Govorov nodded, still running his hands over the controls.
A few moments later he grabbed the entry bar above the hatch and pulled himself out of the cockpit. "Yes," Govorov said, "yes…" — and patted the exterior of this flying marvel, or was caressed a better word…?
CHAPTER 23
"Attention on the station. Target horizon crossing. Situation is red alert."
Ann was at her station in the engineering module when the latest announcement came over the speakers. Until a few minutes ago she had been trying to make up her mind about leaving Silver Tower. It had been one of the hardest decisions of her life, and what made it worse was knowing that Skybolt was literally just a hairbreadth away from operational effectiveness. If she could only do just one more test… But there seemed no chance for that now. Things down below were happening too fast. Even she had to reconsider priorities. Besides, the argument Jason… Saint-Michael… had made about there maybe being too many Pages involved in this thing was beginning to sink in. She really hated not knowing what kind of shape her father was in, or even if he—
She'd made her decision. Go. She'd have another crack at Skybolt, maybe before too long, and meanwhile she wasn't doing a bell of a lot here. She would miss the stubborn general, though. It felt strange to admit that, stranger still that it was true… They'd hardly done anything but go at each other since she'd come on board. But now she felt she knew the reason for it, at least part of it. They were two of a kind, she and Saint-Michael. Both driven. Both territorial, possessive. Both unsure how to connect on an emotional level. Had he been tying to make contact with her all along and she'd been too dumb, or stubborn, to recognize it? Was their interrupted exchange before the attack on the Nimitz carrier group leading up to something? Thinking on it now, she believed so and wanted to kick herself. Great going, Page. You've done it again. This is a man to appreciate, for God's sake. And he is a man … like someone else, she cared about on the California…
She could hear the broadcasts and conversations about the stricken USS California but fought back the impulse to leave her station again and rush to the command module. She wriggled uncomfortably in the "g"-suit she'd put on in preparation for leaving Silver Tower aboard the shuttle Enterprise and tried not to think dreary thoughts.
In the command module the engineering chief, Colonel Marks, asked Saint-Michaeclass="underline" "Are we going to attack their carrier, General?"
Saint-Michael shook his head. "My orders are to protect Iran from Soviet invasion, not to destroy the Brezhnev. It seems we've made a hard but fair trade — the California for those Soviet transports and fighters we jumped over Tehran. If the Russians back off now this whole thing just may blow over—"
"Aircraft launching from the Brezhnev," Sergeant Jake Jefferson broke in. "High speed. Heading west."
"Westbound?"
"Yes sir. Nimitz launching aircraft in response. Also heading west." Jefferson turned to Saint-Michael. "Looks like no one's going to back off today, General…"
Saint-Michael activated his communications panel, checked the scrambler/descrambler and keyed the microphone. "Nimitz, this is Armstrong. Come in."
"Clancy here, Jas. Go ahead."
"We picked up those Flankers heading west, Admiral. Are your aircraft pursuing?"
"Affirmative. The Air Force has a 767B AWACS orbiting east of Riyadh. It asked for protection from those Flankers until it can get some F-15 reinforcements from Kigzi Airbase. The 767B will be returning back under friendly Rapier SAM cover until our F-15s catch up to them."
"Copy. We've got the whole area covered. Are you receiving our data transmissions okay?"
"So far. The Ticonderoga is relaying SBR surveillance data to us. It's a bastardized way of doing it, but with California out of commission we don't—"
The transmission halted in a loud, piercing squeal that caused everyone listening in to rip their earsets away from their heads.
"What the hell…?" Just as Saint-Michael called out for a damage report a tremendous lurch threw everyone on Silver Tower towards the Velcro-covered floor. Technicians yelled out in pain — no one could stop himself as bodies slammed to the deck. It was as though they were rag dolls hurled to the floor by an angry child. The module seemed to be spinning in several directions all at once.
General Saint-Michael, the only one secured in place, set his communications panel to stationwide address. "Attention on the station. Collision warning. Damage report on loudspeaker. Enterprise, clear for emergency disconnect. This station is on red alert." He unfastened his safety belt and tried to rise out of his seat but found he was held fast.
Gravity! For the first time Silver Tower had been exposed to it. Whatever caused it, the station would soon tear itself apart if the huge forces did not stop. With great effort Saint-Michael managed to overcome the unexpectedly severe "g"-forces and haul himself out of the commander's seat. It felt as if he was riding a fast express elevator from the first to the eighth floor — the gravity had a terrific pull after weeks of microgravity.
Walker, Jefferson and the other techs were slowly overcoming the sudden gravity surge and struggling to their feet. Saint-Michael made his way to the station's attitude control panel. "Check out Davis and Montgomery," Saint-Michael told Walker, before turning to the panel.
The two techs were wincing with pain on the deck. "One broken leg," Walker reported after examining Davis. He checked the other tech. "A possible broken rib, maybe internal injuries. "
"And there's a fire on the number three fuel-containment vessel."
Saint-Michael hit keys on a keypad, then punched a button. "I've jettisoned the vessel."
The sudden gravity now began to subside. Saint-Michael and the others could hear the loud bangs and hisses as Silver Tower's ten banks of powerful thrusters began to reestablish the station's normal orbit and attitude. A few more moments and all but a barely discernible amount of gravity was gone.
"What the hell happened?"
"The containment, vessels on the right keel below," the general said, scanning the computer monitors. "The explosion started the station spinning." He picked up his earset. "The damn squeal in the earsets is gone." He replaced his earset on his left ear but used the microphone and the loudspeaker system once again: "Attention on the station. There has been an explosion of one of our fuel cells. Normal microgravity will be returning shortly. Report by loudspeaker to Colonel Walker any—"
The lights in the command module dimmed nearly to black. A control panel sputtered and smoked in a cloud of sparks. The air in the module suddenly felt hot, like a sauna.
Saint-Michael immediately put on his POS face mask and told his crew to do the same. "Off-duty personnel report to the lifeboat," he ordered. The lifeboat was a nonmaneuverable pod fitted with life-support systems.
As Walker began checking each man's face mask connections and POS settings, Saint-Michael plugged his earset communications cord into the microphone jack in his own face mask. "All personnel report by module."
"Sergeant Bayles in the lifeboat, Skipper. I've got Moyer, Yemana, Kelly and the engineering techs with me. Everyone's okay. Sleep and rec modules evacuated, checked and sealed. I'm in a spacesuit and ready to assist in personal transport."
Kevin Baker, still at his post monitoring the command module, fumbled with his POS mask but finally reported. "Baker here, sir. I'm okay. I can see Ann through the connecting tunnel. She looks okay, too. The-main connecting tunnel outside the command module has depressurized — looks like Enterprise has emergency-disconnected. Repeat, main connecting tunnel to the shuttle is not secure."