no longer welcome here. I’m officially declaring you persona non grata, and if I’m compelled to tattoo it on your forehead in red letters, I will. Am I making myself clear, Colonel?”
Russo nodded grimly.
Shifting gears, Tew looked to Heydrich and asked, “How long until their next contact?”
Glancing at his watch, Heydrich replied, “GET 32:03:00. Forty-six minutes from now. They’ll talk to a land-based station in the Azores. That’s out in the Atlantic, about nine hundred miles west of Portugal.”
Tew sighed. “I know where the Azores are, Gunter, but thanks for the geography lesson. Since this is time-sensitive, let’s focus only on the immediate changes. Their reentry will be delayed, but your controllers will have plenty of time to read up those plans later. Correct?”
“Correct, sir,” answered Heydrich.
“Okay, Gunter, go confab with our opportunistic friend here and make the necessary changes to coincide with his brilliant new plan. Shoot them to the Azores as soon as possible.”
Tew added, “And set up a phone call. Immediately. I want to talk directly to the Azores controller who will be communicating with the crew, to make it absolutely clear that this new set of instructions are coming from me. I want Mister Carson to emphatically understand that he doesn’t have any leeway for deviation if he doesn’t concur.”
“Got it, boss,” replied Heydrich.
“And does all of this meet your approval, Commodore Russo?” asked Tew sarcastically.
Russo stammered in reply, “Uh, it does, sir, but I want to apologize for—”
“No need for apologies, Russo. Just make sure that your ass is on the far side of that door before I ask Virgil to strangle you.”
As Russo hastily left, Heydrich asked quietly, “Mark, am I missing something here? What exactly did Tarbox mean about the tables being turned in couple of years?”
From the way that Tew and Wolcott looked at each other, it was painfully obvious that they shared a secret. “None of your concern, Gunter,” answered Wolcott, swallowing as he nervously twisted the silver tip of his bolo tie. “Never you mind.”
“Make that call, Gunter. Get the Azores on the horn pronto,” said Tew. “And let’s make sure these boys come home intact, despite this idiotic damned scheme. Macht schnell.”
“Zu befehl, mein Herr,” replied Heydrich with a smile.
Tew and Wolcott observed Heydrich as he rallied his controllers in the front row of consoles. Wearing a satisfied half-smile, Tarbox stood close by the huddle, listening in.
“Sorry, buddy,” muttered Wolcott. “I should have talked to you first. Now I feel like a real jackass for allowin’ Tarbox to highjack our stagecoach.”
“I’m sure you meant well,” replied Tew. “Next time, Virgil, please talk to me first. I’m sure this will all go well, but I just can’t stand the notion of putting those two boys at additional risk.”
“Noted. So when are you going to spill the beans to Gunter about Tarbox’s new show, Mark? Don’t you think Gunter has a right to know?”
“Not yet. I don’t want to cloud his focus with things that aren’t important at the moment.”
Behind them, the phone jangled on Tew’s desk. Turning around, he answered it, and then said, “It’s the Azores, Virgil. I’ll handle this. Why don’t you head down to the floor and keep an eye on Gunter and his crowd?”
“Will do, boss.”
On Orbit
6:43 a.m. Eastern, Wednesday, September 10, 1969 (REV 21 / GET 31:43:08)
Although he certainly didn’t fancy himself the artistic type, Ourecky liked shooting photographs in waning light, because the low sun angle seemed to add a dramatic aspect to what would otherwise be a boringly sterile image. Gazing through the camera’s viewfinder, he thought that the high contrast and crisp shadows lent the Soviet maritime radar satellite a somewhat sinister appearance.
For a moment, he paused to admire their prey. The Navy had ample reason to be concerned about its recent appearance in orbit. The surveillance satellite was impressively huge, about the size of a house trailer, and exceptionally well designed. Dominated by two massive radar antenna arrays protruding at right angles from its cylindrical fuselage, it was also festooned with a complicated collection of smaller antennas, apparently connected to signal intelligence gear probably intended to sniff at different radio frequencies.
And to top it all, the thing was absolutely stable; it could not have tracked any truer than if it had been riding along polished steel rails in orbit. From this angle, it looked like an enormous dragonfly skimming effortlessly over the crystalline blue surface of a mountain lake. It was so startlingly beautiful, it seemed almost a shame to kill it.
This was their last photo pass before orbital twilight and would be the last before they deployed the Disruptor after the sun came back over the horizon. As Ourecky took pictures, Carson slowly maneuvered the Gemini-I around the target. It was a painstaking process, but the multiple photo passes ensured that they captured virtually every detail of the Soviet satellite.
Ourecky pointed the camera, adjusted the focus, and snapped the last three frames. “That’s it for this roll,” he commented, thumbing the film advance. “I hope our Navy friends are happy.”
“And not a moment too soon,” said Carson. He used the hand controller to make slight attitude adjustments to ensure that the Gemini-I had sufficient clearance from the Soviet satellite. “Twilight in two minutes. You’ve squirreled away some extra film, right? We still need to document the Disruptor placement.”
“Oh, sure,” replied Ourecky, removin
g the film spool from the camera. He let go of the camera, ignoring it as it floated a few inches from his face. He slipped the exposed roll into an aluminum film can, tucked the can into a pre-labeled slot in a film bandolier, and then neatly cribbed annotations into his photo log. “I’m holding at least five rolls in reserve. There’s also still a hundred feet or so in the movie camera. We’re just swimming in film up here. We could probably shoot a wedding or bar mitzvah on the way home to Ohio.”
“Good idea. Maybe with the extra cash, they could buy us some decent in-flight food. Maybe something with some taste. Speaking of which, did you sample that new stuff they packed in the chow bins? I think they’re supposed to be processed fruit, but they’re so hard and tasteless that I suspect they’re really wood. Try any yet?”
“The pine wafers or the oak tidbits?” asked Ourecky. “Not too appealing to me. I’ll just stick with my peanut butter, if it’s all the same to you.”
Carson chuckled and then switched on the floodlight for the forty-five minutes of station-keeping in orbital darkness. “Are you okay over there?” he asked, glancing to the right. “You look kind of glum.”
Tucking his photo log into the side wall pocket, Ourecky nodded his head, smiled and said, “Well, as strange as this might sound, it’s sort of a letdown that nothing’s gone wrong. After months of fixing glitches in the Box and then the big battery failure on the last mission, it’s kind of monotonous when there’s no serious problems to fix.”
Carson laughed. “Buddy, I’m sure that the time will come when we’ll yearn for boredom. In the meantime, let’s enjoy the moment.” He sipped water from the dispenser and added, “Man, I would kill for a Coke right now.”
“If only I had known,” said Ourecky, adjusting the cabin lights before he stowed the camera. “I would have stashed one away for you.”
“Yeah, and Tew would have a guillotine waiting on us at Edwards. Seriously, I don’t think anyone’s going to be drinking a Coke in orbit anytime too soon.” He glanced up through the view port, making sure that the two vehicles were safely positioned. “Looks good. So, are we ready for the next contact window? Azores is next up, right?”
