Ben Bova - Able One

“We’re going to be shooting very soon. Within minutes.”

“We’re ready.”

She took a breath, then added, “And we’re going to be shot at, most likely.”

“What?”

“There’s a pair of North Korean interceptors heading toward us.”

Harry’s mind spun into overdrive. “Look, they won’t know if we fire the COIL or not. It’s an infrared beam. You can’t see it.”

Colonel Christopher’s brows knit slightly. “That’s something . . .” Then she asked, “Could we shoot down a plane?”

“If you can get the COIL’s beam on it for a couple of seconds. Heat up the aluminum skin to its ignition point and then the airflow starts the aluminum burning.”

“Is that real or some scientist’s theory?”

“We’ve done it on the test range, with fans blowing air across the target.”

“At what range?”

Harry had to think back. “Half a mile. But the COIL can hit a target much farther than that. A hundred miles, maybe more.”

“So we can defend ourselves, maybe.”

“Only if the bad guy’s dumb enough to fly in front of us. The output turret up in the nose can only swivel thirty degrees left or right.”

Christopher looked disappointed. “They’re not that dumb. They’ll come up behind us and pop an air-to-air missile at us.”

“Jeez.” Harry suddenly felt an overwhelming need to urinate.

“Our alternative is to turn around and head for Japan.”

“And let them fire their ballistic missiles?” She nodded grimly. “Nice choice, isn’t it?”

“Wow, it’s big!” said Denise as she, her sister, and her mother followed the crowd streaming from the BART station to the Cow Palace’s main entrance. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but still their hair was wet and plastered on their scalps by the time they got into the huge auditorium.

Once inside the vast, barnlike stadium, Sylvia told her daughters, “They’ve held national conventions in here, rodeos, basketball games, hockey games, even Roller Derbies.”

“Roller Derbies?” Vickie asked, curious despite her practiced teenaged boredom. “What’s that?”

Sylvia explained as they climbed the concrete stairs and found their seats. From this high up the platform on which the President would speak looked little bigger than a postage stamp.

“You said we were going to be in the front row,” Vickie accused.

“We’re not that far away,” said Sylvia as they sat down.

“They’ve set up big TV screens,” Denise said, pointing.

“We’ll be able to see the President’s face very clearly,” Sylvia said. “Just like we’re sitting next to him, almost.”

Vickie muttered, “Big deal.” Sylvia pretended not to hear her.

As the limousine pulled up at the Cow Palace, the President asked his chief of staff, “What’s happening in Korea?”

Norman Foster pulled the phone bud out of his ear. “Looks like they’re getting ready to launch those other two birds.”

“We can see them?”

“Satellite imagery. From the National Reconnaissance Office.”

The Secret Service agent pulled the door open on the President’s side of the limo. The motorcade had driven directly into the Cow Palace’s underground parking area, which had been cleared for security. No cheering crowds. No band playing “Hail to the Chief.” Just a shadowy concrete expanse, chilly, damp.

Before the President could get out of the limo the chief of his Secret Service detail, a tall, lanky man with a weatherbeaten face and a dour expression, ducked his head into the open door and said, “Mr. President, we’ve got to head back to the airport, sir.”

“No, we don’t,” the President said, smiling pleasantly at the agent’s grimly determined face.

“Sir, it’s my duty—”

“I make the decisions, Ron. I’m going ahead with my speech.”

The black-suited agent looked as if he wanted to argue the point, but he recognized the steel behind the President’s smile. “You’re the boss, sir.”

“That’s right, Ron,” said the President. As he got out of the limo he asked his chief of staff, “What about that laser plane?”

Sliding across the leather seat, Foster replied, “Approaching the North Korean coast. Should be in position to shoot at the missiles as soon as they’re launched.”

“If it can get close enough to them,” the President muttered.

“Yep,” said Foster. “There is that.”

The President nodded. Foster slid out of the limo and straightened up slowly. Arthritis, the President knew.

The chief of staff made a small, involuntary groan as he stood up. Then, “The Aegis ships are alerted and ready. So are the ABM bases in Alaska and Vandenberg.”

With another nod, the President muttered, “Now we’ll see if we’ve spent the taxpayers’ money wisely.”

“You bet your life,” said Foster, without a trace of a smile.

“They’re going to launch any minute,” Harry prodded.

Monk Delany shot a sour glance over his burly shoulder. “I’m ready. I’m ready. Let ‘em launch.”

Bending over the seated Delany, Harry saw that the ranging laser’s screen was clear. Nothing in view.

“Did I hear one of those blue-suiters say we’ve got fighters coming after us?” Delany had his headphone solidly clamped to one ear. Obviously he’d been tuned in to the intercom chatter.

“That’s what they said,” Harry replied tightly.

“Are we turnin’ back?”

“No.”

“But they could shoot us down!”

Harry said, “Or force us to land in North Korea.”

“Christ Almighty,” Delany muttered.

“You’re going to be a hero, Monk. We all are.”

“Dead or alive.”

Harry tapped Delany’s shoulder. “One way or another, Monk. One way or another.”

“They got parachutes on this bird?”

Harry forced a laugh. “I’ll go look,” he said. He left Delany fiddling with the ranging laser’s controls and ducked through to Taki’s battle management station.

She looked up at him. “We’re being chased by a couple of fighters?”

Harry nodded as he slid into the chair next to hers. “That’s the news from upstairs.”

“This is going to get bad, isn’t it?”

“Looks that way. But we don’t have any way out of it.”

“The pilot could turn us around and head back to Japan,” Taki said without taking her eyes off the screens of her console.

“She’s not going to do that. They’ll be launching those missiles any minute.”

“And after that they’ll shoot us down.”

“Taki, there’s nothing we can do about that. We’re in this to the brutal end.”

The look on her face was really inscrutable, Harry thought. What’s she thinking? She doesn’t look scared, or sore, or… anything.

As Harry slapped a headphone set over his baby-fine hair, Taki said, “You’re pretty cool, Harry. Pretty damned cool.”

“Me?” He felt totally surprised. “I’m scared halfway to death!”

“Halfway,” she said, with a slight curve of her lip. It might have been the beginning of a smile, Harry thought. Or a sneer of disdain.

With a shake of his head to clear his thoughts, Harry turned back to the console in front of him. “We’ve got business to do.”

“Right, chief.”

Harry puzzled over the intercom board for a moment, then pressed the key that he hoped connected to Rosenberg, back aft.

“Yo,” said Angel Reyes’s voice.

“Where’s Wally?”

“In the toilet. I think he’s throwin’ up.”

“Great.”

“Naw, I’m only kiddin’. He’s takin’ a leak.”