Part Two: 71 Hours ago
The dog-and-pony show was proceeding well, or at least as well as the usually did. The various politicals “oohed” and “aahed” at just about anything that had flashing lights and the operation of which they didn’t understand. Again, as usual, I resisted the temptation to show them the coffee machine. It had flashing lights, and I doubted that any of them made coffee for themselves; it would probably have confused them.
I’ve been told I don’t have the proper respect for our political leadership. Those that have said that are probably right. I know that it almost cost me my shot at the astronaut program. One low flyby off Kennebunkport, Maine had almost had me beached by the Marines. It had also earned me the callsign “Boomer.” OK, I may have broken the sound barrier… by 150 kts. I have no idea why that Secret Service agent jumped off the ex-Presidents yacht though. I cleared the masthead by a good 15-20 feet!
I was now the oldest Captain in the USMC, but I was also quite possibly the best fighter pilot in the USMC. It was that which had finally got me past the guardians of the hallowed halls at NASA. They gave me a shot at the Orion simulator, and tried to wash me out. I lost all computer support shortly after committing to re-entry. I’d flown the profile by hand, and missed the computer score by only 0.01%... to the positive. I beat the damn machine, I always did. NASA had explained that they needed me, and the USMC had grudgingly allowed my detachment. Grudgingly, or gleefully, I’m not sure. My detailer had horrible handwriting.
The raucous wailing of the alert siren shattered my reverie. Security and handlers whisked the various politicos away, as fast as cockroaches fleeing a lit kitchen light. I sprinted to the crew prep area, protocol called for any ready crew to prepare to fly off any spacecraft that was flight ready in the event of war. My Orion was undergoing tank pressurization tests; it was flight ready even if not due to fly for another 4 days.
As I dressed, I ran through the list of what was in orbit. There were three Skylab II modules, the prototype Mars Transfer Vehicle, the International and Chinese space stations, numerous satellites and transfer vehicles… An extensive list to be sure. It struck me as a little odd, normally these exercises were held at a time when a crew would be hard-pressed to make a valid decision on “Go-No Go” for launch. Our decision would be easy, more than sufficient assets existed in orbit to press for immediate combat launch, even if it had never been attempted.
Finished with crew prep I ran, well… trundled, to Mission Control. Once there I would state my judgement that we were “GO for EBL”, Evacuation By Launch. I prepared myself for the right “I’m taking this exercise seriously” expression, it would look good on the cameras that always recorded everything. I’d caught up with Col. Gosteruner in the hall and we arrived together. We collided as he stopped dead once he saw the Space Activity Display in Mission Control. I managed to push only half way around him before I saw it as well.
Thousands of tracks. It appeared that the US had flushed all of it’s ICBMs at targets in Russia and China. Those two countries had responded and thousands of other tracks showed as inbound. Hundreds of other tracks showed launches and impacts in the Middle East. Twenty of thirty nuclear detonations already dotted the map as the world spasmed.
This was no exercise.
“Colonel! Colonel Gosteruner! We are Go for EBL! EBL NOW!” The man was stunned and not responding, I was literally screaming at him. “Tie, dammit! WE ARE GO FOR EBL! We need to get to the pad!” I looked into Control and found the Launch Director, “Bobby! Orion is Go for EBL! Start the count!”
Bobby was as stunned as anyone, but the famed NASA stolidity in the face of disaster still worked. He steadied and keyed his mike to all channels. “This is Mission Control, this is not an exercise. Leapfrog! I say again Leapfrog! Leapfrog! Leapfrog! Set the clock to five minute hold, crew release. Live bird on the Pad!”
My own control almost shattered at Bobby’s “Leapfrog” call. He was right though, Mankind was at risk and Leapfrog was the standby plan for possible survival. The odds were never greater than 1.8% in simulations. Space rarely ever held anything that might help the species survive a holocaust.
I turned away without looking back. Mission Control needed to launch Orion 014-F, my bird. It might just have become an Ark for the human species. I had a place flying it, they had to stay. In the cold calculs of space travel a new reality existed:
Orion 014-F was man-rated, Earth no longer was.