Stephen Coonts - Combat

General Norman had joined Schultz on the flight line. “It seems so simple,” the general said, looking at the plane’s payload.

“It’ll work just fine,” Schultz reassured him. “We used to have this as a problem with A-6s and F-14s. In fact, once the pilots found out how to do it, we had to explicitly forbid the practice. There are some risks.”

“Which Major O’Hara understands,” Norman reassured him. “But I’m taking all this on faith. I’m just a dumb grunt.”

“And I’m just an old pilot.” Schultz grinned at him. “I’m needed elsewhere. Would you care to join me, Carl?”

“I’d love to, Bill,” replied the general.

Suiting up for the flight was still a novelty for Ray. He’d practiced the procedure twice before, also a fitting for the suit and other systems. Like the shuttle crew, they would work in a shirtsleeve environment, but for the launch they would wear the full rig.

McConnell moved through the morning in a haze. It didn’t feel real. It had happened too fast. He felt adrift. His role in building Defender and preparing her for flight was over. He was so used to the pressure of the deadline that he still felt it there. Like taking finals, it took a while to realize they were over.

Add to that the fulfillment of a dream. He would fly in space. He’d flown before, of course, in light planes that he piloted and joyrides in high-performance jets. This would be much different. He’d see and feel things he’d never seen or felt before.

He knew he was afraid. There were risks, of course. Mechanical failure or human error could bring them to grief, but it was the uncertainty of the mission that really frightened him. Did they have the right tools? Ray was so closely tied with Defender , he felt part of her, and the thought of her failing almost paralyzed him. He remembered his talk with Jenny, and tried to say to himself the words he’d said to her.

The visit was as important as fueling Defender or loading her software. Led by Biff Barnes, Defender ’s crew filed up onto the scaffolding surrounding the slowly rotating globe of the earth. They were dressed for the mission, wearing their flight suits and, purely for photo purposes, carrying their helmets.

Although nobody announced their arrival, someone, then several people, and finally the entire center clapped and cheered as they made their way to Admiral Schultz’s position.

Ray felt embarrassed and proud at the same time. He would depend on these people while he was up. In fact, without them he was helpless. But he and the rest of the crew were the ones taking the risks.

Biff Barnes understood it better. There’d always been a special bond between the people who maintained the planes and those who flew them. Defender ’s crew was here to acknowledge that bond, and to let the support staff have one more look at the crew before launch. They were the stars of the show, but stars had to let themselves be seen.

Admiral Schultz also wanted to say good-bye and wish them luck as well. After this they would start the final launch preparations, and there’d be no time for ceremony.

Schultz shook everyone’s hands, and had a few words for each member of the crew. When Ray took his hand, the normally outgoing admiral was silent for a moment, and finally just said, “Good luck.”

The crew left the ready room together and walked outside. Only a few people saw them, but they clapped and waved at the six as they approached Defender .

Ray had visited Cape Canaveral several times, and loved the huge Vertical Assembly Building and the massive tracked transporter that carried the assembled shuttle on its six-mile-per-hour crawl to the launchpad. They were tremendous technical achievements, needed because of the shuttle’s boosters and fuel tanks. They were also tremendously expensive.

That morning, before dawn, they’d brought Defender out of her hangar. Two rails helped them guide her onto the pad, where she was elevated to the vertical for launching. Fueling began as soon as she was locked in place. With an 0300 rollout, she’d be ready for launch at 0600. The sheer simplicity of the preparations amazed him.

She was still an overall white, a broad snowy wedge that reflected the work lights. The swept-back wings on either side only made her look wider and taller. The ship sat on a short framework, the beam used to elevate her now lowered again.

They’d left the American flag, but painted out the Lockheed Martin logo and the VENTURESTAR lettering. Star-and-bar insignia had been added on the wings and the center of the fuselage, top and bottom. Below the insignia, in black capital letters, was her name. To Ray, she was more than beautiful.

The crew access elevator took them two-thirds of the way up, where the square black of the open access hatch led them inside. The moment the last of them was in, technicians closed the hatch and removed the elevator.

Ray became wrapped up in the checklist. The six of them each had their own tasks, and had to work as a team to do it correctly …

Major Tim O’Hara smoothly lined up the jet on the runway. Night takeoffs required caution. The lights of the town in the background could confuse a pilot looking for a runway marker or a signal light. He set his brakes and watched the tower. As he waited, he checked his radio again. The transmit switch was off, and would stay off until he was ready to land.

The runway was dry and clear, the weather perfect. He fought the urge to double-check his armament panel. He did double-check that his nav lights were off. He wasn’t supposed to attract any attention, and the tower would keep all other traffic clear. He heard them vectoring the standing fighter patrol to the far end of the base.

A green light flashed from the tower, and he pushed the throttle forward to full military. The runway lights slid past him on either side, quickly becoming streaks. With long practice, he pulled back on the stick, feeling the ship almost leap off the runway. He cleaned her up, bringing up the flaps and gear.

Throttling back, he stayed low, and started his first turn quickly. Buildings rushed by frighteningly close below him, but the route had been carefully planned to avoid any obstructions. He had to stay low to avoid the civilian air traffic control radars. You could never tell who had tapped into their signal.

At jet speeds, he crossed the base almost instantly, and spotted the IP ahead. They’d decided to use the motor pool. After his turn there, it would be a straight shot to Defender ’s launchpad.

He banked precisely over the motor pool’s parking lot, then pushed the throttle to full military again. Even at low altitude, he could see the pad ahead of him, and he pointed the nose straight at it.

The jet built up speed again, quickly passing four hundred knots, and passed over a small service building he’d noted on the map. It marked the spot where he had to begin his zoom.

O’Hara pulled the nose up sharply. By the time he’d reached the vertical, he was directly over the launchpad. He hit the afterburner, and an instant later, the DUMP switch on his drop tanks. Fuel sprayed out vents on the back of the tanks and was immediately ignited by the jet’s exhaust.

Accelerating, he concentrated on keeping the nose straight up, and hoped someone was getting a picture.

“FLASH. This is Mark Markin, INN News, outside Miramar. We’ve just seen a flame rising to the east.” Turning to someone off-camera, he asked, “Is it still there? Get it linked!”