“The Russians have definitely put their reactor module into space,” Brad told them. “The Space Surveillance Telescope in western Australia took this image as it passed overhead a few minutes ago.” He used his laptop computer to pull up the picture he’d downloaded. It showed an unmistakable cylindrical shape, identical to the other three that already made up Mars One.
“Three rockets lifted off from Vostochny,” Boomer pointed out. “So what sort of payloads were the other two carrying?”
Brad kept as much control over his voice and expression as he could. “These,” he said, pulling up two more images captured by the powerful U.S. Air Force — operated telescope. Both showed winged spacecraft with their cargo bays open, revealing a fixed weapons mount inside.
“Elektron spaceplanes,” Boomer muttered. “Armed with more of those fucking Hobnail lasers.”
Brad nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“What’s your evaluation?” his father asked.
“Both Russian spacecraft have entered the same orbit as the reactor module. One Elektron is on station about twenty miles ahead of the module. The second trails it by about the same distance,” Brad told him. “Based on that, it’s pretty clear that they’re acting as escorts, with orders to protect that reactor until it’s safely docked with Mars One.”
“I concur,” the older McLanahan said. He turned to Farrell. “If we needed any further confirmation that Gryzlov has launched a replacement fusion generator, there it is. There’s no reason he would commit those two armed spacecraft to protect anything that he didn’t consider absolutely vital.”
The president nodded his understanding. He looked at Brad. “How much time do we have before this module is in a position to link up with the Russian space station?”
“Based on its current trajectory, our computers estimate it will be ready to dock with Mars One in five, or possibly six more orbits,” Brad said. “That’s approximately eight hours from now.”
“And after it’s docked? How long will it take the Mars One crew to bring their new reactor online?”
Patrick shrugged. “Without a clearer understanding of the technology the Russians have developed, there’s no way to be sure, Mr. President. But we can’t count on it taking them very long.”
Privately, Brad agreed. The Russians were smart enough to design their systems so that all the necessary power connections from the reactor to the rest of their station ran through its docking port. And unlike a conventional power plant or even a fission-based reactor with its steam turbines, it was unlikely that any functioning small fusion generator had many moving parts. Spinning it up might be as simple as running a number of safety checks and then flipping a switch.
“So we must go and go soon,” Nadia said decisively.
“Nadia’s right,” Brad said. He pulled up Mars One’s projected orbital track. “A little under three orbits from now, in roughly four hours, the Russian station will cross into darkness over South America. That’s our best chance to jump them while they can’t recharge their plasma rail gun and lasers.”
“But attacking then isn’t ideal,” Farrell guessed.
“No, sir,” Brad admitted. “On that orbit, the ground track for Mars One passes within striking range of a number of high-priority European targets.”
“Including Warsaw,” the president said flatly.
“Yes, sir.”
Nadia shook her head impatiently. “Yes, the risk exists. We cannot avoid it. I will brief President Wilk, but I already know what he will say: better death than slavery. Is not that the lesson of the heroic defenders of your own Alamo?”
Beside her, Peter Vasey hid a sudden grin. Nadia had the duelist’s gift, all right. Give her any opening, however small, and she would thrust home straight through it — striking straight to the heart.
“I take your point, Major,” Farrell said quietly, with a wry smile. He looked at Brad. “Then I guess it comes down to whether or not y’all can be ready to go in time.”
“We can,” Brad said firmly. “I’ve run the flight times to the necessary jump-off point over Ecuador. All of the spaceplanes we’re committing to this operation can make it with time to spare… but only if we take off within the next hour.”
Martindale nodded. “Sky Masters has already staged the necessary refueling aircraft to airports in Mexico and Central America.” He looked at Farrell. “As soon as you give the word, I can get those tankers airborne.”
Farrell sat in silence for a moment. Then he turned to Patrick. “Do I have an alternative?”
“Short of eventual capitulation to anything Gryzlov demands?” the older McLanahan said. He shook his head. “No, Mr. President, I’m afraid you really don’t.”
Farrell grimaced. He seemed to have aged several years in as many minutes. Finally, he looked up at Brad and the others. “All right. Y’all have my permission to go into orbit and kick some Russian ass.”
“We will not let you down,” Nadia promised.
“See that you don’t,” the president said gruffly. “And make damned sure you come back in one piece.”
No one had anything much to say to that.
Forty-Three
Colonel Vadim Strelkov looked ahead and saw a line of darkness curving across the surface of the earth. They were approaching the terminator, the point where Mars One would cross into darkness for thirty-four minutes on this orbit. He opened an intercom channel to Pyotr Romanenko. “Solar array status?”
“We are currently generating twenty-four kilowatts. But that is dropping fast,” the engineering officer reported. “Shifting to station backup batteries now.”
“Understood,” Strelkov said. He switched channels. “Filatyev. Revin. Give me a report on your weapons.”
Filatyev spoke first from his post in the aft weapons module. “Thunderbolt’s supercapacitors are fully charged. The weapon is ready to fire.”
“Both Hobnail battery packs are at maximum capacity,” Leonid Revin said from the forward weapons module. “All indicators are green on both lasers.”
“Very well,” Strelkov said. During most periods of darkness, he relied on those on duty to handle their own preparations. After so many orbits, this process was quickly becoming routine, but it never hurt to be fully ready for action when they were forced to rely completely on stored power. That was why he ran drills like this two or three times during any given “day.” Soon, though, they would no longer be necessary. To keep from drifting off across the command compartment, he made sure his feet were hooked under the edge of his console and then carefully swiveled toward Georgy Konnikov. “Give me an update on the reactor module, Major.”
Konnikov had the answer at his fingertips. “It is currently six hundred kilometers behind us, sir, and closing on an elliptical transfer orbit.”
“Time to the final docking maneuver?”
“Currently estimated at three hours and thirty-five minutes,” the sensor officer told him.
Strelkov nodded. In just two more orbits, once their fusion generator was online and providing massive amounts of power, this station would be invulnerable — safe against any conceivable American attack.
Abruptly, their lights and displays flickered for a fraction of a second and then stabilized.
“We’ve crossed the solar terminator,” Romanenko reported. “Shift to battery power is complete.”