“Oh, hell, that’s only a couple days’ work.”
“That’s what Benny Shalbot said. He stayed behind to do the electronics rehabilitation. On the rest of it, they’re flying in some people and materials from Martin Marietta and Rockwell.”
“Yeah, okay. Anyway, I’m glad everyone’s all right. They are, aren’t they?”
“A-one, Brad.”
Sometimes, in their anxiety over the craft, the maintenance people forgot about the pilot people.
Tang gave them a green light as soon as the atmosphere in the bay had reached the correct content and pressure levels, and McKenna and Munoz opened their canopies, unbuckled their straps, and released their communications cables and environmental hoses. McKenna unfastened his helmet, slipped it off, and stuck it under his arm. The hatch opened and several technicians darted into the bay.
“Me for bed,” Munoz told him.
“Not just yet, Tony. I’ve got a job for you.”
“Unmerciful bastard, aren’t you?”
“Got a reputation to uphold.”
McKenna pushed hard off the MakoShark toward the hatchway, grabbed the frame as he passed through, and deflected his flight toward Polly Tang.
“Catch me, love!”
She looked up from the console and stuck out a stiffened left arm. Her palm caught McKenna in the chest and arrested his flight.
“Thanks. I needed that.”
“Any time,” she told him, then went back to securing the console controls.
“What Makos are aboard, Polly?”
“Just number two.”
“You know her schedule, offhand?”
“Due to return to Peterson tomorrow afternoon. Sixteen hundred hours, I think.”
Pressing the PA button on the communications system, McKenna checked his watch and said, “Your attention, please. There will be a briefing for all pilots and system officers at eleven hundred hours in Compartment A-forty-seven.”
He repeated the message one more time, then he and Munoz went down the corridor to the pilot’s dressing room, took sponge baths, changed into jumpsuits, and stored their flight gear in their lockers.
By the time they reached the exercise room, Dimatta, Williams, Haggar, and Olsen were already there. Dr. Monte Washington was working out on a Nautilus machine.
“Dr. Washington, I’m afraid we need some privacy for about ten minutes.”
“Hey, damn it! I got as much right to be here as you do. With the money my company is… ”
“Dr. Washington, I want you to go to your quarters and pack your belongings. You’ll be leaving on the next flight earth side. That will be with Major Haggar at oh-eight hundred in the morning.”
Washington’s mouth dropped open. “McKenna, you got no right to talk… ”
“Check it out with the station commander, Washington. Now, get out.”
Washington extricated himself from the machine, put on a sullen pout, and left the compartment. Munoz closed the door behind him.
McKenna looked at his pilots, all of whom were waiting expectantly on him. “Check rides,” he said.
Dimatta said, “Damn, Snake Eyes. I haven’t had a check ride in six months.”
“It’s the other way around this time, Frank. I want you to take Lynn and Ben over to your bay and give them a close-up look at Delta Green. They need a full rundown on the weapons, radar, and threat systems, plus any other system they don’t have on a Mako. Then, as soon as Delta Blue is serviced, you’re all going out.”
Haggar’s eyes were about the size of twenty-millimeter shells.
“Frank, you’ll take Ben as your backseater. Lynn, you and Tony will fly Delta Blue. I’m fond of it, so don’t break it, please. George, I want you to monitor both flights, and throw some problems at them — a systems failure, maybe, and a couple of missile runs.”
“Target?” Williams asked.
“Use a gun pod and a couple of training Wasps on each craft. Make Neptune or Pluto the target.”
Williams nodded.
Dimatta looked to Haggar. “Boom-Boom, I think.”
“Don’t you dare,” she said. “There was a stripper in Atlanta named Boom-Boom.”
“That’s who I was thinking of,” Dimatta said.
“Chauvinist!”
“Country Girl, I think,” Munoz said, “and Ben’s obviously the Swede.”
Olsen grinned, his Nordic face showing his pleasure.
Dimatta scowled for a minute, thinking, then agreed, “Yeah, Tiger, that’ll do it.”
McKenna was happy to see the two of them accepted into the stealth half of his squadron. Attaching the nicknames was the first step.
“This will be a space-only familiarization flight of two hours,” he said, “and you’ll stay within a thousand miles of Themis. Questions?”
Munoz said, “See, Lynn? Just like I told that Russian colonel. I knew I’d be gettin’ you.”
Dimatta grinned at McKenna, “Do I need to ask about authorization?”
McKenna grinned back. “No.”
Lynn Haggar started to say something, perhaps appreciative, but McKenna gave her a small negative shake of the head, then left the exercise room. He went back up Corridor 1-B and turned into the maintenance office. Mitchell, a fuel technician named Lennon, and Bert Embry were there, and McKenna spent a few minutes reviewing the current stores of fuel and ordnance with them. He ordered more Wasps and JP-7.
“Right away?” Mitchell asked. “That’s going to throw off the Honey Bee schedule.”
“Right away, Brad. I don’t want to come up short if we need something.”
Mitchell turned to his computer and called up a listing. “We’ve got a hot contract with Lockheed, and their equipment is slated for the next seven Honey Bee launches.”
“So kick them back three or four.”
“They’ll raise hell in Washington.”
“Tell them to call Brackman.”
“You mean I get to throw some weight around? That’ll be a first.”
McKenna was stifling yawns by the time he reached the Command Center. He had been up and about for too many hours straight, in violation of Space Command’s policy. Overton and Pearson were waiting for him. He thought he detected a little fire in Pearson’s green eyes. Her auburn hair floated out from her head like dark fire.
“Where have you been?” Pearson asked. “We’ve been waiting.”
“Miss me, dear?”
“Not so much that I’d notice.”
“Now, children,” Overton said. The front of his blue jumpsuit was stained with grease and oil.
“What have you been doing, Jim?”
Overton brushed the stain on his chest with his fingertips. “Ventilation motor failure in Eight.”
The general wasn’t above getting his hands dirty, one of the reasons McKenna liked him.
He brought them up to date on the condition of Conover, Abrams, and Delta Yellow. “And I ordered more ordnance shipped up from Merlin. Lockheed may complain a little, Jim.”
“Did you also request some more torpedoes from the navy?” Pearson asked.
“No. It’s time to abandon that scenario. We’re not having any success, and last night proves that your Admiral Schmidt lives up to your billing of him, Amy. He knows damned well where to wait for us. I’m not taking chances with my people where the probability of success is so low.”
Pearson looked a little crestfallen, but McKenna was certain she would not argue with him, not after Conover’s close call.
Polly Tang’s voice came over the intercom and interrupted them. “Command, Hangar. Preparing Delta Green for launch.”
McKenna reached out a hand and pulled himself over to the console. “Hangar, Command. Proceed.”
“What’s that, Kevin?” Overton asked.
“We’re doing check rides with Dimatta and Munoz.”
“With, or for?” Overton wasn’t stupid.
“With.” McKenna sighed. “I’m having Haggar and Olsen get a feel for the MakoSharks.”