Stephen Coonts - Combat

“Liar. But thanks anyway,” she said with an odd little glance at Jake, who had always enjoyed spending time by himself. Diane sensed that Jake probably looked forward to just a little space for the next few days. Since their relationship had gone into high gear six months before, neither of them had done much outside of work besides rolling under the sheets at his or her place. As it turned out, both Diane and Jake had not had a sexual partner for some time. So when Jake’s hands had ventured inside Diane’s cotton skirt after going through a bottle of Chardonnay late one evening at his apartment during their seventh date in three weeks, Diane had not resisted, figuring Jake not only was the most understanding, decent, and honest man she had ever known, but he also had a similar technical background, which gave them a lot more in common.

Jake suddenly turned businesslike. “Are you okay about this flight? You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I mean, there is a lot of risk on this one.”

Diane put a hand to his face and smiled. “And I love you too, darling.”

Jake grimaced. The issue of her going on this mission had come up in every conversation they’d had in the past two days, since NASA settled on a recovery strategy. Jake had volunteered to go in her place, and that comment had resulted in their first fight ending with Jake’s quick withdrawal of his suggestion plus a dozen roses. But as charming and intelligent as Jake Cohen was, he was also a hardheaded bastard who would not give up until Endeavour left the launchpad. Trouble was, Diane’s head was as thick as his.

“Jake, I don’t question your professional decisions, so, please, don’t question mine. Besides, you’ll be with me on the radio every step of the way.”

Jake regarded her with a peculiar grin, at once agreeable and frustrated. “You’re some strange piece of work, Diane Williams. But at least you’re my kind of strange.”

“I warned you about getting involved with me. I’m not an airhead in a bikini walking down Cocoa Beach.”

Jake laughed, “But you sure look great in one … or out of one.”

Diane slapped his shoulder.

“Say, speaking of strange, what do you think of your passengers?”

She shrugged. “We both have a mission, but up there I’m Mission Commander , meaning it is my pond and up to the point that he leaves the orbiter he will follow my orders. I think we understand each other. I am annoyed, however, that NASA won’t allow me to inspect the gear they’re bringing aboard my ship.”

“Look, you and I know that this mission is a bit different from what we’re used to flying. In the past at least we were told we were carrying classified cargo, and we were even given some level of detail about it, but absolute secrecy on this one is top priority directly from the top. I know it makes you and Gary mad as hell not knowing much about this new boarding vehicle or the stuff that they are hauling inside the crew module, but the reality of things is that you two don’t have a need to know. That’s Colonel Ward’s job. Think of him as a mission specialist. Your job is just to get him and his team close enough to the station and then get the hell out of the range of that laser as fast as possible, and stay out of sight until Ward and his men get the situation under control.”

“I’ll do my part, Jake. I was in the Marines. I know how to follow orders. When is your plane leaving for Houston?” she asked.

“In three hours. Do you want to grab a bite at the cafeteria?”

Diane Williams nodded and leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek before they walked side by side toward the door.

The waiting never got any easier, decided Diane Williams as the digital display of Endeavour ’s mission timer showed T minus three minutes. No matter how many times she’d done it before, sitting on top of enough chemicals to create a blast as powerful as the BLU-85 warheads aboard the GPATS module in the ISS made her question whether she had chosen the right career after leaving the Marine Corps.

But the reason why she felt even more concerned at that moment than on any of her previous flights was not the fact that Endeavour could become the target in an orbital shooting alley for the terrorist manning the GPATS laser. After all, Diane had been a Marine aviator. She had dodged more than her fair share of antiaircraft fire during the Gulf War. The woman in the astronaut knew there was another reason for her abnormally high heartbeat, for her dried mouth, for her sweaty palms. She had never before felt this nervous about a launch, not even during her first time, shortly after completing her astronaut training.

There was another reason, but it was one the astronaut in her refused to admit, for it made her feel weak in the eyes of her professional mind. For the first time since joining NASA Diane was truly afraid of dying. She had not realized her fear until she’d reached the Operations and Checkout building before dawn that morning to eat the classic steak and eggs breakfast, prior to suiting up and heading for the launchpad. The realization of the danger involved, not only in a routine orbiter flight, but in this particular mission had slowly begun to sink in with every bite she had taken of that medium-well sirloin steak and scrambled eggs. And the reason for the uncharacteristic fear was Jake Cohen. For the first time in her life Diane had fallen in love, and that gave her something that she feared losing.

Jake Cohen filled Diane’s life more than anyone or anything else, even flying. She never thought it could happen, but somewhere during the past six months her priorities in life had changed, and the possibility of a life with Jake had superseded all her other ambitions. Perhaps it was the fact that she was forty-five. Or maybe that the pilot in her had seen enough action to last forty-five lifetimes. Or the fact that Jake loved her the way she was. She wasn’t sure why it had happened, only that it had. And it had been a revelation she had kept all to herself, refusing to share it even with the man she loved. The fear of lowering her wall of pride and exposing her innermost feelings to Jake Cohen was just as intense as the fear that ran through her body at that moment, while her pale green eyes gazed at a dawning sky through the 1.3-inch-thick windowpane directly in front of her.

Breathing in the oxygen and nitrogen air mixture inside the flight deck while forcing her mind to put her fears aside, Diane checked the timer and gave Gary McGregor a thumbs-up. The Mission Pilot winked and returned the gesture.

The NASA Launch Room controller’s voice crackled through the orbiter’s speakers.

“T minus two minutes fifty-two seconds. Endeavour: the liquid oxygen valve on the External Tank has been closed and pressurization has begun.”

The colossal rust-colored External Tank, carrying over 1.3 million pounds of liquid oxygen and 227,641 pounds of liquid hydrogen, and measuring nearly 158 feet in length, began to pressurize the liquid oxygen housed inside its aluminum-monocoque-structured tank to a pressure of twenty-one pounds per square inch — the pressure necessary to force the oxidizer to the three Space Shuttle Main Engines and achieve combustion with the volatile liquid-hydrogen propellant.

“T minus two minutes fifteen seconds: the main engines have been gimbaled to their start position and the pressure on the liquid oxygen tank is at flight pressure. T minus two minutes and counting: the liquid oxygen vent valve has been closed and flight pressurization is under way.”

She glanced at CRT#1, one of three CRTs on the control panel between McGregor and her, displaying the status of the main engines. She also glanced at an array of warning lights between CRTs #2 and #3. Nothing seemed abnormal.