Leonov’s eyes narrowed as he watched the unfolding tactical situation. The defensive measures Strelkov and his cosmonauts had initiated were sound — but they might not be sufficient. Too much depended on what the Americans intended, and that was still unclear. Mars One’s twin lasers and Scimitar missiles were formidable against targets within one hundred kilometers… but what if that Sky Masters spaceplane rocketing into orbit carried longer-range weapons? If so, it would be able to stand off at a distance and pound the space station into scrap.
He opened a new window on his display, one that showed a wider view of Earth orbit around Mars One. Their recently launched reactor module was still nearly six hundred kilometers behind and sixty kilometers below the station. Green triangles showed the positions of its two armed escorts — one thirty kilometers ahead and the other the same distance behind. Their assigned mission was to protect the replacement fusion generator from American attack. Then again, he thought, of what use was that power plant if Mars One itself was destroyed?
Leonov made up his mind. He opened an encrypted voice link to the leading Russian spaceplane. A simple text message would not suffice, not for what he was about to order. “Elektron One, this is Warlord One.”
“Go ahead, Warlord One,” the pilot, Lieutenant Colonel Ilya Alferov, said.
“You will execute an immediate emergency burn,” Leonov told him calmly. “I want you to close the gap with Mars One and be in position to engage that enemy S-29 before it is too late.”
“Wait one, Warlord,” Alferov radioed. There was a short pause while the cosmonaut, another of his carefully trained cadre for the Mars Project, ran the necessary calculations through his computer. When he spoke again, his voice held a strong undercurrent of concern. “Warlord One, the only feasible burn will consume all of my available fuel. I will be unable to dock with the station… or deorbit and return to Earth.”
“I understand that, Elektron One,” Leonov said patiently.
This time there was an even longer pause. “Sir, what you’re asking is…”
Leonov’s patience cracked. “Follow your orders, Alferov!” he growled. “If necessary, we will retrieve you from orbit.”
And if that proves impossible, at least you will die a beloved hero of the Motherland, he thought with weary cynicism. That might be small consolation to the cosmonaut’s young family, but war created many widows and fatherless children.
“Affirmative, Warlord One,” he heard the other man say at last. “I am maneuvering now. Elektron One out.”
On his display, Leonov saw the icon tagged ELEKTRON ONE break away from its position ahead of the reactor module. The armed spaceplane was accelerating hard to enter a new transfer orbit, one that would bring it within one hundred kilometers of Mars One around the same time as the American S-29 Shadow.
He sat back, still pondering the situation he saw developing high over the earth. All of his available forces were moving into play, far out of his direct control for the moment. Not quite all, he realized suddenly. There was still one more precaution he could take.
Carefully, Leonov entered a new series of commands into his computer and hit the button — transmitting them through a network of Russian satellites to a secondary communications antenna on Mars One. Ostensibly, he had just queried the status of a water storage tank in the central command module. In reality, this seemingly innocuous request triggered one of the hidden fail-safe protocols Arkady Koshkin’s programmers had inserted into the station’s operating software.
Seconds later, a response scrolled across his screen: RAPIRA SEVEN ON STANDBY. READY FOR TARGET SELECTION.
Leonov took his hands off the keyboard and sat back. Now, like everyone else on the ground, he would watch… and wait.
“Engine cutoff in five seconds… four… three… two… one. Shutdown,” the S-29’s flight computer announced.
All five rocket motors cut out.
Cocooned inside his COMS cockpit, Brad felt the G-forces that had pressed him deeper into the robot’s haptic interface gel suddenly vanish. They were replaced by the floating sensation that marked the onset of weightlessness. Gingerly, he rolled his aching shoulder, being careful not to dislocate it a second time.
“Good burn,” the computer’s calm female voice said. “No residuals.”
He checked the data for himself and confirmed that the S-29’s autonomous programs were correct. The spaceplane had entered an elliptical orbit that would intercept Mars One eight minutes before the Russian space station crossed back into daylight. Now they were coasting upward at more than seventeen thousand miles per hour.
Aboard Mars One, Konnikov saw the heat signature of the American spaceplane’s engines fade abruptly. Awkward in his thick Sokol pressure suit, he tugged on the tether connecting him to his sensor console, spinning slowly to face Strelkov. “The S-29 has completed its burn!”
From his own console, the colonel looked up. His expression was impossible to read through the visor of his helmet. “Are you sure of that, Georgy?”
Konnikov nodded. “Yes, sir. The enemy spacecraft is still on a trajectory to intercept us with a low relative velocity. My computer estimates it will be within the effective range of our Hobnail lasers in approximately ten minutes.”
“Right,” Strelkov said decisively. “Let’s see if we can dodge this bastard now that he’s committed.” He opened an intercom channel to Anikeyev. “Take us into a higher orbit, Pavel,” he ordered. “Burn every drop of fuel that we have!”
“The target is maneuvering,” the S-29’s computer said calmly. “Calculating the parameters for a new burn. Engine relight… now.”
Brad felt himself shoved backward again as the spaceplane’s five powerful rocket motors fired for a second time. The flight computer was using its last remaining stores of JP-8 and BOHM oxidizer to match Mars One’s new orbit. From this moment on, the Shadow and its passengers were fully committed. There was no longer any way to abort this mission and reenter the earth’s atmosphere before the Russian space station flew back into full sunlight and recharged its plasma rail gun.
Forty-Five
Maneuvering thrusters fired in sequence, pitching the S-29 Shadow spaceplane “downward” so that it was now flying toward Mars One with its nose pointed to the earth below and its upper fuselage aimed straight at the Russian space station.
“Range to target now ninety miles. Closing velocity is eleven hundred feet per second,” the S-29 reported. “Opening cargo bay doors. Doors are unlatched.”
Through his COMS sensors, Brad saw a thin, almost impossibly black line appear down the length of the cargo bay’s ceiling. Slowly, the twin clamshell doors opened wider, revealing the star-filled infinity of space. And suddenly the realization of what they were about to attempt hit him with full force. We must be absolutely batshit crazy, he thought in amazement. “Wolf One to Wolf Two and Three,” he said. “I suppose it’s too late to come up with another plan?”
“I wondered that myself,” Vasey replied dryly.
Nadia laughed quietly. “Come now, boys. This should be fun.”