Stephen Coonts - Combat

Instead of going through the cafeteria line, Ray checked off what he wanted on a menu data pad. The theory was that the crew should be doing useful work instead of standing in line, but it was just another perk, a way of making them feel special. Ray had allowed it reluctantly.

They did work, Barnes drilling them relentlessly on safety procedures, equipment locations, technical characteristics, and each other’s duties. His favorite trick was to ask one question, then ask another in the middle of the answer. The victim had to answer both correctly, in order, within seconds.

At first Ray thought Barnes was picking on him, grilling him repeatedly on engine-out procedures. Then after watching him work over the others, McConnell thought Barnes might have been cutting him some slack.

The recital continued throughout breakfast, and Barnes prepared to take the crew to the simulator. Ray found that he wanted to stay with them, but knew that there were too many last-minute problems to fix.

Part of him couldn’t wait for tomorrow morning. The rest of him wanted the day to go on forever. He needed the time.

Mark Markin stood as close to Miramar’s front gate as he could, which meant across Miramar Way, off Highway I-15. At night, there was still a lot of traffic on the arterial, but most of it passed by. The camera followed one heavy truck that did turn in, centering on the armed sentries that surrounded it and checked it carefully before allowing it to move on. It lingered on a dog held by one of the guards.

“Following the attack two days ago, the Marines here have increased security to extraordinary heights. Civilian traffic on and off the base has been severely restricted, and most of the traffic into the base has been official.

“All our attempts to contact the military regarding the damage inflicted by the attack have been fruitless. The Coalition against Military Space, which claims responsibility for the action, says that the launchpad was destroyed and a nearby hangar damaged. Major Dolan, the base Public Relations officer, still denies the existence of Defender , and is therefore ‘unable to discuss damage to something that doesn’t exist.’”

A grainy black-and-white image replaced Markin. It showed a squarish building with rails leaving one side. They led to a rectangular flat area, with a girder structure in the center. The framework was undercut with a sloped trench. It could only be a spacecraft launchpad.

The image was skewed, as if the camera had been tilted well off the vertical. “This photo was taken from an INN plane flying just beyond the prohibited area over the air station. Using a special lens and computer enhancement, we were able to get this image of the ‘nonexistent’ hangar and launchpad. While there is little that can be seen at this distance, the hangar and pad appear intact. Presumably, Defender is undamaged.

“INN news will monitor developments at the base closely and let you know the instant that there are any developments.”

Admiral Schultz turned off the wall display angrily. There was little pleasure in pushing a button. What he wanted to do was push in Markin’s face. “War in a fishbowl,” he grumbled.

Colonel Evans, Defender ’s Security officer, could only agree. “Radar’s tracked civilian planes flying just outside the prohibited area. There’s a good chance at least one of them is an INN plane with a TV camera aboard, waiting for us to launch.”

Schultz grinned. “Then let’s give them something to look at. I need to talk to General Norman, and Jenny Oh. You might have to wake them, but tell them it’s urgent.”

Evans asked, “How about McConnell?”

Schultz shook his head. “No, let him sleep. He can’t help with this, and he’s got a busy day coming.” He stifled a yawn. “And once he launches, I’m taking a nap.”

Schultz had found Jenny Oh at work, testing and refining the tracking software so critical to the mission. She also planned on sleeping after the launch.

Now she sat at the chief controller’s desk, considering Schultz’s idea. She was tired and worried, but it was an intriguing plan, even if it complicated these last few precious hours.

“We’ve run similar drills,” she replied carefully. She couldn’t give Schultz a resounding yes, much as she wanted to. She needed to think it through herself. “And my programmers could continue running their tests separately.”

“I don’t want to do anything that interferes with readiness for the launch tomorrow,” the admiral assured her.

“It would mean transmitting on the launch frequencies.”

“We have more than one set, don’t we?” he asked.

“Yes, but only a limited number. Once they’re used, we have to assume the Chinese or anyone else will be able to monitor them.”

“But they’re encrypted,” Schultz replied.

“I don’t assume anything,” Jenny answered firmly.

“You’re right, of course, but it’s worth it.” He looked at his watch. “I want it nice and dark, so you’ll need to be ready by 0500 hours.”

“We’ll be ready.”

General Shen paced a path in the launch center. The staff, familiar with their duties, gave him a wide berth and paid attention to the upcoming launch. He left them to it. Events were taking their own course. He was no longer in complete control of the situation, and he hated it.

The launch base, always on alert for attack, was on a war footing. Every man of the garrison had been turned out, and patrols went out twice as far as usual. Flanker fighters ran racetrack patterns overhead.

They had cause to be concerned. American strikes up and down the coast had hurt the People’s Liberation Army badly. Vital bases were damaged, ships had been sunk, and dozens of aircraft destroyed in the air. The Politburo had forbidden the services to discuss casualty figures, even among themselves.

Still, the American attacks had been carefully chosen to strike weak points. Heavily defended areas had been spared, so far. It was as if the Americans had lost confidence. They no longer believed in their invincibility. He hoped that feeling was right, because it meant they were weakening.

Shen knew it would be difficult for the Americans to strike so far inland, but he had to be prudent. Especially since this was where the real battle lay.

Li Zhang, the Premier, had asked the Politburo if they should seek some compromise with the Americans. Both sides stop shooting, in return for security guarantees. Pan Yunfeng, at Shen’s urging, had finally convinced them to continue the launch program without interruption. Shen’s reasoning had been irrefutable: Even if Defender really existed, there was no way to know when it would be ready to launch. A week? A month?

It was frustrating, but really irrelevant, since Defender would be destroyed soon after it took off. Shen was almost eager for the Americans to launch. Its appearance would resolve so much of the uncertainty he had to deal with. Its failure would break their will.

Admiral Schultz watched the pilot preflighting his SuperHornet. It was dark on the flight line, illumination coming from spotlights nearby. The drab gray camouflage scheme didn’t reflect the lights, and the plane appeared to be built from angular shadows.

The fighter was unarmed, but carried three of the big 480-gallon drop tanks. The pilot paid a lot of attention to them.