by Joe Weber
Crawford was intently concentrating on the flight instruments, fixating
on a few. The vibration is beginning to make this very diffic
Watch your roll, boss, Doherty reminded Crawford, noting the right wing had dropped seven degrees.
Got it! Crawford answered, then stared at the RCS pitch thrusters deactivated light. The bright light winked on, startling the shuttle commander.
The elevens now controlled pitch, as well as roll, with limited hydraulic pressure to activate the aerodynamic flight controls.
Columbia was crippled and entering a dangerous transition zone.
Hang on guys! Crawford said as the shuttle, over the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Baja California, neared 230,000 feet of altitude at 14,000 miles an hour.
This would be the time of maximum heating to the orbiter as atmospheric drag dissipated the kinetic energy of the shuttle.
The nose and wing leading edges, heavily covered in thermal protecting tiles, would reach temperatures above 2,800 degrees Fahrenheit.
Maj. Ward Culdrew, sitting in Minh Tran's seat, tightened his straps and keyed his intercom.
Please extinguish all smoking material, and bring your stewardess to an upright position.
Columbia started to buffet, then oscillated in roll and pitch.
I don't like this... Crawford, obviously strained, said over the intercom.
Stay with it, Doherty replied in a tense, low voice.
The shuttle began to yaw, increasing in magnitude, with each roll. The emergency boosted flight controls could not react rapidly enough to stabilize the orbiter.
Crawford fought the controls, breathing heavily. I'm losing it... oh.
God ... I've lost it...
THE AGENTS Dimitri and Wickham stared with terror-filled eyes as the other Russian gunship landed fifty meters from the first helicopter.
The gunner from the first Mi-28 crawled out of the helicopter and cautiously approached the Lada. He carried a handgun and had another weapon slung over his shoulder.
After carefully reconnoitering the stolen vehicle, the gunner returned to confer with the gunship pilot. After two or three minutes, an eternity to the CIA agents, the second helicopter added power and hovered approximately ten meters over the pavement.
The Russian gunner remained close to the first gunship as the second Mi-28 began to circle slowly in the area around the Lada. After two complete circles the second helicopter departed in the direction they had arrived from, following the road.
The first gunship remained stationary as the big rotors wound down.
The huge Isotov turboshafts idled noisily, masking any conversation for a hundred meters.
Dimitri, we've got a break, Wickham whispered. The choppers don't have much range. I'm sure the other bastard went after fuel. When he gets back who knows how long-then this guy will go.
Dimitri nodded his head in understanding, feeling more confident.
Wickham slid next to Dimitri. They know we're in the vicinity. After they're both full of fuel, and, probably, have reinforcements on the way, then they'll begin the hunt in earnest.
Wickham looked around the area, then turned back to his charge. We've got to move now, get as much real estate between us and them as soon as possible.
Dimitri, calming himself, responded positively. Okay, I'm ready.
I'll ... I'll be okay.
Good. Follow me and stay on your stomach. We're going to crawl to that
tree line, Wickham pointed in the direction, and then cut back across
the road to
Across the road? They... Dimitri stopped, eyes enlarged, expressing his worry about the open road.
Dimitri, they're going to find our footprints by the stream and figure we headed straight across the field. That's natural.
They'll lose our prints in this nibble. If we crawl through this crap, we won't leave any signs. They won't expect us to backtrack and cross the road. Besides, the road curves. We'll just go to a point where we can't see the chopper and then cross.
Got it?
Yes, Dimitri replied, brushing himself off.
Let's go. Real slow and easy, no quick movements, the American coached as the two agents belly-crawled toward the distant tree line.
Wickham struggled after Dimitri, hiding the pain in his arm.
Every shift of his body, using only his left arm, sent a throbbing ache through his shoulder.
After fifteen minutes, punctuated by frequent stops to listen and look around, the two men reached the scraggly tree line.
They stopped and listened again, then crawled to the edge of the small stream. The American led Dimitri across the stream, leaping over the ice and landing on thick, brown winter grass.
Dimitri followed, landing in the same spot.
The agents crouched down and walked to the edge of the road. Wickham spoke quietly to Dimitri. Stay put and I'll check the road.
The American, creeping on his hands and knees, ventured to the edge of the roadway. Standing half-upright, Wickham edged toward the center of the road.
Both men heard the sound at the same instant.
WHOP-WHOPWHOP-WHOP.
Wickham dove back into the sparse shrubbery as the other gunship, flying extremely low, rounded the curve at high speed.
That was close! the American said, catching his breath.
Dimitri, let's go before the other guy gets off the ground.
The agents darted across the bare pavement as the arriving helicopter slowed to a hover. They could hear the engine of the first helicopter begin to develop take-off power.
Come on, Dimitri, Wickham ordered, holding his right shoulder.
Follow me.
Chapter Thirteen.
THE WHITE HOUSE
The White House Situation Room was in upheaval when the vice president walked into the chaos.
Gentlemen. All conversations stopped, heads turning toward Blaylocke.
The president has landed at Andrews and he is boarding Marine One at this time. I believe it would be prudent for us to await his arrival before we initiate any contact with the Kremlin.
Everyone agreed, standing by their seats until the vice president sat down at the head of the conference table.
Blaylocke surveyed the situation status displays, then turned to the group. Cliff, can you give us an update on Columbia?
The secretary of defense paused momentarily, then addressed the staff.
NASA scientists, along with Doctor Hays, believe the Russians used an antisatellite killer, one of their new ASAT satellites, to hit the space shuttle. How so? asked General Vandermeer.
The source of energy the brilliant light combined with the destruction, points to a laser beam. Nothing else would have the same effect, or the same properties.
Blaylocke interrupted. What about the crew? Can the shuttle make a safe descent, considering the damage it sustained?
Howard half-turned toward the vice president.
Mission Control isn't sure at this point. The crew used emergency extinguishers to put out two small electrical fires. Their hydraulic systems were damaged, too. The commander also reported a slight loss in cabin pressure.
Howard lifted his water glass, sipping two swallows, then continued.
To make matters worse, NASA engineers aren't sure the shuttle has the structural integrity to survive the reentry.' What's the primary reason? Blaylocke asked, weariness showing in her eyes.
They aren't sure if the vertical stabilizer, the tail, will remain intact when they penetrate the lower, denser atmosphere.' The room was totally quiet as Howard continued the brief.
Also, the structural load on the orbiter will be tremendous because of the damage to the cargo-bay doors. The fuselage section, from the middle of the cargo bay to the tail, is extensively damaged. The big question seems to be whether or not the cargo doors will remain locked and provide the strength to keep Columbia in one piece during the high-speed reentry.
General Vandermeer indicated that he
had a question. Is it possible to launch one of the other shuttles and rescue the crew in low orbit?
Howard turned to Vandermeer. That really isn't an option, General.
In fact, Columbia should be reentering now. We should know something soon.
Blaylocke thanked the secretary and turned to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Admiral Chambers, will you give us an overview of the global situation to this point?
Yes, ma'am, Chambers replied, spreading three briefing sheets, side by side, on the table.
The Russian bomber groups have entered large holding patterns. There is a constant shuttle of tanker aircraft supplying the bombers. A large number of the escort fighters have returned to coastal bases. We anticipate they'll be returning to the bombers soon.
What about the submarines? Blaylocke asked, looking at her watch.
Their big boomers, at least the ones we've detected, have moved into firing positions. They are well spaced to inflict the maximum damage.
We've got every operable sub stalking them, along with the P-3s, Vikings, and our ASW helicopters.
Chambers reached for a different briefing sheet. Our bombers, including the Stealth aircraft, are cycling on and off station.
Our missile forces, both ground-and submarine-based, are at the ready.
Also, Chambers continued, scanning the third sheet of paper, the activated reserve and guard units are ready for immediate deployment.
Chambers looked up at Blaylocke. Our F-117As, the Stealth fighters, are strategically stationed at NATO bases. We are keeping six airborne around the clock until this crisis is over. The Navy carrier groups are in excellent positions to respond to any hostility. They have over twenty squadrons of Navy and Marine Corps aircraft at coast bases standing by to supplement the air wings on board the carriers.
An aide stepped into the room and announced the arrival of Marine One.
Thank you. Commander, Blaylocke replied, then addressed Chambers.
How long can we keep this up? What's your estimate?
Chambers frowned, then placed his papers in a neat stack.
We can remain in this posture for a protracted period of time, no question. The primary problem, as we see it, is the inevitable encounter that will lead to further escalations, and, possibly, a nuclear showdown.
Another aide, wearing the uniform of an Army lieutenant colonel, entered the room. He approached the vice president and handed her a message.
Blaylocke read the contents, then sighed in despair, and removed her glasses. Gentlemen, we've lost another SDI satellite.
The group sat stunned as Blaylocke turned to the defense secretary.
Cliff, your recommendation. It's time to take action, Cliff Howard said, balling a piece of paper in his hand. Past time. The Soviets know we don't need SDI to win a nuclear war. It only lessens our casualty rate. Our conventional and nuclear delivery systems are much more accurate and reliable than theirs.
The former general secretary, Chambers politely interrupted, didn't believe we needed SDI to win. That's why he was so willing to compromise. Zhilinkhov on the other hand, well, we simply don't know what he believes. True, Howard continued, we don't know. However, the Soviets are aware of our standoff strike capability, the accuracy of our weapons.
Also, in my opinion, what they fear most is our Stealth bomber.
Chambers looked at Blaylocke. That's true, to a degree.
The Soviets know any massive strike to Russia would be evident on radar scopes very quickly. They would have time to respond in kind. What they are most concerned about is having thirty or forty B-2 bombers, loaded with nuclear weapons, undetected on radar, over the Soviet Union. They wouldn't have any warning time.
My point, Howard broke in. I think the recent deployment of the Stealth aircraft, both the fighter/attack airplane and the bomber, has caused Zhilinkhov to react. I don't think his primary concern is SDI.
I may be wrong.
MOSCOW Zhilinkhov, tired from his trip to Lajes, waited while the cardiologist closed his bag, retrieved his topcoat, and walked through the huge doors of the Kremlin residence.
The general secretary looked at the capsule of blood pressure medicine, then decided he needed a Stolichnaya on ice.
Well, comrades, the American space defense system is no longer fully operable. Our plan will work, without question.
We will pull back, then mount a massive first strike as soon as the Americans return to a normal status. Zhilinkhov smiled, pleased with his efforts.
The Politburo members, along with Defense Minister Trofim Porfir'yev, did not appear convinced. The men remained quiet, each with a vodka in his hand.
Well, Zhilinkhov asked, what is your opinion, my friends? You do not seem to share my joy.
The senior Politburo member, Pulaev, carefully placed his glass on the end table, inhaled his cigar, ashed, then looked at Zhilinkhov.
Viktor Pavlovich, we are very concerned.
Concerned? Zhilinkhov replied, a quizzical look on his puffy red face.
Concerned about what?
The spy, the CIA agent planted here in your quarters.
How did the blundering idiots at KGB allow that to happen?
The elder politician, jaw set, was loudly grinding his teeth.
Calm yourself, my friend, or you'll be needing this medicine, too.
Zhilinkhov's attempt at humor fell on deaf ears. There is no need to worry. Colonel General Vranesevic, the GRU commander, assures me they have the spies contained. It is only a matter of time, comrades.
What about the rest of your staff, Viktor Pavlovich? How many other spies have infiltrated our walls? The Politburo chief drank the last of his vodka while he waited for the general secretary to answer.
Zhilinkhov scowled. They have been checked, all of them, and interrogated. There are no other spies, believe me. Colonel General Vranesevic does not believe the American agent knows anything valuable.
The KGB didn't find any electronic eavesdropping equipment or
transmitters anywhere on or around the
Our present KGB, with respect, Viktor Pavlovich, couldn't track a hemorrhaging elephant in a snow field.
Zhilinkhov sat back, pulled out a fresh cigar, chewed on the end, then responded. I have sent word to KGB headquarters.
If the two American spies escape, Chervenok will be relieved of command.
Does that satisfy you, my friends?
The Politburo members looked shocked. The senior member spoke again.
Viktor Pavlovich, what in the name of ... ? Chervenok is a candidate for the Politburo! He has many influential friends, many ties with leaders in the Central Committee. This is not good, Viktor Pavlovich.Not good...
It will pass, Zhilinkhov replied, as all things do eventually.
The general secretary smiled, lighted his cigar, then added to his statement. Please relax. The American spy, and our traitor, will be caught. No information will leak out. Chervenok will be spared, and our plan will bear fruit.
Zhilinkhov puffed on his cigar, then rose to his feet, walking slowly to the open bar. He poured a large quantity of Stolichnaya in a glass, then turned to his friends. Comrades, trust me.
NEAR NOVGOROD
Just five or six more kilometers, Dimitri. We'll take a break in a few minutes.
Okay, Dimitri replied, breathing hard, his breath condensing in the cold February air.
The late afternoon light was fading under the low overcast as the two men trudged through the deserted fields. Small snowflakes had started falling, drifting lazily through the sparse trees.
Do you think they got your message? Dimitri asked, shivering uncontrollably.
Let's not borrow trouble, huh? We've got enough problems, Wickham panted.
Both agents walked another kilometer in silence, staying close to a collective farm.
The American broke the silence. Dimitri, if we encounter anyone, let me do the talking.
Wickham glanced at Dimitri, who nodded in return.
We had an accident and left our car. That's how we got in this shape. We still have our credentials, so The American abruptly stopped, dropping to the ground on his hands and knees. He motioned Dimitri to follow him. The two men sprinted to a tree line and dove into the underbrush, breathing heavily.
What is it? Dimitri asked, his grimy face contorted in fear.
You hear that? Wickham briefly glanced at Dimitri, then back to the sky. The choppers are back! The American looked back along their path.Son-of-a-bitch! They must have found where we crossed the road.
Dimitri stared at the approaching helicopters, his mind confused and fatigued. He had never been so tired in his life. The agent reeked from crawling through the garbage pile and his hand still ached.
The Soviet Mi-28s were clattering along, hugging the treetops.
They looked menacing, even from a distance. Both agents watched the helicopters flow over the landscape, nimble, deadly, probing every foot of terrain.
Dimitri, they've got infrared sensors. We've got to get out of here!
Wickham grimaced in pain as he bumped his shoulder turning around.
I don't understand, Dimitri replied, shivering in the semidarkness.
What is infrared?
They can spot body heat in total darkness. Especially in cold conditions like this.
The American frantically scanned the terrain in all directions, then motioned for Dimitri to follow him.
After traveling sixty meters in the brush, hugging the tree line, Wickham stopped.
Dimitri, our only chance is to make a run for those animal pens. The agent pointed toward two fenced areas next to a feeding trough. It's dark enough for us to conceal ourselves in the middle of the pigs and sheep. We've got to blend our body temperatures in with the animals.
Dimitri nodded in silence.
Let's go, the American yelled as they crashed through the brush, stumbling, then vaulted over the fence and sprinted to the edge of the pens.
Both men, panting, lay flat on their stomachs next to the crude fence.
They could hear the sound of the helicopters growing closer.
Okay ... we've got to move slowly to the edge of the sheep... can't scare them. The American paused to catch his breath.
