by Dale Brown
“There is just no graceful way to do this, Boomer,” McCallum complained.
“Just do it slowly and deliberately and you’ll minimize bumps and rebounds,” Boomer said.
The easiest way to get inside the cockpit and seated was the “jackknife” method. As McCallum floated above the cockpit, Boomer steered his boots inside the cockpit. As McCallum eased inside, he jackknifed his body to squeeze between the upper instrument panel and open canopy. This always resulted in bumps as the space suit hit off one surface, against another, then back and forth until the astronaut was able to dampen the bouncing out. Boomer steered his feet and legs inside the legs wells under the instrument panel until McCallum finally landed on his behind in the seat. “Not too bad that time-only one concussion,” McCallum said.
“I had to do all the work, and you kneed me in the head twice,” Boomer said. He stowed McCallum’s soft-pack in the small storage container behind the seat, then corralled the seat straps floating around the cockpit and buckled him in.
“Fifteen minutes, Boomer,” Kai radioed. “How’s it going?”
“Plenty of time, boss,” Boomer said. “ Mission specialist secured. I’m strapping in now.” Actually it was going to be real close to get detached in time, but Boomer reminded himself not to hurry. He checked McCallum’s umbilicals to be sure everything was stowed and secure. “Okay, Jeff, give me a systems check and a thumbs-up when you’re ready.” McCallum made sure everything was attached properly, did an oxygen, communications, and pressurization test, and gave Boomer a thumbs-up. “Okay, I’m moving into the forward cockpit now.”
Thankfully, with the EEAS space suit it was far easier to get in, almost like a terrestrial fighter jet, and in moments he was strapped in and ready. “Spacecraft commander strapped in and ready to push,” he reported.
“Boomer, I don’t think we can make it,” Kai said. “I don’t want to rush this. C’mon back in. We’ll off-load the cargo bay and wait for the next transfer orbit-entry opportunity.”
“I’m ready to go, General,” Boomer said. “Power’s coming on.” He activated the ship’s battery, linked the spaceplane with the mission data computer on the space station, and started the data transfer and connection with the procedural computers that would prepare the spaceplane for launch. “Countdown’s under way, three minutes to go. We’ll make it.”
“Let’s not waste the fuel, Boomer. Bring it on in.”
“I can do this, General,” Boomer argued. He heard no response, which he took to mean approval, so he continued his departure checklists. At exactly three minutes, with less than two minutes to go, he radioed, “Checklists complete, data transfer complete and entered. Retract the transfer tunnel, Armstrong, Stud One is ready. Clear the canopy, Jeff.” As he watched the transfer tunnel retract back toward the station’s docking beam, he motored both cockpit canopies closed. “Ready to undock, Armstrong…”
“We’re showing canopies not latched, Stud One,” the docking module technician reported. “Check the aft canopy.”
“Jeff?”
“I’m clear back here,” he said. “No foreign objects in the way.”
“Clear the canopy,” Boomer said. “I’ll try to reclose it.” He motored the canopy open a few inches, then motored it closed once more.
“Still not showing latched, Stud One.”
“Disregard it,” Boomer said. “It’s probably just a bad contact. We’re going to open it again in a couple hours when we reach Kingfisher-Eight anyway.”
“Bag it, Boomer,” Kai said. “Let’s get it looked at while we off-load the cargo.”
“General, I’ll check it when I rendezvous with Kingfisher-Eight and Jeff is doing his EVA. We’ll be cool. It’s probably something simple. Request detaching the fuel lines and permission to push.”
“Boomer, if you have to do an emergency reentry, and the canopy’s not locked, you’ll both be crispy critters.”
“Then we just won’t do an emergency reentry, General-at least, not with us inside,” Boomer said. “We’ll wait outside for you to pick us up.”
“It’s not funny, Noble.” There was a brief pause; then, “Retract fuel lines, permission to push granted,” he said finally. Boomer released the locks connecting the spaceplane to the docking beam and touched the thrusters, pushing the Black Stallion away from the station.
Following the computer’s guidance, Boomer steered the spaceplane to the new orbital inclination, then activated the Laser Pulse Detonation Rocket System engines to accelerate into the transfer orbit. The Hohmann transfer orbit was a new elliptical orbit that touched both of the circular orbits of Armstrong Space Station and the Kingfisher-8 weapon garage. In order to minimize fuel burn and save time, the timing had to be perfect so the garage would be nearby when the second burn was over-that was the reason why the spaceplane had to either be on its way on time or wait almost another day for the right moment.
The first burn lasted two minutes and pushed the spaceplane into a higher three-hundred-mile orbit. Forty-five minutes later, Boomer turned the spaceplane again to the proper heading and fired the engines again to enter Kingfisher-8’s orbit. “Transfer complete, and Kingfisher-Eight is in sight,” Boomer reported. As planned, the weapon garage was dead ahead and less than three miles away. He patted the top of his instrument panel. “Good show, Stud. How are you doing back there, Jeff?”
“In the green, Boomer,” McCallum replied.
It took just a few minutes to close the distance with Kingfisher-8, and soon they were orbiting within a few yards. The Kingfisher garages were cylindrical devices about the size of a Chevrolet Suburban. They had radar, electro-optical, and infrared sensor domes that allowed them to look in all directions; datalink antennas that connected them to Armstrong Space Station, to ground stations, and to other satellites and weapon garages; solar panels for power; and thrusters to point it in any direction. The business end revealed the six Trinity interceptors and Mjollnir attack reentry devices snug in their launch tubes, pointing Earthward.
“Station check, Jeff.”
“Roger.” A few moments later: “Station check complete, Boomer, clear to open the canopy.”
“Coming open.” Boomer motored both canopies open. “Here we are, Jeff,” he said. “I’m unstrapping to help the Maytag repairman out.” He unbuckled himself, made sure his tether and umbilicals were secure, then floated free of the Black Stallion spaceplane. Using handholds, he maneuvered himself to the aft cockpit, unstrapped McCallum, double-checked his tether and umbilicals, helped him out of the spaceplane, then retrieved his soft-pack and clipped it onto his space suit. “Have fun out there, honey,” he said. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Kiss kiss,” McCallum said. He grasped his Handheld Maneuverability Unit maneuvering gun, aimed it properly, and hit the trigger. Small spurts of nitrogen gas easily propelled him across to the Kingfisher-8 weapon garage. “Armstrong, verify Eight’s radars are standby, nose is cold.”
“Kingfisher-Eight’s radar is in standby, nose is cold, power is off; however, be advised, continuity is not being monitored,” Seeker radioed from Armstrong. “Clear to approach, advise extreme caution, sir.”
“Roger that. Moving in.”
Boomer checked that McCallum’s umbilicals were free and clear, then returned to his seat in the Black Stallion-his suit didn’t provide the same radiation or micrometeorite protection as McCallum’s did, so it was safer for him to use the spacecraft for protection as much as possible. Once inside, he motored the aft cockpit canopy up and down a few times, and each time it registered closed and locked. “Looks like the canopy fault has cleared,” he reported.
“We’ll check it over carefully before we do the next reentry,” Raydon said.
About fifteen minutes later, McCallum radioed, “I’ve found the bad circuit boards. Should be another twenty minutes and I’ll be done.”
“Holler if you need any help, Jeff,” Boomer said.
“Wouldn’t you feel kinda naked, coming out here
in just your leotards?”
“Nah. Besides, I’m sure the family jewels are pretty much cooked already. Luckily when I started flying in space, I decided to freeze a bunch of the swimmers for safekeeping, just in case the ol’ magazine starts spitting out nothing but blanks.”
“Really? You did that?”
“Haven’t you?”
“Don’t listen to him, Jeff-that’s an urban myth,” Seeker said. “Boomer might be firing blanks for other reasons.”
Ten minutes before impact, the payload section of the DF-21 rocket opened and ejected a single kill vehicle, a rectangular device no larger than a refrigerator, covered in thruster nozzles aimed in all directions. The nose section had a radar guidance sensor, slaved to the position of the Kingfisher-8 satellite ahead. As the Kingfisher weapon garage rose above Earth’s horizon, the kill vehicle’s radar locked onto it and began making its own intercept corrections.
“Okay, Armstrong, I’ve replaced boards T-7 and RF-15 in the continuity control module,” McCallum reported several minutes later. “I’m pretty sure that should do it. If it doesn’t, I’ll need to replace the entire module. We’ll need to bring one up. I’m heading back to the Stud.” During his space walk, Kingfisher-8 and the S-9 had drifted closer to each other-the two spacecraft were in their own orbits and would eventually proceed on their own paths unless corrected-so it didn’t take as long as before for McCallum to fly himself back.
Boomer exited the spaceplane, made sure the tethers and umbilicals were properly stowed, connected McCallum back to the Stud, stowed the soft-pack, got him back into his seat, and strapped him in. “How many space walks does that make for you, Jeff?” he asked.
“Three on this deployment and eleven overall,” he replied. “You?”
“I stopped keeping count a long time ago, bud,” Boomer said. “It’s gotta be several dozen.”
“Unbelievable! I never would have thought that spacewalking and going into orbit would be so commonplace.”
“A lot of otherwise smart folks still don’t believe it.”
“To tell the truth, spacewalking made me nervous as hell at first,” McCallum admitted. “I can’t shake the feeling of falling.”
“I got the same way at first-like standing on a tall bridge looking down,” Boomer said. “You get over it. Now I just enjoy the view.” Boomer climbed back into the Black Stallion, reconnected his air and communications lines, and strapped in. He maneuvered the spaceplane about a hundred yards away from Kingfisher-8. “We’re clear, Armstrong,” he radioed. “Clear to power it back up.”
“I want you farther away, Boomer,” Kai radioed. “The continuity circuits control weapon arming and safing. If it’s still malfunctioning, you could get a Trinity in the face. Prepare to head to the transfer orbit.”
“Interface with the transfer orbit won’t be for another three hours, General,” Seeker said.
“Okay. Move out to at least a mile, Boomer.”
“Roger,” Boomer replied. On intercom he said, “I think the boss is getting more and more cautious these days. He’s starting to sound like the guys in NASA.”
“Better safe than sorry,” McCallum said. “The guy didn’t get to be a one-star by taking too many chances.”
“He’s the boss. Good job out there, Jeff. Did you do an inventory of the soft-pack?”
“Yes. It’s all there.”
“Think it’ll work?”
“I’m ninety percent sure.”
“Excellent. Okay, here we go. We’ll move away, let them test it, then it’s three hours to wait until we can do the transfer orbit, so you can relax.” Boomer used the thrusters to move away from Kingfisher-8. They lost sight of it quickly against the spectacular backdrop of Earth and stars. “We show you one mile and clear, Stud One,” Seeker reported.
“I’ve lost sight of it, but I’ve still got its transponder,” Boomer said, referring to the coded radio beacon used for identification and positioning.
“Roger. We’re powering up Eight. Stand by.”
“Roger.” On intercom, Boomer said, “I used to keep a logbook of all my flights and space walks, Jeff, and I’m sorry I didn’t keep it going-it would’ve been something to show the grandkids. Make sure you write down all these flights and missions, or maybe do a journal or something so you don’t-”
And at that instant there was a tremendous flash of light off in the distance. Boomer felt several intense blows on the Black Stallion, and then everything went dark.
ARMSTRONG SPACE STATION
THAT SAME TIME
“What the hell just happened?” Kai Raydon thundered. He had almost propelled himself off his seat in surprise when the alarms activated, and he had to grasp a handhold and reapply his Velcro sneakers to stay in place. “Where’s the spaceplane? What happened, Seeker…?”
“I’ve lost datalink contact with both Stud One and Kingfisher-Eight!” Seeker replied. “Attempting to get direct sensor contact now. They should be within Thule radar contact in three minutes.”
“I want the status of all Black Stallions, Midnights, Orions, and Crew Rescue Vehicles now,” Kai ordered. “Anyone who can get a maneuvering spacecraft we can use as a rescue or tow vehicle into that orbit, I want to know about them. Communications, contact Space Command, tell them we may have had an accident, and ask them to tag any new orbital objects and send their orbital data to us so we can coordinate a rescue or recovery. Any other garages in the area?”
“Negative, sir, not for another four hours,” Seeker replied after a short search.
“As soon as Thule reports something, I want-”
“Sir, terrestrial radar contact from Kingfisher-Five,” one of the other sensor technicians interjected. “A flight of heavy aircraft, westbound, five hundred miles east of the Chinese convoy. Radar reports at least five formations, speed five hundred knots, altitude thirty-four thousand feet.”
“Identification?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“General, Midnight One is completing phase maintenance in Palmdale, but they report they can have it buttoned up and ready to launch in four hours,” Seeker said. “They’ll miss the next launch window unless they can launch in two hours.”
“Tell them to hurry, but I don’t want another accident,” Kai said. “Follow the book, but follow it quickly. Anyone else?”
“Still checking on Stud Two and Three. Four is deep in depot maintenance and won’t be available for four weeks.”
“Anyone else on a launchpad somewhere?”
“Still checking, sir.”
“I want a continuously updated status board of all manned or unmanned Orbital Maneuvering Vehicles on my monitors as soon as this incident is over,” Kai said. “I want to know every moment of every day where they are and what they’re doing.”
“Yes, sir…sir, Stud Two is loading up at Elliott Air Force Base. Weather is marginal, but they may be able to launch within the hour, and they can be in the launch window to rendezvous at the approximate orbital position of Stud One.”
“If they can get a passenger module installed in time, tell them to do it, but if the weather allows, I want them airborne with whatever they have,” Kai said. “Any visual ID on those bogeys?”
“Negative, sir. Now reporting six formations, with one of the formations containing four aircraft in trail formation.”
“Report them to Central Command and Combined Task Force-Horn of Africa -I’ve got a bad feeling about them,” Kai said. “What about Stud Two?”
“They don’t have a passenger module available, but they’re dropping their payload as fast as they can to make room in the cargo bay,” Seeker said. “ Battle Mountain can launch a tanker in twenty minutes. That’s the only one available so far.”
“It’ll have to do. Let me know when the planners have a rendezvous schedule set up.”
“Yes, sir…our sensors are out of range of that formation of planes, but the CTF-HOA AWACS plane should pick them up in an hour or so.”
“I
hope those guys are ready. How’s the weather at Dreamland?”
“Reporting marginal VFR, light snow showers, forecast to remain the same for the next-”
Just then they heard, “Armstrong, this is Stud One.”
Kai’s eyes bulged as his finger jabbed the “TRANSMIT” button: “Stud One, this is Armstrong. What’s your status?”
Hunter Noble’s voice was low and strained. “No lights on in the cockpit, leopards are out, no power, no cockpit instruments, and I can’t raise McCallum,” he said. “I think Kingfisher-Eight blew up.”
“Are you hurt, Noble?”
“I don’t know,” Boomer replied, sounding as if he was drowsy. “I think I’m okay. My head must’ve cushioned the impact.”
“Sounds like he’s got a concussion, sir,” Seeker said.
“Then we’re going to have to keep him awake until Stud Two can get to him,” Kai said. On the radio he said, “We’ve got Stud Two and a tanker getting ready to launch within the hour, Boomer. If nothing vital got hit, you have enough air for a while. Hang on. We’re sending everything we have up there to get you.”
“I can’t get to Jeff,” Boomer said. “My canopy won’t open.”
“You stay in your seat and stay strapped in, Boomer, and this time it’s a damned order,” Kai said. “Save your strength and your air-you’re going to need every bit of both to assist rescuers. We’re going to bring Stud Two up and transfer you and McCallum to their cargo bay and then back here. You think of anything to help that process and let us know-otherwise, stay put.”
“Yes, sir,” Boomer said. A few moments later, he added, “I screwed up, didn’t I, General?”
“You did your job, Boomer. Your job is to fly the spaceplane, and you did it.” He took a deep breath, then said, “I pulled the umbilicals and authorized you to push. After Jeff was done, I should’ve had you return to the station, or at least go into another transfer orbit-if Jeff’s fix didn’t work, you would’ve had to come back anyway. There was no reason to power up Eight with you guys just a mile away. It’s my fault and my responsibility, Boomer, got that?”
