Blue Gemini

by Mike Jenne

  Kittredge sat down and asked, “Mark, Virgil, do you have any idea why you’re here?”

  “You called us here to work on the Apollo fire investigation, right?” asked Wolcott smugly.

  Kittredge frowned and replied, “Not quite, Virgil. We have an entirely different crisis for you two to deal with.” He dropped a ponderously heavy binder on the table and added, “This is the executive overview summary of a program that we want you two to head up. We don’t have time to peruse the whole book, so I’ll just summarize. Just consider this the Reader’s Digest condensed version.”

  Kittredge tugged an index card from the interior pocket of his uniform coat. “This is from a speech that Nikita Khrushchev made in 1961, just after the Soviets orbited their second cosmonaut.” He slipped on a pair of reading glasses and quoted from the card: “You do not have 50- or 100-megaton bombs, we have bombs more powerful than 100 megatons. We placed Gagarin and Titov in space, and we can replace them with other loads that can be directed to any place on Earth.”

  Tew clearly remembered the speech, as well as the furor that ensued. Khrushchev’s vile threat of an Orbital Bombardment System—OBS—caused great consternation in the American military, and several programs quickly sprung up as possible options to counter the OBS.

  In time, even after the US military had expended millions to accelerate anti-satellite research, the OBS threat diminished. As Khrushchev faded from power in 1964, so too did the threat of nuclear weapons raining down from space, with most American military planners assuming that it had been merely empty bluster on the part of the former Soviet premier.

  “As both of you are aware, we haven’t been too concerned with this threat for quite some time,” stated Kittredge, removing his reading glasses. “But unfortunately, there have been some very startling developments as of late, and we are compelled to respond.”

  Kittredge continued: “Two months ago, our Security Service station near Istanbul monitored the launch of the Soviet’s latest booster, the UR-500, from their launch complex in Tyuratam. I assume that you’re familiar with the UR-500?”

  Tew nodded. He was very aware of the UR-500. Developed by the Chelomei aerospace design bureau, it had first been launched in 1965. It was huge, on scale with NASA’s Saturn I-B booster that would soon launch the early Apollo manned missions into earth orbit. Like the Air Force Titan II ICBM, also used to launch NASA’s Gemini spacecraft, the UR-500 relied on hypergolic fuels that did not require an igniter. It had initially been developed as an outsized ICBM, capable of heaving enormous nuclear warheads at the United States. Even though it was being used to launch various payloads, particularly the Soviets’ “Proton” research satellites, it was still apparently very prone to failure.

  “This was a failed launch,” said Kittredge, interrupting Tew’s thoughts. “We’re not exactly sure what happened, but the Soviets intentionally destroyed the vehicle just a few minutes after liftoff.”

  “Well, General, that’s obviously good news,” noted Wolcott.

  Kittredge frowned and added, “Initial indications were that it was a manned flight . . .”

  “Oh,” Wolcott muttered, shaking his head. “Sorry.” Despite the vast differences between East and West, one notion was sacrosanct: when it came to the exploration of space, any loss of life—American or Soviet—was lamentable.

  Kittredge paused to sip from a glass of water, then continued. “As I said, the initial indications were that it was a manned flight. One of our voice interceptors recognized that the UR-500’s payload had been separated by an escape rocket system just as the booster was being destroyed, and he came to the conclusion—rightfully so—that it was a manned flight. Our people continued to monitor the search and recovery effort, and were able to ascertain that the payload—a very large capsule of sorts—was eventually recovered intact.”

  “And if it wasn’t manned, then what?” asked Tew.

  Kittredge’s reply was ominous. “We have substantial evidence to indicate that the Soviets were placing a nuclear warhead—a very large nuclear warhead—into orbit. Moreover, it’s very apparent that this launch was intended to be the first of many more, and that the Soviets are still aggressively pursuing an operational Orbital Bombardment System.”

  Kittredge slid the binder across the table and flipped open the cover to reveal the first page. Tew and Wolcott read it together.

  Looking up, Wolcott groaned. “Tarnations, Hugh, this danged boondoggle just looks a whole lot like Blue Gemini,” he lamented. “And we all know how that turned out.”

  Tew nodded in agreement. Blue Gemini was a proposed program that would have run parallel with NASA’s follow-on to Project Mercury, launching military astronauts in the two-man Gemini spacecraft. Under Blue Gemini, the Air Force would have launched seven missions to research military applications of manned spaceflight. Because of its questionable objectives and because he viewed it as a duplication of NASA’s efforts, Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara axed the project in January of 1963.

  Tew and Wolcott had worked on Blue Gemini for nearly three years; after it was cancelled, Tew walked away without a second thought, but Wolcott still seemed infatuated with the thought of sending military astronauts into space.

  “Virgil, this is Blue Gemini,” answered Kittredge. “Or at least it’s the resurrection of Blue Gemini, with much more specifically designed objectives. There’s absolutely no pretense of conducting any quasi-scientific experiments. The mission is to surreptitiously intercept, inspect and—if warranted—destroy hostile satellites. NASA has shown us that the Gemini is more than capable for this task, and while they’re busy going to the Moon, we plan to exploit the Gemini for this mission. We’ve had this under wraps for a while, but with this new OBS development, we’re moving forward.”

  Kittredge continued: “We’re going to preserve all the positive virtues of NASA’s Gemini, while adding new features specific to the mission. We’ll rely on a specially configured interceptor variant that we’re calling the Gemini-I. The hardware is already being built, as we speak.”

  “The plan calls to amass a contingency stockpile of the Gemini-I spacecraft and launch vehicles, so that we have a strategic standby capability to intercept and interdict the Soviet OBS, when and if we determine that it’s a viable threat.”

  “So there really ain’t plans to actually launch any of these critters, right?” asked Wolcott. “You’re just plannin’ to salt them away, just in case.”

  Kittredge nodded. “That’s correct, Virgil. Except for a couple of unmanned flights to certify the hardware, we might be able to fly one manned mission to validate the concepts and technology, but that would be subject to approval at the highest levels of government, and I doubt that they would buy off on a practice shot with such a high degree of risk.”

  “So you’re askin’ us to sink our hearts and souls into this, and there’s scarcely any chance that it will even leave the ground, right?”

  Kittredge nodded again. “Mark, Virgil, I know that you two have put your hearts into the MOL,” he confided. “I know it has to be a huge disappointment to leave that program just as it becomes operational, but this is a matter of the highest strategic importance. You two should know that Bennie Schriever personally handpicked you to lead this project, over a year ago, before he retired.”

  Tew swallowed; their former boss at Air Force Systems Command, General Bernard “Bennie” Schriever, was one of the most powerful men in the United States Air Force, if not the entire country. A brilliant four-star visionary, Schriever was personally instrumental in the development of the nation’s entire arsenal of strategic missiles. That Schriever would have so much confidence in him and Wolcott spoke volumes.

  “We’re in,” uttered Tew. “All in.”

  “Good. At this point, everything is falling into place, but there’s one loose end,” Kittredge said. “We haven’t identified a launch site.”

  “Loose end?” drawled Wolcott. “A clandestine space program withou
t a launch site is just a tad more serious than a danglin’ thread.”

  “Vandenberg and Canaveral wouldn’t be suitable?” asked Tew.

  Shaking his head, Kittredge sipped from his water glass. “Besides the obvious security concerns surrounding this effort, we anticipate firing into some very high inclination orbits. Actually, if at all possible, we would like to be able to shoot directly into any inclination.”

  Tew saw the logic. Ideally, to reach any potential orbital inclination, the launch site would need to be as close to the equator as possible. Additionally, it should be at a remote location far removed from human habitation. It was far too risky to fire a rocket over a populated area, which was why Cape Canaveral was constrained to eastbound launches out over the Atlantic, and Vandenberg could only shoot to the south or slightly to the southeast.

  As if waiting for an opportunity to pounce, Tarbox cleared his throat and interjected, “My staff has already examined this launch site issue at length, and we have an option. We’re confident that the Gemini-I could be launched from a surface ship. As a matter of fact, we’re already making plans to initially test-fire our new Poseidon ICBM from a surface ship.”

  “Good point, Leon,” Kittredge said. “And we’ve reviewed the feasibility study that you forwarded to us, but we think it would be more advantageous to launch from a fixed site, provided we can find a suitable location.“

  Tew grimaced; he had witnessed Tarbox at work before, and knew that once that admiral had even the slightest grip on the project, he would dig in his claws and it would only be a matter of time before he wrested the entire effort from the Air Force.

  Tew looked toward Wolcott, hoping that his counterpart might have a quick answer to the launch site dilemma. Grinning broadly, Wolcott nudged him with his elbow, scrawled two words on a scrap of paper and slid it in front of Tew.

  Tew glanced at the note, raised his eyebrows, nodded, and said, “General Kittredge, we have a launch location that should support all of your requirements. We’ll just need to verify that it can be made available to us.”

  “Excellent,” said Kittredge.

  “And coincidentally, it just happens to be real estate that the Air Force already holds claim to,” boasted Wolcott, grinning at Tarbox. “Of course, we might need a little assistance from the Navy to move our hardware there.”

  “I’m sure that the Navy will be happy to oblige,” said Kittredge.

  “I’m still not entirely clear how we fit into this plan,” interjected Tew, “if this project has essentially been underway for the past two years and the hardware is already being fabricated.”

  “You two will assume the management role over the entire program,” answered Kittredge. “Including fiscal oversight and coordination of all the various moving pieces. The project will be based at Wright-Patterson. As I’ve said, virtually all of the pieces are already falling into place, except for one significant aspect. You will oversee the training and preparation of the flight crews and mission control team. To this end, to ensure that they’re operational in a timely manner, we’ve established a set of milestones for training.” Kittredge flipped through the binder’s contents until he came to a red-bordered page.

  Tew and Wolcott scanned the page. “Whew,” exclaimed Wolcott. “This is some mighty demandin’ stuff.” He pointed at a line and added, “Here you’re expectin’ these boys to fly an intercept profile for forty-eight continuous hours. Is that even humanly possible?”

  “We have no choice,” replied Kittredge. “Our preliminary studies show that it will likely take at least forty-eight hours, from launch to intercept, with an absolute minimum of assistance from the ground, to reach these targets. So, in order to declare the program as operational, we have to validate the concept.”

  “And we have just a year to do this?” asked Tew.

  Kittredge nodded.

  “And what happens if we don’t make the cut?” asked Wolcott.

  “Then I suspect that the program will be handed off to another entity,” stated Kittredge, looking toward Tarbox. “One that can make the cut.”

  “When do we get our personnel?” asked Wolcott. “Are we goin’ to be compelled to go out and shake the bushes lookin’ for someone to do this thing?”

  Kittredge answered, “We’ve identified twelve pilots—six crews—but we anticipate you trimming the roster down to four crews by the time this project is operational. All of these men are unmarried, to minimize personal problems that might interfere with the training, and have undergone extensive vetting for security and reliability issues. They’re top notch men; of the twelve, nine had previously applied to NASA for the astronaut program.”

  “And they were rejected?” asked Wolcott. “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence, General. It’s a lot like getting the pick of the litter, but only after NASA already has picked over them.”

  “They weren’t selected for very minor reasons,” explained Kittredge. “Suffice it is to say, most weren’t chosen because NASA perceived them as too military, and they were obviously concerned that they wouldn’t effectively blend into NASA’s culture or be suitable for the public relations work that comes with the astronaut job. Obviously, since we’ll be working primarily in the shadows, we’re not too concerned with these pilots’ ability to make polite speeches to the local Rotary Club.”

  Adjusting his tie as he looked at the clock on the wall, Kittredge said, “Mark, Virgil, I’m a little pressed for time. Why don’t you read that material in greater detail, and we’ll chat tomorrow morning?”

  Tew and Wolcott nodded in unison, and Tew began dividing up the pages in the briefing binder.

  “If you have just a minute, General, I think we have an answer for the electrical power issues on the ocean surveillance MOL variant,” said Tarbox, removing a report from his leather attaché case. The ocean surveillance MOL was the admiral’s pet project; if realized, it would be a Navy-specific MOL mission crewed by Navy astronauts and controlled entirely by the Navy.

  Kittredge smiled as he shook his head. “Nice try, Leon, but we’re here to wrestle just one bear today,” he observed, standing up and adjusting his coat. “We’re here to issue Mark and Virgil their marching orders and get them on their way. We’ll just have to table your project until we convene our next meeting.”

  4

  THE LETTER

  Base Exchange Snack Bar, Eglin Air Force Base, Florida

  12:07 p.m., Thursday, April 11, 1968

  Clutching a manila envelope tightly in his left hand, First Lieutenant Scott Ourecky leaned forward and kept a quick pace. He was only authorized an hour break for lunch, and the BX snack bar was a fifteen-minute brisk stroll from the Armament Lab facilities where he worked.

  The letter had landed on his desk this morning, but he had yet to open it. After being turned down for flight training four times, he had requested a fifth waiver a month ago. He returned the salute of a passing airman and then examined the unopened envelope; it bore the return address and office symbol of the Air Force Military Personnel Center at Randolph Air Force Base, Texas. A rubber-stamped notice on the front stated “OFFICIAL BUSINESS” in red block letters. Surely, it contained the long-awaited reply to his appeal.

  Arriving at the snack bar, he folded his blue garrison cap and neatly tucked it under the left epaulet of his “1505” khaki shirt. Next to the entrance was a full-length mirror under a sign that declared: “Look Sharp—Look Proud—Fly High—Air Force!” Ourecky paused to check his appearance. He adjusted his open collar before checking the “gig line” alignment of his shirt, belt and trousers.

  There was nothing particularly distinctive about his appearance: He was a very ordinary-looking man from the American Midwest. His short black hair was precisely parted and combed neatly in place. His facial features—green eyes, moderately high cheekbones, short nose and sharp chin—reflected his Czech heritage.

  Physically, he really hadn’t changed much since he had graduated from high school six y
ears ago. Although he ate virtually anything that didn’t get out of his path, he seemed incapable of gaining weight. He wasn’t exactly frail, but his reflection looked like he was still awaiting the growth spurt that had eluded him in adolescence.

  Satisfied that he was suitably presentable, Ourecky took a plastic tray from a stack and fell in line behind a queue of hungry airmen. He had hoped to beat the lunch rush but hadn’t escaped his desk in time. His heart thumped in his chest, partly from the hurried walk to get here, but mostly in anticipation of opening the letter.

  As he came alongside the grill, he shouted his order to the harried cook. In truth, he wasn’t that fond of the snack bar’s fare. The burgers were consistently overcooked and saturated in grease, the French fries were typically undercooked and cold, and the pre-packaged sandwiches were so tasteless that they could have been stamped out of damp cardboard. The snack bar wasn’t exactly convenient for him, either. It would have been much simpler and faster for him to make a dash to the burger joint just off base.

  Pushing his tray forward along stainless steel rails, he gazed toward the cash register at the end of the serving line and thought of his ulterior motive for enduring so many crappy meals. The cashier was a pretty brunette named Sara. Ourecky had been making small talk with her for the past three weeks but had not yet mustered sufficient courage to ask her out.

  In their abbreviated conversations, he had gathered Sara’s biography in terse snippets.

  Two years out of high school, she had aspirations of attending a cosmetology school as soon as she saved up enough money. She lived with her parents in nearby Niceville. Her father worked as a lumberjack for St. Joe Paper, clear-cutting pines to feed the company’s insatiable pulp mills. Her mother spent her days spooling blue denim into bolts at the Vanity Fair Mills textile plant in Milton. A Capricorn, Sara liked puppies, Corvairs, the Beatles, and Elvis. She disliked split ends, rude people, and country music.