“How about a go,” he challenged.
“Sure, Marix,” said Sullivan, ready and anxious to take the measure of the man. They moved to the center of the mat, crouching cat-like, searching for a hold. With astounding speed, Marix flipped Sully and pinned him as though he had been no match at all. Momentarily stunned, Sullivan scrambled to his feet. They worked for a hold and again Marix got the advantage and threw Sullivan to the mat with unnecessary viciousness. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the match. The final fall drew the ire of all the men within the gym when they heard Sully groan from the pain Marix inflicted.
With a sneer on his lips, Marix glared straight at Beau. “Any challengers?” No one stepped forward as all eyes turned toward Beau. Marix continued to stare. “How about it, Gex?”
“Sorry, wish I could accommodate you but I have to fly in a few hours.”
“You’re a coward,” Marix hissed in a low growl. An unusual silence cloaked the gym. All eyes turned to Beau and they waited for him to respond.
Slowly, he stood erect and holding the towel with both hands flipped it around his neck. “Maybe next time.” He turned and walked to the showers. Behind him it sounded like someone had simultaneously let the air out of a half dozen tires.
To the displeasure of all the men present, Marix gloated at what he considered a victory. “Gex is afraid because he knows of my reputation as a Golden Gloves in the service. He wouldn’t have a chance against me.” The gym remained silent until Marix departed.
Sullivan continued rubbing his neck. “What the hell happened to Beau?”
“That’s not like him,” added Warren who was standing next to Sullivan. The others failed to see Ruben follow his old friend into the locker room. He would get the answer. He found Beau sitting in front of his locker.
“Why the hell didn’t you beat the shit outa that asshole!” yelled Ruben.
“Because I’m flying Blackbird in two hours and I don’t want anything to interfere with that. Besides, what would it have accomplished?” Beau asked.
“Sure as shit would’ve made me happier than hell. He’s been asking for it and you go and pass up the golden opportunity,” whined Ruben. “Hell, he’s strutting around now like he’s King of the Jungle.”
“Ruben, you measure your opponent before you attack. Remember that even the lion must be cautious, because one day he may step into a steel trap from which there is no escape.” And with those words of wisdom, he stepped into the showers and left Ruben standing there rubbing his chin and wondering what the hell that was all about.
Ruben mumbled, “You still should’ve beat the shit out of him.”
“Hey guys,” beamed Beau to his friends gathered around. His eyes went beyond them and to the sleek black craft he was about to guide on its mission — the SR-71 Blackbird. Dressed in a space suit for the journey to the edge of space, he lumbered slowly toward the gathering in his cumbersome outfit.
“Have fun,” said Ruben.
Krysti held her hands against her cheeks. “My God! You look like a space man.” As a civilian, Krysti had received special clearance, which was really unnecessary since she would be the attending physician. And the flight would be a public spectacle, with the media there.
“Rad!” said Justin. Beau had managed a last minute clearance for the boy after reasoning with Admiral Garrett that even if he was underage, his mother was after all the attending physician, and, added to that, the government was trying to go public.
“Beau, no clowning around. The SR-71 is an expensive machine. Hit 300 and come back,” said Admiral Garrett as he and three flight personnel, including General Waddle, followed the pilot, leaving the others behind.
“You forget I’ve flown these before. I’m just glad I could get one more crack at this baby.” Beau turned to Waddle and stopped; his eyes gradually brightened. “General, do you still have those photos?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see them.”
General Waddle rummaged in his briefcase. He pulled the photos out and handed them to Beau, who studied them intently. “There,” he said, pointing with his fingers. “See the tire marks at the end of the runway? They’re too close together to be anything but fighter jets. See, single tires, not the multiple as on airliners. If you look really close, you will notice the separation and see that most are singles,” Beau yelled enthusiastically.
General Waddle nodded. “Yes, I see.”
Again Beau pointed. “All of the hangars are closed. It’s too hot for that; most airports leave the hangars open to keep the heat out. They’re hiding something, General. Also, there are a number of starters outside.” Beau’s finger slid along the photo and stopped in three different areas. “These are special starters for the F-4 Phantom; there’s no mistaking them.”
“You’re right,” General Waddle confirmed. “After the takeoff I’m taking this to Washington, D.C. to show the Joint Chiefs of Staff. This could be what we needed to prove what you’re saying. I will make sure the president sees them tomorrow.”
General Waddle returned the photos to the briefcase and walked away from the area with the new information.
Garrett could only shake his head. “I guess you have what you needed for them to see the truth now.”
“It’s about time; I just hope it’s not too late,” said Beau, the relief evident in his eyes and the smile on his face. “Hey Ted, thanks for putting my name in for this test flight.”
Garrett shook his head. “I didn’t do anything. You are the only one here who is qualified.”
Most of the group was present and in a bit of awe at the spectacular flying machine. The SR-71, known more affectionately as the Blackbird, appeared to have come from the future, when in reality it had been built very secretively in the early sixties. It was the last of the slide-rule designed aircraft, painted a dull colored black, and had a heat shield covering the wavy nose or chine. During flight the nose would reach a temperature over 1100 degrees Fahrenheit, the heat stretching the titanium nose and smoothing out the waves in the metallic skin.
The SR-71s had been used in the early seventies to map the Soviet Union and monitor their activities. The Blackbird had been shot at hundreds of times by Soviet rockets and outran them all. Unlike the U-2 spy plane, the SR-71 had never been shot down in any of over 500 attempts. It could literally travel faster than a speeding bullet at Mach-3. And now it could travel in excess of Mach-8. Upon leaving the thin atmosphere, the scramjets would kick in enabling the Blackbird to attain Mach-25, a speed with which it could leave earth’s gravitational pull and enter space. All of those were reasons for the space suit.
The SR-71 Blackbird was an intricate part of the space station Starburst, aboard which was built a sophisticated laser system capable of knocking out any target within a thousand miles of the United States. In addition, a series of huge mirrors took the sun’s energy and used it as a weapon, much like a giant magnifying glass. It was more than just a warning device. Starburst also controlled a series of satellites with their own laser capable of the same destructive powers. Even when Starburst was not in view it was in contact with the military laser satellites that protected the United States. When Starburst became operational, it could transport crews in a conventional method, and do it daily if needed. Crews would stay on Starburst six months to a year. Four Blackbirds were strategically placed in California, New Mexico, Cape Kennedy, and the one in Corpus Christi. One eight-man space plane, four modified SR-71s, and the space station Starburst were what made up the Aurora Project.
Near the modified space plane were the two pursuit craft, an F-14 Tomcat with a crew of two, and an F-16 Falcon. Both would pursue to an elevation of 70,000 feet. The F-14 could reach Mach-2.5 while the more sophisticated computer-designed Falcon would pass Mach-3.