"Take a look, Hot Rod. See what you can find."
"Roger," said Lamborghini, and he turned on the powerful AWG-14 Doppler-pulse radar. Using the hand controller, he rotated the slotted planar antenna in the nose cone to search for the rogue spacecraft. Around and around he went, peppering the target space with electromagnetic pulsed from the LTV radar, but his tactical information display (TID) screen remained blank. "I'm not getting anything, Mad Dog."
Monaghan's earphones crackled. "Kestrel, this is CSOC. Please advise on your status."
"Nothing yet," replied Monaghan. "We're still scanning with the radar. Anything you can tell us?"
"Wait one," ordered the Cap Com. "The Intrepid is already being scanned by the NASA tracking ship. We're waiting for you to come into range. Yeah. Okay, they've got you! We mark you two-one-seven miles behind the Intrepid and one-seven miles below. Also, your ground track is slightiy west of the target. You copy that?"
"Roger, CSOC," said Monaghan, and he yawed the space fighter a bit to the right. "Try it now, Hot Rod."
Again, Lamborghini swept the ether with his planar antenna. "I've got something!"
Mad Dog whooped. "That's gotta be them. CSOC, we got 'em in our sights."
"We copy, Kestrel," replied the Cap Com in Colorado. "Eagle One says take the shot as soon as you can."
"Roger," said Lamborghini as he began powering up the electronics in the Phoenixes. "It's hard to say for sure at this range, Mad Dog, but the TID screen says we're picking up two signatures."
"You probably are," said Monaghan. "A big one and a smaller one, I bet."
"Yeah. Very little separation between them, though."
"I figure the big one is Iceberg," speculated Monaghan, "and the small blip is that Russian Soyuz. Better take 'em both out to be sure."
"Roger," said Lamborghini. "Seems a shame to blast the Soyuz, too. Those Russian cosmonauts are probably just following orders."
"Yeah. That's a shame," agreed Monaghan. "Now nail the fuckers."
Lamborghini flipped on the Phoenix AWG-14 fire-control system, then punched in some keystrokes on the armament panel, which assigned a target, and a target priority, to each missile. He set both Phoenixes for dependent guidance, so they would be guided by the Kestrel's radar for most of their death journey. Lastly, he popped open the safety cover on the red arming switch and flipped it to engage. The two blips on his TID screen started blinking, indicating the missiles were locked onto their targets in the priority sequence he had assigned. All Lamborghini had to do now was press the red button on the hand controller. "We've got lock-on, Mad Dog."
"Take 'em!" ordered Monaghan.
There was a white flash as the first Phoenix leapt off the left pylon. Monaghan instinctively blinked, and the Kestrel wobbled slightly from the missile's release. But the fire-control computer quickly readjusted the spaceplane's attitude so it would regain its stability for the next shot. A few moments elapsed, and with a second flash, the final Phoenix raced into the night sky.
As Monaghan watched the two white dots streak off in the distance, he said, "God, Hot Rod, that was weird. I didn't hear a thing."
Lamborghini watched his screen. "The TID's readout says five minutes, thirty seconds to impact."
"Five minutes to retrofire," radioed Lubinin. He and Yemitov were a mere sixty feet from the tail of the Intrepid, and as close to the Progress retro engine as they dared be. They could only hope their backup trigger transmitter would function properly. "If the device works this time, Intrepid, the American spacecraft will be too late to prevent your escape."
"Just make sure it does work this time," replied Iceberg. "I don't want to have to ride down with you guys in that Soyuz capsule."
Lubinin didn't tell the American that if they failed, they'd all be better off just staying in orbit.
As the seconds dragged by inside the Intrepid, Iceberg found himself perspiring again, and the little droplets of sweat remained suspended around his face. It had to work this time. The success of his lifetime mission now rested on a silicon chip inside a hand-held device. Would it work or wouldn't it? He cursed, but whispered no prayer. If an atheist could be devout, then Iceberg was devout. His god had become the mission — the final, complete obedience to his mother.
Lamborghini was glued to his TID screen now. The range to target was rapidly shrinking as the Phoenix missiles homed in on their targets at 2,500 miles per hour. "Sixty seconds to impact," he said in a tight voice. "Switching to independent guidance now." He punched the appropriate button on the armament panel, and the missiles' on-board planar antennae became active. From this point, the Phoenixes would guide themselves in for the terminal kill phase.
"Forty seconds," announced Lamborghini.
"Seven… six… five…" Lubinin read off the countdown one last time."… Four… three… two… one… fire!"
Yemitov mashed the red button, and the Progress engine erupted before them, silently belching out a tower of yellow flame.
"We have ignition!" shouted Lubinin as the Intrepid started moving away.
For Iceberg, the vibration from the jerry-rigged engine imparted an almost sexual feeling of release. At last — at long last — he was on his way. Yet instinctively, he peered out the window — as if he might be able to see the American bogie that had been sent up from Vandenberg.
Lamborghini had become mesmerized by the TID screen.
"How's it lookin'?" asked Mad Dog.
"Thirty seconds," came the clipped response, then, "hold on a minute — what is this?"
"What is what?" demanded Monaghan.
Lamborghini blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing it correctly. "Mad Dog, I'm picking up a third radar signature."
"What? A third signature?"
"Yeah, a third image," replied Lamborghini. "It's moving away from the other two and becoming more distinct. Its range is increasing… and it's descending."
"What about the other two?" asked Monaghan.
Lamborghini was flustered now. "Still stationary. The first Phoenix will impact in five seconds."
Yemitov's blue eyes watched the Intrepid grow smaller and smaller in the distance. "We did it, Vasili! We did it!" cried the cosmonaut in exultation.
Lubinin was about to echo his compatriot's excitement when, over Yemitov's shoulder, he noticed a white flash in the distance. Puzzled, he pointed with his gloved hand. "Sergei… I saw something over there."
Yemitov was turning to look behind him when the nearby Soyuz silently exploded in a burst of light, sending fragments spinning in all directions.
"We have impact on one!" shouted Lamborghini. "And two!"
"What about the third one?" demanded Monaghan.
Lamborghini watched the screen. "It's still there… range still increasing… and descending. I don't understand. Where could it have come from?"