Legacy

7

The Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center (JSC) is the National Aeronautics and Space Administration’s center for human space flight activities and home to the astronaut corps.

Sarah McIntire, Will Mendenhall, and Jason Ryan had just gone through a battery of tests that would have strained the patience of a saint. Will complained that his right arm and butt cheek were about to fall off from a series of shots they had endured in the accelerated astronaut training phase.

Sarah was so sore she was having a hard time zipping up her blue coveralls. Ryan walked over and helped with the zipper.

“Thanks,” she said. “Remind me to send a pipe bomb to Director Compton for doing this to us.”

“I’ll supply the postage,” Ryan said as he slapped Sarah on the back, making her wince.

“All of this with only a five percent chance we’ll be going,” Mendenhall said. “I mean, we’re the backup to the backup, which is backing up the first team.” He gingerly sat on the locker room bench beside Sarah. “That means two teams have to fail to make it to the space station in order for us to even suit up.”

Sarah wasn’t listening. She was watching a group of trainees, several high-ranking officers among them, looking up at a television monitor just inside the lounge. Sarah stood, moving her aching shoulders as she approached the men and women watching.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Someone just blew the hell out of an anti-Moon demonstration in Berlin. There’s a whole bunch of fundamentalists dead,” answered a woman who had been chosen for the first flight team of Operation Dark Star. She was a geologist like Sarah, but while not quite as knowledgeable she was a better astronaut.

Sarah watched the taped footage of the aftermath as Jason and Will stepped up behind her.

“This isn’t good,” Ryan said, looking on as one of the men in the front reached out and turned the volume up:

“… as the crowded streets became overrun with more serious elements of the discontented protesters. It was only moments after the violence broke out that a series of explosions rocked the downtown area of Berlin. The number of devices detonated has not yet been determined.” The scene switched to the Atlanta studio. “The police have announced a lead in identifying a man caught on videotape the night before, possibly planting the devices. On the video he is clearly wearing the uniform of a German army officer. The man, seen here in a United States Army photo, has been identified as Colonel Jack Collins. His whereabouts are unknown at this time.”

Sarah, Will, and Jason couldn’t move as they saw the picture of Collins flash onto the screen. The other astronauts watched with growing uneasiness as an American was named as a person that may have been directly responsible for the horrible act they were seeing.

“… the suspect’s military history is one of black operations in the Middle East and he has been known to be a rogue, even being brought before the congressional committee investigating failures in the war in Afghanistan.”

As the men and women cursed the face of Collins, Sarah turned away, wanting to shout at the trainees around her to be quiet, that they didn’t know the man like she did. Instead she walked back into the locker room and sat once more on the wooden bench, where she was joined by Mendenhall and Ryan.

“Damn, obviously a frame job if I ever saw one,” Ryan said as he sat next to Sarah.

“Yeah, they said he’s a suspect, but that he’s not in custody.” Will placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder.

“Ryan, McIntire, Mendenhall, let’s go. You’ve got six hours of flight simulation scheduled with your flight leader. Let’s move it!”

Sarah looked up at the Air Force master sergeant who stood in the doorway of the locker room.

“Come on, the president has just pushed Dark Star up by seventy-two hours because of this maniac’s actions in Germany.”

Sarah looked as if she were about to attack the sergeant, but Will and Ryan gently placed their hands on her and turned her away.

“Comin’, Sarge,” Will quickly answered.

Sarah calmed and then tried to smile. “Thanks.”

“Well, let’s go keep ourselves busy, and hope the colonel and the others get their asses out of Germany without getting them shot completely off.”

Sarah looked at Ryan and then nodded.

“Come on, let’s go simulate crash-landing on the Moon,” Mendenhall joked. “Jason hasn’t done that in a few hours. I’m getting to where I like it. It’s so much better than the always boring landing upright thing.”

As Ryan complained how hard the lunar lander simulators were for the hundredth time that day, Sarah could only think about Collins and wonder just what he had gotten himself into.

“Jack, I swear to God, I can’t take my eyes off of you for five damn minutes without you getting into some kind of bullshit!” she hissed as she followed Jason and Will out of the locker room.

Everett had the policeman’s gun. The man was unconscious and lying by the back doorway to a Chinese restaurant. Carl ejected the clip from the nine-millimeter and then ejected the chambered round. He thought briefly about keeping it, but knew the man would probably be in enough trouble for being disarmed by a suspect. Besides, he knew he couldn’t use it against law enforcement.

Jack stood beside Carl and nodded, then he reached up and pounded on the back door of the restaurant. It was opened by a startled Chinese man who stood stock-still when he saw the large blond man and the police officer.

“English?” Jack asked.

The small man just shook his head negatively, so Everett eased the cop inside the door and lay him down gently.

“Die Polizei,” Jack said, as he pulled Carl away from the door. Everett reached out and handed the Chinese man the weapon, then turned and ran into the darkness of the alley.

Jack and Carl reached the end of the long alley and looked out onto a far quieter street. They spied Ellenshaw and Golding, secluded inside a small Audi. In the illumination of the overhead street lamp, they saw Ellenshaw raise his head on the front seat of the car and then duck back down. Jack shook his head at the suspicious way the two scientists were going about trying to steal a car. Suddenly the motor sprang to life and Ellenshaw sat up. He and Pete exchanged high fives.

“We don’t give these guys enough credit,” Everett said as he and Jack cautiously and slowly left the alley.

“Good work, guys,” Collins said and ducked into the backseat with Everett pulling the two professors out of the way.

“Get in, I’ll drive,” he said to a stunned Ellenshaw, who instead of arguing ran around to the far side and got in the front seat. His hair was a mess as usual as he looked over at Carl.

“Where’s that young policeman?” he asked, looking around the darkened street nervously.

“He went for Chinese,” Everett replied as he threw the car in gear and sped off.

“What’s the plan?” Golding asked, scanning the dark outside the rear window.

“First off, you two should stop looking like you’re on the run,” Jack said. He reached out and stilled the turning head of the computer genius.

“Oh, sorry,” Pete said. He settled in and closed his eyes. Then a thought struck him. “Did we come away with nothing?”

“Nothing but a familiar face in an old photo,” Jack said. “Right now, let’s just hope our aircraft hasn’t been compromised and that Mr. Everett here can find a back way into Tempelhof.”

“Yeah, I think it’s time to retreat from Germany,” Everett said, taking a corner faster than he wanted to.

“Where to now?” Ellenshaw asked, actually enjoying the intrigue.

“Jack?” Carl looked in the rearview mirror.

“We’re not leaving,” was Collins’s surprise answer.

“Uh, Jack, in case you didn’t notice, you’re probably the most wanted man in the Western world at the moment.” Everett grimaced at the thought of staying.

“Yeah, but we need to get to the records at Spandau.”

“We can do that through Europa,” Pete said. “And if memory serves, Spandau was demolished in 1987.”

“If the plane’s been compromised we can’t use Europa. We just can’t take the chance we’ll run into an ambush. Someone gave the authorities my picture and only one name keeps coming into my head.”

“Your old friend McCabe?” Carl asked.

“You bet. We need to know who that guy was in the photo at Zinsser’s apartment. I have a gut feeling everything here is connected somehow.” He looked to his left at Golding. “And you’re right, Pete. Spandau was demolished, but the Germans, being as honest about the Nazis as they can to the general public, have a small museum dedicated to it.”

“If we’re staying, I would feel better with a gun, and preferably not a policeman’s weapon.”

“Well, we better get some,” Collins said in answer to Everett’s suggestion. “I know a man here. But first we have to hole up somewhere and get some rest. We’ll let my celebrity cool down for a day or two, at least until I can make a few local telephone calls.”

“What about this?” Pete said, holding out his cell phone.

Jack watched the buildings of Berlin slide by his darkened window, so Pete could only see Jack’s reflection and the set of his features.

“They can trace that signal, Doc. No cell phones.”

Golding swallowed and then pulled the phone away from Collins. He nodded his head and then turned and saw his own scared reflection in the glass.

Ellenshaw turned around in the front seat and looked at Pete Golding.

“I told you, Doctor. Now isn’t this better than being stuck inside the complex all the time?”

Pete didn’t say anything as Everett sped sharply around a corner, almost bringing the vehicle up on two wheels.

For a man who had never left Nevada on a field assignment, Pete Golding was taking the adventure rather stoically, but still wide-eyed and excited, feeling alive for the first time in years as the Audi sped into the night.

Niles was examining the Moon rocks that had been couriered over from the National Geographic Society. There were two of them and they had the identical properties of those seen in the video from Paul the Beatle on the Moon’s surface. The CIA had donated them to the National Geographic Society when they were discovered in their archives back when the CIA went by another name-the OSS. Not knowing what else to do with the stones, they emptied their files of the only specimens that had survived Operation Columbus all those years before.

“As far as our records are concerned, there are only twelve such examples in the world like those. We estimate that of all the meteorites discovered in history, these are the rarest.”

“Where are the rest of the meteorites?” the president asked from over two thousand miles away in Washington.

“Several that we know of found their way to China and France after the war. The OSS was sketchy on the details of something called Operation Columbus.”

“Well, that kind of sums it up, doesn’t it? These two countries know firsthand the properties of the mineral, thus their lust for it and their massive expenditures to get to the Moon to recover more.”

Niles was silent as he listened to the president excuse the director of the CIA. A moment later the president’s face came into full view, after the selling job and acting class 101 let out.

“Niles, how is everyone taking to the fact that I advanced the timetable for launch?”

“Everyone here in Houston and Florida is worried that we’re lagging in safety precautions, and I agree.” Niles held up his hand for the president to see, halting him from saying anything. “However, I also agree with your new timetable and have explained it to the parties involved.”

“Things are getting out of hand fast, Niles. The religious fanatics are killing us in the press, and their coordinated antigovernment protests in every city in the world aren’t helping matters.”

“I don’t understand. The mainstream religious communities are lying low on this one. Only the fringe element is rearing its head. Fundamentalism may be creating some strange new bedfellows.”

“Speaking of which, have you heard from the colonel?”

“Not a word since he and Captain Everett flew out.”

“We’ve got quite a mess on our hands in Berlin. I hope he knows what he’s doing over there. I want you to understand, Niles, that if he’s caught we can help him. The German government will assist in getting him out of there quietly, but if he’s shot while on the run it will be a purely legal act.”

“I assume Jack knows that. If he’s staying in place, it’s because he has a lead on Columbus and its backers. I just assume if he comes up with something here on earth that will stop us from sending men and women into space, that you’re prepared to do something about it.”

“Short of war, I’ll do anything, Niles.”

Compton didn’t question the statement. He just looked into the monitor.

“What is it?”

“I was just wondering what the difference was between a shooting war on the Moon and one that starts right here.”

The president didn’t answer for the briefest of moments. Then he reached out and for a second his hand paused over the off button on his laptop.

“About six billion eight hundred million people-give or take a couple of kids.”

Niles smiled as his eyes widened in mock surprise. “You do have your moments of clarity don’t you, Mr. President?”

“Once every few years, Mr. Director, I get lucky.”

Niles had one of the most important meetings in his life scheduled in just ten minutes.

The U.S. Navy signalman was already preparing the camera for the linkup with Houston, Florida, Jet Propulsion Lab, and Washington. He was about to hand over control of the mission to the more experienced arm of NASA. His coordinating and planning days were now over.

As Virginia Pollock and several others prepared the charts and graphs to be used in the director’s final meeting with the space groups, Niles walked to the conference table and waited. He had forced himself in the past week and a half to concentrate on the Moon and how the U.S. could get there, and had pushed out of his mind the situation with Garrison Lee and his final days.

“Director, Alice Hamilton is on line two,” his assistant said from the outer office.

Niles hesitated one moment before picking up the phone. He really didn’t know how to approach the subject of the senator’s health. Everything he thought of saying seemed so shallow.

“Alice, how are you?” he asked, avoiding the main question for as long as he could.

“I’m fine, Niles, and for the moment so is the senator.”

Niles closed his eyes and a small smile reached his lips. Leave it to Alice to cut to the chase and place him at ease.

“Good. I’ve been a little busy here.”

“So we’ve noticed. We also see that Jack has been a little busy too. His face is plastered on every news broadcast from here to China.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Niles said as he placed the phone between his head and shoulder. He pulled the knot on his tie upward.

“We never believe anything we hear, Niles. You know that. Are Jack and Carl all right?” Her voice dropped in volume. Niles suspected she didn’t want the senator to overhear.

“Jack and Carl haven’t been heard from in forty-eight hours. They also have Ellenshaw and Golding tagging along, so that may be the reason they’re a little slow in getting to a phone.”

“Jack always takes the strangest people on missions. How about you, Niles? Are you being careful? That assassination in Pasadena caught us by surprise.”

“The opposition to the mission is getting stronger and far more organized than should be possible among such diverse groups. If I didn’t know any better I would think that it’s-”

“Being orchestrated?” Alice said, finishing Niles sentence. “The senator’s exact words. He told me to tell you to look to the obvious first.”

Compton understood what Alice and Lee were trying to tell him. This was his next project. If one group or a single individual was responsible for the loss of life in Kazakhstan, Berlin, and here in the States, he would find them. Thus far they knew the Saudi-born Mechanic was involved, but the current global operation seemed a stretch for what amounted to a small-time terrorist.

“You take care of yourself, Niles, and I’ll let you know when things go bad here. Concentrate on what you need to do. That’s why your friend the president chose you to get this thing off the ground. He trusts you and you also just happen to be the smartest man on the planet.”

Niles had to chuckle. “Unfortunately, we’re dealing with a little more than just this planet.”

The line then went dead and Niles hung up.

“We’re ready Director Compton,” the signalman said. “All interested parties have confirmed audio and visual.”

Niles nodded and accepted the recommendations from Virginia. He stepped to the podium, glancing over at the largest of the monitors. Besides the cameras at the Johnson Space Center and JPL, he was hooked into Cape Canaveral and the Pentagon’s Space Command, and all of the general contractors for the systems that had been chosen to bring this hurried mission to its final stages. On the center monitor was the Johnson Space Center, and sitting in front of the crowded room of over two hundred men and women was the vice president of the United States, Harold Darby, the technical head of the entire space program.

The Navy signalman pointed to Niles as the others in his conference room went to their seats. He looked at Virginia and her staff that had done so much to get them where they were today, feeling proud of her and all of his people. They fought and succeeded in coming up with a viable plan on the shortest timetable in the history of the space program. They would at least have a fighting chance.

“Good afternoon. We’re ready to start the final assembly of the platforms. All I need to do now is step aside and hand Dark Star over to people with far more capable hands than my own.” Niles glanced again at the center screen and the stern visage of the vice president. “I have taken a lot of time exploring the facts and personal histories of all personnel involved in every aspect of Dark Star, and I have come to the conclusion that we need to stay in-house, so to speak.”

Vice President Darby smiled as he looked around at the men and women at his table.

“Since the senseless murder of Stan Nathan a few days ago, this choice had become even more important. I had to factor in many differing elements and the person that met or exceeded knowledge in every aspect of the platforms to be used is Flight Director Hugh Evans. His knowledge of the Ares system and his experience with the Apollo program preclude anyone else taking command of the mission. Mr. Evans, you may not like it, but congratulations anyway.

“Now, I will allow Hugh to absorb the enormity of what I’ve placed before him and give him time to decline, a notion that would immediately be rejected by the president, of course. And then we’ll cover what the base plan is. For the general contractors and their employees, the president wants me to pass along his sincerest thanks for all of the hard work you have put in.”

On the monitor from Houston, Niles saw the seventy-four-year-old Hugh Evans stand and walk toward the back of the room, out of view of the camera.

“Ares I and Ares II are scheduled for heavy load liftoff in seventy-eight hours. The crews will be shuttled to the International Space Station immediately after the two Ares launches. The shuttles Atlantis and Discovery will launch from Vandenberg Air Force Base, and the shuttle Endeavour from the Cape, if that mission becomes necessary because of the failure of one or both of the first launches. We were very lucky that the shuttles’ last scheduled missions kept them in fine mechanical shape. Dark Star will be one hell of a note for the shuttle fleet to retire on.”

Niles smiled when he heard applause erupting from every view of every venue. He also saw the vice president stand and leave the Johnson Space Center mostly unnoticed by anyone.

“The backup is, of course, the Saturn V launch vehicle. The payload, as with the two Ares rockets, has been expanded to carry the new Lunar Excursion Module and the expanded crew cabin that will eventually double as the crew capsule on the ride to and from the Moon. The Altair Lander has been massively redesigned to carry the necessary men and equipment to and from the lunar surface. Needless to say, ladies and gentlemen, this is where the real danger lies. The Altair system is totally untested-therefore the need for two complete crews and one solid backup in the Atlas. These three expanded crew capacity landers were only prototypes five weeks ago, and the engineering done to complete the systems has just been amazing. The Dark Star mission time will be a record-setting two days to the Moon, with four days there. We’ll leave coming home to another timetable.”

Niles allowed that to sink in for the general contractors who had not been privy to the time element before today. He braced himself for what was coming.

“At this time, I am ceasing today’s communications with all but the military and space elements of Dark Star. For the contractors who have contributed so much manpower and time in bringing these systems, expanded prototype landers, and equipment online, thank you and good-bye.”

Three quarters of the monitors went dark inside the Event Group conference room as Niles saw the civilian aspect of the mission vanish. He looked at the Navy signalman.

“Please bring up the astronaut training facility,” he said, opening a red-bordered file folder on the podium. He glanced up and looked at the president, who was waiting as patiently as the others.

On one of the monitors, a room full of blue and red clad men and women appeared. They sat patiently with pen and writing tablets. They knew they were about to be briefed on the parameters of the mission ahead. In the back of the astronauts’ room, Compton saw his very own people looking at up at his image. For all he knew, this might be the last time he saw the young faces of Sarah, Mendenhall, and Ryan.

“Our mission goals,” he said, not looking into the camera, “are to militarily secure the Moon and any artifacts found there. The mission landing area is one mile from Shackleton Crater. NASA personnel will deliver geology specialists and engineers to the surface of the moon. The site will be secured by fourteen United States Special Forces personnel undergoing training in California. If the failure to secure Shackleton is likely, and it looks as if the Chinese will take it intact, the site will be destroyed. I repeat, the site will be destroyed. This act is regardless of any foreign government’s presence in or near the crater. None of you will be expected to go into this blindfolded. What follows is top secret information. The European Space Agency and NASA have been cooperating since the emergency began, for reasons I cannot go into now. The base problem here is the Chinese government. The president is attempting to gain cooperation from the People’s Republic in this and other matters, but as of this moment that issue is in doubt.”

At every location from the Pentagon’s Space Command headquarters, to Pasadena, U.S. Air Force personnel started handing out sealed orders to every man and woman assigned to flight control, security, and engineering positions for the mission.

“If, in a military circumstance, the European and American personnel see a viable chance at taking the technology if it falls into Chinese hands, they are to take it regardless of cost. If not, destroy the technology in place. Study the mission parameters, and at this time I will say good-bye and wish each and every man and woman Godspeed.”

Spandau Prison was built in 1876 and demolished in 1987 after the death of its last inmate, Rudolph Hess, Hitler’s right-hand man in the early days of the Nazi regime. The old prison was torn down before it could become a shrine to the neo-Nazi movement across the globe. Today there was nothing left to mark the site where the convicted Nazi hierarchy had tended gardens and made paper.

The lone structure still standing was a brick building. The facade was nothing to write home about as it stood stark against the darkness of the night.

“So, how do we get in?” Everett asked.

“We don’t. The weapons we asked for are meeting us here, along with an old friend of mine. Right now I think we should step out of the car and let them know we’re here.”

Everett, Ellenshaw, and Golding were confused as to Jack’s methods, but they did as he said. A brief moment later they became even more confused when Collins raised his arms into the air as though surrendering.

Everett did the same and gestured for the two professors to follow suit.

“You want to let us in on what’s happening, Jack?” Carl asked quietly, as his eyes scanned the darkness around the building.

Collins didn’t answer. Instead, he allowed their guests to do it for him. Several red laser beams pierced the night air and each man standing around the car had three pin-sized red dots targeting their chests.

“Wow, this is really uncomfortable,” Everett said as he recognized the lasers for what they were.

Ellenshaw saw the three dots on his jacket and swiped at them like they were bugs.

“Doc, hold still please,” Jack said. Ten dark figures stepped from the trees surrounding the lone building.

“Oh, my,” Ellenshaw said as he saw the black-clad men.

“I take it we’re caught,” Pete Golding said. He watched the heavily armed masked men approach them cautiously.

“Easy, Pete. I think these guys may be the result of Jack’s phone calls,” Carl said as he saw one large man take the lead.

The lone figure stood still as he looked Jack and his men over, then took two steps forward and removed his black hood.

“You know, officially I have orders to hunt you down and place a bunch of bullets into your head and face, maybe one in your ass also.”

Jack lowered his hands and smiled. “Oh, I saw you and your unit the moment we drove up,” Collins said.

“Bullshit, Jack. We had you cold.”

Collins walked forward and held out his hand. The other black-clad commandos lowered their weapons and surrounded the colonel.

“How in the hell are you, Sebastian?” Collins asked, holding out an extended hand. “And thanks for not shooting me in the head and face, and especially my ass.”

The two men shook hands and the large German slung his automatic weapon over his shoulder.

“I’m fine, Jack. Better than you, anyway.”

“Mr. Everett, meet Major Sebastian Krell of the German army. He’s the team leader of the elite counterterrorism force GSG 9. He’s an old buddy of mine from the Gulf War.”

Krell shook Everett’s hand and looked him over.

“I smell U.S. Navy in this man, Jack.”

“You don’t miss a beat. Mr. Everett here is a SEAL-he comes in handy from time to time.”

“I’m impressed with Jack’s new friends,” he said to Carl.

“As I am with the company you keep,” Everett said. He released the man’s hand and gestured to the nine commandos around them.

“Ah, I just keep them around for running errands and getting coffee.”

Major Krell held out his hand and two of his still masked men stepped forward and handed him two items, a bag and a thick file.

“Here’s four nine-millimeter handguns stolen from my daughter’s room,” Krell said, joking, while handing Everett the black bag. “There are ten clips of ammunition inside as well. And this is what you specifically asked for, Jack. We just went in an hour ago and retrieved them from the museum.”

Collins took the offered file and looked up at Sebastian. “Thanks, this will help.”

“Your president is a very persuasive man.”

“He can be, but I imagine I’ll still be in hot water when I get home.”

“Who did it, Jack?” Sebastian asked, getting serious for the first time.

“We think James McCabe may be in on it, but we’re not sure.” He looked at the German commando in all seriousness. “We’re still piecing this thing together.”

“McCabe? Jesus, I know he’s dirt, but something like this?”

“Money makes for a good motive. I suspect that’s all it takes with him.”

The large German turned and gestured for his men to back away. As they watched, the commando team blended into the darkness and was gone.

“I wasn’t going to charge you for the file and the weapons, Jack, but now I am,” Sebastian said as he stepped closer to Collins. “I want whoever is responsible for the bombing. No matter what the protesters were doing there, and their reasons, they didn’t deserve that. They are still German citizens.”

“You got it. If it’s McCabe, you can have him. As a matter of fact, there may be something you and your government would have an interest in helping us with in Ecuador.”

“Just call us, Jack,” Sebastian said, turning around and walking away. “Mr. Everett, watch that guy,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Just because he was in on training us doesn’t mean he’s worth a damn.”

Everett smiled and looked over at Collins as he inserted a clip into one of the nine-millimeters.

“I like him, Jack,” he said, glancing over at Golding and Ellenshaw. He shook his head when he saw they still had their arms raised. “It’s okay, guys. The scary men are all gone.”

Ellenshaw and Golding slowly lowered their hands and looked at Everett and Jack.

“Do you two know anyone that leads a normal, dull life?” Pete asked Collins.

“Only you, Pete, only you.”

The hangar was leased to Chan Ri International. The company was a lesser known aircraft manufacturer that specialized in avionics packages for advanced fighter aircraft. The packages were made up of fire control systems and other avionics that were used by the Western powers. Most Asian stock market watchers were a little surprised when Chan Ri stocks suddenly sprang to life after a three-year period when most traders thought the company was on the way out following the introduction by the U.S. of the highly advanced F-22 Raptor, the new fighter for the twenty-first century that left Chan Ri technology far behind. But somewhere along the way the company had received a massive influx of capital, and try as they might, agents of the Securities and Exchange Commission could not uncover where the money had come from.

The twenty-five-year-old Grumman F-14 Super Tomcat sat gleaming inside the small hangar as several technicians checked the hard points along the fuselage of the U.S. Navy fighter jet. As the first of the two weapons was raised into position just below the starboard hard point, the pilot walked over to make sure the job was being done right. He placed a gloved hand on the plastic nose cone of the missile and felt a rush of power course through his hand and then his entire arm. He rolled his eyes and knew he was coming home again. The small pilot almost dropped his black-painted helmet onto the floor of the hangar as he felt the euphoria. The South Korean technicians turned and wondered why this pilot, whom they had just met that morning, was acting so strange.

Former naval aviator Thomas Green finally removed his hand from the missile and stepped back. He watched the final loading and was satisfied that the long, heavy weapon was placed properly. He stepped over to the rolling munitions cart and saw the second weapon as it sat gleaming white under the bright fluorescent lights of the hangar.

Green had been free just thirteen weeks from the maximum security penitentiary at Huntsville, Texas, where he had served ten years of a twenty-year sentence for an abortion clinic bombing that had killed three nurses and the doctor who owned the building. Unfortunately for the former Navy pilot, he had also killed two of the protesters, his own people, outside the clinic. All of this had been spawned by a woman he had once called his wife, who had murdered their unborn baby while he had been deployed to the Persian Gulf in 1991 during the First Gulf War. Since then, Green had found God, and God had placed the burning sword of righteousness into his hand and told him to strike. Two powerful swords were being placed on his aircraft at that very moment.

The crated parcels from Raytheon Corporation had been stolen in the month prior to Green being brought onboard the project. He knew that all he had to do was pull the trigger and the illegal weapons from the United States would do the rest. The seeker heads had been changed out in San Diego before their shipment to South Korea-they were now the largest heat seekers the world had ever seen.

The two Vought ASM-135 ASAT missiles had gone through extensive testing at Raytheon in the late eighties, and then when the antisatellite missile treaty was signed between the United States and the Soviet Union they were crated and stored at the testing facility, never to see action.

Tommy Green had been offered $3 million for this one mission, with more money and missions to follow, but after speaking with the financial backer many times in prison, through the thick glass of the visitor center, Green had decided he was doing it because that’s what the Lord wished him to do. The money had been declined on the promise that he would have the opportunity for all of the missions if they became viable.

A man in a dark pair of slacks and a nice pullover shirt stepped up and slapped Green on the back.

“Well, the Chinese launch in twenty minutes, at 0615,” James McCabe said as he looked the pilot over. “You’ll taxi at exactly the same time. I am told to tell you good luck, Captain, and that your martyrdom, if it happens, will be the plague that brings down Pharaoh.”

“Praise the Lord,” Green said as he slid on his black helmet. “I only wish I could call out to the world as the hand of God reaches out for the heathen’s rocketry and say, Thou art great!”

McCabe watched the man climb up the ladder and into the cockpit. He shook his head and stepped back. He now knew why so many millions upon millions of deaths had been brought on by religious wars. It was because the true believer was the most dangerous animal of all. He waved his hand one last time as Green looked his way and saluted.

McCabe stepped away as the twin GE turbofans started turning on the old and venerable F-14 Super Tomcat. As the hangar doors rose and the morning sunlight diffused the bright fluorescents inside, McCabe turned and left for the car that would take him to his private jet, where he would fly out before all international airspace was closed-and before the Chinese started looking in earnest for the murderers of their space crews.

“The fireworks are about to begin,” McCabe said as he settled into the backseat of the limo. The powerful F-14 Tomcat pulled free of its hangar with two gleaming white claws attached to its sides in the form of the most powerful anti-satellite missiles ever created.

The F-14 received immediate clearance to taxi to runway 3B. The controller watching from the large tower glanced out the window and saw the polished white jet as it sped to the taxi line. The voice on the Tomcat’s radio had an American accent, but as the controller adjusted his binoculars he saw for the first time that the American-built aircraft had South Korean military markings on its fuselage and wings. As he pondered the strangeness of the plane’s identification, his eyes widened. He saw what was strung along the underbelly of the large naval fighter. Because Inchon International was so close to the North Korean border, it was agreed between North and South that no military aircraft could take off armed as this one obviously was. The South Korean air force was not even allowed to place dummy bombs and missiles on their aircraft, as this was not a military airfield and the North might just mistake the flight as a first strike attempt.

The controller lowered the glasses and reached for the large alarm button on his console. He knew he had to alert the airport security staff and the air force of this attempted military flight. Just as the alarm sounded the controller knew he would be too late even as all controllers calmly told their departing flights to hold at their present locations.

The F-14 Tomcat roaring down the runway was the last to lift into the blue sky.

The ASM-135 ASAT space weapons were about to spread their wings for the first time in actual space combat.

The ten active launch pads at Jiuquan were guarded heavily after the debacle in Kazakhstan. The People’s Republic had brought in five hundred specially trained army personnel to oversee the security aspects of the flight center.

Launch pads 1-C and 7-A were active for the historic Chinese flights. This was the first Chinese manned mission intended to reach the lunar surface. Two massive Long March 8s, the second largest rocket system in the world, sat at their launch towers complete with the Zihuang lunar landers. Each Long March had a crew of ten Chinese air force personnel aboard. The mission had been planned so rapidly that the Chinese engineers were still evaluating the return specs for the two-capsule twenty-man flights. Nothing had been assured, not even a successful landing on the Moon.

The three-staged Long March launch system had four solid rocket boosters attached to the mainframe of the rocket. The main system itself had four powerful Shang-7 engines, almost equal in thrust to the American version from which the engines had been “borrowed” in the late seventies. At T-minus thirty seconds and counting, all four hundred engineers in the nearby control center watched with wide eyes as the elevator system and fuel hoses started popping free of the two giant rockets. Television cameras from China’s state-run facilities were carrying the launch to over 800 million Chinese on a five-minute delayed “live” broadcast.

The first rocket and crew to be lifted from the pad was named Glorious March. The second was Magnificent Dragon. Each was hastily built and each of the twenty-man crews knew that an explosion was more likely that a clean liftoff. But no crew member, even the military personnel who were prepared to do battle if necessary, would have traded places with any other man or woman on Earth. Every rocket had a glorious red band separating each of its three stages, and each band had the golden Chinese stars encircling it, with the stars ultimately shooting off toward the next stage in line. Other than that bit of color, each system was ivory white and stood out magnificently against the clear morning sky above the Gobi. Finally, at T-minus ten seconds, the loudspeakers came to life as the crowds of reporters watched on the chilly morning.

“… ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, we have main engine start,” the Chinese announcer called from the mission control building as the four main engines fired, sending a tremendous cloud of gases and fire free of the spacecraft. “… two, one, we have solid booster ignition on all four solid rocket boosters.”

Every journalist present could hear the excitement in the voice of the announcer as he watched the cloud of hot gases pour out of the engines on launch pad 1-C. The cameras zoomed in as the first movement of the giant rocket became apparent. The extending arms that carried oxygen and fuel to the main engines finally separated and the vehicle started to move. The clock was now running on Glorious March as its bulk lifted free of the Earth. Before it cleared the tower’s uppermost reaches, the ten-second countdown of Magnificent Dragon began. The same sequence sent the main engines to flame as Glorious March fully cleared the giant tower. Men and women, engineers from around the world, couldn’t help themselves, from Houston to Guiana, to Baikonur Cosmodrome, men and women from every country stood and cheered or pounded their fists as the two Chinese rockets cleared the restraints of Earth’s gravity. No one ever wanted to see astronauts die or an attempt at space fail. It was a human weakness to see greatness and cheer it.

The two massive rockets rotated, sending their bulk dangerously close to the stall point as they rolled 15 degrees in the clear sky above the desert. Reporters from the world over were stunned at the power of the Long March launch system as the ground still shook beneath their feet. The Glorious March led the way, followed four miles behind by Magnificent Dragon as the first stages separated.

The Chinese mission to the Moon had begun.

The F-14 Tomcat climbed at a 45 degree angle. Then, as Green watched with his dark visor down, he saw the bright red and gold plumes of the two launches out of the Gobi. His radio was crackling with warnings from the North Koreans and the Chinese that the Tomcat was in violation of their joint airspace. Green reached out and shut down his communication system. He then pushed the Tomcat’s throttle as far forward as it could go, sending JP-4 jet fuel into the exhaust of the nacelles. The exhaust rings expanded and the F-14 was pushed into afterburner. Green pulled the stick straight back into his belly and the Tomcat turned nose up as it started its climb through the Earth’s lower atmosphere.

As he climbed, Green raised the small protective cover on his control stick and pushed the blue button. The seeker head in the first ASAT came to life as it started its infrared sweep of the area in front of the F-14. First one and then the other missile locked on its particular target-each of the two Chinese rockets as they climbed for high Earth orbit.

“It’s in God’s hands now,” Green said, as he thumbed the red switch. He closed his eyes and again whispered an almost silent prayer as the first ASM-135 ASAT left its launch rail. With the Tomcat facing straight up into the air, the missile’s exhaust streamed back along the clear canopy of the jet, fogging the plastic. The plane was starting to shudder as it fought for altitude against the turbulence created by the giant ASAT, which was now trying desperately to close the gap between it and the second stage of the Long March rockets. The Tomcat’s GE engines fought and struggled for air in the high reaches of sky.

As Green switched seeker heads and missiles, he locked on to the Magnificent Dragon as it lagged behind the first rocket. He pushed the trigger and waited three seconds as the powerful engine of the ASAT cleared the aircraft. Green immediately pulled away as his starboard engine started to flame out due to a lack of breathable air. Green swung the jet over onto its back and then he rolled and fell into a nose-down dive for the deck. It was at that exact moment that his threat radar illuminated from the west and the east. He was being tracked by air-to-air weapons.

“Thank you, Lord, for this final challenge, this last test of my faith and my allegiance to your cause,” he said into his oxygen mask as he saw the eight radar blips on his screen. Chinese and North Korean fighters were trying to prevent him from reaching the Sea of Japan, where his rescue boat was to be waiting for him. Green smiled and switched the control stick selector to guns, as he knew he had no defensive or offensive missiles left. In fact, they had never been loaded. “As I walk into the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil…”

The Tomcat dove straight into the advancing communist fighters as the first ASAT found its target.

The giant first stage separated with a bright flash as the controllers followed the ascending rockets on the long-range telemetry and photo analysis provided by a MiG-31 chase plane. As the fighter climbed on afterburners, its cameras, three still and two video, transmitted a continuous stream of pictures to mission control. Suddenly, a dark object streaked toward the leading Long March just as its first stage separated from the second. All eyes watched as the bright flash of exploding bolts and the ignition of the second stage blurred the picture momentarily, and when it cleared they saw the object and were horrified when they recognized it as a streaking missile. Just as the ASAT’s radar and IR seeker head came into the thirty-foot-diameter target range, the missile broke apart and a ten-pound explosive charge detonated, sending out five thousand ball-bearing-sized steel projectiles. The bulk of them struck the empty first stage as it fell back to Earth, but enough fought their way through the disturbed air and heat to connect with the three engines of the second stage. They struck the exhaust bells of the engines and punctured through the fuel lines that provided the combustion chambers the needed oxygen and nitrogen mix.

As millions of eyes watched in horror, the second stage simply vanished in a white and red plume of fire. The second and third stages fell apart in the expanding fireball that sent the lunar lander smashing up and into the ten-man compartment of the crew module. The debris expanded even further, slowly spiraling in all directions as the Long March ceased to exist in the blink of an eye.

The witnesses to the tragic happening then noticed another streak of light as it plowed through the remains of the first rocket. A second antisatellite missile shot upward and was on track to strike the Magnificent Dragon as the first spent stage went flying past the ASAT. As luck and fate would have it, a fortuitous accident occurred. The remaining fuel of the solid propellant rocket boosters was being spent even though the first stage had separated cleanly. As they spun out of control, falling back toward the Earth, a sudden burst of flame shot from the exhaust nozzle of one of the boosters, catching the ASAT as it flew past. The heat was tremendous and burned through the hard plastic nose cone of its seeker head. With molten circuit boards and damaged processing units, the ASAT exploded before its outer casing could be blown free; thus the ball bearing shrapnel was slowed by 50 percent of its normal velocity. The particles shot up and over the second stage, scraping along the aluminum fuselage and then past the third stage where only five of the steel balls penetrated the outer casing into the lunar lander’s protective shell. The rest, over a hundred fragments, hit the crew module, three of them penetrating.

The crewmen reacted fast, even though they had little training in this event, as it had not been foreseen. The three holes threatened to destabilize their environment, and as the second stage fired and separated from the third, the crew managed in spite of the g-forces that threatened to crush them to place three plastic patches against the holes that appeared as if by magic.

The ten-man crew didn’t know what had happened either to them or to the Glorious March, but they did know that one of their three computer systems was out along with their radar. The communications module was damaged and they were leaking oxygen.

On the ground, multitudes watched as the third stage of the Magnificent Dragon reached lower orbit and kept climbing, barely escaping the death that had caught her sister ship. All at once a thousand voices started shouting out their troubles from the various telemetry stations.

The Magnificent Dragon had achieved orbit, but no one knew yet if it could stay there, much less continue on to the Moon.

Sixteen miles away, Tommy Green didn’t know if his crusade had achieved the desired effect as he scrambled to get the F-14 out of North Korean airspace. There were now ten MiG-31s on his tail and he doubted if escape was in his future, but he suspected it had never been in the plans of his employers. He should have been angry, or disappointed, but he knew he had been given the choice, and God had helped make the decision for him.

With no thought of regret or remorse, Thomas Green, former captain in the United States Navy, and a devout follower of Samuel Rawlins, turned the F-14 Tomcat around and headed straight toward his pursuers. He released the clip on his oxygen mask and started saying the Lord’s Prayer as he pointed the Tomcat’s nose at the flight leader and opened fire with his rotary cannon. To his surprise, the barrel started its electrically driven spin, but no twenty-millimeter rounds came out of the rotating barrel. Green smiled and shook his head, not feeling betrayed in the least. After all, he thought, the mission parameters were such that his trail could not lead back to McCabe or Rawlins. Their work was far from complete, while his duty to God was.

Green closed his eyes a split second before six Chinese-made Luoyang PL-12 active-radar-guided missiles slammed into his Tomcat, scattering small pieces over the Sea of Japan.