Eagle Station

Four hundred and fifty thousand kilometers from Earth, Russia’s Kondor-L satellite slid silently through space along its orbit around the invisible Lagrange point — held in its course by the combined gravitational forces of the earth, moon, and sun all interacting with each other. Its hexagonal radar dish was angled toward the moon. A thin metal strut connected the radar dish to the core satellite, which was a rectangular box studded with antennas, infrared sensors, small thrusters, and the nozzle of a somewhat larger orbit-correction motor. Two solar panels extended off the main body, providing electricity to power its S-band radar and other systems. From time to time, the Kondor’s tiny attitude control thrusters fired in sequence, rotating the satellite to keep the dish properly aligned.

Now, obeying instructions radioed from Moscow, a tiny spacecraft — less than a meter long and only centimeters in diameter — detached from the larger radar reconnaissance satellite and drifted away. Coated in jet-black radar-absorbent materials, this small stealth vehicle, called the Chenaya Osa or Black Wasp by its creators, was effectively undetectable by any U.S. ground- or space-based sensors.

Aboard the tiny craft, relays closed. Its battery-powered ion thrusters lit up. They glowed a faint blue as the positively charged ions stripped out of a xenon gas plasma were hurled outward into space. Compared to chemical rockets, the thrust provided by this form of electric propulsion was minute… but the speed it imparted built steadily over time.

Gradually, minute by minute and hour by hour, the Black Wasp accelerated. It curved away from the Kondor-L along a transfer orbit. In time, its track would intersect that of the much larger American AEHF-7 communications satellite as it looped around the same Lagrange point.

U.S. Space Force Operations Center, Peterson Air Force Base, Colorado Springs, Colorado

Fifty-Plus Hours Later

Subdued, blue-tinged overhead lighting gave the Space Force Operations Center a deceptively calm and peaceful atmosphere. Stepped tiers of computer stations were manned by officers and enlisted personnel wearing flight suits and communications headsets. Along the forward wall, displays showed the current positions of Eagle Station and two S-29B Shadow spaceplanes in Earth orbit. A large center screen showed the current status of the Space Force’s first lunar reconnaissance mission.

From an open observation platform looking down into the dimly lit room, Patrick McLanahan watched the icon representing the Topaz-M radar surveillance satellite move steadily along the curving path it had been following for more than two days — ever since the Delta IV sent it winging toward the moon’s predicted position at more than twenty-four thousand miles per hour. All through that time, it had slowed steadily as the earth’s gravity exerted its pull.

Now, more than fifty-five hours into its flight, the Topaz-M’s speed was down to just a little over two thousand miles per hour. But its velocity was already starting to increase again, because the satellite had crossed into the influence of the moon’s own gravitational field. As planned, it was falling toward the lunar surface. A circle not far ahead along its projected track was marked LOI, for Lunar Orbit Insertion — indicating the position at which the Topaz-M would fire its own engine for the first time, making a short burn intended to put the reconnaissance satellite into a stable orbit around the moon.

Patrick glanced at the three men standing next to him at the railing. Eager to get their first real look at what the Chinese and Russians were doing around the other side of the moon, both President Farrell and Kevin Martindale had come out to Colorado Springs in person. The third man, General Richard Kelleher, was the Space Force’s recently appointed chief of staff. As far as the media knew, the president was simply here to inspect the new Space Force field headquarters and other facilities. The Topaz-M mission was still a closely held secret.

Kelleher was short and fit, with close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair. Before taking charge of the Space Force, he’d already held most of the U.S. Air Force’s space-related commands. Although Patrick didn’t know him personally, mutual friends had assured him that he was a good pick—“smart and tough enough to handle the job, and ornery enough to kick Pentagon bureaucratic ass when necessary.”

Right now, Kelleher was on a phone, getting a status report from Brigadier General Rosenthal, the senior officer on duty in the ops center itself. “Thanks, Jill,” he said. “I’ll pass the word on.” He hung up and turned to Patrick and the others. “So far, all the telemetry looks good. The Topaz’s com antennas are already slaved to our L2 AEHF relay, so we’ll be in constant touch with that satellite even when it swings around the far side of the moon.”

Farrell nodded. “Any indication that the Russians or Chinese are getting antsy?” he asked.