Red Hammer 1994

With all systems go, the giant, solid rocket motors strapped to the liquid-propellant storage tank ignited, and explosive hold-down bolts detonated. The monsters, producing over five million pounds of thrust by burning solid propellants, shook the ground and rattled the windows as they pushed the shuttle rapidly skyward in a blaze of orange and yellow fire and billowing black smoke. Ever since the Challenger accident so many years ago, the launch team still crossed their fingers and gritted their teeth until the solid rocket boosters were completely spent and safely separated from the shuttle.

Rising through thickening clouds in the fading light, Discovery commenced the customary lazy roll on its back and then executed a graceful turn to the north. This signaled to the initiated that Discovery and her payload would be put in a highly inclined orbit relative to the equator. The most common trajectory from the Cape, one without the dogleg to the north, put a shuttle in an orbit perfect for launching military and commercial communication satellites into geosynchronous orbit over the earth’s equator at an altitude of 22,300 miles.

The less frequent northerly maneuver signaled a payload destined for low earth orbit, like the electro-optical and radar reconnaissance satellites used by the air force and the CIA to scour the earth’s surface for intelligence data. The final inclination would depend on the magnitude of the turn, and in this case, most observers agreed it was near the maximum permitted, allowing the widest coverage of Russian and Chinese territory by the super-secret payload.

One of the army of white-shirted operators leaned back in his chair like a proud father in the delivery room, grinning from ear to ear.

“Everything looks good, solid rocket-motor burn terminated at T plus one hundred and fifty-four seconds, normal separation, orbiter velocity is right on the money, main engines continuing to burn—looks like we’re going to have a nominal orbital insertion.”

“Well, General, satisfied?” asked the mission director, a look of disgust imprinted on his face.

Thomas, his arms defiantly folded across his chest, ignored the comment. “We’re not there yet; the main engines still have to burn for another five minutes.” The mission director scowled.

At approximately T plus eight minutes, the main engines shut down, propelling Discovery to a picture-perfect entrance into low earth orbit. The sausage-shaped external tank was blown free by explosive bolts and drifted toward earth and a fiery rendezvous within the atmosphere.

“That’s it,” grunted Thomas, a slight smile breaking through his gruff shell for the first time. “Thank you, gentlemen.” He scooped up his things and headed for the exit. Thomas had a plane to catch.

CHAPTER 4

The sleek air force C-21A Learjet touched down at Peterson Air Force Base east of Colorado Springs shortly after ten at night. Its silver fuselage glistened under powerful halogen lamps that lit the runway. In the distance, a dark blue sedan with air force markings idled patiently. Painted on a nearby hangar door was a ten-foot diameter emblem depicting the US Space Command logo. The pilot swung the executive jet from the taxiway, braking to a stop and shutting down the twin turbofan engines. Fifty feet away, a lone air force colonel in a wool overcoat and leather gloves stood rigidly, bathed in the glow from white flood lamps. While the ground crew hurriedly chalked the landing gear, the small cabin door swung open, and Thomas disembarked, raising his overcoat collar against the late-evening cold. The colonel came to life and saluted smartly as Thomas walked toward the waiting sedan.

“Good evening, sir,” he said to Thomas. “Welcome to Peterson. General Morgan is waiting at Space Command headquarters.” The frigid April air helped shake Thomas out of his flight-induced lethargy. He politely returned the greeting.

“I understand it went well,” the colonel said to Thomas as he slipped through the rear door. He looked askance at the Space Command staffer. The long flight from Florida had triggered a much needed reevaluation. Reservations had crept into Thomas’s thoughts.

The sedan pulled away from the hanger and proceeded across the base to the three-story, cinder block and glass building that served as headquarters for the US Space Command and its air force component, the AF Space Command. The driver turned into the wide, circular drive and halted next to the curb. He quickly jumped out, opening Thomas’s door.

The colonel slid from the front seat, standing and adjusting his combination cover. “Please follow me, sir,” he said to Thomas.