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Chapter 40

Near Tampa, Florida

Task Force Headquarters

Monday

7:45 p.m. Eastern Time


“I realize that!” Frank said. He was frustrated with how slowly the Pentagon and the White House were responding to the pending nuclear attack that was coming. He was certain it was coming. And there seemed to be little, if anything, he could do about it. “But if we don’t stop them on the ground, what can we do? I mean, doesn’t it take months to get a rocket ready?”

“That’s what I’m getting at, Colonel,” Captain Ames continued aggressively. Frank could tell that the younger Space Force Captain wanted to tell him something important, but for whatever reason wouldn’t or couldn’t. “If it were any other day, I’d say we could do nothing. But we’re lucky. We are lucky today, I mean!”

How do you mean, Captain?” Dr. Banks asked.

“There’s a launch planned in two days out of Vandenberg Space Launch Complex 3E. We could take it,” Ames said. “The next one will be another two weeks from that.”

“What launch?” Frank asked.

“Launch? Of what?” Banks asked. “Who is launching?”

“I’m not authorized to tell you, but it is goddamned fortuitous! But if we want to divert the launch, we need to act like right now!” Ames said.

“Captain, from the authority given to this Task Force by the Joint Chiefs and the SecDef I’m telling you, ordering you, that you have authority to brief us on anything that is pertinent to stopping a nuclear attack on the world!” Frank barked at the Space Force captain.

“I’m sorry, sir. But you and Dr. Banks both must know that ain’t how this works,” Ames said sheepishly. “You can’t use rank to compel me to violate national security. I don’t have the authority to read you into a program without permission.”

“What the—” Frank started but was interrupted by Ginny.

“She’s right, Frank. And we both know that,” Ginny said.

“Shit. Yes, Captain Ames you are following OPSEC appropriately.”

“Thank you, Colonel Alvarez.” Captain Ames hesitated. “But…”

“Alright, Captain Ames, I get it.” Ginny nodded. “I’ll ask. If you think there is a program we need to know about, then who can brief us and how do we get them on the line right now?”

“That, I can manage. But we need to clear out anyone from this room that won’t have a need to know,” Ames explained. “Who stays?”

“Banks and the active service officers, and Mac,” Frank said.

“And Dr. Castlebaum,” Ginny added. “We might need a rocket scientist.”

“Okay, then. We’ll try that,” Ames said. “Get the room cleared and I’ll start the TSVOIP call.”

Frank clapped his hands together several times getting everyone’s attention. Once he was pretty certain they were all looking his way, he started barking orders. He had no idea what Ames was about to tell him, but he wanted to be ready.

“Everybody but all active-duty officers or warrants and Dr. Castlebaum needs to clear this room double time!” Frank said. “Except for you, A1C Shannon. I need to see you for a moment.”

“Sir?” A1C Shannon turned toward him and stood at attention.

“Airman, at ease, for God’s sake. I need you to do me a favor.” Frank grabbed a sticky note and a pen and started scribbling on it. “I want you to contact Captain Ellis Jones. If you don’t get him, call Staff Sergeant Johnny Parvo. If you don’t get him, then call Gunny Sergeant Hank Lord. Any of them can get this done for you. But it must—I repeat: must—get done. You tell them that I need a full kit for a small team of about six ready to be loaded within two hours. They’ll know what that means. Oh, and tell them location and transport information coming.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, skedaddle.” Frank waved her on. “And thanks.”

“Yes sir.”

* * *

“The what?” Mac looked perplexed. Frank agreed with the SEAL. He simply had no idea. Frank figured that had been the point.

“X-37D,” the U.S. Space Force brigadier general on the other end of the Top Secret Special Access video conversation said. “Our current mission is to launch every fourteen days, alternating between eight vehicles. We can pretty much hit any orbit with enough time.”

“Jesus! That must be expensive,” Banks gasped.

“The budget is black and need to know,” the one-star general replied. “But it is piggy-backed on the X-37B program as our cover.”

“I thought that was all conspiracy theory nonsense?” Major Dugan asked. “I mean, we have never seen a manned X-37 variant launch, to my knowledge. You mean it’s real? Next you’ll be telling us that the TR-3B is real too!”

“I know nothing about any TR-3B, Major. But the X-37 variants may or may not have flown many times, manned, without public knowledge,” the general said. “What are you proposing, Dr. Banks?”

“I’m not exactly sure just yet, sir—” she started, but Frank cut her off.

“Has Captain Ames briefed you on the current situation, General?” Frank asked.

“Yes, Colonel, but there is truly nothing we can do. While we have a manned capability, presumedly, there is no super-secret group of space soldiers. We have requested budget for that through several of the budget cycles, but it hasn’t even made it through to the NDAA much less being appropriated by the Senate Appropriations Defense subcommittee. What we do have are pilots and engineers trained to do space missions with satellites and to do reconnaissance missions. We do have a core group of trained astronauts whose existence is above Top Secret. Ninety-nine percent of the Space Force soldiers are trained for satellite control missions sitting at a desk in Colorado, California, or Alabama. Nobody has truly trained to fight in space,” the general told them. “Let me guess, you want to fly up there to the space station and take those nukes back before these bad guys use them?”

“I hadn’t thought it through that far, but yes sir. And sir, you should pull my training record along with CW4 McKagan’s and look up the program ‘Hot Eagle’ from about ten years ago,” Frank said. “I might add that that program was above Top Secret as well, even though some mention of it was leaked by a congressional staffer to the press. Probably why it didn’t make it any further than it did. Which I regret to say, well, wasn’t very far.”

“Hot Eagle?” the general repeated.

“Oh shit, Colonel, you’re not bringing that up?” Mac whispered. “That was years ago.”

“Yes sir. Hot Eagle. It was a DARPA, Navy, Marine Corps, and congressional intelligence committee project about a decade ago. While we might have never fought or been in space, General”—Frank turned and looked at McKagan—“Chief McKagan and myself have trained to do so.”

“No shit?” The Space Force general was surprised.

“No shit, sir.”


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