Blue Gemini
Page 63
“I’m sure that they want to tie up the debriefings while the information is still fresh in our minds.”
“You’re right,” said Carson, unwrapping a stick of gum. “At least we have a long weekend coming up. Four whole days and then back to the grind. So, do you and Bea have any plans?”
“I talked to her last night. She’s still doing her circuit, and won’t be back until Thursday. We’re thinking about heading north and hitting the beaches on Lake Erie. We’re looking at a place up near Lorain. We’ll probably hit the road bright and early on Friday morning.”
“Sounds cool,” answered Carson. “I’ll probably just jump in the ‘Vette, blast down the road to no place in particular and blow off some steam.” He flipped a page in his magazine, scanned an article about the Apollo astronauts, and quietly growled, “It just isn’t right.”
“What’s that?”
“Hey, I know you probably think it’s trivial, but it just irks me that we’re not getting our astronaut wings.” Carson closed the magazine and set it aside. “We damned sure meet the criteria, and I’m sure that Tew and Wolcott could make it happen, if they pulled enough strings.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” noted Ourecky. “How in the world could they explain it?”
Carson twisted the right end of his moustache, smiled broadly, and confided, “I have this idea I’ve been mulling over . . .”
“Oh, an idea? This doesn’t bode well. You don’t recall that Mark Tew is more than a little upset with us right now? You don’t think we should just cut our losses and lay low until the dust settles from our last fiasco?”
“But this is a good plan,” answered Carson. “I’m sure that I could convince Virgil, and Virg could talk Tew into supporting it. Look, the guys flying the X-15 out at Edwards qualify for their wings when they make a hop over fifty miles. As it stands, we have plenty of time before we go back upstairs. With Tew’s backing, I’m sure that we could work out an arrangement where . . .”
Listening to the proposal, Ourecky wasn’t surprised at the lengths Carson was willing to go in order to pin on astronaut wings, but flying the X-15, even if Tew and the Air Force actually bought off on his farfetched plan, was still fraught with considerable risks. The sleek X-15 was an unforgiving mistress. Just two years ago, Major Mike Adams qualified for his astronaut wings on his seventh flight aboard the X-15, but he didn’t live to wear them; during his descent into the atmosphere, the black rocket plane went into a Mach 5 spin and broke up, scattering wreckage and Adams’s remains across fifty square miles of California high desert. Besides being an exceptional pilot and a brilliant scholar, Adams was in the first group of eight military pilots selected for the Manned Orbiting Laboratory program in 1965.
“. . . so that’s it,” concluded Carson. “But although it’s a no-brainer for me, I’m just trying to figure out how we’re going to work it to get your wings. There’s not a two-seat version of the X-15.”
“And maybe that’s just as well,” observed Ourecky. “I don’t know if you recall, but I’m a married man now, and I have a hard enough time explaining things as they are, much less coming home with a set of astronaut wings pinned to my chest.”
“But isn’t that something that you want, Scott? Don’t you want those wings? You’ve sure earned them.”
“Maybe,” answered Ourecky. His stomach growled audibly; he held his hand over it as he looked up at the clock again. “But obviously not as much as you want them, Drew. Look, when I was a kid, I wanted to fly in space. I’ve done that now, and the way Wolcott describes it, it won’t be too long before we go again. I never dreamed of wearing astronaut wings, riding in parades or having a contract with Life magazine. That stuff just doesn’t matter to me. I’m just happy that I got the opportunity to fly up there. That’s sufficient for me, Drew. I’m content, at least for right now. Can’t it be enough for you, also?”
Winding the stem of his Omega chronometer, Carson was pensive for a moment, and then said, “Yeah. It’s enough for me, at least for now.”
Ourecky’s stomach grumbled again. “So what’s for lunch?”
“Burgers at the O Club?” replied Carson. “Extra onions for our engineers this afternoon?”
“I’ll buy.”
“I’ll drive.”
Wright Arms Apartments, Dayton, Ohio
10:10 p.m., Thursday, June 19, 1969
Where was Bea? Watching the late evening news, Ourecky tapped his foot nervously as he waited for her to come home. She was over four hours late. A news segment explained the apparent reason for her delay—to gain the FAA’s undivided attention, the Flight Controllers’ Union was staging a massive slowdown, with waves of controllers calling in sick, so air traffic was stalled all across the eastern seaboard. The problem was most pronounced in airports serving the New York City area; scheduled flights were jammed up for over five hours, with some service held up to thirteen hours.
For whatever reason, he missed Bea more in the past few hours than he had since leaving for the PDF. Certainly, he was concerned when she was overdue and there was no immediate explanation, but even now that he understood the underlying cause for her absence, he still missed her immensely. A thousand years could have passed since he had last seen her, and he could not miss her any more.
His heart raced as he heard the familiar sound of heels clicking on the walkway outside. He stood up, switched off the television, cleared his throat, and waited anxiously. The door swung open and she stepped inside. Dropping her suitcase, Bea mumbled, “Hey, stranger.”
“Hey, yourself,” he answered, sweeping her into his arms. Holding her as tightly as he could, as if he was afraid that she might somehow slip away, he kissed her and then buried his face in her shoulder. Soaking in her familiar scent, he held her for at least a minute before loosening his grasp.
“Long trip?” she asked, loosening her scarf. “Miss me?”
“And how,” he replied. “How was your week?”
“Awful, and this slowdown sure didn’t help matters. I’m just exhausted.” She kicked off her shoes, unbuttoned her jacket, and plopped down on the couch. “I know we’re newlyweds, dear, and we’ve spent almost two weeks apart, but right now I just want to go to bed and go to sleep.”
“That’s fine,” he answered, just happy to be with her. “Do you still want to make an early start tomorrow?”
“If I wake up,” she answered, massaging her toes. “So how was your trip? The high altitude tests? Did you do much flying with Drew?”
“I did. It went well. There were a few glitches, but the results were even better than we ever anticipated.”
“That’s good,” replied Bea. “So Drew hasn’t talked you into earning your wings, has he?”
“Not yet.” He smiled as he thought about Tuesday and Carson’s X-15 scheme.
“Good. You know, dear, I really love flying, but sometimes this circuit does wear on me. It’s the same thing from one day to the next, flying back and forth on the same routes. After a while, it just seems like I’m going in circles.”
“Going in circles?” he replied, looking towards the ceiling. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”
She yawned. “Boy, it sure feels good just to have my feet back on solid ground.”
“I know that feeling, also,” he said, sitting down next to her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Only minutes later, they were both sound asleep, and for the first time in weeks, he didn’t dream of flight, but only of her.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
In writing this manuscript, I am truly indebted to:
- My brother, Ed Jenne, who participated in this project from its inception. Ed contributed his artistic expertise and ingenuity, and besides being a constant editorial sounding board, he was personally responsible for creating some of the key hardware and concepts integral to the story.
- John Muratore, who shared his invaluable knowledge of manned space flight. John is a former NASA Space Shuttle Flight Director, Program
Manager for the X-38 Crew Return Vehicle, and a veritable human encyclopedia of aeronautics.
- Colonel Frank Sabo (USAF, Ret.), for providing his immense wealth of knowledge concerning Vietnam-era fighter tactics and technology, as well as contemporary Air Force culture of that era.
- Brigadier General John R. Scales, PhD (USA, Ret.), for contributing his incredible base of knowledge concerning military history, special operations and aerospace, and also for ensuring that I consistently colored inside the lines.
- Eric Ewald, Robert Hawthorne and the late John Snow, for their proofreading expertise, honesty, integrity, and editorial contributions.
I am also beholden to several individuals who were kind enough to incrementally read the manuscript as it was being written, and provide their comments and corrections: LTC Marc Branche, Dr. John Harrison, Joe Watkins, Janie Hart, Travis Glass, Bo Canning, LTC Lance Koury, and Frankie Fisher.
Many thanks to Analytical Graphics, Inc., for use of their amazing STK (Satellite Toolkit) software in developing the missions.
Last but definitely not least, I am indebted to my wife, Adele, for her love and infinite patience.
Mike Jenne
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Author’s Note
1: Prologue one: The Man who Would be Buzz Aldrin
2: Prologue Two: The Eavesdroppers
3: Prologue Three: Marching Orders
4: The Letter
5: Night Drop at Eglin
6: Insomniacs
7: Aux One-oh: Until you Can’t
8: The Skinny Math Whiz from Wilber, Nebraska
9: The Idea that Refused to Die
10: Unwelcome
11: The Box
12: The Elusive Ejection Pod
13: The Wright Stuff
14: The Falcon Club
15: Double Nought spy School
16: Picnic
17: The Forty-Eight Hour Question
18: Truth be Told
19: Human Nature
20: Mama’s Best Chicken
21: Waking Up
22: The Frozen North
23: Saving the Ship
24: Coping With Adversity
25: Breakfast with Bea
26: Interloper
27: Christmas in Nebraska
28: Endurance
29: Out of Ashes
30: February
31: Pacific Departure
32: El Segundo
33: The Big Wheel
34: Vomit Comet
35: Sere
36: Insurance
37: Going Upstairs
38: On to Bremen
39: The Unusual Nature of Object 2368-B
Acknowledgements