Flight of the Condor

by Richard P. Henrick

  Fighting the impulse to jump back into his car and leave this place altogether, he scanned the grounds, and upon seeing the silhouette of the barely visible shuttle again, knew that he’d have to give it one more try. This was his first time inside the launch complex itself, and he couldn’t help but be impressed. Contrasted against the green hillsides, the mammoth white, gray, and red structures made a most unnatural scene. It was evident that no expense had been spared in its construction.

  The fog momentarily parted, and he took in the series of mountainous ridges that lay to the east of the facility. Richard wondered if that were where Miriam’s original dig site had been located. More wide and desolate than he had imagined, the countryside there was vast and rugged. Surely it had changed little since the time of the Chumash.

  Lowering his line of sight, he took in the pair of barbed-wire-topped, chain-link security fences that separated this wilderness from the facility itself.

  Sandwiched in between these steel barriers was a fifty-yard-wide clearing of common ground, where several rifle-toting sentries could be seen walking their rounds. Though they would probably be able to keep the perimeter free from a minor frontal assault, such a token security force would be totally ineffective in countering such threats as the one Richard feared they were facing. Determined as ever to present his case as logically as possible, he pivoted when a voice called out behind him.

  “Good morning, Dr. Fuller. Sorry for the delay, but things are a bit hectic inside.”

  Lansford’s overly cheery tone didn’t disguise his inner preoccupation, and Richard held his tongue while the officer approached him. Noticing his guest’s somberness, the Air Force officer added,

  “Please forgive me for not being able to get you inside, but at the moment it’s crowded enough in there. Do you mind if I’m able to stretch these old, cramped legs while we talk?”

  Nodding that this was fine with him, Richard followed his host down a narrow footpath that lay immediately inside the security perimeter. As they passed the eight-foot-high, chain-link fence on then-left, Lansford spoke out cautiously.

  “I understand that you tried to contact Secretary Fitzpatrick last night. Is there anything that I could help you with? I’m afraid the Secretary has other concerns at the moment.”

  “Yeah, like wet-nursing a bunch of eager Congressmen in order to get bigger appropriations for next year’s Air Force budget,” shot back the angry Nose researcher.

  Fighting to restrain his own temper, Lansford countered, “That tone of voice really isn’t called for, Doctor. All of us are under an unusual amount of pressure lately with today’s rushed launch and all, and patience is something each of us could use more of. I’m sorry if it seems as if I’ve been ignoring you, but lately there just haven’t been enough hours in the day.”

  “So you’re going ahead with the launch today,” observed Richard thoughtfully.

  “That’s the intention,” returned Lansford.

  “But for the life of me, if we make it, I’ll never know how we did it. We could have used weeks to get the Condor out of mothballs, not days. This whole effort is unprecedented. Once again, our men have done the impossible, and then some. Now, how can I help you, Dr. Fuller?”

  With firm resolve, Richard spoke out.

  “I realize your great responsibilities. Colonel, and I’m sorry to be such a pest, but there’s something that I just have to get off my chest.”

  “Then shoot,” returned Lansford directly.

  Clearing his throat, Richard continued, “Yesterday afternoon, per your invitation, I got down to the Arguello storage facility and had a look at that Titan nose cone. If you’ll just hear me out, I think I have that irrefutable proof of sabotage that you demanded earlier.”

  “So you’re still on this sabotage business,” mumbled Lansford.

  Ignoring this interruption, the Nose researcher merely kept going.

  “Upon close examination of the nose cone’s base, I noticed a fist-sized hole in its steel cowling. At first I assumed that it was just a byproduct of the massive explosion that brought the rocket down, yet upon further contemplation, I realized that I had seen such damage before. One year ago in San Diego, I witnessed a test firing of an electromagnetic railgun. At that time, a half-pound plastic projectile was shot at a steel plate of approximately the same thickness as the nose cone’s skin. The results were too similar to be ignored.

  “This coincidence led me to think about another test firing that failed because of an improperly packed bullet. In this instance also, it left behind a familiar pattern of damage that matched that found on the first piece of Titan cowling that we pulled up the other day.

  “Backing up my theory is a McDonnell Douglas engineer, who examined both pieces of debris and agrees that it is extremely unlikely that the Titan’s nose cone was penetrated by its own shrapnel. If you’d like, I could contact him and you could speak with him personally.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary at the moment,” returned Lansford, who cautiously added, “Have you shared your theory with anyone else?”

  “Of course not,” answered Richard.

  “Though I do think it’s substantial enough to inform Secretary Fitzpatrick of.”

  Suddenly halting his forward movement, Lansford looked up into the face of his guest. With this abrupt glance, Richard also stopped walking. Standing on the dusty footpath, with the security fence beside them, the senior Air Force officer pointed out toward an object that lay immediately behind the Nose researcher. Turning to see what his host had spotted, Richard was afforded an excellent view of the shuttle as it sat on its launch mount. Visible less than a quarter of a mile away, the white, delta-winged spacecraft appeared like some sort of prehistoric bird ready for flight. Tendrils of venting liquid hydrogen could be seen swirling from its boosters, and Richard realized that the fog was already rapidly dissipating.

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” reflected Lansford proudly.

  “She cost over a billion bucks, and if you ask me, she’s worth every penny of it. In less than an hour five brave men are going to ride up that access tower and be loaded into the orbiter’s command module. Then, at the stroke of noon, if all continues as scheduled, those boosters will trigger with a force of over six million pounds of combined thrust. Seconds later, our boys will be well on their way into the heavens.”

  Angling his line of sight downwards, so that it directly met that of his guest’s, Lansford added, “I truly appreciate your concern about the Condor’s safety, but do you really think that I would in any way jeopardize this project’s safety? My God, Doc, this is my life’s work that you’re talking about! I’ve dedicated thousands of hours of time so that this day, and many others, could come to pass. If I had the merest hint that something was amiss, I’d see to it at once.

  “Now, as to your concern about sabotage, let me just remind you that the security around this complex is airtight. No one in their right mind would dare try to challenge us here. I’d just like to see someone try to smuggle a weapon the likes of an electromagnetic railgun into this valley. Even if such a newfangled gadget were indeed operational, it would need an extremely powerful energy source to activate it. And that’s not even taking into consideration such a device’s huge, bulky size. No, Doc, I’m afraid this one I’m just not going to buy.”

  Well aware of the reason for the professional soldier’s natural recalcitrance, the civilian offered him a new idea.

  “What do you think about the possibility that the threat we’re facing is not a ground-based one? Isn’t it possible that a naval vessel could have been adapted to carry a weapon such as a railgun?

  Powered by a nuclear reactor, such a device could have deadly capabilities.”

  “Next you’ll be telling me that it’s loaded on the back of that Soviet sub that’s rumored to be in these waters,” returned Lansford lightly.

  “Why not?” retorted Richard.

  “Such a vessel would serve as the i
deal platform!”

  The lieutenant colonel merely shook his head.

  “Easy does it, Doc. I hear you, but it’s still not registering. I must admit that your idea could have some merit, and that it should be explored in the future, but as for right now, it just doesn’t apply.

  There’s no way that I can stop this launch on a mere hunch. You wouldn’t believe the pressure that we’ve been fielding from Washington to get the Condor skyward. I’m not about to be the one who’s going to call the President to cancel this launch because of a slight possibility that something might go wrong.

  That’s just not how it works at this stage of the game.”

  Taking this as his final word, Richard knew that he had failed. Not willing to waste any more effort in vain, he shrugged his shoulders and turned back toward the launch-control center.

  Behind him, Lansford was most aware of his disappointed guest’s sullen expression and rushed to catch up with him. Forced to increase the length of his steps to keep up with the Nose researcher’s full stride, Lansford spoke out between breaths.

  “I’ll tell you what, Doc, since you’re so set on this thing, I’ll go halfway with you. As soon as I get back to the control room, I’ll ring Bill Rose, our security chief. We’ve got a good three and a half hours left until launch, so there’s plenty of time to initiate a complete sweep of the area. We’ll even send out the choppers to patrol the coastline, to make certain that there are no bogy submarines prowling in the waters there. What do you say to that?”

  Taking these remarks as the conciliatory gestures they were meant to be, Richard didn’t even bother responding. Increasing his pace, he decided that only one vessel could save the Condor now. Turning off the path to head directly toward the parking lot, he prayed that he would find the U.S.S. Razorback still moored at Port Arguello.

  At 090 °Commander Philip Exeter was seated at the head of the wardroom table. Dressed in a clean pair of khakis, he had an ice bag set on his right knee.

  Contentedly sipping on a cup of coffee, the senior officer studied a chart of the course that they would be undertaking once they left Arguello. Seated opposite him was his XO. Patrick Benton was reading a well-worn copy of the latest issue of The Submarine Review while chewing on the stem of his favorite pipe.

  Both men hardly looked up when Lieutenant Scott Willingham entered the wardroom and approached the captain’s side.

  “Sir, the boat is ready to get underway.”

  Still deep in his study of the chart, Exeter responded, “Very good. Lieutenant. What’s the status of the Marlin?”

  Willingham was quick to answer.

  “The DSRV is secured in its transfer skirt. Commander Pierce and his crew are presently topside, doublechecking the mount in preparation for our embarkation.”

  “Good,” returned the captain, who only now looked up into the alert eyes of the young lieutenant.

  “Please let the commander know that we’ll be sitting on the surface until we reach our release point.

  They’re more than welcome to join us for breakfast once we get under way.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” responded Willingham as he continued on toward the access trunk that was located on the other side of the officers’ staterooms.

  While the junior lieutenant began his way up the ladder that would take him topside, Patrick Benton put down the copy of the magazine he had been reading. After removing his pipe from his lips, he asked, “How far will we be taking the Marlin out this time?”

  Exeter readjusted his weight and seemed to wince when this movement caused him to jerk his injured limb.

  “Ah, damn this knee anyway! I’m sorry, Pat. I guess I’m just not used to being handicapped yet. To answer your question, it’s been decided to drop them along that portion of the debris field that lies closest to shore. It seems now that they’ve got their nose cone, the powers that be want to take a look at what’s left of the Titan’s engines.”

  “I sure bet that tidal wave shifted that debris field some,” reflected the XO.

  “I still can’t get over how it seemed to lead the Marlin right down to that nose cone. I would have sure liked to see their, faces when they chanced upon that temple, or whatever it was.

  Talk about the hand of fate. It was almost as if this whole thing was meant to happen this way.”

  “Don’t get metaphysical with me. Pat,” said Exeter, his face in a grin.

  Before the XO could respond, the comm line rang out. Patrick Benton reached over and picked it up.

  “XO here… Yeah, the captain’s still in the wardroom…. Hold on, and I’ll see what he has to say.”

  Holding his hand over the transmitter, he looked up.

  “Captain, it’s Lieutenant Willingham. It seems there’s some hotshot from Nose topside. His name is Dr. Richard Fuller, and he says that it’s urgent that he has a word with you before we put to sea.”

  Checking his watch, Exeter responded, “We’ve got a couple of minutes yet. Check his ID and then send him down.”

  After relaying this information, the XO hung up the receiver and sat back in the booth.

  “I wonder what this is all about.”

  “Commander Pierce mentioned something about flying over here from Hawaii with some scientist who’s giving the Air Force a hand with the salvage operation. I’ll bet you this is the guy.”

  Exeter took another sip of coffee, and was in the process of carefully readjusting his ice pack when a tall, tanned, blond-haired civilian rounded the corner and entered the wardroom.

  “Dr. Fuller, I presume. Good morning, I’m Commander Philip Exeter, and this is my Executive Officer, Patrick Benton. Welcome aboard the Razorback.

  Please sit down. Can we get you a cup of coffee?”

  Nodding that this would be most welcome, Richard exchanged handshakes with the officers and took a seat on the captain’s right.

  “You don’t know how good it was to see this vessel still tied up here when I got down to the docks,” remarked Richard, who accepted the mug of coffee that the galley mate soon served him.

  “I was afraid that you would have already gone to sea.”

  “As it turned out, you just caught us in time,” replied the Captain.

  “I understand that you’re with Nose. We’re stationed in San Diego ourselves. You wouldn’t happen to know a Dr. Roselle over there, would you?”

  “I sure do,” returned Richard.

  “He’s my boss.”

  Exeter smiled.

  “No kidding. We worked together several years ago on the AD CAP program. That man didn’t miss a thing.”

  “He’s still as sharp as ever,” reflected Richard.

  “You really don’t appreciate how brilliant he is until you work for him. He’s a source of constant amazement.”

  “Well, you guys continue to do excellent work. I hope you know how much it’s appreciated. Now, how can we help you this morning?”

  Richard answered the Captain’s question carefully.

  “Scuttlebutt has it that the Razorback has been on the trail of a suspected Soviet submarine in these waters lately. I have good reason to believe that not only was this same vessel directly responsible for the Titan’s demise, but that it could very well threaten the space shuttle Condor as well.”

  Taking in this revelation, both officers appeared astounded by what they were hearing. It was Exeter who broke the silence.

  “That’s a mouthful. Dr. Fuller. If this so-called bogy does indeed exist, how in the hell could it be responsible for knocking a missile out of the skies?”

  Richard didn’t hesitate.

  “It’s carrying a nuclear powered electromagnetic railgun. Able to induce velocities of up to forty-six thousand miles per hour, such a weapon would only have to hit the Titan a single time to send it hurtling back to earth.

  “Recently, I completed an examination of this same rocket’s nose cone. Etched in its base was a hole that provides what I consider to be indisputable proof that su
ch a weapon made the Titan fail. What concerns me now is the fear that the same fate awaits the Condor.”

  Though no words were spoken, the glance exchanged between the Razorback’s two senior officers said it all. They were definitely receptive to his warning, and then some.

  Playing devil’s advocate, Patrick Benton asked, “If you’re so certain of all this, then why hasn’t the shuttle launch been postponed? I believe that the latest news dispatch showed the Condor still going up today at noon, as scheduled.”

  Richard could only shrug his shoulders.

  “That’s the alarming part. Though I presented my concerns to the Air Force colonel in charge of operations here, the man wouldn’t even pass them on. I even tried to inform Secretary of the Air Force Fitzpatrick, who’s currently visiting Vandenberg, yet he was totally unreachable.

  I felt as if I was knocking my head against a brick wall. And then I remembered the Razorback.

  Even if they won’t cancel the launch, at least you can be out there on the lookout for any unwelcome intruders.”

  Again checking his watch, the Captain responded, “That’s an interesting theory, Dr. Fuller. We’ll certainly keep it in mind when we begin our patrol, which should be in five more minutes. Though we’d love to have you along, I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to leave now.”

  Confident that he had gotten his point across, Richard rose.

  “Thanks for your time, gentlemen.”

  “And yours,” countered Exeter, who removed the ice pack and struggled to stand himself.

  Holding onto the wall while he got his balance, the Captain added, “Let’s just hope to God that you’re wrong, Doctor. But in the meantime, you can count on us to make certain that no harm comes to the Condor from the sea. Can you find your way back topside?”

  Nodding that he could, Richard took a last look at the two men who now had the responsibility. Sighing in relief, he then turned to make his way out of the stern access trunk.