by T I WADE
The launch of SB-III was to be delayed for a day, due to the checks taking longer than expected before she could be refueled. In the meantime Jonesy went up with the crew of the Dead Chicken on three practice flights. The aircraft hadn’t been touched since its landing at Creech, except to be flown back to Nellis to have the engines gone over, and then flown back to the airfield. She also had full tanks, thanks to the air force.
Since full tanks weren’t part of their flight plan to 50,000 feet, Allen phoned up a friend at Nellis and asked for a military ambulance and an empty fuel truck, so that they could unload the unnecessary fuel. He smiled when his friend asked for the two missing Bradleys to be returned, and Allen told him to ask the NSA. Maybe they had them.
Both Jonesy and Penny, who was showing a noticeable belly, donned their space suits for the flight 48 hours after they had been aboard for the last test of the C-5. Hydrogen fuel was being pumped into SB-III’s new tanks, and the two rear hydrogen Pulse engines had been gone over a dozen times to make sure every small part was operational.
The load factor, without the extremely heavy solid rocket fuel, had decreased by ten tons, and even with the rear cargo bay filled with a one-ton cargo of frozen beef, she was lighter than ever before. The one original rear second-stage hydrogen thruster was only a third as powerful as the two old first-stage rockets, so on this one practice launch into space the Dead Chicken would launch them from the usual 50,000 feet.
SB-III, still without her two new powerful side thrusters installed, and her laser gun and other added accessories dismantled, was still the same size, and would fit into the Dead Chicken’s cargo bay as before. On her second launch, she would have the two new side thrusters installed between her two smaller cargo bays, and that was the end of the shuttle’s chances of ever getting a free ride. Jonesy’s cargo was only one ton this test launch, frozen beef and an empty crew cabin.
SB–II, only 24 hours behind Jonesy was to be launched with a cargo of three tons of a newer Nano-Silicone plastic and a one-ton, newly developed Nano-Silicone infra-red blast oven the size of a minivan.
The original Silicone material had been applied to the ends of the corridors in space to seal them, the whole outside of America One, and was also poured over the entire apron of the airfield. If one looked carefully at the new airfield, the electric cables weren’t connected to the runway, apron and landing lights. All the runway equipment’s energy—and it needed a lot of electricity—was being supplied by the see-through silicone layer on the large apron.
Over the months in space the specific Silicone team in Germany had continued working on this new material they had invented for Ryan only months before America One was flown into space. They used their bonuses to open a small operation in Munich and had continued to develop and improve on this new material. They were eager to show the improvements to Ryan, and told him of their new research.
Ryan didn’t hesitate. He purchased their available supplies and future supplies of sixteen tons for 30 million dollars. Much of the newer material still needed to be tested in the minus 160 degrees of space. The older material on the ends of the cylinders had hardened in the cold, but was not indestructible, as VIN had found out opening them. On the apron, in the day’s heat it hardened up, but at night, especially on a cold winter night with below freezing temperatures, it became slightly softer.
“OK, Bob, fire her up,” ordered Jonesy in SB-III from the hold of the Dead Chicken. Jonesy had said goodbye to Maggie, who was already walking, but was wheeled out into the warm dark morning to watch her husband and Penny launch into orbit. Everybody was interested in this flight as it would look totally different from Earth, when the lone rear hydrogen thruster ignited. The glare would be greatly reduced without the first-stage system. Also, they were eager to see, hear, or even feel the first pulses emitted out of the two rear hydrogen pulse thrusters at 70,000 feet. One pulse would be emitted every second for ten minutes to get SB-III into orbit. Jonesy and Penny were tightly strapped in, as even they didn’t know what to expect.
“You will need to get out of my way ASAP, Bob,” Jonesy instructed as they rose in the quiet interior of the C-5. “Just in case, get as far away as you can once I ignite, then get down as close to ground as you can in the five long minutes it’s going to take me to reach 70,000 feet. We might even topple over and head downwards at this agonizing expected rate of climb, and I will be on manual flight until those new babies kick in.”
“Roger, Jonesy. I will drop this bird like a stone. Just remember to shout out a warning to me at 68,000. I will straighten her out in case this pulse of yours hits us like an EMP burst.”
“Roger that,” replied Jonesy. “Hopefully this is the only time you will be airborne when these pulsers go off; we are now on the cutting edge of science. Just imagine, Bob, two old cronies like us, two air force pilots now as close to the boundaries of science, as breaking the sound barrier for the first time!”
“Between you and me, Jonesy, and everybody listening,” laughed Bob, “I’d rather be fishing. We are heading through 41,000 feet, the sun’s about to light the horizon, astronauts.”
As he had done on dozens of occasions Bob reached maximum altitude and began his descent. The shuttle was lighter than usual. Without the solid rocket fuel on board she weighed much less. Also the first-stage rocket motors had weighed twice as much as the new pulsers. All in all, on the weighing platform SB-III had come in ten tons lighter, fully fueled than her being empty.
This gave Bob a slight increase of turn rate to head back up, and he had increased her speed by ten knots on full power before he let her pullout and then climb.
“41,000 feet… 530 knots… 43,000 feet… 510 knots. We are keeping our speed up a little better with the low weight, Jonesy. 47,000 feet… 470 knots… 51,000 feet… 445 knots. I’m letting you go a second late……… Releasing now… 53,500 feet… 400 knots on the dot. You are out and on your own, Jonesy… banking hard right and going into a dive, Good luck, Colonels. God speed!” The C-5 disappeared from Penny’s view as the hydrogen thruster ignited.
At the higher speed, the shuttle was calm and non-turbulent. The expected clout in the back didn’t happen. This time Jonesy just felt the thruster ignite, much like it did at a much higher altitude. He was already igniting the second-stage, just lower than usual.
“55,000 feet, 370 knots, we feel a slight acceleration but nothing like the usual. Speed climbing slowly, 390 knots, 401 knots, altitude 56,000 feet.”
Three sets of listeners were paying rapt attention to Jonesy’s commentary: America One, Ryan and all his crew; Ground Control and the controllers on Earth; and the crew in the Dead Chicken dropping rapidly. Bob and his team had to get down to below 20,000 feet to be at a minimum of 50,000 feet from the first hydrogen pulses, when they exploded out of the rear of SB-III.
“Speed 470 knots, 58,000 feet, speed 485 knots, 59,000 feet, I’m turning her over, and the sun is coming into my back. Boy! VIN’s Audi could go faster than this. Bob, how are you doing?”
“38,000 feet and dropping, partner, at 10 knots below maximum velocity. Don’t rush me now,” was the reply.
“I couldn’t if I tried, Bob. An F-16 without afterburner is faster than this bird. Actually a Cessna jet is faster than this… 62,000 feet… 535 knots…”
“She’s gaining acceleration a little faster now,” added Penny from the right side seat.
“Give her time, Mr. Jones. That hydrogen thruster is working overtime to give you acceleration. We need time for the C-5 to get down. Just keep her straight and level,” instructed Ryan from above.
“Not as pretty as usual, Jonesy,” said Maggie using the mike at Ground Control. “You look like a piddley little 4th Fourth of July rocket up there.”
“You just wait a few more minutes, wife, then you will see the power of da man!” laughed Jonesy. “I hope! Altitude 67,000 feet, speed a mind-blowing 610 knots. Mr. Mathews, where are you?”
“Priming hydrogen pulsers,” ad
ded Penny.
“Dropping through 27,000 feet and going like a Boeing. I’m going to have to ease her out a bit. Jonesy, give me a little more time.”
“You can have all day as far as we are concerned, Bob… 69,500 feet, 635 knots.”
“Hydrogen pulsers primed, live and ready. Will emit the first pulse when you are ready,” stated Penny over the radio.
“22,000 feet pulling out, give me two more minutes Jonesy.”
“Roger that. Penny, first pulse in 180 seconds just in case… 71,000 feet, speed 670 knots. I’m falling asleep.”
The first pulse shook the entire shuttle. Even Jonesy’s teeth rattled as a horrible feeling of dread overwhelmed him with its power.
“God, that was nasty,” he reported as he felt the pain in his back jolt him, again, and then again every second, worse than the first-stage rockets ever had done. There was a pulse every second from both rockets, and each one wedged his vertebrae painfully.
Penny had hit the fire button at 76,000 feet and 700 knots. Bob Mathews was at 18,000 feet and straight and level when the Dead Chicken began to continuously rattle like somebody was outside hitting them with a massive mallet. All the radio communications went dead. Finally the crew on the ground felt like an F-16 had gone over the sound barrier and the whole hangar began to rattle like an earthquake. All this had happened within seconds of Penny hitting the fire switch.
“Crap, this hurts. Altitude going through 83,000 feet at 990 knots. It’s like we are a leaf in the wind. Anybody hear me?” Penny stated. There was silence.
“I think that boom killed all radio communications,” Jonesy replied to her over their intercom.
They both continued to feel the pulses vibrating through the shuttle, “Altitude 91,000 feet, 1,580 knots and climbing rapidly,” stuttered Penny.
A hundred more painful pulses later, and still without radio contact they were heading into outer space at 4,000 knots, faster than a speeding bullet.
“Hope the computers are recording all this. I think the pain is going away. I’m just sitting here doing nothing, feeling my body ache. I’m sure we are off course but at least we can’t miss space. It’s right in front of us,” Jonesy suggested to Penny, the only person who could hear him.
Both Ground and Ryan had expected radio interference, but not on such a scale. They couldn’t even speak to each other. Ground felt the first couple of dozen pulses, and saw nothing above them.
After a minute, the vibrations stopped, but faint booms above them could still be heard.
Bob Mathews, a little shaken, brought in the Dead Chicken, also without radio contact.
It took ten minutes from the first pulse before radio contact returned to Nevada. The flight controllers could see the path of SB-III but still could not talk to the shuttle. Bob Mathews was the first voice to be heard asking if he could turn around at the end of the runway. He had wait a full minute for a response.
The second voice was Ryan’s, a little worried about his shuttle. For another ten minutes they talked until finally SB-III came on line again.
“…Bravo III passing through the Kàrmán line like a darn rocket on steroids, 60 kilometers and at 17,000 miles an hour. Does anybody copy? Over.”
“Affirmative. We copy you, SB-III. You need to change direction 1.9 degrees to starboard. Over. Your speed is much faster than expected. You should have had another 30 seconds of pulses. Over,” stated Igor in Ground Control.
“Roger that. These pulses are crazy. Too high forward speed, changing course,” replied Penny.
“I ordered her to shut them down,” added Jonesy. “They were not necessary after a certain point, and I have closed down all three rear motors a minute early. Our computers are controlling our correct altitude, but were not in control of the forward speed. Also our speed at 150,000 feet was over 1,500 miles an hour faster than any of our previous launches. Over,” added Jonesy. “I’m going to have a backache for life.”
“Me too!” added Penny. “But it was the best ride ever. Even my eyes were looking through tunnels in my head for a minute or more, we were accelerating so fast.”
“Glad to hear you guys are safe,” said Maggie.
“Yes, same from America One up here. The first hydrogen pulse launch. Congrats, astronauts. Slightly more powerful than expected. We answered two very important questions: first, the single rear thruster will just handle two tons of weight by itself. With the two outer thrusters added, launch from Earth should be within our parameters. Second, the pulsers are more powerful than we thought, and we need to increase altitude before first pulse. 10,000, maybe even 25,000 feet.”
“I’d say 25,000 feet,” suggested Igor from Nevada. “Fuel readouts are back online. SB-III used two-thirds of her total fuel on board. With the two side thrusters added, she will need a minimum of five tons of fuel weight added in each side tank.”
“Igor, I need scenarios on fuel usage from ground using a full pulse burn, not the burn Mr. Jones completed. He saved about a quarter of a ton. If the shuttles can cut off the Pulsers at a certain altitude, every bit of fuel saved is worth it once in space.”
“I’m glad the cargo was frozen meat, Igor, boss,” commented Jonesy. “If it had been eggs, Penny and I would be eating a scrambled breakfast by now.”
“Roger that,” Igor responded. “We felt your first pulses down here pretty badly. I had better go and see if the kitchen is serving scrambled eggs this morning. What were your altitude readouts 120 seconds after your first pulse? We had you at 127,000 feet, but it would have taken time for your pulse to reach Earth.”
“121,000 feet, once I could focus on the readouts. I would say 120,000 feet.” Penny replied.
“Igor, I’ll check the television news and see what happened outside the airfield. You do the same,” Ryan added and there was a rush to turn up the volume of the three television screens, of which only one in Nevada, NBC, was currently showing pictures.
“I’ve got a lousy ABC and a clear CBS up here,” Ryan stated a few minutes later.
“We have a fuzzy NBC, and there seem to be reports of an earthquake in Las Vegas,” Igor responded.
“….it was the weirdest earthquake ever reported,” stated the fuzzy-looking NBC announcer. “We have readings of less than 1 on the Richter scale, but hundreds here in Las Vegas reported cups, plates, and even whole houses shaking as if there was a major earthquake, and it seemed to strike for a longer than usual period. Reports are still coming in, but apart from nervous listeners, there is no reported damage or serious casualties… The water level in Lake Mead is at an all-time low…” continued the news report.
“I think 100,000 feet is our minimum first pulse ejection altitude,” Igor said to Ryan.
“OK, let’s work out fuel usage for the three non-pulse thrusters to 100,000 feet, replied Ryan.
“More speed, fewer pulses,” Igor instantly responded.
Chapter 10
Gravity, Nevada, Air Force One and diamonds again
Fifteen hours later, both Jonesy and Penny were watching one of the latest movies from Earth. Both had a bag of popcorn sneaked in from the airfield kitchen, and they were laying back in their reclined captain’s chairs at 290 miles altitude and at 24,000 miles an hour.
Jonesy had learned to stash away the odd item here and there. He had stowed two bottles of Bud, for him and VIN to celebrate with, a couple of packs of jerky, a large Bowie knife, VIN had asked for, to cut up the jerky, and finally three new Blu-ray movies for the ship’s library.
Penny had done the same bringing up a few items, like several bras and other pieces of expensive underwear from the new airport store, a few other items for Suzi, and a Teddy Bear for Mars Noble.
Most of the crew was already asleep on America One still 200 miles above the speeding shuttle, and 20,000 miles behind them. It had been a long day. The first single accommodation cylinder had come on line, and Ryan was hoping to begin rotation the next day to give his crew their badly-needed gravity.
“America One to Sierra Bravo III, do you read? Over,” squawked Ryan over the shuttle’s one radio the next morning. Penny was already awake and had been for six hours. Jonesy had watched the second movie doing his first six-hour readout-monitoring stint alone, and Penny had watched the same movie while he slept. The headphones in the cockpit kept the movie silent.
Once the interior lights were doused, their only light was from the sun for a couple of hours at a time, the dozens of small LED lights, mostly green, and from the movie on the computer screen in front of each seat as they sped around the planet.
“Sierra Bravo III reading you clear, altitude 331 miles, speed 25,700 miles an hour, computer estimated time of arrival sixteen hours at 453 miles altitude. Over,” replied Penny, the clamor of the radio waking up Jonesy.
“Roger that, same readouts up here,” replied Ryan. “We are going to test the ship’s rotation in one hour. Jonesy, at two cycles per minute, can you dock onto us? I know we discussed this months ago down on Earth, but I think the recent slaps to my head dislodged a few brain cells.”
“Correct, boss,” Jonesy replied. “We analyzed that one rotation per minute was maximum for potential docking. Maggie and I did some good training landing on DX2014, but we had open space landing on the asteroid. Since it’s pretty tight to dock the shuttles below the mid-levels, we need to come in inverted; half a rotation would be safer. What do you think Ryan? How long you do think it takes America One to go from two revolutions per minute, to zero, and then back to full rotation?” The radio was quiet for a few minutes.
“About thirty minutes each way, so an hour plus docking time,” Ryan responded. “It doesn’t really matter since we have rotation alarms set up around the ship to warn everybody about a change in gravitational pull, and they can go off 30 minutes before docking. Since the reduction is over that amount of time, it gives everybody time to tie down and complete their tasks on both the levels.”
