Virus

by Bill Buchanan

  Scott was flying Hell Fire into low earth orbit, pushing her through a narrow performance envelope with exact timing and precision. Nothing in Hell Fire's flight trajectory could be left to chance. Monitoring altitude, direction, and speed, she simultaneously adjusted her throttles and rate of climb. Hell Fire's velocity and altitude had to increase within the limits set by her launch envelope or she would run out of fuel, never achieving the escape velocity required for orbit. Hell Fire's speed and altitude were unprecedented for an air-breathing, single-stage aircraft. No other plane ever built could fly as fast, high, or as far as the XR-30.

  Scott described Hell Fire as an enormous flying engine. The XR-30 was the follow-on to the Space Shuttle, but had also replaced the aging Aurora spy plane. (In its day, the Aurora had replaced the SR-71 Blackbird.)

  One look at Hell Fire and you knew she was an extraordinary airplane. The front two thirds of Hell Fire's body looked like the head of a great white shark with its mouth wide-open, sucking air into its massive propulsion system. Her mouth was lined with rows of retractable teeth which controlled the speed of air flowing into her engines. If you stood in front of her, looking into her cavernous air-breathing mouth, the mammoth spectacle inspired awe, admiration—even wonder.

  At hypersonic speeds, Hell Fire was lifted into the air by the aerodynamic shape of her body rather than her wings. Hell Fire's wide “lifting body” design also provided space for a large fuel tank and a compression ramp which guided air into her propulsion system. At speeds above Mach 1, Hell Fire's “all moving” wings were locked in neutral position. Below Mach 1, her wings were unlocked, providing both the lift and the control surface required for pitch, roll, and yaw maneuvers.

  The original X-30 was a two-seat aircraft about the size of a Douglas DC-10, weighing 200,000 pounds, and 150 feet long. Hell Fire was an XR-30, an X-30 stretched to 200 feet, weighing 250,000 pounds, matte black, built of titanium and carbon composites, modified to include more powerful scramjet engines, four reconnaissance equipment bays, and a third seat for the reconnaissance systems operator inside the nose.

  “Gonzo—open outer doors and launch the weapon,” ordered Scott, watching her airspeed indicator. “Show Headquarters a signal they can’t miss.”

  “Roger, Scotty. Configuration complete. Weapon is warm and ready to fire.” Next, he placed the launch sequence under automatic fire control.

  Ejecting an ASAT missile out from inside Hell Fire's stubby wing while moving at Mach 8 created two intense shock waves. One shock wave would violently shake the crew, and the second would shake the ASAT missile like a baby’s rattle.

  Gonzo read off the missile countdown sequence. “Ten, nine, eight. . .” Beep . . . beep . . . beep . beeeeeeeeeeeep echoed over his headset. “Oh shit!” Gonzo spoke in short bursts. “Threat detection. Another DEWSAT’s rising over our southern horizon, closing fast. It’s locked on—illuminated us in five bands already. Signal strength is getting hotter.”

  Scott grimaced. “Lock another . ..”

  Barooom! Hell Fire shook violently from the shock wave.

  “Northbound weapon away,” Gonzo announced, watching the missile streak away on video. “Ignition confirmed. Well clear of Hell Fire—track looks good.”

  “Headquarters will see it,” Scott said softly.

  “We’re in the heat again!” interrupted Mac. “Same story but our skin temp’s rising. Much hotter and we’re history!” Mac had good reason to worry. He was surrounded by thousands of pounds of slush hydrogen fuel. Hell Fire's cryogenic fuel tanks, holding hydrogen chilled to -435 degrees F, had to be lightweight and thin-walled because of her large size. In addition, hydrogen fuel was circulated as a coolant throughout Hell Fire's skin, absorbing heat from her hot spots. If the DEWS AT laser heated her skin beyond 5,000 degrees F, her thin-walled fuel tank would rupture and Hell Fire would certainly live up to her name, exploding into an enormous white-hot fireball streaking across the night sky.

  “Lock an ASAT on it. That DEWSAT’s moving toward us. We’ll knock it out of commission.”

  Gonzo watched the weapon’s lock light turn green. “Weapon ready to shoot. DEWSAT’s closing fast.”

  “Shoot Gonzo . .. shoot.”

  BAROOOM! Hell Fire shook like a rattlesnake’s tail, battering Scott, Mac, and Gonzo violently from side to side. Once the shock wave passed, Gonzo focused his eyes again. “ASAT’s away and clear.” Watching the rocket engine ignite on screen, he felt satisfied that he’d done all he could do—for now.

  “Hoooooeeeeee!" hollered Mac, watching the weapon take flight. “We’ll knock that sucker outta the sky!”

  “Mac—how about a visual?”

  “Watch your monitor. Camera’s swinging into position now—hold it—yeah, we got ’em both—ASAT right— DEWSAT left.”

  “Gonzo, give us the blow-by-blow.” Scott expected Gonzo to call the action like a horse race. She wasn’t disappointed.

  Gonzo began his narrative in a monotone. “And they’re off. Southbound ASAT missile’s accelerating through Mach twelve . . . four minutes to impact . . . track looks good . . . speed’s Mach fifteen plus . .. closing fast. Altitude fifty miles . . . seventy . . . eighty . . . closing on target . . . easy money’s on the ASAT . . . one hundred miles high and closing . . .”

  Mesmerized, Mac stared at his screen. Suddenly, he noticed two greenish hot spots glowing on the ASAT. The 1R pictures showed them in minute detail. “Hot spots! The weapon’s taking the heat. We’re cooling off!” Mac watched his monitor in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is ... oh my God.”

  The southbound ASAT exploded into a large ball of fiery gasses.

  Hell Fire's intercom was silent—no one could speak. Scott, Mac, and Gonzo sat spellbound, their eyes transfixed on their monitors. For a few moments that seemed to last an eternity, the ASAT’s image burned an intense bright green, completely washing over the screen.

  “DEWSAT must have punched a hole in the fuel tank to cause an explosion like that,” Gonzo observed quietly. He checked the progress of his first missile. “Our northbound ASAT’s going ballistic—falling out of the sky. It’ll burn up in the atmosphere.”

  “Regroup, fellas.” Scott spoke with a strained tone of urgency in her voice. “Headquarters saw our signal. They’ll call off the dogs.”

  Mac cut in as soon as Scott released her microphone switch. “Heat’s on. We’re running white-hot.”

  “Snap one-eighty. Keep your heads on straight,” urged Scott, praying for strength.

  “Temp’s approaching redline.” Mac’s face, covered with beaded sweat, glistened under his cockpit lights. “Forty-five hundred degrees and rising.”

  Scott closed her eyes, blocking out the bright red distractions flashing across the cockpit. It was a wonder she could think at all considering the myriad of warning mes-

  sages flashing in her face. Concentrating intensely, looking for some pattern, she gave their situation a good think.

  Heat. Show their fiery plume. “I wanna play a long shot.”

  “Laser’s hot as hell—go for it!”

  Scott flipped switches, placing scramjet fuel control in manual mode. Turning the fuel mixture thumbwheels, dumping more fuel into each engine, she ordered: “Mac, watch my tail. We’re running rich.”

  Mac pivoted an IR camera on Hell Fire's tail. “Got it, Scotty. We’re running full plume!”

  “Watch that laser, Mac. Let me know if you see any change.”

  “What’re you thinking?”

  “Heat—heat could be our ticket. If that laser’d been running full power, it would have blown us out of the sky a long time ago—but those DEWSATs seem to cycle. They go hot, then back off. Who knows? Maybe that DEWSAT’s looking for heat—so we’ll show ’em heat!” “You’re right. There’s a pattern to it.”

  “How’s your slush temp looking, Mac? Circulation pumps wide open?”

  “Slush temps high, about the same as reentry. That cooling system’s saving us—from a big hole,
I mean.” “Roger that. Just keep that cooling system running.” “Laser’s backing off!”

  “Thank God,” Scott whispered.

  “We’ve seen that pattern before.” Gonzo admired Scott’s cool head in a tight situation. “Your heat plume call was on the money.”

  “Hope so,” she replied, checking her fuel. “Gonzo— how long can we run full plume?”

  Gonzo punched in their rate of fuel consumption. Unseen behind his visor, the corners of his mouth dropped. “We’re outta luck. To maintain enough fuel for our low orbit docking maneuver—two more minutes max. You’re running afterburner fuel consumption rates, Scotty, but no extra kick.”

  Scott trimmed Hell Fire's tail immediately and returned fuel flow control to the flight computer.

  “Mac—how’s my tail?” asked Scott.

  “Bobbed,” replied Mac. Gonzo smiled briefly, thinking about Scotty’s fine tail.

  “How’s it looking, Mac? We hot?”

  “So far, so good.” Mac responded with a cautious smile. He was feeling better about their situation—cautious, but optimistic. Nobody had any idea why, but for some reason, showing a fiery plume kept the DEWSAT’s laser throttled back.

  A few minutes earlier, Mac would have sold his chances for a wooden nickel, but now he believed they were going to make it.

  TDM Operations, 1210712014, 1215 Zulu, 5:15 A.M. Local

  Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado

  High Ground testing was progressing, but not smoothly. After toiling through countless pages of test data, Mason looked up at Craven. “I don’t like it, I don’t like it at all. Something’s gone wrong here. I can feel it.”

  Craven’s face took a hard set. “We’re not bailing outta this test based on a hunch!”

  Crushing his military round hat into a tight ball, Mason struggled to convey his thoughts with an even tone. “Take a look at our situation, General. We have symptoms of at least one problem, maybe more—we just don’t know. Hell Fire broke off our satellite link and we don’t know why. We should’ve heard something. Three missiles are missing—presumed down and we can’t explain it. There’s insufficient data to form any conclusion, but we guess they flew into the ground. Well, I don’t believe it. We’ve got trouble staring us in the face and don’t know how to interpret the symptoms.”

  “Decisions are always based on our best available information, Slim, and that information will always be incomplete.”

  “I understand that, but during this testing, we need to The Bad Seed know what’s happening in real time. Centurion’s log is the only way I know to get there. I’d feel better if we had a clean bill of health from Kaliningrad.”

  “No news is good news.”

  “I disagree, General, but I hope you’re right. The longer Yuri’s people take, the greater the chance they’ve found trouble.”

  “That’s true,” General Krol added somberly. “Your concerns may be of consequence. Time will tell.”

  “Don’t worry about things you can’t control,” Craven suggested, his voice unconvincing.

  “But we do control this situation, or we should,” Mason lamented quietly. “For one thing, Hinson should have been replaced months ago.”

  “Hindsight’s always twenty-twenty, Slim. We do the best we can with the resources available.”

  “If Kaliningrad uncovers trouble, our problems will be compounded by a language barrier.”

  Craven nodded thoughtfully. “Bring in our translator.” Craven turned to his Russian general. “Yuri, do you agree?”

  “Is good idea. May need help translating some technical terms.”

  Craven spoke to Napper via video link. “Sam, have Ad-dams report to the Crow’s Nest ASAP.”

  Napper quickly relayed Craven’s message to their Russian translator, then a voice over his headset caught Sam’s attention. Suddenly, the colonel snapped upright as if his spine were made of steel spring. “General—Mayday confirmation! Watch the blue ball. Hell Fire launched an ASAT. That’s gotta be a signal.” Watching the blue ball, the colonel’s eyes suddenly opened wide. “Another weapon in the air, sir. Hell Fire let go a second missile; this one could take out a DEW! Recommend immediate abort.”

  Mason made eye contact with Craven then ham-fisted the mission abort switch. Within a few seconds, Centurion alerted the armada via satellite link. Headquarters ex-

  pected the DEWSATs would stand down—but they did not.

  Meanwhile, a small copper-skinned man with black, oily hair entered the Crow’s Nest, quietly awaiting recognition. Craven pointed toward the table. “Pull up a chair, Shripod. We may need you later.”

  The Russian translator—and covert member of the Iraqi party of God—cautiously approached the conference table.

  Craven noticed his forehead glistening with sweat. “Are you all right?”

  “That flight of stairs,” the translator feigned a pant. “Guess I’m not in as good a shape as I thought.” Shripod Addams was in excellent shape, anyone could see that, but he lied with the utmost sincerity.

  “Relax, catch your breath, and stay loose.”

  Suddenly, the ASAT missile blip vanished in a blinding flash.

  “This can’t be happening.” Napper blinked in disbelief. “ASAT track disappeared, missile destroyed.” For a few moments, Sam felt the gut-wrenching panic that comes with losing control and not knowing what to do.

  “Sam, something’s gone wrong!” The urgency in Mason’s voice snapped Napper back to reality.

  Immediately, a bell began to gong above the background noise—an ear-piercing presence that could not be ignored. Mason expectantly turned to the Kremlin video screen. The scene switched to a solid bright red screen. “Yuri’s folks are onto something.”

  A message flashed in large bold black print:

  To: Major General Robert Craveni Supreme Commanderi Allied Forces From: Defense Minister,

  Soviet Commonwealth

  Priority: Urgent Subject: Activity Log Results Recommended Action: ABORT SDIO TEST-

  ING IMMEDIATELY THEN DISCONNECT CENTURION.

  Synopsis: Kaliningrad analysis com-

  plete. Situation critical- This is no drill.

  Problem: Hot TDM Operations In Progress Over Test Zone Root Cause: UNKNOWN

  Solution: UNKNOWN

  Objective: Prevent loss of Hell Fire

  crew.

  Additional explanation will follow as technical translation becomes available.

  End Of Message

  Mason projected the message on the outside wall for the War Room staff. All eyes focused on the acronym: TDM (Target Discrimination Mode). Hot TDM operations were completely unexpected. Translated, hot TDM operations involved separating real targets from decoys using laser burn-through. TDM burn-through meant lasers powered to three percent, and three percent power meant lethal danger.

  “Burn-through would explain a lot of unanswered questions,” Mason observed quietly. “Sam, what could have caused it?”

  Napper punched up several DEWSAT status windows and grimaced. “I don’t know what’s going on up there but we’ve lost control. Our people are still in trouble.”

  “But we aborted the mission.”

  “Our abort didn’t take care of the problem. DEWSATs passing over the test zone are running hot TDM operations. I don’t know why. We can sort through this later, but for now we need to turn off the heat.”

  “Do whatever is necessary. Kaliningrad recommends we disconnect Centurion.”

  “That could create more problems than it solves. Freedom's commander Jay Fayhee’s on video. Let’s get the story straight from the expert.”

  Mason’s tone was strained but under control. “Jay, we need every DEWSAT over that test zone stone-cold dead.”

  “I understand, General. I conferenced in when you issued the abort.”

  “Can you help us?”

  “Yessir—I think so.”

  “Talk to me,” instructed Craven. “What are our options?”

  Fayhe
e paused for a moment, obviously uncomfortable about his situation. “I’d like to speak frankly if 1 could— off the record.”

  “Please do, son,” said Mason. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Kaliningrad is wrong. I don’t think Centurion can be disconnected. He’s programmed to defend himself first and the Allies second. Freedom’s a fortress. This damn tin can’s designed for his protection. You can’t escape him inside Freedom—he’s everywhere.”

  “Well—I understand you’re upset, Jay, but we need your help. What do you recommend we do?”

  “Take every DEW passing over the test zone off-line. It’s a routine admin procedure. Delete them from Centurion’s database.”

  Mason looked to Craven. “Do it, General—do it now!”

  “Kill the DEWs,” Craven barked. “Restore them once Hell Fire is clear.”

  “Yessir.” Jay whirled his captain’s chair about. Fayhee knew Linda’s life and the lives of her crew depended on him.

  Staring him in the face, he saw Centurion’s computergenerated talking head. His stomach churned, then he screwed his eyes shut. He couldn’t let Centurion distract him now.

  “Centurion, listen up. This is an emergency. Remove each DEWSAT from your asset database as it passes over the test zone.”

  “Yes, Commander,” Centurion responded instantly.

  Fayhee sat, eyes closed, strapped to his captain’s chair, hands crossed behind his head. He could tell by listening to the sounds within the control room that Centurion was busy. Magneto-optical disk systems chirped and chattered, switching power supplies changed their high frequency pitch, and the rumble of reactor cooling pumps increased.

  One minute later Centurion spoke. “Each hot DEWSAT powered down as expected. The TDM crisis has passed.” Fayhee was feeling better about Linda’s chances when he returned on screen. “DEWs are dead, General Craven.” “Good. About bloody time!”

  9

  A Conversation with Centurion, 12/0712014, 1224 Zulu

  Space Station Freedom

  On a clear morning during the subdued light just after sunrise, Freedom could be seen from the top of Cheyenne Mountain just above the southern horizon. At first glance, Freedom appeared as a giant glimmering star comfortably nestled in the southern Colorado sky. A longer, closer look revealed it was stationary as the seasons passed, neither rising nor setting, a man-made star pinned to the southern Colorado sky.