Stephen Coonts - Combat

Ray stared at him for a minute, then replied, “I don’t know.”

Schultz shook him by the shoulder, not roughly, but as if to wake him. “Ray, snap out of it. We’ve got to check for casualties, and see what the damage to the pad is. We can’t let this slow us down.”

Ray nodded, and started to check the area. He spotted people he knew, and set them to work. He saw Marines working as well, moving from person to person, making sure everyone was all right, helping some who were hurt.

Lieutenant Hall trotted up to Schultz and saluted. “Sir, they’ve got the intruder lined up for landing.”

“Right, let’s go, then.” He called to McConnell. “Ray! Can you come?” McConnell had overheard the lieutenant and was already heading for the Humvee.

The lieutenant drove almost as fast to the runway as he had to the launchpad. It was located on the part of the base still being used by the Marines, and at speed, it took five minutes to cover.

Ray saw armed patrols all over the base and signs of heavier weapons being deployed. Wheeled vehicles with SAM launchers on top rumbled by, and he saw a column of tracked fighting vehicles being loaded and fueled.

A sentry at the end of the airfield spotted the Humvee’s flashing light and waved them onto a taxiway, pointing to the far end. A cluster of vehicles surrounded the Cessna, and the two Hornets whoostled overhead, as if they were daring it to take off.

Ray recognized General Norman, standing to one side, as armed Marines secured the plane. Its two occupants were being half-dragged out of the plane and efficiently searched. A man and a woman, both were in their early twenties, dressed in fashionably mismatched pastel colors, their hair short on top, long on the side. To Ray’s eyes, they looked like a couple of college students, straight off the campus.

“Don’t put weapons in space!” one of them shouted as he was searched.

“Down with Defender !” the girl shouted. “We won’t let you turn space into a battlefield.”

Ray was in shock. He wanted to grab the two of them, show them the damaged pad, the injured being taken to the hospital. Or show them the Battle Center, and what was at stake.

General Norman’s face was made of hard stone, and Schultz looked ready to order two executions on the spot. But they weren’t moving or saying a word. Maybe they couldn’t. But Ray didn’t either. He watched the MPs cuff the two civilians and lead them away.

Later in the day, Ray reported to the admiral. Schultz’s office was filled with people. General Norman occupied the only other chair, but a Marine JAG officer, the base’s Public Relations officer, and Defender’ s Security officer took up most of the remaining floor space. They’d all been waiting for Ray.

He didn’t bother with introductory remarks. “The engineers say they can fix the pad by tomorrow evening. They’ll use the same stuff they use to repair bombed-out runways. It won’t be worth much after Defender uses it, but it will be fine for the launch. Some of the handling equipment was damaged, but again, it can be repaired quickly.” He half smiled. “One of the advantages of jury-rigging all this gear is that it’s pretty easy to fix.”

Schultz just said, “Thanks, Ray,” and turned to the Security officer.

“They’re not Chinese agents, of if they are, the Chinese are making some bad personnel choices. Their names are Frank and Wendy Beaumont, and they’re siblings, students at UCSD. They’re well-known activists at the school, and belong to several political organizations. The plane’s their dad’s, and both have been taking flying lessons.”

“We think they had help with the bomb, but only from other students. It was an improvised shaped charge. The boy, who’s a sophomore, described it in detail, and claims he did it all himself, but I doubt it.”

Schultz nodded, then looked at the Public Relations officer, a Marine major, who reported, “The press is having a field day with this. Half the headlines read, ‘Marines Fire on College Students,’ and the other half read ‘Marines Fail to Protect Secret Spacecraft.’ Either way we can’t win. Some of them are even speculating that the Defender actually was damaged, and of course we can’t show them that it isn’t.”

Schultz replied, “Let them say it is. If the Chinese think we’re hurt, that’s fine. Also, show them the people who were hurt in the blast.

“I just got off the phone with the hospital,” he continued. “The total is five hurt, one seriously enough to need surgery to remove a bomb fragment. All of them will recover fully.”

“I’m glad nobody was killed,” General Norman rumbled. “But we can’t assume that there won’t be another attack. I personally want to apologize for letting that plane get through. It won’t happen again. The Commandant has told me I can have anything I need to protect you and this base.”

“For as long as you need it, we will stay at full alert. We’re keeping fighter patrols and helicopter gunships overhead twenty-four hours a day. There will be no further interruptions.”

Biff Barnes knocked twice on the door to Ray McConnell’s BOQ room, then tried the knob. It was unlocked, and as Biff opened it, he heard someone typing. Ray sat hunched over the keyboard, in his pajamas.

“Ray, this is supposed to be a wake-up call. Remember? I told you about something called ‘Crew Rest’?”

“I remembered something early this morning that I had to deal with,” McConnell answered, his attention still on the screen.

“After dealing with stuff last night until one o’clock.” Barnes dropped onto the edge of the bed. “I need you alert and at peak for tomorrow, Ray. When did you wake up this morning?” His question had a slight edge to it.

“Four.”

“So you think three hours is enough?”

“Okay, I’ll take a nap after lunch.”

“That’s when we’re supposed to review the new sensor handoffs.”

“Oh.”

“Join us halfway through,” Biff told him. “Now I’ll see you at crew breakfast in fifteen minutes.”

Barnes left and Ray quickly showered and dressed. In spite of his fatigue, it didn’t take any effort to hurry, and Ray wondered what percentage of his blood was composed of adrenaline. He’d been running on nerves for way too long.

Feeling like a fool, he put on the blue coveralls Barnes had given him. The left shoulder had a patch that said U.S. SPACE FORCES, and the left breast had one that said DEFENDER, along with his name stenciled below it. Although they were attractive, if flashy, Ray didn’t remember approving either design. When asked, Barnes had told him that some things were better left in the hands of fighter pilots.

Barnes had insisted on Ray wearing the coveralls at all times this week. “Of course it makes you stand out. You’re flight crew, and that makes you different. Let everyone see it. You not only built Defender , you’ve got the balls to fly in her as well. That’s the ultimate vote of confidence, and your people will appreciate it.”

The mess hall looked better and better. Geoffrey had changed the decor again, this time from Southwest to Space. Posters of starfields and spaceships filled the walls, and the classical music was appropriately grand.

Ray hurried over to the crew table, and was gratified to see he was not late. Steve Skeldon and Sue Tillman were also just sitting down. Both of them wore military insignia with their coveralls, and made them look natural. Ray thought he probably looked all right, as long as he stood close to one of them. He still felt like a pretender.