"Okay, Skipper, we're connected," said Whizzo, "but talk fast. There's some turbulence out there and we could lose the connection at any time."
The pilot keyed his mike switch. "Ghost Two, this is Ghost Leader. I authenticate Thor's Hammer."
"Roger, Lead," came the response, "I confirm Thor's Hammer."
"Okay," said the veteran pilot. "Stay below me within laser-beam range. We may need to talk again."
"Roger, Lead. Ghost Two, out."
"All right, Whizzo, here we go. If you know any prayers, say 'em now." Ghost Leader turned the wheel on his control stick gendy to the right and lightly depressed the rudder pedal. The on-board computers responded, firing off electronic instructions that deployed the right drag rudder and put the giant black bat-wing into a slow, banking turn toward the southern border of the Soviet Union.
Vasili Lubinin carefully pushed the maneuvering unit of his space backpack through the hatch of the Soyuz orbital module. Yemitov was already outside, and he grabbed the contraption as it drifted out of the portal. Before leaving the capsule, Lubinin switched on the spacecraft's radio repeater, which would relay the voice transmissions of the cosmonauts to the Kaliningrad Flite Control Centre. He then retrieved the remote-control triggering transmitter — which looked like a handheld walkie-talkie— and exited the Soyuz. Once outside, the two cosmonauts helped each other clip their maneuvering units into place.
Lubinin spoke into his voice-activated microphone. "Flite Centre, this is Soyuz. Do you read? Over."
"Roger, Soyuz, we read you. Inspect your chronometer. It should read thirty-three minutes to retrofire…" There was a pause."… now."
"Roger, Flite Centre. I copy thirty-three minutes to retrofire. The chronometer is operating properly. We are departing now for the American spacecraft to make final preparations."
"Roger, Soyuz. We will monitor you. Good luck."
"Thank you, Flite Centre." Lubinin turned to Yemitov. "Come along, Sergei. Let us send the American on his way."
The two spacesuited figures engaged their thrusters, and like two bumblebees floating from flower to flower, they transversed the void to the Intrepid, coming to a halt over the orbiter's nose. Iceberg's black eyes stared back at them through the windshield.
Lubinin transmitted in English. "Intrepid, we are approaching the time for your retro fire. You are to put your spacecraft into the same reentry attitude as you would normally. The thrust and timed burn of our replacement engine should provide you with the same retrofire characteristics as your own reentry engines. We will read off the countdown and fire the engine from outside with this remote-control triggering device." Lubinin held up the small transmitter. "We will set the timers on the explosive bolt clamps so they will automatically release after you are positioned in your final reentry attitude. As I understand it, your navigational computer is self-contained and can guide you to the recovery runway without external assistance."
"Yeah," replied Iceberg. "The NavComputer can do that. Better move out of the way. I'm going to close the doors and put it into reentry position now."
"Very well," replied Lubinin. The two Russians backed away from the shuttle and watched in admiration as the Intrepid's cargo bay doors closed and the orbiter executed a lazy pirouette into its retrofire position. The spacecraft was now traveling "heads down" and backward, with its nose inclined slightly toward earth. From this position, the thrust from the Progress engine would brake the Intrepid and propel it toward the ground at the same time.
After the orbiter had frozen its position, Lubinin and Yemitov traveled to the tail section, which held the mating collar and Progress engine. Yemitov wished they had had time to go on board and explore the Intrepid, but there would be time enough for that after the American was finally on the ground.
Lubinin checked his chronometer and did some mental arithmetic. There were now seventeen minutes to ignition. Allow three minutes for the retro burn. Another five minutes for the spacecraft to reposition itself for atmospheric reentry. Another three minutes for a safety margin. That meant a total of twenty-eight minutes before firing the explosive bolts. "Set your timers for twenty-eight minutes on my mark, Sergei."
"Roger."
"Three… two… one… mark." The cosmonauts each set two timers that were equally spaced around the flange of the rocket nozzle. This would fire all four explosive spring bolts at roughly the same instant.
Inside the Intrepid, Iceberg was punching the reentry data into his navigational computer. The ultrasophisticated Navcomputer was really a nifty device. All the pilot had to do was enter the latitude and longitude of the target landing zone and engage the digital autopilot. The autopilot would read the data from the NavComputer and guide the spacecraft down through reentry, through die braking S-turns, and into the final approach. The Intrepid also possessed an Autoland system, but that wouldn't work without the TACAN microwave landing system on the ground. No matter. Iceberg figured he could handle the landing manually. No sweat. He knew how good he was.
"Kestrel, this is Launch Control."
"We read you, Launch Control," replied Monaghan.
"CSOS in Colorado says we'll have a go-no go decision on your launch in a few minutes. The Intrepid is coming up on its first reentry window. If it doesn't go through retrofire on this pass you'll be able to get within range on the next go-around."
"We can hardly wait," radioed Monaghan. "No sense getting all dressed up with nowhere to go."
Mission Commander Malyshev watched intently as the digital chronometer raced backward. Once again his blond hair was pasted to his forehead in sweaty streaks. "Four minutes to ignition," he radioed.
"Roger, Flite Centre," squawked Lubinin's voice through the speaker box. "Everything is in readiness."
Kostiashak turned to Popov, whose rumpled uniform looked like a potato sack. "Not long now, General. This is a glorious moment, is it not?"
Popov shot the little man a sideways glance. "That still remains to be seen, Comrade Chairman."
"Thirty seconds!" crackled in Lubinin's earphones. "Thirty seconds, Intrepid," relayed Lubinin. "Are you ready?"
"Yeah," said Iceberg irritably. "I've been ready for days. The NavComputer is locked in. You just light the candle."
Lubinin watched his wrist chronometer and read off the final countdown, while Yemitov poised his thumb over the red firing button of the remote-control triggering device.
"Seven… six…" Lubinin's voice grew more strained as he ticked off the final seconds.
"Five… four… three… two… one… fire!"
Yemitov mashed the red button.
And nothing happened.
The Crow's Nest in SPADOC was crowded, with Whittenberg, Fairchild, Dowd, and Lydia Strand watching the advancing ground track of the Soyuz-Intrepid rendezvous. The blinking light on the projection map indicated the two spacecraft were above the South Pacific — out of range of SPACECOM's Space-track radar stations in Hawaii and the Marshall islands. To fill in the blind spot, a NASA tracking ship had been dispatched to that corner of the South Seas to ensure the reentry window was covered.