Flight Of The Old Dog pm-1 Page 20

  A split-second later a terrific explosion erupted from the open end of the launch cylinder aboard Ice Fortress. A tongue of fire several yards long spit from the earthward side of the station. Sparks and arcs of electricity sputtered from one of the spindly sides, and Ice Fortress started a slow, lazy roll backward, sending showers of sparks and debris flying in all directions. Bates ducked as the cable connecting Atlantis to the space station snapped back and hit the forward bulkhead of the Al cargo bay Bates' voice was a scream. "Commander Seedeck. Oh, Bates heard Admiral Woods report. "We have lost Ice Fortress. Repeat, we have lost Ice Fortress. Bright orange light, then massive explosion.

  One crewman missing.

  " This is Bates. What's-T' "Bates, this is Admiral Woods. Where are you?You all right?"

  Bates reached up with his left hand for one of the handholds on the forward bulkhead, found that the pressure was all but gone.

  "I fell into the cargo bay. I'm okay-" Just then a sword of pain stabbed into his skull and he cried out into the open communications panel.

  "Bates… T' Bates looked down. The lower part of his left leg was sticking out at a peculiar angle from his body.

  "Oh God… I think I broke my leg.

  "Can you make it to the airlock?"

  "Admiral, this is Connors. I can suit up and-" God… " "Mission Control, this is Atlantis "Not if you haven't been pre-breathing," Woods told him.

  "Everyone, make a fast station check, report any damage, then get on the cameras. Find Seedeck. Connors, Matsumo, get a POS and start pre-breathing. Bates, can you make it back to the airlock?" Bates grabbed the handhold. He expected a tough time hauling himself upright but suddenly found he had to keep from flinging himself up out of the cargo bay in his weightless condition. Slowly, he began to haul himself back toward the airlock hatch.

  "Bates, what happened out there?"

  "God, it looked like… like one of the damn projectiles laser satellites had numerous safety devices to prevent an detonated, " Bates said as he crawled for the airlock. The X-ray accidental nuclear detonation, but the reaction chamber needed a big explosion to start the atomic chain reaction, and those explosives had no safety devices.

  Something, some massive burst of energy, had set off the five hundred pounds of high explosives in the satellite's reaction chamber.

  Just as he safely reached the airlock, Bates looked back to Ice Fortress. It took him a moment to spot it again, several hundred yards from where it had been a few moments before.

  It was lazily, almost playfully spinning away, its radars and antennas and electronic eyes and spindly arms flopping about as if it was waving goodbye. Occasionally a shower of sparks erupted from its surface.

  And a trail of debris hovered in its wake, as if it were dropping crumbs on the trail to help find its way back…

  Commander Richard Seedeck left nothing. Nothing was left of him.

  WASHINGTON, D.C

  The President examined a large wall-sized chart projected on the rear wall of the White House Situation Room. He ran a finger over the black line, making sure it ran right through Kavaznya.

  The line wasn't quite straight-Arawn by a computer, the Great Circle course was a series of straight lines representing dozens of heading changes. But it was the shortest istance, the President knew, to an encounter that now seemed unavoidable.

  General Wilbur Curtis and his aide stood behind their chairs watching the President. Curtis knew that the President was looking at something no other American president had ever seen-a chart of an actual peacetime attack plan against the Soviet Union. Even though hundreds of such plans existed, none had ever been presented to the President for his direct approval.

  After quickly examining the chart, the President took his seat at the head of the oval table. Curtis kept watching the President as the other advisers all took their seats after him.

  Dark rings had formed under the President's eyes, he was noticeably thinner, and his shoulders drooped.

  Well, it was a terrible strain on all of them, because this young President relied so heavily on his advisors in foreign affairs. He was extremely effective when it came to domestic problems and he was immensely popular at home, but overseas it was a different matter. He and his Cabinet had tried to convince the world that the Soviet Union was threatening the United States, trying to provoke a conflict-but few believed him, mostly because they were afraid to find out it was the truth. The consequences of that were too scary. The war of words had reduced Secretary of State Marshall Brent as well.

  His usual polish and spirit were noticeably dimmed.

  Now, the laser had taken another life, and the President was looking at what he feared most-a direct assault against Kavaznya. In the U.S.S.R.…

  Assembled were his National Security Council, his Cabinet and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. They had already held a hastily formed meeting of their own. Now it was time for them to present the plan they had come up with.

  "Let's have it, General," the President said, prompting the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Wilbur Curtis nodded and stood.

  "Yes, sir," the general began. "Two B-1B Excaliburs from the new Tenth Bombardment Wing at Ellsworth Air Force Base will execute this mission.

  Yesterday they were flown from Dreamland, where they were undergoing design modification, to Ellsworth, where each was armed with two AGM-130

  Striker TV-infrared-guided bombs. Per your order, sir. It's the largest non-nuclear standoff weapon in our arsenal. It uses a small strap-on rocket motor to glide as far as fifteen miles from a low-altitude release, and it has the explosive power of one ton of TNT.

  The bombardier can steer it to its target using a TV eye in the nose, or it can lock-on to a target with an infrared seeker.

  "Two Strikers, General?"

  "An added insurance factor, sir. Two weapons targeted for the same point. If the first weapon fails to detonate, the second, impacting five seconds later, will take out the target. If the first works, the second bomb will be destroyed in the blast. The second aircraft insures destruction of the primary target and has the additional task of air defense suppression."

  There was a rustle of uneasiness, even from those who had been in on the entire Kavaznya crisis from the start. This was not an exercise or simulation Curtis was talking about.

  "The bombers have been equipped with the standard coded switch and permissive-action-link security arrangements," Curtis continued.

  "Those are the electronic switches between the weapons and the bombardiers' control panels. We're treating the Strikers just like nuclear weapons-no prearming or launch possible without a coded strike message from you, sir, transmitted via satellite communications or normal U.H.F traffic and entered into those switches. Two of the most experienced Excalibur crews will fly the missions-both senior Standardization-Evaluation crews. They've been briefed and are standing by.

  "The aircraft will follow the routing as shown," Curtis said, pointing to the large computer-drawn chart. "From Ellsworth, they'll fly through Canada and then through Alaska. They'll be refueled by two KC-10 tankers out of Eielson Air Force Base, then proceed northward to the Arctic Ocean. They'll orbit just north of Point Barrow, in their SNOWTIME exercise orbit area, and wait for your first authorization message. The SAC Green Pine communications center at Point Barrow will relay the message.

  "They will not be allowed to prearm the weapons at this point. If they are ordered to remain in this orbit area, it will appear to any outside observers as just another SNOWTIME arctic defense exercise. SAC holds them several times a year.

  Both the Russians and the Canadians are accustomed to our bombers orbiting the Arctic Ocean on training missions.

  "If they receive the first strike authorization, the aircraft will continue southwest to approximately sixty-seven degrees north latitude, escorted by the second group of KC-10 tankers. They will orbit in open airspace over the Chukchi Sea, north of Siberia, and wait for the second strike authorization message if we haven't transm
itted both messages at the same time. If they receive the second authorization, they finish their final refueling and head over the target."

  "How accustomed are outside observers to bombers orbiting so close to Russia?" Secretary of Defense Thomas Preston asked. "That's not one of our usual operating areas."

  "True, sir," Curtis replied. "But the B-1s will still be well outside Russian radar coverage and still well within international airspace.

  It's unlikely they will even be spotted. If the Russians do detect them, they may be suspicious, but we feel it's unlikely they will mount any counterforce. Air defense forces are extremely light this far north."

  "Any chance of that laser attacking the B-1s?" the President asked.

  He still could not believe the explanation he had been given for why the laser had managed to knock out the Fortress.

  By timing their attack when they did, the Russians had managed to hit the space platform when the X-ray satellite launch cylinder was open and exposed. Had they waited only a few hours later, all the X-ray satellites would have been armed and the cylinder would have been closed.

  "No chance, sir. "The President looked skeptical.

  "The Soviets have to find a target before they can hit it, sir.

  The B-1s won't be in range of the main tracking radar at Kavaznya until much later, within twenty or thirty miles of the target-they'll be terrain-masking in the mountains along the Kamchatka peninsula until then-and by the time the radar does spot them they'll be within range of the Striker glide bomb.

  "But the orbiting mirror?"

  "They used the orbiting mirror against an I.C.B.M four hundred miles up," Curtis asked. "An I.C.B.M with its motors running and red-hot climbing through the atmosphere is an easy target to be tracked by infrared-seeking satellites, and the Soviets have a data-link setup with the laser to attack I.C.B.Ms tracked by satellite. An aircraft flying only seven miles high can't be tracked accurately by an enemy satellite. They can't hit what they can't see. But if they somehow did fire the laser against the B-1s, we feel the dissipation of heat from shooting through the atmosphere, then reflecting the beam down through the atmosphere again would dilute the energy sufficiently for the aircraft to escape. No, sir, the B-1s are safe from the laser until close to Kavaznya. Then, the standoff range of the Strikers will keep them away from the laser. The laser should be destroyed before it can get a shot off."

  Curtis now moved his pointer down into Asia. "Our people encounter little resistance or even chance of detection until fairly close to the target. They drop to low altitude just prior to crossing the north coast of Siberia, just before entering highaltitude warning radar c overage around the town of Ust-Chaun, but they can return to high altitude all across eastern Siberia to save fuel until approaching the northern edge of the Kamchatka peninsula. They drop to terrain-following attitudes down the Korakskiy and Sredinny mountain ranges to the target."

  Curtis changed the slide, showing a greatly enlarged overhead photograph. "This is the latest satellite reconnaissance photo we have of Kavaznya, Mr. President, taken early last year. The B-1's primary target is here. "Curtis switched to an even more highly magnified view.

  "This is the mirror housing, a large dome maybe forty feet in diameter from which, the CIA believes, the laser beam is projected into space.

  Two Strikers will be programmed to impact here. Another glide-bomb is programmed for the main area and another is programmed for Ossora laser tracking rad Airfield north and east of Kavaznya.

  "As you can see, sir, the mirror housing is very isolatedthe rest of the complex, except for the nuclear power plant, is underground. The nuclear power plant is considered an alternate target. If the crew experiences-" "No," the President asked. "Not the power plant, for God's sake. We might as well drop a nuke on them if we destroy a nuclear power plant. I won't be blamed for another Chernobyl.

  No alternative target. If the B-1s can't attack the mirror dome, they don't go."

  Curtis, not altogether happy with that, nodded, then again switched to a map of the North Pacific. "After their attack, the B-1s get back into the mountains and stay there at terrain following altitudes until they exit low altitude radar coverage, then cross the water toward Alaska. Possible landing sites are Attu, Shrmya, Elmendorf, and Eielson.

  "After landing, they'll refuel and return to Ellsworth…

  undoubtedly they will be regenerated and put on hard Slop strategic nuclear alert."

  "If the base still exists," someone n#ittered.

  The President stared at the sortie chartz' "It seems too…

  easy," the President muttered.

  "I beg your pardon, Mr. President?"

  "It seems too simple," the President said, not much louder.

  Curtis strained to hear. "Where are the defenses) You've told me for years about stiff Russian air defenses. Here…

  there's no threat?"

  "The target area is still heavily defended, the defenses include-" "The Excaliburs can make it, General?" the President interrupted. "They can get in?"

  Curtis turned to Lieutenant-General Bradley James Elliott, who stood and faced the President.

  "Gener al Elliott," the President asked. "Good to see you again. Well, what's your opinion, Brad?Can they make it?"

  "I think so, sir. With the new equipment we've tested at Dreamland and built into these B-1s, they should stand a hell of a lot even see the chance. At low altitude, the Russians won't launch Excaliburs until forty, fifty, maybe sixty nautical miles from the target- At nine miles a minute, the Excaliburs will be on top of them before fighters could ever launch-and at two hundred feet in the mountains it'll be impossible to find them.

  If they are attacked the Excaliburs have the fuel reserves for a supersonic sprint across the target, and they have specialized jammers, antiradar missiles, and even flying decoys to handle surface-to-air missiles. But the Strikers will be launched fifteen miles from the laser facility, so the B-1s can stay in the mountains all the way."

  The President looked away and stared at the enlarged photograph of Kavaznya, then turned back to his advi sets.

  "I know what you're thinking. This attack, the last thing any of us have wanted even to consider, now looks as if it will happen… our repeated attempts in the past few days to Move the Soviets from their inflexible position have failed.

  Diplomatic channels remain open and it's still my hope that Secretary Brent will somehow get a commitment from the Soviets that will let me order these B-1s to scrub their mission.

  But if he doesn't and I am forced to give the strike order, I want it very clear to everyone that what we will be conducting is, in a real sense, a police action. Every effort has been made to control and contain the scope of this mission. We do not want war with the Soviets. We do not want a nuclear exchange. But we must face the fact that the existence of the laser facility and the Soviet Union's Policy of a peacetime quarantine of Asia will (ventually cripple our ability to defend ourselves against attack or to mount a second strike in reprisal. We must, it seems, take this action now, with its inherent risks, to avoid the certainty of far greater risks later… General Curtis, go over the fail-safe procedures again.

  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs stood. "Sir, we need a direct order from you to launch the two bombers, a second one to allow them to proceed past the established SNOWTIME arctic exercise orbit area they usually operate in, and we need a third, separate order to allow the bombers to cross the fail-safe point and prearm their missiles. The third message is their authorization to strike.

  "Bombers will continuously monitor SATCOM and HF radios for coded recall or termination instructions, and they can be recalled at any time. They cannot proceed on their missions unless they have two one-hundred-percent operable missiles and an aircraft that meets their tactical doctrine specifications.

  Our communications satellites will be programmed to automatically transmit a recall message every half hour unless we instruct them not to. So if communications are disrup
ted the mission will automatically terminate."

  The President nodded, looked around the room. No one else offered any comment or suggestion. After an unendurably long moment, the President reached down and opened the redcovered folder prepared for him the day before. He broke the sea] and reviewed the document inside authorizing the first step of Curtis' plan.

  DREAMLAND

  Patrick McLanahan was sitting alone in the semidarkness of his cramped, rickety wooden barracks room when he heard a faint knock on the door.

  He smiled and opened it.

  Standing in the doorway, wearing a dark gray flight jacket, fliehtsuit and insulated winter flying boots just like his own, was his partner, Dave Luger. Luger had his hands thrust in his pockets and was scuffling the sand around with his toes.

  "Ready to go, Muck?" he said, still poking around in the dirt.

  McLanahan glanced at his watch and looked at the sky. "Oh seven-hundred hours," he asked. "You're a bit late, aren't you?" Luger checked his watch and shrugged.

  "What difference does it make?Last two days, there hasn't been any reason to be on time. All we've been doing is sitting on our behinds.

  McLanahan had turned to pick up his jacket, which was slung over the bedpost behind him. "Wait a minute," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "What am I hearing?Is this the same guy who has been bitching for the past two months about the hours we've been putting in?

  The same guy who every night for three weeks threatened to strangle me for arranging it so he'd be brought here to Dreamland?"

  Luger fell into his ever-familiar gunfighter's slouch. "Yeah, well, I still don't have fond memories of Lieutenant Briggs barging in on me while I was with Sharon to say that I was going to be taking a little trip. And having that prima donna Anderson on my ass fourteen hours a day hasn't been any picnic either. But ever since those B-1s lit out for Ellsworth two days ago, it's been boring as hell. I mean, what the hell is there to do if you're not in the simulator or out on a training jaunt?"