Executive Intent

Colwin was closing nicely with the space station, now probably five hundred meters away. When Boomer saw the forward thrusters fire, he carefully eased himself out of the hatch, using the tiny nitrogen thrusters on his space-suit backpack to propel him forward enough to ease the strain on his tether. “About four minutes to go, Colwin,” he radioed. “You’re doing fine.” More thruster jets, but this time he saw jets in one direction, followed immediately by spurts in the opposite direction that seemed to push the spaceplane in the opposite direction instead of just countering the first push. “Ease up on the thrusters,” he said.

“I am.”

The docking cradle on the space station resembled a giant garden hand spade. Colwin’s job was to maneuver Midnight into position on the spade, after which a grapple underneath the craft would gently grasp the spaceplane and a transfer tunnel would be moved into position on a separate beam beside the main entry hatch. Since the Space Shuttle was retired, these days the Midnight spaceplane was the largest craft to dock on the cradle, so there was plenty of room to spare, but if the spaceplane was not perfectly in the center and not perfectly level, the grapple might not latch, the transfer tunnel might not seal tightly enough on the air lock, and the umbilicals that would service the aircraft might have to be manually attached by a spacewalker.

Boomer disconnected himself completely from the Midnight spaceplane when he knew he had plenty of thruster fuel in his space suit to reach an entry hatch on the station. He stowed the tether in its reel and made sure the hatch from the air lock to the cargo bay was secured, then eased himself away from the spaceplane. “I’m clear of the air-lock hatch,” he radioed. “Clear to close the main hatch and pressurize the air lock.” He watched-yes, with a little pang of panic, since now he was completely on his own-as the hatch closed and locked. “You’re a solo space pilot now, Colwin.”

“Roger,” Colwin said in a slightly squeaky voice.

Boomer maneuvered himself toward the front of the docking cradle, where he could watch the spaceplane enter the spade, being careful to keep out of Colwin’s sight so she wouldn’t be distracted. “How is she doing, Noble?” Raydon radioed on the secondary frequency so Colwin couldn’t hear them.

“Very slow and cautious, but I can’t fault her for that,” Boomer replied.

“Think this was a good idea, you leaving her alone like that?”

“Back when I was at MIT getting my Ph.D. I remember when my Aero Club instructor pilot at Hanscom Air Force Base told me to pull my Piper Warrior over so he could hop out and I could do my first solo,” Boomer said. “He didn’t give me any warning-one minute he was sitting there, and the next minute the seat was empty.”

“Every pilot experiences that.”

“I know, but I thought I was such hot shit impressing the instructor that I never thought about soloing,” Boomer said. “Then when it happened so suddenly, I never felt more scared and alone. I sat there until the ground controller told me to taxi for takeoff or park it back on the ramp. I finally shook it off, flew once around the pattern, and landed. I was scared shitless, but I did it.”

“This is a whole lot different.”

“If she screws up, they’ll say it was the wrong decision,” Boomer said. “But she won’t.”

Boomer had his doubts as he watched the Midnight slide forward into the cradle-he thought Colwin could’ve gotten it a little straighter and perhaps a little lower, and she was certainly slow-but eventually she got it into position. The nose of the XS-19 contacted the large docking “donut” dead center and barely recoiled as the 170,000-pound spacecraft came to a stop. “Zero closure rate, Armstrong,” she announced. “Grapple ring extended, ready for capture.”

“Noble?” Raydon asked over the secondary frequency.

“She’s a little off longitudinally and a little high, but I’ll bet she’s dead in the center,” Boomer said. “Grab her and reel her in slowly.”

The cradle’s grapple moved and contacted the spaceplane’s grapple ring on the first try. “Good contact, Midnight,” the cradle operator reported. “Spacecraft moving to secure position.” It took longer than normal, but eventually the Midnight spaceplane was hauled down onto the cradle. “Spacecraft secure. Extending transfer tunnel and umbilicals. Well done, Major Colwin.”

“Thanks, guys,” she replied a little weakly. “And, General, Boomer, thanks for trusting me to do this.”

“Good job, Major,” Raydon said.

“You’re welcome, Colwin,” Boomer added. “Just don’t forget to unlock the cargo-bay air-lock hatch for me when you deplane.”