But what especially counted was that Space Station Armstrong had just launched its last missile. It was now totally defenseless… "Elektron One, this is Two," Voloshin called over the discrete VHF frequency. "I count ten Thors expended, General."
"Affirmative, Two. Deploy as planned and be prepared to attack on my command."
With the laser range finder locked onto the space station itself, Govorov began to maneuver his Elektron spaceplane above the station's keel, opposite from the free-flying Thor missile garage. Although he could not see him, he knew that Voloshin would be steering his spaceplane directly opposite, about a kilometer away from the station, keeping the Elektrons two kilometers apart.
In this position both he and Voloshin could target exactly one-half of the station with their laser target designators. They could pick and choose their targets with high precision, with special emphasis on the space-based radar, solar-array control boxes, sensors and communications antennas. They would be sure to destroy the station's fighting capabilities before administering the final blow: an attack on the pressurized modules themselves. Killing the crewmen of Space Station Armstrong was not Govorov's plan, but he was determined to eliminate the orbiting platform as a threat. If American lives were lost in the process, he couldn't be blamed. The stations' crewinembers had forfeited any ordinary consideration when they had chosen to intervene in Operation Feather. Nobody had invited them. Now they would learn the price for their actions, and pay it…
"Anything we can do?" Moyer asked from behind his spacesuit helmet. The strain in his voice was evident.
"Whatever they're going to hit us with," Saint-Michael said, "we don't have to sit here and let ourselves get shot up." He unstrapped himself and moved over to the station's attitude-control panel. "Everyone, evacuate the station. Get aboard Enterprise. Now."
"What's the plan, Skipper?" Marks asked him. "I'm going to deorbit the station, use every last bit of fuel to slow us down so the station will reenter the atmosphere. They may try to destroy this station, or they might try to occupy it. Either way, they're not going to get it. I'll jettison the lifeboat just before the deorbit burn. Let's just hope they won't fire on a lifeboat…"
"There's got to be another way—"
"They're calling the tune now, Chief," Saint-Michael said bitterly. "We dance to it or pay the consequences." He looked around the module, at Moyer, Walker, Marks and Jefferson. "There'll be other times… Our job right now is to survive. And that means getting your butts on the shuttle in the next three minutes."
A few minutes earlier Ann's chief worry had been what Saint-Michael would do when he found out she'd countermanded his orders and not gone over to the Enterprise. There just wasn't the time to explain why she thought she could get Skybolt running again, and she suspected that even if she'd had the time, even if the rush of events hadn't forced him into making a quick decision, she'd still have big trouble convincing him the laser was worth another try. She'd cried wolf too often, failing when it counted to get him to listen because too many of her earlier assessments of Skybolt's capabilities had proved overly optimistic.
Well, let the general get steamed. There were bigger problems to worry about now. As she worked to reprogram the proper relays to the MHD reactor, her tracking indicator told what was happening out in space… Two of the Gorgons — no, not really Gorgons but some sort of Russian spacecraft — had passed through Armstrong's Thor missile barrage untouched and were moving closer to the station. It became harder and harder to work the keyboard and test the last of the circuits as fear caught hold of her.
She knew that the Skybolt laser was now the station's only defense against the two blips she saw moving ever closer on her tracking indicator. She knew it and yet she also knew that she was minutes away from having the laser ready. She started a prayer, stopped. No fair, any last-minute invocation of the deity; it was up to her now. You asked for it, so get it done, she taunted herself, and once more she was able to focus all her concentration on the job at hand…
"Request permission to open fire, sir," Voloshin radioed. "Stand by, Elektron Two," Govorov said. "We'll begin in one minute. Do not attack the shuttle. Repeat, do not attack. They'll use the shuttle to evacuate."
"An American space shuttle would be a nice prize, General."
"There is only one prize here, Voloshin. Armstrong. Remember that."
There was silence on the frequency for a few moments, then: "General, do you think they'll try to scuttle the station?"
"It's what I would do. A remote-controlled or timed-thruster burn could be set up to do the job after they've evacuated." Govorov checked the digital chronometer on his instrument panel. "Status check, Elektron Two."
The reply came a few moments later, "Status positive, Elektron Lead. Oxygen, twenty liters. Fuel, sixty percent."
"Lead has twenty-two liters oxygen and sixty-two percent fuel. One hour until we need to begin deorbit or rendezvous with Mir. " Mir was the Soviet's orbiting module, a far cruder version of Silver Tower that had limited surveillance capabilities and no offensive or defensive weaponry. In recent years it had been used principally as a site for astronomical experiments and as a refueling depot. "We'll commence our attack in two minutes, whether or not the station has been evacuated."
"Enterprise shows ready for crew transfer, General," Jefferson reported.
"Very well. Signal JCS and Control that we'll transfer to Enterprise immediately." Jefferson nodded and began switching his comm panel to the proper air-to-ground frequency when a new voice came over the intercom: "General, this is Ann."
Saint-Michael shifted toward his comm panel. "Ann? Where the hell have you been?"
"In the Skybolt module. "Get out of there, now. We're evacuating the station."
"I only need ten more minutes—"
"For what?"
Just then the loud hum of the interphone's CALL override blocked out Ann's reply. "General, this is Will. Come up on interphone four."
"What the hell—? Ann, I want you in the command module on the double. Move out." He switched his comm, panel to the discrete closed-circuit interphone channel. "All right, Jerrod, what is it?"
"A way out. Maybe…"
"Don't keep us in suspense—"
"Baker and Yemana are outside the shuttle, General. They're working their way down to the spare Thor missiles."
"They're what?"
"Baker came up with a way to manually activate the missiles. He and Yemana are going to unstow two of the missiles, point them at those Russians, and cook 'em off."
"Goddamn, Jerrod, I didn't authorize that. It's too risky. Once the Russians see—"
"General," Will interrupted. "It'll work. Those spaceplanes are right on top of you, but they're on the opposite side from the spare Thors on the underside of the keel. By the time they find out what's happening it'll be too late."
Saint-Michael shook his head. Suddenly everyone in his command had turned into a damn space cowboy. He was losing control. He turned toward Moyer standing in his space-suit near the hatch to the research module. "Move down to the connecting tunnel between engineering and the storage module, on the double. See if you can signal Baker and Yemana. Try to tell them to get their butts back on board Enterprise." On the discrete interphone channel he said, "It's a damned stupid idea, Jerrod. Once those Russians see us fooling with the Thor missiles they'll blow us all away. Order Baker and Yemana back."