When word came that the city’s water mains could not provide any water, the engineers had told them not to worry. The ship’s evaporators were producing thousands of gallons each hour. There should be enough for a while.
At around 1 am, Patricia Hammond finally took the time to get some sleep. LCDR Strasser led her to the captain’s cabin. She had already put Little Steve on a cot in the bedroom. The idea of him sleeping in his Daddy’s room aboard the ship thrilled him. He was sleeping peacefully when she entered the room. She removed her clothing and slid under the sheets. Tomorrow would come much too soon.
The Atlas rocket lit up the night sky as it lifted from its pad. This was the latest version of the venerable rocket, but even it could not lift this load on its own. Two additional solid fuel rockets were strapped to each side. The combined thrust was able to lift the satellite rapidly into the sky. A minute later, the spent solid rockets dropped away and the first stage separated. The second stage fired normally pushing its payload further and faster out over the Atlantic.
There was actually a small third stage to this rocket. It was able to boost the satellite the rest of the way until it achieved a stationary orbit precisely 100 miles away from a sister satellite and come to a relative stop.
Almost immediately panels on the sides opened and six solar arrays opened to their full length on the upper end of the satellite and pointed themselves to the sun, while below them, small radio dishes emerged and unfolded to aim their signals toward earth. One in particular pointed its circular dish toward Langley, Virginia.
At CIA headquarters, technicians began to cheer as an activation signal was received. “Sir, Eyeball Six has achieved orbit successfully and is ready for startup,” one of the technicians said to her supervisor.
The supervisor grinned. “Then let’s wake her up. Bring the systems online and link it to number five. Then begin running your tests.”
The appropriate orders were sent and the satellite began powering up. The supervisor watched as all the satellite’s systems came online as expected, then reached down and lifted the receiver of the phone by his seat. “Sir, the eyeballs are in the sky.”
It wasn’t a very large group, just about one hundred people. They carried signs protesting the military buildup and demanding the funds be used to help ordinary citizens. Through the Soviet era, demonstrations were something planned and orchestrated by the government in almost all cases, but since the fall of the Soviet Union, people had come to know certain freedoms and to expect more from their government. Many students had come to detest the mandatory military service. In the past it had only been for one year, but now the youth of Russia were expected to stay for as long as the government wanted them. For some, this had meant years of service with practically no pay, hard taskmasters and few luxuries. Most could not even go out in local towns for some time off. Access to cell phones made this worse, since they often complained to their friends and families back home.
Although they had been warned that the government would not allow such demonstrations, most had happened with little result. Yet, the young men and women and a few older Russians marched along, holding up their signs and chanting slogans like, “Send our soldiers home,” or “We don’t want to serve.” The onlookers on the streets sympathized with the marchers, but didn’t pay much attention. It was a Friday night and they were out to party.
Suddenly a large truck pulled around a corner and blocked the way for the protesters. Out came police officers in riot gear, filling the street and holding up shields. One of the officers held up a loudspeaker. “This is an illegal demonstration. You are ordered to disperse at once,” he shouted to the crowd. The crowd stopped, but stood their ground, shouting louder toward the line of police. They were warned a second time. None of the protesters noticed a second truck pulling up behind them. Now heavily armed police were on both sides of the crowd. The students stood their ground, taunting the police.
No one knew who threw the beer bottle. It struck one of the clear plastic shields of the police officer and shattered, spilling beer all over the shield and the officer’s legs. The officers rushed the small crowd of demonstrators, drawing their night sticks and clubbing each one they came in contact with. The students tried to run, but by now, they were surrounded and there was no place to go.
It lasted ten minutes. When the officers finished, there were two dead and another fifty seriously injured. Those not hurt and those less seriously injured were taken away. The rest were left bleeding on the pavement. Now the onlookers rushed in and began trying to help those on the streets. Police officers rushed them as well, telling them to leave the people alone until more help could get there. A few made it into some of the local shops. One had been carrying a video camera. Others had used their cell phones.
The onlookers became more outraged. They began screaming at the police remaining to let them help the injured. Seeing they were largely outnumbered, the police finally gave in and let them carry the students off to the local hospital. One young man insisted that his rescuer take him to the foreign media center. There, he handed his camera and footage to the local CNN staff member on duty. Within ten minutes it was worldwide news.
The meetings and briefings lasted all day, yet the officers in the darkened room felt exhilarated. Each had been eager to tell their new commander what they were planning and both Hammond and Richardson had asked all the right questions, even sharing some of their concerns and ideas in the process. Richardson, in particular, had gotten into a lively conversation about tank deployments. Dortmund was surprised to know she had studied German battle tactics.
Now the group was trying to figure out the next steps. Hammond was slightly concerned that the men in the room were still thinking in large group engagements. But it was difficult to wrap your hands around the fact that they were expecting to meet an enemy with a 10 to 1 superiority in men and equipment. At one point Hammond interrupted.
“As I look at where you want to deploy your people, it is looking more like you are concentrating on just this one area,” he said pointing at the map. “How do you plan on accomplishing this?”
General Dortmund chuckled. “We Germans learned that lesson in the last big one,” he said referring to the Second World War. “We are deploying tanks along the borders in Austria and in areas of the Polish mountains in several key locations. If the Russians are looking, and I believe they are, then they will avoid these areas at all costs.”
Richardson looked concerned. “How many tanks are you able to put in these areas?” she asked.
There was a twinkle in Dortmund’s eye. “Around ten thousand. We call them Patton’s Army.”
At first Richardson looked confused. There weren’t that many tanks in all of Europe. Then suddenly her expression changed. “Brilliant!” she exclaimed.
Hammond still looked confused.
Richardson sat back. “In the Second World War an army was fielded under the command of George Patton to confuse and distract Germany. There were thousands of tanks, artillery and other vehicles. And all of them were balloons made of rubber. They even had people who moved them around some every day to make the Germans think they were operational. It made the D-Day landings more successful.
“Our aerial reconnaissance sent us graphic photos of the equipment poised to make a run on Calais. We bought it and kept the major part of our troops in Northern France. You see, we Germans do learn a few things from you Yanks,” he said with glee.