Blue Darker Than Black

by Mike Jenne

  “Thanks. I should be on my way,” said Hara, slowly standing up. “Goodbye, Anatoly.”

  “Goodbye, Jimmy.” Morozov reached out to shake Hara’s hand, but thought better of it. Checking for his keys, he felt a bulge in his pocket. He rushed after Hara, holding out a thick envelope. As he closed the gap, the flimsy stitching of his right shoe fell apart, and the loose sole flapped loudly with his every step, like a prop from a slapstick comedy. He nudged Hara’s shoulder and declared, “Wait. This is yours. Your money.”

  Hara turned slowly and looked at the envelope in Morozov’s hand. A weak smile crossed his face. “I have no use for that any more. Why don’t you keep it?” He looked down and added, “If nothing else, you could buy yourself some decent shoes.”

  The Pentagon

  9:45 a.m., Wednesday, October 15, 1969

  Summoned with Tew and Wolcott to a hurriedly called meeting, it was Heydrich’s first visit to the Pentagon. The purpose of the meeting was a mystery, and although the trio discussed theories along the way, Heydrich suspected that it had something to do with the surprise record-setting development in the Soviet space program. At this very moment, three spacecraft of the new Soyuz design were orbiting the Earth at the same time, with a total of seven men aboard.

  But Tew believed that it had nothing to do with the Soviets, but was more likely some sort of inquiry. “Gunter, it’s probably prudent that you leave most of the talking to Virgil and me,” he advised. “Certainly, if someone asks you a direct question, speak with candor, answer to the best of your ability, but don’t be forthcoming with additional information.” Tew wore his dress uniform; three stars now adorned his epaulets and four rows of ribbons decorated his chest.

  “That’s sage advice, pard,” added Wolcott. “I’m sure your buddies at Nuremburg probably heard the same guidance from their lawyers.” Wolcott was attired in a rather conservative gray pinstripe business suit; Heydrich was still slightly shocked that the erstwhile cowboy owned any clothes that didn’t look like they had been borrowed from John Wayne’s closet.

  After presenting his credentials to a stern-faced sentinel at the entrance to the secure conference room, Tew adjusted his jacket, brushed an errant dandruff flake from his lapel, and said, “Maybe we’ll come out of this intact. Or at least moderately intact.”

  As soon as they entered, their destiny was revealed. The conference room held the atmosphere of an impending inquisition. Besides General Kittredge and his usual retinue, Tarbox and Russo were present. Both wore smug expressions that telegraphed that they had more than an inkling of what would come next. Heydrich heard the door open behind him and turned to see the arrival of Brigadier General Isaac Fels, commander of the 116th Wing at Eglin.

  “Isaac, friend, congratulations on the star,” said Tew, extending his hand. “Certainly no one deserves it more than you.”

  “And congrats on your third,” replied Fels. “But you earned yours, Mark. I’m sure that someone will eventually realize that mine was the result of some clerical error.”

  “Let’s hope we’re both still wearing them at the end of the day,” said Tew quietly.

  Kittredge motioned for the newcomers to take their seats and opened the meeting. “Gentlemen, our main focus today is to discuss some emerging requirements and the proposed extension for Mark’s project. But before we start, Leon has a complaint he wants to air.”

  With an unnerving sound that resembled an asthmatic cat coughing up a fur ball, Tarbox cleared his throat and then stated, “General Kittredge, I accuse General Tew of blatant disregard of legitimate orders and flagrant dereliction of duty, and I insist the Air Force take appropriate disciplinary actions against him.”

  With that, Tarbox rattled through a litany of accusations, painstakingly outlining the events of the August mission. He concluded, “And we will show indisputable evidence that he instructed the Mission Three crew to disregard my orders to destroy their target after I had clearly conveyed a command decision to do so, based on time-sensitive strategic concerns. In addition to presenting our evidence, we also want to interview Mr. Heydrich here, since he was probably the best witness to General Tew’s actions on that day.”

  Following Tarbox, in a riveting performance worthy of a television courtroom drama, Russo solemnly recited expert testimony concerning discrepancies in the communications transcripts. His spiel included a five-minute dissertation—replete with color diagrams professionally mounted on poster boards—that provided technical evidence clearly showing that the Gemini-I’s onboard voice recorder had been momentarily disabled on or about the time of the Azores contact and that at least twenty seconds of tape had been erased and recorded over.

  Russo’s arguments were compelling; in another setting, he probably could have convinced the Warren Commission that a battalion of Soviet snipers had been stationed on the Grassy Knoll. After he spoke, the meeting swiftly devolved into a shouting match of accusations and counter-accusations, with the centerpiece being Tarbox and Wolcott aggressively leaning over the walnut conference table, thumping each other’s chests with their index fingers.

  Abruptly halting the fray, Kittredge commanded, “Enough! Leon, since I was under the mistaken impression that we could all handle this matter like well-mannered gentlemen, I granted you a few minutes to state your grievance and ask for an apology. Obviously, you aren’t content to do that, so I’ll settle this case now, once and for all, and we will not speak of it again.”

  As Tarbox seethed, Kittredge continued. “Leon, although you wrote the check for the mission, Mark and his guys accomplished your objectives exactly as you defined them prior to launch. The bottom line is that you don’t plot a new course in mid-tack. If you wanted that radar platform destroyed while Mark’s crew was still on orbit, you should have stated that early on. But you didn’t, and while you certainly had a good idea, it was too late in the game to make a deviation. Consequently, since the deed was done per your original instructions, you don’t have a valid gripe.”

  “Yes, General,” squeaked Tarbox, his face scarlet with mixed anger and embarrassment.

  “Two more bullets, Admiral,” said Kittredge. “First, if you’re really interested in fostering inter-service cooperation, I would strongly caution you against capriciously accusing one of my senior officers of misconduct. Second, for future reference, in the unfortunate event that we find ourselves in similar circumstances, you might again succeed in buying Air Force hardware, but that doesn’t mean you have the right to levy our flight crews into indentured servitude.”

  Obviously glimpsing an opportunity, Tarbox slid a folder towards Kittredge. “Since this situation might come up again, I have a proposal,” he explained. “Assuming that we might have a similar Navy-specific requirement in the future, I want to permanently assign a Navy flight crew to Mark’s project, under my command, to fly purely Navy missions. We’ll provide support personnel as well, to reduce any burden. Lieutenant Colonel Russo here has plenty of experience in Mark’s shop, so I’ll probably position him to run that operation on my behalf.”

  “Intriguing concept, Leon,” praised Kittredge, donning reading glasses and scanning through the papers in the folder. “It definitely has merit, especially since it would alleviate the command and control issues, and it would also be a fix for our shortcomings in flight crew personnel. Kudos. Well done. Well done, indeed.”

  Heydrich looked at Russo, who was grinning like the Cheshire cat, and knew immediately where this vile idea had hatched. He closed his eyes and audibly groaned; in his thoughts, all he could see was Russo’s resurrection at Wright-Patterson, like an insatiable vampire who just could not be slain.

  “Mark, obviously I need to consult with you on this matter,” said Kittredge, slipping off his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose. “Are you receptive to some of Admiral Tarbox’s guys being permanently assigned to your project?”

  “No, sir,” replied Tew adamantly. “While I appreciate the offer, I’m confident that our cr
ews can execute any requirement that might surface on the Navy side.”

  “Well, I suppose that resolves this situation,” declared Kittredge abruptly, sliding the folder across the table towards Tarbox. “Thanks but no thanks, Leon.”

  “We’re not done with this,“ groused Tarbox, handing the folder to Russo.

  “Duly noted, Leon,” observed Kittredge. “I’m confident that this horse will be beaten until it begs for a swift and merciful death, but don’t walk out of here believing that your plan is going to happen without a fight, regardless of who you call.”

  “Yeah, bub,” muttered Wolcott, menacingly glaring at Tarbox. “You can rest assured that it’ll happen over your dead body.”

  “Virgil, I think you mean to say ‘It will happen over my dead body,’” offered Russo.

  “That would work as well, youngster,” agreed Wolcott. “And if you correct me again, that will occur sooner than later.”

  “Enough bickering,” said Kittredge. “Let’s focus on more pressing matters, specifically Phase Two of your project, Mark. Our budget guys are tying up the loose ends, but we now have a fairly good perspective on what your future looks like, provided the funds are approved.”

  Since the discussion had shifted to matters pertinent to the Project, Heydrich wondered why Kittredge did not dismiss Tarbox and Russo from the meeting.

  Opening a briefing binder placed before him by one of Kittredge’s aides, Tew asked, “When do you expect the Phase Two budget to be approved, Hugh?”

  Gazing at the ceiling, Kittredge sniffed. “Mark, you know the story. This budget is driven by potential political outcomes. I don’t see it approved any earlier than mid-November of 1972.”

  “So our wagon is hitched to Dick Nixon being elected again?” stated Wolcott.

  “Correct,” replied Kittredge, nodding as he looked towards a framed portrait of the president on the wall. “But the close-out of your current phase should roughly coincide with the beginning of the second phase. There shouldn’t be much of a gap, so you can plan on twelve more missions after Phase One, with a targeting emphasis on Soviet reconnaissance and communications platforms. The OBS mission will become a secondary priority.”

  “And if the Democrats win the ’72 election?” asked Tew, poring over the new budget.

  “If they do, God forbid, then it’s highly unlikely that your project will be continued. Regardless of the potential outcome, we still need to discuss some new wrinkles. The Operational Review Committee is tacking on a new requirement that we want you to start looking at right away. We want you to be prepared to execute extravehicular activity operations in Phase Two.”

  “EVA?” asked Tew. “Walking in space? I can’t think of any logical reason for our men to leave their vehicle and float around outside. Are you folks not happy with the way we do business right now?”

  “Mark, we’re thrilled with what you’re doing, but the committee wants other attack options in case we are confronted with more sophisticated targets. Also, we want to have a capability to retrieve select components from target vehicles,” explained Kittredge.

  Attack? thought Heydrich. He had never heard that expression applied to their missions. The operative word had always been intercept, not attack. Why the change in terminology?

  “I don’t like this idea,” declared Wolcott. “But I strongly suspect that it’s going to be shoved down our gullet regardless. Besides, Hugh, we don’t have the facilities for EVA training. We can’t exactly saunter down to the base pool at Wright-Patt and practice walkin’ in space, can we? That might raise a few eyebrows.”

  “Hugh, Virgil is right,” observed Tew. “We don’t have the appropriate facilities, and I don’t foresee borrowing any from NASA, considering the security issues.”

  “Begging your pardon, Mark, but I have a suggestion,” uttered Heydrich. “A few months ago, back when the MOL program was still active, I was talking to one of the MOL simulation guys. He said that they had a really nice arrangement at a place called Buck Island, down in the US Virgin Islands. Their crews used to fly down there to do weightless simulations underwater. We could probably use that same place to train our guys.” Those words had barely left his lips when Heydrich noticed Russo squirming in his seat as he glanced nervously at Tarbox.

  “Buck Island?” retorted Tarbox. “That facility is now closed. It is not available for your use.”

  “I just thought …”

  “You just thought it would be a good destination for Caribbean sightseeing junkets disguised as training.” Tarbox smirked. “But I’m confident that you’ll find a swimming hole closer to home.”

  “Okay,” interjected Tew. “We’ll figure out something, but there’s a greater problem, Hugh.”

  “And that is?”

  “You’ve promised us pilots, but there are none coming through the pipeline. I’m down to two flight crews, with nine missions still looming on the horizon. And to be frank, while one of my crews is the cat’s meow, I don’t exactly have absolute confidence in the other. When are you going to make good on your promises to plus up my flight crews? Even two more pilots would be an excellent start. That would at least give us another crew.”

  Kittredge shook his head and answered, “You know it’s not that simple, Mark. There are more flight test programs going on right now than any time in history, so everyone graduating at Edwards is immediately spoken for. And if you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a shooting war that has more than a few pilots gainfully employed. And sadly, a lot our guys are sitting in prison cells in North Vietnam. So things are tough all over. Granted, you only have two flight crews, but you also have plenty of time between missions, so it’s not like we’re killing them.”

  But at the rate they’re expected to fly, that loose end will eventually be tied by the law of averages, thought Heydrich.

  Tarbox snorted. “I just offered you a flight crew, Tew. But you turned them down. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider my offer?”

  “We need pilots, Leon,” replied Tew, not wavering. “We just don’t need your pilots.”

  “Aviators,” noted Tarbox. “Naval aviators.”

  “Okay, to clarify, we don’t need your Naval aviators.”

  “I’m a little confused,” said Heydrich.

  “How so, Gunter?” asked Kittredge.

  “Since the MOL program was cancelled in June, I would have thought we could have picked up some of those pilots,” stated Heydrich.

  “Again, Gunter, there’s not a simple answer,” explained Kittredge patiently. “Your project is operating under the radar. Way under the radar. On the other hand, the names of the MOL flight crew personnel are in the public eye. A lot of the MOL pilots were swapped over to NASA after the program was cancelled. And believe it or not, some of the MOL guys are now flying in regular squadrons, biding their time until the Air Force deems it safe for them to fly in Vietnam. We can’t arbitrarily siphon former MOL flight personnel into your project without raising some suspicions.”

  “General Kittredge, I still have a question about the Can … MOL astronauts,” interjected Heydrich, adjusting his black-framed glasses. “I’m aware that a fourth group was already selected, because”—Heydrich pointed at Russo—“he claimed that he was already assigned to it. The names of those men were never released to the press, so if their names aren’t public knowledge, why aren’t they available to us?”

  Russo looked nervously at Tarbox, who said, “Good question, Gunter. Other than Russo, the remaining members of the fourth group were Naval aviators. Since your skipper has already clearly voiced his disdain for Naval aviators, it’s a moot issue.”

  Tarbox cleared his throat and continued. “Since those men were never publically announced, they will matriculate to flight test or fleet aviation assignments. Certainly, we’ll afford them the opportunity to transfer to the NASA astronaut program, but they’ll have to apply under the normal selection process when NASA makes their next call for applicants.”
>
  “I think we’ve discussed this issue sufficiently,” stated Tew, glaring at Heydrich. “I just want to emphasize that we want new pilots as soon as the pipeline becomes unclogged.”

  “Noted,” said Kittredge. “But don’t plan on seeing any new faces until your Phase Two funding is approved. Now, Mark, tell me about your new computer. I understand that there’s been some recent progress.”

  “The new Block Two computer? Well, there’s good news and bad news. The good news is that the MIT guys delivered. But it took them a year longer than they anticipated.”

  “In their defense, Mark, the MIT eggheads were sort of busy goin’ to the moon,” observed Wolcott. “It ain’t like they were sitting on their thumbs.”

  “True,” said Tew. “Functionally, the new computer works as advertised. The MIT team adapted most of it from the Apollo Guidance Computer, which is head and shoulders above the older Gemini Block I computer. The Block Two will automate most of the work that the crews are doing manually right now. Anyway, Hugh, that’s the good news.”

  “That’s excellent,” said Kittredge. “But what’s the bad news?”

  Wolcott chuckled and said, “Well, Hugh, it’s sort of like sendin’ away for a mail order bride. We expected a sleek little number, but it’s a might heftier than anticipated. It’s roughly twice as big as the old computer. The first prototype is in St. Louis right now. The airframe honchos are trying to figure out some way to shoehorn it into the spacecraft, but it just ain’t lookin’ so hot. It’s causing some big weight and balance issues. It’s really throwing off our center of gravity.”

  “So we’re not going to be flying it anytime soon, right?” asked Kittredge.