Eagle Station

Almost unwillingly, he smiled. “Well, yeah, them, too.” He shook his head. “Right now, though, it’s the possibility that Martindale was right about this being a suicide mission.”

Brad felt her hand squeeze his shoulder.

“We are not dead yet, drogie serce, dear heart,” she said gently.

“Two large unidentified airborne thermal contacts detected at twelve o’clock,” the Rustler’s computer broke in. “Range indefinite, but closing at three-thousand-plus knots.”

“Scion Seven-Zero, this is Shadow Bravo One,” Dusty Miller radioed from one of the fast-approaching S-29B spaceplanes. “Hope you don’t mind us crowding you a little.”

Brad felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. “Not a bit, Bravo One,” he replied. “Welcome to the party.”

Beside him, Nadia saw a new com icon flashing on her left-hand display, indicating an urgent high-priority signal. She opened it.

Immediately, they heard a familiar voice come over their headsets. “Mr. Martindale may have talked about leaving y’all hanging out to dry if you ran into trouble,” President John Dalton Farrell drawled. “But I sure as hell never said any such thing.”

National Defense Control Center

That Same Time

“Our air defense radars at Rogachevo, Nagurskoye, Sredny Ostrov, and Zvozdnyy all confirm the same thing. Two American Space Force S-29Bs have just dropped out of polar orbit and are moving to intercept our MiG-31s,” Tikhomirov said grimly.

Marshal Leonov only nodded. “Recall your pilots, Semyon.” He shrugged. “There’s no point in tangling with those spaceplanes. Or in provoking an open military confrontation with the United States.” He smiled dryly. “Not yet, anyway.”

Tikhomirov looked relieved. “Yes, sir.”

Leonov cut the secure connection. He sat back, deep in thought. While the escape of one of the Scion spies was exasperating, Russia would still profit from these events. If nothing else, the rapid, aggressive response of his Spetsnaz troops and MiG-31 fighters should convince the Americans that his fake Firebird Project spaceplane program was genuine. Equally important, thanks to the trap he’d sprung at Kansk-Dalniy, he’d successfully crippled Scion’s espionage network inside Russia.

The Americans were now completely blind. He nodded in satisfaction. The timing was perfect. The first elements of Heaven’s Thunder — the true focus of his secret alliance with the People’s Republic of China — were only months away from launch. And by the time the United States and its allies realized what was really happening, it would be far too late.

Twenty-Three

U.S. Space Command Missile and Space Launch Warning Center, Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Colorado

Several Months Later, in Early 2023

Space Force Lieutenant General Daniel Mulvaney surveyed his new domain with quiet pride. Just a few weeks ago, a Pentagon directive had finally transferred control over the launch warning center to his new outfit, the U.S. Space Command. Making that move was one of the last pieces of the intricate organizational puzzle involved in bringing the Space Force to full operational readiness. Now America’s newest armed forces branch had a clear chain of command from the earliest detection of possible hostile space action all the way up to the active-duty forces — Eagle Station and the S-29B spaceplanes — that would fight any battles in Earth orbit.

Sited two thousand feet beneath Cheyenne Mountain, the Missile and Space Launch Warning Center consisted of three stepped tiers facing several large screens — each currently showing digital maps of various parts of the world. Consoles with computers, displays, and secure communications links lined each level. Before the switchover to Space Command control, those consoles had been manned around the clock by officers and enlisted personnel from the Air Force, Army, Navy, and Marine Corps. Many of those same men and women were still here, performing the same duties. Only their uniforms, rank insignias, and unit patches were different, reflecting their lateral transfers to the Space Force.

Mulvaney ambled over to the desk belonging to the senior officer on watch, Major General Pete Hernandez. Hernandez, a former Marine Corps aviation wing commander, started to clamber to his feet in order to salute him.

“No need to make a fuss, Pete,” Mulvaney said, waving the other man back down. “I’m just prowling, not inspecting.” He took a seat. “How are things looking?”

“Pretty quiet so far today,” Hernandez said with a shrug. “SpaceX has a launch slated from its Boca Chica site down near Brownsville, Texas, in a couple of hours.”

“Anything interesting aboard?” Mulvaney asked.