Stephen Coonts - Combat

“And they’re getting better at it. Look at this curve.” It showed the percentage of successful penetrations since the attack began, and the number steadily increased.

Jenny forced herself to think clearly, to ignore the rest of the center and the craft in space above her. This was a battle of minds.

“The encryption key is time-based,” Jenny said. “To mimic it at all, they’d have to be monitoring our communications in real time.”

“Then that’s what they’re doing,” replied the computer analyst. “All of the communications are hardened land lines.” Jenny had insisted on that, for obvious reasons.

“Except the signal to Defender, ” countered Brown.

“Which we have to leave up,” finished Jenny. That link was the reason for the Battle Center’s existence. She visualized the flow, out from the Center, picked up by intercept antenna somewhere, then fed back into the system though pirated computers. The Chinese were using their own codes against them.

“Chris, we have to change the encryption schemes.”

“That won’t help, they’ll only …”

“Only for the link to Defender, ” she continued. “Right now we all use the same coding scheme. Change the time-based key for Defender ’s link, and the filters will reject it automatically.”

Brown’s face lit up. “Yeah, I can even optimize the coding to make it easier for the filters to spot. I can use a modifier …”

The analyst trailed off into thought, but quickly resurfaced. “I’ll have to upload a patch to Defender , but the Chinese haven’t interfered with the link. I can have us up in five minutes.”

Jenny hurried back to her own console, keying her handset as she went. “Good news, Admiral.”

Brown’s patch had an immediate effect. Cut off from the ground, the computer had been displaying the estimated position of the second T’ien Lung. It had been close, but the uncertainty of the estimate had prevented them from taking any action.

Now, within moments, the display flashed with the real position of TL2. A red arc showed its track history, a red dot its present location, and a red cone its possible future position. Defender ’s orbit lay square in the center of that cone, and another flashing symbol showed the intercept point.

Intercept was only five minutes away. They couldn’t hope to set up and kill it before it reached them. Barnes ordered “Countermeasures!” and then told the pilots, “Take this vector. Pull in the turret, close the doors.”

Ray saw the stars swing again, then felt pressure against his back as Defender ’s engines came to life. They quickly increased to full power. The rest of the crew quickly carried out Barnes’s orders, bringing the laser turret inside.

The doors might protect the turret against small fragments from the T’ien Lung if it did detonate. Of course, with the doors closed, they were blind as well as defenseless. More than ever, Ray felt grateful for the data link.

Scarelli had oriented the craft so that its top side faced the T’ien Lung. They’d argued about it during one of the many strategy sessions, and decided they’d rather have fragments in the doors and upper fuselage than in the heat shield. They could live without weapons and sensors, but they couldn’t reenter without the heat shield.

The acceleration wasn’t as bad as takeoff, but it was still intense, and mixed with uncertainly.

His board showed the same tracks as Barnes’s, as well as other ship’s systems. He watched the radar decoys leave the ship, a cluster of simple radar corners, based on their best guesses about the design of the kill vehicle’s sensors.

McConnell also watched as the line of Defender ’s orbit slowly curved. The engines stopped, and Ray saw that they were just outside the Chinese intercept cone.

The arc carrying the T’ien Lung did not change for two long minutes. It finally started to shift, back toward an intercept on their new course. “Look at that,” Barnes said, pointing to the display. “Their reaction times are very slow.”

He waited for a moment, then announced, “They’re not buying the decoys. All right, pilot, now take this vector. Stand by for a long burn, people.”

This time Ray was ready for the acceleration, and better still, welcomed it. The Chinese lag in controlling the T’ien Lung would be their undoing.

Barnes’s new course zigged Defender away from the T‘ien Lung, exactly opposite to the course correction the Chinese vehicle was making. Defender ’s engines were more powerful than the T’ien Lung’s thrusters. The Chinese vehicle had been designed to engage satellites, not maneuverable spacecraft.

“Past closest point of approach!” the copilot reported. Skeldon didn’t sound relieved. The Chinese could always command-detonate the warhead if they felt there was a chance of damaging them.

They did, after another thirty extra seconds of distance. There was no sound of explosion, but two sharp bangs, like rifle shots, sounded over their heads, and part of Ray’s board went from green to red and yellow. One corner of his eye noted that the symbol for the second T’ien Lung was now gone from the screen.

Ray reported, “We’re losing hydrogen pressure. One of the tanks has been holed!”

“Continue the burn,” Barnes ordered. “Move as much hydrogen out of the tank as you can before it escapes.”

“Doing it,” Ray responded. “It’ll screw up our center of gravity,” he warned.

“Compensating,” responded Scarelli. “What about that other strike?” the pilot asked.

“That’ll take a little sorting out,” Ray replied.

Part of the electrical system flashed red, but what was the problem? Was it a component, or the wiring? They’d installed redundant lines on the critical systems. It was time to see if it was working. He started isolating components. His mind focused on the technical problem, he hardly noticed the acceleration.

There. “Primary actuators for the ailerons are off-line. Backups seem all right.” But something else aft still glowed red. He closed a few more systems, but the news wasn’t good. “We’ve lost number three hydrogen pump.”

“Which means no number three engine,” Scarelli continued.

“We can cope,” Barnes reassured him. “We don’t have another burn until we reenter.”

The burn finished, and Ray was surprised by the sudden weightlessness. His stomach complained a little, but he mastered it.

Barnes asked. “Jim, how long until we’re over Xichuan?”

Scarelli checked his plot, then answered, “Twenty-three minutes. That last burn brought our orbit right over them!” He looked at Barnes with a “How’d you do that?” expression.

The major grinned. “I picked the first burn vector directly away from where I wanted us to end up. That way I could make the long burn in the right direction. Set up for ground attack. Here are the targets.”

Ray watched as he designated two points on the map display. Scarelli had to make one small burn to refine the course, then he and Skeldon turned Defender so her bay faced the globe of earth below.

After that, they waited. Baker and Tillman checked out their equipment, and pilots monitored their course. For the first time since they had taken off, Ray had a moment to realize he was in space.

His stomach was still under control, and they were all strapped in anyway. No floating during General Quarters, he mused. He looked at the monitors, one of which showed the earth “above” them. They were over the North Pole, coming down on the other side of the world from California. It seemed different, somehow. Smaller, and more vulnerable.