Sebastian looked hurt.
“Are you kidding, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Besides, if we pull this off I want you to introduce me to this Europa woman. Deal?”
Jack had a very hard time keeping a straight face, but he managed, as did Golding.
“Deal,” was all he said.
“Colonel,” Charlie said, as he poked his head into the communications shack. “ Discovery and Endeavour are off. They will achieve orbit in just two minutes.”
Everyone could see the relief in Jack’s face as the realization that the arrest warrants for McCabe and Rawlins probably staved off another attack.
Mission Control had just been handed off Discovery and Endeavour from Vandenberg. They watched and cheered on the Endeavour, the last of the two launches, just as the solid rocket boosters separated from the large centerline external fuel tank. Endeavour climbed, going to full throttle to reach the unforgiving void of space.
Hugh Evans couldn’t remember a more glitch-free launch in his career, much less of four vehicles at almost the same time. The maniacs that put this plan into motion had his respect. The quirky little man who had come up with the outrageous scheme should be the first in line for congratulations. Even the silent boys over at DARPA, who had provided input on splicing all the experimental systems into one mission, had done a job for which they would always be remembered.
“ Endeavour, this is Houston, you have a clean RSB sep, and are clear for low orbit insertion,” CAPCOM said as the blurry, out-of-range image showed the solid rocket boosters falling free of the Endeavour and the twelve astronauts she carried. Some were in her command deck, the others in a small pod that had been loaded into her cargo hold. Evans knew that as soon as Discovery and Endeavour made their low altitude orbit, both shuttles would open their cargo doors to cool off not only the bay itself but the pod carrying the four astronauts that couldn’t fit into the current design of the flight module. For the first time men had been sent aloft in the cargo hold of a space shuttle and the environment capsule had performed magnificently. This design idea had come straight from the drafting boards of DARPA and had worked to perfection.
Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena was reporting that the remote systems onboard Dark Star 1 and Dark Star 2 were functioning at nominal levels. They were now prepared for the command modules to separate from the holds containing the two Altair landers for eventual hookups to both capsules. Then they would remotely rendezvous with the International Space Station for crew pickup. That was when the Moon mission would truly begin.
The small airfield had been constructed in three days with the aid of Iranian engineers. With all evidence of the landing strip designed to disappear in a matter of hours, the plan was to launch the aircraft and then vanish into the mountainous terrain surrounding the small village.
The pilot, an old-time Iranian who had received his training decades before under the regime of the Shah, was ready for a mission that would finally prove his worthiness to the Ayatollah Rahabi and the fanatical president of that country. This would make him a martyr of the state and allow his family the privileges they had for so long been denied since the pilot had fallen from grace when the Shah abdicated so many years before. As he watched the American on the small monitor, he felt shame at what he had to do for the sake of his family. As the ground crew was given the go order, he lowered his head and said a prayer for forgiveness for the evil deed he was about to perpetrate in the name of God and country-even for the sake of his family, the deed may still prove to be too much for his soul.
He nodded his head and the cockpit of the Tomcat-an aircraft left over from the days of the Shah, started to close.
As the F-14 began its rollout from the makeshift cloth hangar, the full Moon struck him as a brilliant reminder of the old days of flying patrol under the Shah. The pilot could feel the weight of the two weapons as they hung from the innermost hard-line points just off the hydraulically controlled wings. The rest of the F-14 had been stripped of anything that would hinder his flight into Kazakhstan. Even the oxygen system had been cut down by 90 percent, and there was no defensive weaponry in the venerable old naval aircraft-even the twenty-millimeter cannon had been removed. In fact, the weight of the two ASATs was double the normal flight load of the Tomcat and there was still some doubt as to whether the aircraft could even gain the altitude needed for launch. The new seeker heads installed by the Iranian military would detect the low-orbiting targets, but it still remained to be seen if the Tomcat could get to the launch point at 65,000 feet. The Tomcat was not designed for the ASM-135 ASAT. It was always launched from the F-15 Eagle and the change had been designed by the best Iranian aerospace people they had.
The Tomcat reached the apron of the hard, earthen-packed runway and was waiting for the go from the radar station thirty-five miles away. The station was monitoring the path of the American shuttles Endeavour and Discovery as they readied to cross over Russian territory on their way to the rendezvous with the International Space Station.
The secret partner of the ayatollah had been working diligently on the plan for the past ten years and the Reverend had come through by supplying the necessary equipment to the one man who could help bring not only America to its knees but the rest of the world’s powers as well. It wasn’t this man who was in partnership with Iran; it was his apprentice. After the assault on the shuttles, when no one would be capable of getting the mineral or technology from the surface of the Moon, Iran would take control of the one source left in the universe: the mines in Ecuador.
The Tomcat received the vectoring, precise coordinates, and altitude for the launch of the American-built ASATs, then the pilot was given clearance for takeoff. The most complicated interception in history was about to be attempted and, with luck, God’s wrath against the Americans would be complete.
The Tomcat’s aging GE turbofans lit off at full afterburner as the old airframe tore down the dirt strip. The lumbering fighter held firmly to the ground as the weight of the two ASATs clung to her underbelly. Finally, when it looked as though the pilot would slam Iran’s hopes and dreams into the side of the mountain pass, the ground crew watched the tires lift free of the Earth.
The F-14 flew low over the Caspian Sea. As the pilot executed a northerly turn, the red light on his nav-board flashed bright red. The signal was given for the intercept of Discovery first and then Endeavour.
The pilot said a silent prayer and pushed the throttle to full afterburner, pulling the stick straight back into his stomach. The old fighter fought gravity with all his strength as the Tomcat scratched its way into the dark skies over Kazakhstan.
Normally, the missiles could have been launched at 37,000 feet for any low orbit target such as a communications satellite, but since the shuttles were flying at a higher orbit, they would have to be launched at an incredible 65,000 feet.
The pilot was feeling the effects of the g-forces as the jet fought for its target altitude. The airframe, after so many years of neglect, started shaking and the pilot knew then that it was going to be sorely taxed. As he fought through the 42,000-foot mark, his threat detector announced that he would soon have company. Four MiG 31s were in high-speed pursuit of the venerable Tomcat.
The pilot watched his altimeter roll through its paces. A green warning light flashed as he passed through the 60,000-foot range. He calmly moved his thumb over the selector switch just as the electronic tone in his headphones started making a warbling sound, indicating that his fighter was being painted by enemy radar. Then the tone changed as the MiGs gained weapons lock on the Tomcat. A second later they launched their air-to-air missiles.