The Glass Lady

by Douglas Savage

“Our man in Vienna reported in an hour ago. No joy with the Russians.” Admiral Hauch wiped his perspiring forehead with his large hand. “And they know—damn near down to the wiring schematics.” The Admiral, in regulation shirtsleeves and open collar, sagged in his massive chair. “Bloody bastards.”

  The long table was huge in the chilly glass cage where only four weary men sat in the Admiral’s council. Two men sat at each side of the conference table with the presiding Navy man at its head. Beside him, a young Marine sat at attention while his fingers rested poised upon his stenomachine’s black keys. Disinfected, dehumidified, hypoallergenic, double-filtered air gushed rhythmically from the glass vents overhead and in the glass floor.

  Commander Mike Rusinko of the Navy sat beside Colonel James Cerven of the Air Force. They looked tiredly across the broad table at Colonel Dale Stermer from the Air Force and Joseph Vazzo, the stoney-faced diplomat from State.

  “For the record,” the Admiral droned as the young Marine’s fingers danced, “present are Commander Rusinko, Eastern Test Range; Colonel Cerven, Air Force, Western Test Range, Vandenberg; Colonel Stermer, Air Force Space Command; and Joe Vazzo of State.

  “You have all been briefed on our LACE malfunction. At a session here yesterday, we ruled out disabling LACE with our own Earth-based laser weapons. Two hours ago, we concluded a conference between our people here and the anti-satellite operations people at Langley Air Force Base, Virginia, and McCord Air Force Base, Washington. We reviewed the developmental integration of our experimental, miniature homing vehicle, anti-satellite system being tested at those bases. As you know, but for Joe’s benefit, that device is a two-stage anti-satellite missile launched from an F-15 fighter plane. The missile is powered by a Boeing Short Range Attack Missile motor, or SCRAM, with a Vought Altair upper stage. The whole mini-missile device was first launched from an F-15 fighter in November 1984. The homing device sighted in on a star out over California. But nothing went into orbit and all we really tested was the infrared tracking optics. Our people say ‘no way’ as to hitting LACE.”

  The Admiral mopped his brow.

  “What’s up your sleeve, Michael?”

  “One long shot, Joe. And only one.”

  The three officers leaned toward the Admiral.

  “The space shuttle, gentlemen.”

  The Marine stenographer opened his eyes for a moment to study the Admiral’s anxious face. The big Navy man looked feverish. The young Marine closed his eyes.

  “We have one shuttle from the last mission on the ground at Edwards,” Admiral Hauch continued. “If only we could do a quick turnout there and launch her from the Vandenburg shuttle launch facility. Unfortunately, as you know, that whole complex was shut down after the Challenger disaster. So all we have right now is Endeavor already on the pad at Cape Canaveral.” The Admiral wiped perspiration from his face. “Commander Rusinko, can we go from Kennedy in a hurry?”

  “Well, Michael, Endeavor is already stacked on Pad 39, as you know. If we had to, we could run a wet, plugs-out countdown test right now. However . . . if you’re planning what I imagine—a rendezvous with LACE and going extravehicular with the shuttle crew—I’m concerned about the crew in line to fly the next Endeavor mission in six weeks.”

  “You’re correct about the flight plan,” interrupted Colonel Stermer of the Air Force Space Command. “The shuttle would rendezvous with LACE, stabilize it with an astronaut going EVA wearing the Manned Maneuvering Unit backpack, and the crew would use Shuttle’s remote manipulator system to affix a rocket engine to LACE. We’re thinking of the PAM—the Payload Assist Module motor. It would fire and drive LACE back into the atmosphere where re-entry heating would incinerate LACE.”

  “What about LACE getting a shot off at Shuttle, or at one of the astronauts?” Joseph Vazzo asked gravely.

  “Dale?”

  “To continue, Admiral: We would line the whole payload bay of Shuttle with a blanket of aluminized Mylar. In effect, we would create a mirror to deflect LACE’s laser beam. Admittedly, the more serious problem would be protection of the rest of the shuttle which could not be blanketed. We believe, Admiral, that once we stabilize LACE with the manned maneuvering unit’s thrusters and by precision attitude hold by Shuttle, we can keep LACE’s optics off the unblanketed skin of Shuttle. We displayed that kind of attitude-hold accuracy—holding Shuttle steady to within five-hundredths of a degree—as early as Shuttle Three in March 1982. On STS-3, we needed that kind of precision position control for the payload of the Navy’s X-ray, solar polarimeter experiment.

  “We have flown the PAM rocket module since Shuttle 5 in November ’82. Two of them were attached to satellites launched from the payload bay on that flight. And PAM motors have flown on shuttle payloads routinely.” The officer shuffled through his documents. “We flew the PAM motor on Shuttles 7 and 8 in ’83, Shuttle 12 in ’84, Shuttles 16, 18, and 23, in 1985, and once in ’86 on flight 24. In fact, 3 PAM boosters were flown on each of missions 18 and 23. Our only serious failure was on Shuttle 10 when both PAM boosters failed to ignite on satellites deployed from the bay. We would attach a PAM to LACE during a spacewalk.

  “Specifically, our first EVA was done with the successful spacewalks of astronauts Musgrave and Peterson on Shuttle Six in April 1983. Neither pilot used the Manned Maneuvering Unit. We finally flew the MMU outside on Shuttle Ten in February 1984, when astronauts McCandless and Stewart flew the rocket-powered backpacks to distances up to 300 feet away from Shuttle. Before that flight, no American or Soviet pilot had gone EVA without a safety-line tether.

  “And, as we all know, the whole ball of wax was done on Shuttle Eleven in April 1984, the Solar Maximum repair flight. The shuttle executed a rendezvous with the disabled, orbiting observatory, hooked it with the shuttle’s mechanical arm, and astronauts Nelson and vanHoften went EVA to fix it in the payload bay. They also worked with the flying grapple fixture we hope to attach to LACE by hand so the remote arm can latch on to it. The grapple failed on Eleven, but we’ve worked the bugs out since then.”

  “But, Colonel Stermer, can the shuttle arm hang on to something as heavy as LACE?”

  “Definitely, Mr. Secretary. On Eleven, the arm held the two-and-one-half ton Solar Max and also held the eleventon Long Duration Exposure Facility—a lab bench which was left behind in orbit with a year’s worth of automated experiments inside. No sweat as to LACE or the PAM device.”

  “Well done, Dale. Commander Rusinko, what were you saying about the crew now flight-ready?”

  “Yes, Admiral. Our next crew set to fly Endeavor has trained only to deploy two commercial satellites from the payload bay. They have no hard EVA training other than for emergency EVA to close the payload bay doors if the motors or latches hang up.”

  “Colonel Cerven, any thoughts?”

  “Yes, Admiral. We cannot simply announce to the world that we’re going EVA from a shuttle with an inadequately trained crew to blow up a killer satellite. The problem is cosmetic in the extreme.”

  “Go on, Jim.”

  “Admiral, we need the right crew and the right cover story for the media if we are to avoid another damned feeding frenzy like we saw after we lost Challenger. I’m thinking about the Palapa-Westar operation. You will recall that we trained a four-man, one-woman crew for the Palapa-Westar rescue mission performed by Shuttle Fourteen, Mission 51-A in November 1984. Since that crew was successful, they are still rather well known to the press. But for the first time since Shuttle Two back in ’81, we also trained a back-up crew to keep the insurance companies that underwrote the retrieval operation happy. Will Parker and Jack Enright, both of whom you know, were the back-up pilots. Trained with them were two mission specialists who would have done the spacewalks. That reserve crew would have gone only if the primary crew on Fourteen had failed.

  “My people are proposing that we send only Parker and Enright to do the whole LACE operation—no other crewmen. First, eliminating the two mission specialists would cut our poten
tial losses in half if the worst happens, Second, neither Parker nor Enright are well known to the media people. Parker flew in Gemini and in Apollo. But that’s ancient history to the press. Enright has never flown. They don’t have any friends in the press corps. These guys are real hard-asses. The Cape and Houston people call them ‘the icemen.’ Let Parker handle the ship while Enright goes outside. They both already have extensive EVA training for the Palapa-Westar rescue flight. In fact, they are still in active training for a shuttle military mission next year.”

  “Palapa and Westar,” Secretary Vazzo inquired.

  “Yes, Mr. Secretary,” Colonel James Cerven continued with his fine Long Island accent showing just a trace of North Carolina. “Palapa was the Indonesian communications satellite and Westar-6 the Western Union bird, both lost when their PAM boosters failed to light properly on Shuttle 10 in ’84. They shot off into the wrong orbits, luckily low enough for another shuttle to get up to them. Shuttle 14 went after them. After a successful rendezvous in space, our two astronauts did a spacewalk—EVA—to bring them back into the shuttle payload bay for return to Earth.

  “Here’s our plan as of this moment: On March 14, 1990, a Titan-3 missile launched the Intelsat-6 spacecraft into space. Unfortunately, the rocket failed to get the satellite into the proper orbit. The 265-million-dollar bird is parked in a useless orbit of 220 by 140 miles.

  “We propose to announce that sudden degradation of Intelsat’s systems from prolonged exposure require an emergency shuttle mission to pick it up and return it to Earth for repairs. This is exactly what we did with Palapa and Westar. Astronauts Parker and Enright, under that cover, will rendezvous with LACE instead, attach the PAM, and blast LACE into the atmosphere. My people are confident of having the perfect cover with the perfect crew: absolutely trained but rather unknown.”

  Secretary Vazzo looked uncomfortable.

  “What about security as far as radio communications with your Parker and Enright up there?” the Secretary demanded wearily.

  “Good point, Mr. Secretary,” the Colonel nodded. “If the Russians and the European Space Agency both agree to maintain our cover, then the only real security problem is worldwide monitoring of our air-to-ground communications. And we have a handle on that: Normally, we communicate with shuttles by the high-altitude, TDRS satellites—Tracking Data and Relay satellites. These birds give us virtually constant contact with shuttles. But they can also be listened to. So, we are now working around the clock to get crews into the old NASA network of ground-tracking stations. We began closing them down around the world in 1989, to replace them with TDRS satellites. We can communicate with Parker and Enright through these old ground stations and then relay the communications to Houston and NASA by landlines which are tap-proof. And we even have a perfect cover for this change: In February 1990, one of the TDRS birds went on the blink. Its Ku-band antenna broke so we could not get shuttle television pictures down. That TDRS had been sent up in September of ’88. So, we will also be announcing with our Intelsat-6 press release that we may have to rely on the old NASA ground stations since we will need good television coverage of the Intelsat rendezvous and spacewalk. Perfect, gentlemen . . . Everything perfect.” Colonel Cerven looked tired but pleased.

  “Assuming,” Secretary Vazzo sighed, “that you can work with Moscow’s new Chief of Staff, Marshall Akhromeyev. Don’t underestimate this new man.” The diplomat’s face showed the strain.

  “We’re working on that, Joe,” the Admiral said with fatigue in his voice. “Our people agree with Colonel Cerven’s proposal. Colonel Stermer, how soon can your people switch Parker and Enright to the LACE operation, install the mylar blankets in the shuttle’s payload bay, and have Endeavor launch-ready from the Cape?”

  “Just say the word, Admiral. We can pull Endeavor’s chocks in thirty days.” The Colonel from Canaveral was ecstatic.

  “How about ninety-six hours . . . Four days.”

  The silence was intense.

  “Admiral, we would barely have time for external tank chilldown and for installing Endeavor’s pyrotechnics. Twenty days at the very best. And that’s leaving a mess of screws untightened.”

  “Four days, Dale.”

  “Admiral. Forgive me. But it cannot be done.” The man from Florida looked stricken.

  “Dale, four days. That’s the word from upstairs. The final word.”

  The Marine stenographer opened his eyes to join the little company looking at the harried officer from Cape Canaveral.

  “Admiral: Four days. December 18th . . . Do you know what ‘Palapa’ means in Indonesia? It means ‘Fruit of our Effort.’ ”

  “Think we’re going to get fired, Skipper?” Jacob Enright asked with a weak grin.

  The two fliers slouched in their flightsuits soaked with sweat. They sat alone in the Johnson Center’s conference room, the same sterile room where they had been humiliated the previous night.

  “Wouldn’t mind, Jack. This crap of flying the simulator at dawn or at midnight so the other crews can fly it in daylight is getting to me.” Colonel Parker looked over his coffee mug to the cold darkness beyond the window. “Midnight again, Jack. Going to forget how to fly in daylight.” When angry, the Colonel’s voice lost its down-home drawl.

  “I know. At least, Will, we didn’t bend our metal today . . . All damn morning shooting launch aborts, and half the night doing workarounds in the cockpit on electrical glitches . . . Was it this afternoon we tipped a few at your place, or was it last week?” Enright sighed, slouched deeper into his chair, and with closed eyes he sipped his cold coffee.

  The conference-room door opened and the tall, bearded flight director entered, followed by his wake of pipe smoke. His face was grim as Parker and Enright looked up with bleary and dark eyes. The fliers waited for the rest of the director’s entourage for another simulator, postmortem at midnight.

  The Flight Director turned his face to the door, which he pulled closed behind him. The two seated airmen looked quickly at each other as their sleepy minds registered that the Flight Director was alone.

  “Git them resumes ready, Number One,” Colonel Parker whispered to Enright as the youthful engineer in a cloud of pipe smoke sat down opposite the exhausted pilots.

  Parker and Enright sat up as the Director intently studied the ashen-faced astronauts. The pilots looked back at the Director’s face, an anguished face, thought Parker.

  “Jack. Will,” the Director said, laying his pipe upon the bare table.

  “Hutch,” greeted the Colonel with what was left of his strained good cheer.

  The airmen waited impatiently while the Director studied his own hands upon the table.

  “The next mission is yours.”

  That was it. The Flight Director’s facial muscles did not move.

  “Oh,” offered William Parker from his dry throat. He whispered, but his brain did handstands.

  The Flight Director’s words rattled around behind Enright’s heavy eyes. The full thought did not root in Enright’s mind before the Director continued his monologue.

  “Does the LACE mean anything to either of you?”

  “Don’t know, Hutch,” Jack Enright smiled. “I’ve never been married.”

  “Hot damn, Skipper!” Jacob Enright sang beneath the blinding arc lights of the midnight parking lot. He fairly danced in the cold, black drizzle between his sensuous driving machine and the Colonel’s battered truck.

  “Four days?” the Colonel asked blankly with his wornout face pressed against the rain-streaked side window of his pickup. With his large hand cupped to the sides of his wet face to shield his eyes from the glare of the flood-lights, he surveyed the puddle of water growing on the front seat of his flatbed relic.

  “Come on, Will,” Enright pleaded, unable to restrain his pleasure. “The LPS can get her off in four days. We’ve run fully automatic countdowns since Eight.”

  Colonel Parker turned to his young partner in the light rain. He envied his copilot for
his passion and his vigor. The Colonel had been that way—20 years earlier when he had posed thin and proud beside a sleek jet amid the rice paddies. He had saved the picture.

  “Maybe the Launch Processing System can push us off well enough. But I need a little time to kick the tires before cranking up.”

  “We’ll make time, Skipper. Unless we have pneumonia. Let’s get out of the rain.”

  Enright led his captain to his little treasure, a shining chassy tightly wrapped around a monster engine. Enright squeezed in behind the wood steering wheel.

  Inside Enright’s four-wheeled cockpit, Colonel Parker looked at his knees pulled up to his sweat- and rain-soaked chest. The array of battery and engine dials gave the illusion of a jet cockpit idling on the apron, aching for the purple sky. The low midnight sky leaked softly upon the windows.

  “Look at it this way, Will,” Enright counseled as his breath fogged the windshield close to his face. “We’ve trained for Palapa-Westar Six and for flying the MMU. And we’re already working on next year’s rendezvous and recovery flight to retrieve a fused-out, recon satellite for the Defense Department. The Manipulator Arm has flown successfully since STS-2. The Plasma Diagnostics Package checked out perfectly on Three in ’82. It’ll sniff out any radiation or flux leaks from LACE just fine. This thing is exactly what we are trained to do: First-orbit rendezvous with a target, go outside with the MMU, stabilize LACE with the manned maneuvering unit and the flying grapple fixture, attach the pyro package with the RMS, and push ’er off. All in a good day’s work, Will.” Enright was still euphoric, itching for his first ride Out There. He looked longingly at the black and rainy sky, his sky at last.

  This would be Colonel Parker’s fourth flight into the blackness. Another day at the office was all.

  “What do you know about LACE, Jack?” Will Parker asked with his face looking over his right shoulder toward his truck. He could hear it rusting in the rain.

  “Only what I read in Aviation Week.”

  “Well, buddy. Whatever is in Aviation Week must be the truth.” The Colonel smiled at his truck.