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 …”
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 rubble. 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-WHOP-WHOP-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 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?”