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Chapter 43

Near Tampa, Florida

Task Force Headquarters

Monday

10:37 p.m. Eastern Time


“Understood, sir!” Frank shut the classified video conference off and looked about the headquarters briefing table. The White House had been briefed and they had been authorized to do whatever in the hell they could to stop a nuclear disaster. Word from the Russians was that they had no rockets ready to go. The State Department was considering reaching out to the Chinese but that was likely not to generate help either. What they did know was that there had been no communications with the ISS for over an hour. And it had gone out before anyone told them there were six nuclear warheads headed their way. Basically, the shit was hitting the fan at hypervelocity. The video system showed that the connection had been cut and Frank relaxed back into his seat and exhaled through pursed lips. “Jesus H. Christ.”

“Got the data from Space Command coming in now, Colonel,” Captain Ames said. “Looks like they launched out of Turkish waters in the Black Sea into an inclination of—wait for it—fifty-one point six degrees. There is no doubt about it. You were right, Dr. Castlebaum.”

“I wish I hadn’t been. And there is no way that complete loss of communications with the International Space Station is a coincidence. But how in the hell did they manage that?” Amy replied.

“Captain Ames, what is their expected time to rendezvous?” Dr. Banks asked.

“About six hours from now.”

“Captain, you just heard generals Hastings and Cole give us authority to move ahead with your plan. How soon before the X-37D can go?” Frank was scribbling notes down as fast as he could think of them. There were so many things that would have to happen before they could even consider what he was considering. They would need EVA suits. Modified weapons. Rapid training on the ride and the ISS.

“General Cates assured me that if authorization was given, we could be ready to launch as early as thirty-six hours,” Ames said.

“How many passengers and how much cargo?” Mac asked.

“The X-37D has six seats in the cargo bay. Or they can be removed for cargo or payloads,” Captain Ames explained. “There are two seats in the front for the pilot and copilot. The flight engineer typically sits in the first seat on the left behind them. So, assume a team of five.”

“Well, the Chiefs have just authorized it so start us a countdown clock. Make sure he gets it.” Frank hesitated briefly. “Alright, I need special combat volunteers. Combat experience, any type of aerospace or special training is a bonus. I’ve briefed you on Hot Eagle. Mac, myself, and a few others went through training for similar contingencies about a decade ago. According to all the records, Mac and I are the only members of that exercise still active. But I have to warn you, the training was short and not very extensive. In fact, it was more of a fact-finding exercise than actual training. I’d say it was more like Space Camp for adults with guns. I likely won’t have any more of an idea of what to do than anybody else. And we won’t have time for much more training than briefings. But there are nukes out there and somebody has to do something.”

“I don’t understand why we can’t just shoot them down with missiles.” Toby shrugged from across the table.

“Typical misunderstanding,” Amy Castlebaum said.

“How do you mean?” Toby asked.

“While we have been experimenting with ballistic missile defense systems for decades and decades, they are designed to shoot at missiles either as they are boosting up, theater-sized rockets, artillery, and mortars, or to possibly hit reentry vehicles. But the modern-day reentry vehicles are hypersonic and maneuverable and damned near unstoppable. We really don’t have a way to just ‘shoot them down,’ no matter what you saw at the movies,” Amy explained.

“Well, Frank, I’d love to go, but I’m working that other assignment you gave me. And I might be onto something,” Toby said.

“Understood. Stay with it, Toby.” Frank nodded. “Volunteers?”

“I’m the only other one trained.” Mac held up a hand. “I’m in.”

“I’m in,” Major Thompson said. “As long as I don’t have to wear a red shirt.”

“Me too,” Dugan added.

“I’m in,” Captain Ames said. “I have some training on this system.”

“That’s our five,” Frank said just as Dr. Banks started to protest.

“I’m going, Frank,” Ginny said. “The DNI will want representation. I’m a pilot. And I’ve seen plenty of combat.”

“Not enough room, Dr. Banks. Sorry.”

“Wait a minute, Colonel,” Captain Ames interrupted him. “When I said I was going, I didn’t mean as one of your five. I’ll be in the pilot’s seat. So you will have one more. I will point out, though, that all crew will be tested by medical and with flight before anything is one hundred percent.”

“Okay, then, Banks. Looks like you’re in.” Frank looked at Ames curiously, realizing now what the patch with the strange wings represented. “We need to be on a plane to Vandenberg ten minutes ago.”


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