Christopher Nuttall - Axis of Evil

“And then we can just keep building and building,” Goddard said. “Imagine, we could see the first interstellar rocket before we die!”

Dashwood grinned. “Yes,” he said. “We might see that. The important matter, Doctor, is to develop the industry and commercial benefits first, you see. We can’t afford for people to start making cuts in the money.”

And we have to make this self-funding , he thought coldly. “We have to put the spy satellites in orbit soon, along with the communication relay systems,” he said aloud. Inside, he hoped that the new systems would work; Britain didn’t have that many spare Trident missiles, and they were almost irreplaceable. Once the first desperate battles were over, the Government had started a number of programs to replace some of the technology that had been largely made abroad.

“Yes, call me Robert,” Goddard said firmly. “Don’t worry; no one will ever claim that a rocket won’t function in a vacuum again.”

Dashwood chuckled. The New York Times had printed a grovelling apology to Goddard after he’d threatened them with legal action. Dashwood had rather hoped that the whole affair would have blown over – he’d wanted to get Goddard and as many other rocket scientists out of America before the Yanks realised what they had on their hands – but he had to admit that it had had its funny side.

Time went by, too slowly for Dashwood’s liking. Goddard bounced up and down, waiting for the test results, and endlessly designing new ways to break down the rockets into mass-producible components for the American factories. Apart from the guidance systems, the factories could crank out every component, without knowing how the entire system went together.

“The engineers report that the system is totally ready,” Tempest said finally. Dashwood stared down at the telemetry display; months of work were leading up to this moment. A network of relay stations across the globe would relay transmissions from the rocket to the base, as well as copying the data to Britain and Australia. If anything went wrong, their successors would have some idea of what went wrong.

Not that I plan to have any, of course , Dashwood thought wryly. He was confident of the missile; if he hadn’t been he wouldn’t have asked the BBC to send a team to record the entire launch. Like many serving officers, he disliked the BBC, which had sent a reporter into the heart of Nazi Germany, but he understood the need for public relations. Public support for the space program was essential.

“Excellent,” he said finally. “Sound the launch alert.”

Tempest pushed a yellow button on the console. A throbbing drumbeat arose; the constructors scrambled for the shelters and the watchtowers, hiding from the blast of the launch. Dashwood shook his head; normally the rocket would have been blasted out of the submarine by gas, before the rocket ignited, but there was no need for that now. Anyone more than ten or so meters away would be perfectly safe.

“Let them play,” Tempest muttered. Goddard was watching, his eyes wide. “Launch commit?”

Dashwood took a moment to pretend to consider. The cameras were rolling; some of the Government’s friends in the BBC would make a documentary out of the entire incident. It was vital that he seemed to consider, even if there was no need to do so; any problems would have appeared in the tests. After all, hadn’t the Tridents been tested only six months ago?

“I confirm launch commit,” he said, when he could wait no more. “I confirm launch commit.”

Tempest smiled wryly. Dashwood wondered if future watchers would understand. “I confirm Trident-1 loaded with Load-1,” Tempest said. “I confirm course and instructions loaded into computer core. I confirm flight simulations report success ten out of ten. Confirm; launch commit?”

Stupid technobabble , Dashwood thought coldly. Dotting every ‘I’ and crossing every ‘T’ seemed like a waste of time. “I confirm launch commit,” he said. “T-minus… thirty seconds, and counting.”

“Wow,” Goddard breathed. Dashwood watched; Tempest’s countdown was loud and irritating.

“You may launch the rocket,” Dashwood muttered. “At zero, hit the big red button.”

“Thanks,” Goddard said, a little sharply. He could still tell when he was being condescended to. “Push at zero.”

Dashwood nodded. Someone with a sense of humour had created a red button as large as a soup plate. “Launch at zero,” he said, just to make certain.

“Ten… nine… eight… seven,” Tempest said aloud. “Three… two… one… zero! We have launch, I repeat, we have launch!”

Goddard pushed the button. The Trident seemed to hang in the air for a long moment, then a plume of yellow fire and smoke appeared from its behind. There was a long pause, and the noise grew louder, and then the rocket started to climb from the pad, reaching up into the sky. It picked up speed as it rose up on a pillar of fire, heading upwards into the atmosphere.

“T-plus twenty seconds,” Tempest said, as the rocket climbed. “Everything is looking good from down here.”

“My god,” Goddard breathed. “We have to build more of these rockets.”

“We’ll try,” Dashwood said. An unearthly silence fell upon the watchtower. For a long moment, the dank steaming complex that might be a real gleaming launch centre one day was united in awe. Not even the birds were making a noise.

“Rocket now at separation-one,” Tempest said. “Destroyer Churchill reports that it has the rocket on its sensors; everything looks optimal… rocket has separated.”

“That’s the first stage,” Dashwood muttered into his throat mike, for the benefit of future watchers. “Second stage separation coming up…”

The rocket started to alter course slightly, heading for orbit. “Final stage separation coming up,” Tempest said. “Injection into low Earth orbit coming up… five minutes and counting.”

Dashwood took a breath. This was the most dangerous part of the mission. The Tridents hadn’t been designed for trans-LEO injection; rather they had been intended to launch an object into a re-entry trajectory. The orbit was a little more slanted than Dashwood would have liked; the satellite would orbit over the Axis powers, rather than directly following the equator.

“Injection successful,” Tempest said. “Satellite now being released from covering sheathes.” There was a long pregnant pause. “HMS Churchill reports receiving the signals from the satellite!”

The room broke into cheers. “Check the telemetry,” Dashwood ordered. “I want everything checked before we celebrate too much.”

“Working,” Tempest said. Down on the platform, an impromptu party was going on; the workmen taking the opportunity to have a break. “Telemetry reports total success; we have a direct communications link to PJHQ now… and we’re receiving imagery!”

“I think that we have had a success,” Dashwood said mildly. “Tell everyone I said that we’ll have a half-holiday, I think.”

There were more cheers as Tempest announced it over the loudspeaker. “As for me, I think I’ll talk to the Prime Minister… and use our new relay system to do it.”

Hanover’s voice wasn’t coming through perfectly, although as the technicians aligned the system it improved. Dashwood allowed himself a smile; after this, the PM would be a big space booster. It would need a full global network – the satellite would move out of position for the relay in half an hour – but now they knew how to do it… space was the limit.

“A splendid success,” Hanover said, after Dashwood had finished the report. “How long will it be until you can complete the network?”