Ben Bova - Able One

The answer came to him: for money. Whoever it was did it for money. When he thought this was just a test flight he tried to ruin it so that we’d look bad to the Air Force and DoD would cancel Anson’s contract and give it to one of our competitors.

Great deduction, Sherlock, Harry said to himself. So which one of them was it? Which one needs money so bad he’d sabotage a flight test? Wally gambles on the football pools. He makes no secret of that. Angel? I don’t see Angel getting himself into a hole that way. The kid’s worked too hard to get where he is to hand his money over to gamblers. Still, you never know.

Monk? Harry tried to remember if Monk ever took plunges with gamblers. Not that he could recall. Monk wasn’t the gambling type. Hell, even when they were all making bets on who would be named leader of the team, Monk threw in only a couple of bucks. Harry remembered Monk’s knowing grin when he put his money down on the pool.

“I’m the favorite,” he’d told Harry. “I can’t get decent odds.”

No, Monk’s too smart to get into debt with gamblers.

“Are you with me, Harry?”

It took an effort to snap his attention back to Taki, back to the mission and the reality of an impending nuclear war.

“I’m sorry,” he said, flustered. “I was thinking . ..”

Nakamura looked slightly disappointed. “I asked you if you’d double-check the board for me. Looks to me like everything’s ready to go, but it’d be better if you double-check.”

“Right,” Harry said. “Sorry.”

The gauges and screens on the consoles showed the status of every segment of the laser’s system. Harry ran his eyes across both the console he was sitting at and Taki’s, beside him. Everything looked okay. The COIL was pressurized and ready to fire. Ranging laser ready. Electrical power in the green. Computer humming.

“Looks okay to me, Taki,” he said. “We’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”

She nodded. The only sign of apprehension on her face was the tightness of her lips. Without a word she unlatched the covers on the amber arming and red firing buttons.

“So who was Annie Oakley?” she asked.

“Where are those fighters?” Colonel Christopher asked into her pin mike.

O’Banion quickly answered, “Thirty miles behind us, seven o’clock. Closing fast.”

“Between us and the coast,” Major Kaufman said.

Christopher nodded. “I wonder what their orders are.”

“Shoot to kill.”

She almost laughed. “Maybe not. Maybe they just want to shoo us out of their territorial waters.”

“We’re not in their fucking territorial waters,” Kaufman grumbled.

She clicked the intercom and called, “Jon, exactly how far off the coast are we?”

“Twenty miles, Colonel, just like you ordered. Uh, actually it’s twenty-two, just at this point. We haven’t been closer than twenty, though, not once.”

“Do you have an accurate navigational fix on all that?”

“Yes, ma’am. I do.”

“Pipe it back to Washington. I want our people to know exactly where we are, that we’re not in North Korean territorial waters.”

“Yes’m,” Lieutenant Sharmon replied.

Kaufman gave her a sour look. “So they can drop a wreath in the water where we went down,” he muttered.

Charley Ingersoll knew he couldn’t get lost, even in this damnable snowstorm. All he had to do was plow straight ahead down the road. The gas station was along the side of the road. His legs flared with pins and needles, his face felt numb, he’d never been so cold in all his life.

But he slogged forward. The snow was almost knee-deep now, and it took a real concentrated effort to pull his freezing feet out of the stuff and take another tottering step forward. He thought about praying, but then he realized that it was the Lord who had put him into this mess. Why? he asked heaven. Why me? No answer. So he staggered on.

Step by step, Charley said to himself. Closer and closer. Somewhere from the back of his mind came the faint memory of some comedy act where a guy says that. Something about Niagara Falls. Step by step. Closer and closer.

At least Martha and the kids are okay. Even if the van runs out of gas it’ll stay warm inside for a while. They’ll be all right. I’ll get to the gas station and they’ll come out in the tow truck they’ve got there and we’ll all be okay.

But you’ve got to get to the gas station first, said a voice in Charley’s head.

He blinked against the snowflakes whipping into his face. Can’t tell where the road is anymore. Everything’s covered with snow. White, white, white everywhere. Maybe this is what heaven’s like, he thought: everything is white. Or hell. There were parts of hell that were freezing, he remembered from his Sunday school days, all snow and ice. Then he realized that there were snowbanks on either side of the road, left by the plows that had scraped the highway earlier. Stay in between the snowbanks, Charley, he told himself. Stay in the middle.

He plodded ahead, his legs like a pair of rigid boards that shot pain up along his spine every time he tried to move them. Lord, help me, he pleaded. You put me into this, help me get out of it!

Something coming up the road!

Charley saw a shape up the road ahead, a dark bulk moving through the blinding white, slowly, patiently, soundlessly.

A car? No, too big, more like a truck. Awful slow, but it’s coming this way. No noise. Maybe I’ve gone deaf. Maybe my ears are frozen.

The shape slowly coalesced out of the wind-whipped snow. It’s a moose! Charley realized. Or is it an elk? Too big to be a deer. What’s a moose doing out here in the middle of the road?

The animal was walking calmly, with great dignity, up the road toward Charley. Strolling along as if this blizzard didn’t trouble it in the least.

It’s a sign, Charley thought. A sign from God. My deliverance is near.

For a wild instant Charley thought he might jump on the animal’s back and ride the rest of the way to the station. But as he staggered toward the beast it stopped in its tracks, snuffled once, then turned and bounded up the snowbank on the right shoulder of the highway and disappeared into the blinding whiteness of the storm.

Charley stood there dumbfounded. It just pranced up that snowbank like it was nothing, he thought.

This blizzard don’t bother it at all. And I’m alone again. Alone and cold and scared.

Why’d it run away? he asked himself. I wasn’t going to hurt it. What’s it doing out here, anyway? Then he realized the reason. Wolves. Where there’s moose or elk or whatever that beast was, there’s wolves. Charley strained to hear the howl of baying wolves. Nothing but the keening of the wind. They hunt in packs, he knew. They’ll come after me.

He sank to his knees. God help me! he screamed silently. God help me.

Major Obadiah Kaufman sat in the copilot’s seat looking out at the dark smudge on the horizon that was the coast of North Korea.

Colonel Christopher said, “Keep your eyes peeled for their launch, Obie.”

“Right,” he said, glancing sideways at her. Sixteen years in the Air Force, he thought, and I’m in the fucking right-hand seat while she gives me dumbass orders. Obie. Like she knows me well enough to call me Obie. How’d she like it if I called her Karen? Or Chrissie? The plane’s radar will pick up their fucking launch. She knows that. But she’s got to make sure I know she’s in charge and I’m just her goddamned stooge.

I graduated fourth in my class at the Academy. Where did she come in? Who the hell put her in here over me? It isn’t fair, it’s not fair. Hotshot B-2 jockey. She gets herself in hot water screwing some general and they bounce her out of the B-2s and break her down to this test program. This is a fucking demotion for her! But they push me into the right-hand seat so this slut of a colonel can take over my place. I worked hard to get to fly this bird! But they just push me aside and let her have it. The Air Force. Screw you every time.