Starfire (56 page)

“That is being done right now, sir,” Eberhart said. “The station's director, Kai Raydon, ordered the station to the highest altitude it can attain before it runs low on fuel. They are also trying to alter its orbit to avoid overflying Moscow and St. Petersburg, but that might take too long.”

“What else do we have to stop those missiles from being launched?” the president asked.

“In western Russia: not much, sir,” Hayes responded. “We have one guided-cruise-missile submarine in the Baltic Sea that can launch against the antisatellite air bases in St. Petersburg, and that's it. We can destroy the base easily, but it's only one base, and our sub would be dog meat for Russian antisub patrols afterward—the Russians definitely control the Baltic Sea. The value of the loss of the sub would be twice that of the Russian base.”

“Plus we run the risk of starting a nuclear exchange if those cruise missiles are detected,” Glenbrook added. “We're lucky that attack from space didn't do the same.”

“So we have no options?” the president asked. “The space station is history?”

“We have one option, sir: attack the air bases and antisatellite missile sites from space,” Glenbrook said. “The station has defensive weapons, but it can also attack ground targets, as we saw at that missile site in China. They may not get all the sites, but they might get enough of them to save themselves.”

“And start World War Three?” Secretary of State James Morrison retorted, his eyes wide with fear. “You heard Gryzlov, Bill—the guy just threatened the president of the United States with nuclear war! Anyone here think the guy is not crazy enough to do it? I'd be surprised if he wasn't heading for an underground command bunker right now. Sir, I suggest we get those students and all nonessential crewmembers off the military space station immediately and let the rest of the crew fight off any incoming missiles as best they can. If the station looks like it will be overwhelmed, the rest of the crew should evacuate.”

“I disagree, sir,” Secretary of Defense Hayes said. “To answer your question, Jim: I think Gryzlov is delusional and paranoid, but I don't think he's crazy enough to launch a nuclear war, even if we knocked out all his antisatellite bases from space. Gryzlov is young and has a long and comfortable life ahead of him. His father was killed by an American counterattack—that's got to be weighing on him. I think he cares more about political survival and maintaining his wealth than starting a nuclear war. Besides, his strategic nuclear forces are no better than ours.”

“General Spelling?”

“Under DEFCON Three, we put all of our few remaining bombers and our nuclear-capable fighters on nuclear alert and send as many ballistic-missile and cruise-missile submarines as possible on patrol,” the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said, referring to a tablet computer. “It would take one to three days to put our bombers on alert, three to seven days for the fighters, and one to three weeks to get available subs under way. Secretary Hayes is correct about the numbers, sir: American and Russian forces are roughly equal in strength. We have more surface ships and ballistic-missile submarines; they have more aircraft and land-based ballistic missiles.”

“After Gryzlov's threat, we'd have to assume they're placing their nuclear forces on a greater readiness level as we speak,” Hayes added. “Maybe even greater than ours.”

The president was silent for several long moments, looking into the faces of his advisers. Finally: “I want to talk directly with General Raydon,” he said.

A few moments later, after the secure video teleconference link was established: “General Raydon here, Mr. President.”

“First of all: status of the vice president and the spaceplane crew.”

“We were working to get inside the passenger module, but I canceled the spacewalks when those Elektrons launched,” Kai replied. “Still no response from any of them.”

“How much oxygen do they have?”

“Several more hours if their space suits or the spaceplane's environmental systems weren't damaged. We've examined the readouts on their suits and we think they are still receiving oxygen from the ship and not just from their own suits. If that turns out not to be the case, they haven't much longer.”

The president nodded grimly. “Here's the situation, General: Gennadiy Gryzlov says flat out he wants to shoot down Silver Tower,” he said. “He told me about the kill box and how he's going to position those spaceplanes in the same area as the antisatellite weapons around Moscow and St. Petersburg. My question is: Can you survive an attack on the space station?”

“Yes, sir, we can,” Kai said immediately, “but not for long. We have sixteen engagements of antisatellite weapons and approximately thirty engagements with the Hydra COIL laser. We also have sixteen engagements on our weapon garages in orbit, but the odds are very long that they'll be in a position to defend station. After those are expended, we'd have to rely on refueling and rearming.”

“And then Gryzlov could take potshots at our resupply spaceplanes and commercial cargo spacecraft,” the president pointed out.

“Which is why I recommend we attack any antisatellite sites we can with our Mjollnir missiles,” Kai said. “Our nine remaining weapon garages are within range of an ASAT site every twenty to thirty minutes. We have thirteen land-attack engagements with the orbiting weapon garages, plus fifteen from the stored-weapon garages on station. That would put a pretty big dent in Gryzlov's antisatellite forces.”

“Gryzlov has threatened nuclear war if we attack any of his bases in Russia.”

Kai's expression turned first surprised, then serious, and finally angry. “Mr. President, the question is considerably above my pay grade,” he said, “but if anyone threatens the United States with nuclear war, I say we work to hand him his head on a platter.”

The president looked at the expressions of his advisers once more—they ranged from outright fear, to determination, to blankness and bewilderment. He had the distinct impression that all of them were glad they didn't have to make the decision. “Secretary Hayes,” the president said moments later, “put us at DEFCON Two.”

“Yes, sir,” the secretary of defense responded, reaching for the phone.

“General Raydon, I am authorizing you to attack and destroy any Russian antisatellite installations that present a risk to Armstrong Space Station,” the president said grimly. “You will also use any weapons available to defend station from attack. Keep us advised.”

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“Yes, sir,” Kai replied. On the stationwide intercom he said, “All personnel, this is the director, we have been authorized by the president of the United States to attack any Russian bases that are a threat to us, and to use all weapons at our disposal to defend station. That is exactly what I intend to do. I want Casey Huggins on oxygen and into an ACES, and I want Life Support to teach her how to use a lifeboat.”

“General, I'm almost done connecting up Starfire again,” Casey responded. “An hour, maybe less. If I stop, you may not have it ready in time.”

Kai thought about it for a moment; then: “All right, keep at it, Casey,” he said. “But I want you on oxygen now, and as soon as you're done, I'm putting you in a space suit.”

“I can't work with the oxygen mask on, sir,” Casey insisted. “When I'm done I'll get suited up.”

Kai knew this was not good, but he really did want Starfire activated again. “Okay, Casey,” he said. “As fast as you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What's our next duck blind?” Kai asked.

“Chinese S-500S site on Hainan Island,” Christine Rayhill announced. “In range of Kingfisher-Two in five minutes. Yelizovo Air Base, MiG-31D base, an S-500S site at Yelizovo, and an S-500S site at Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy Naval Base will be in range shortly thereafter, also for Kingfisher-Two.”

“One Trinity against each of the S-500s and one against the air base, Valerie,” Kai said.

“Yes, sir,” Valerie said. “Combat, designate ground targets for—”

“Command, Surveillance, first Elektron spaceplane Poppa-One looks like it's altering course,” Christine said. “It's accelerating . . . looks like a transfer-orbit maneuver, sir. Looks like it'll be the opposite direction from ours and offset slightly—can't tell the altitude yet. I expect Poppa-Two to accelerate into a transfer orbit in a few minutes. Elektron spaceplane Poppa-Three should jump in fifteen minutes. Can't tell yet on Four and Five.”

“Boomer, do you have enough fuel to transfer to the ISS, dock, then return to us?” Kai asked.

“Stand by. I'll check,” Boomer replied. A moment later: “Yes, General, I do, but not enough to reenter afterward without refueling. How much fuel and oxidizer is still on station?”

Trevor checked his readouts. “Twenty thousand pounds of JP-8 and ten thousand of ‘bomb.' ”

“Should be enough, unless I have to do a lot of maneuvering,” Boomer said. “I'd feel better if we could get a resupply mission up—”

“Missile launch detected reported by SBIRS, sir!”
Christine shouted on intercom. SBIRS, or the Space-Based Infrared Surveillance, was the U.S. Air Force's newest infrared satellite system, capable of detecting and tracking missiles and even aircraft by their hot engine or motor exhausts. “Pop-up targets from over Novosibirsk. Two . . . three launches, definitely on an intercept course, not going ballistic. Intercept in six minutes!”

“Looks like they moved some MiG-31s to central Russia,” Trevor said.

“Designate targets Poppa-Six, -Seven, and -Eight, Combat,” Valerie said.

“We've been swept by target-tracking radar . . . switching to missile-guidance radar . . .
missile launch,
S-500S . . . salvo of four interceptors, seven minutes to intercept!” Christine reported. “Missiles tracking . . .
another salvo of four,
second launcher, looks like a . . .
third salvo
of S-500s lifting off, looks like a ring of S-500 launchers around Novosibirsk! I count . . .
a fourth salvo,
sixteen S-500s inbound from Novosibirsk! That's nineteen interceptors inbound, crew!”

“That's more than we ever did exercises against,” Trevor said.

“Status of our defensive weapons, Valerie,” Kai asked.

“All in the green, sir,” Valerie replied. “Sixteen Kingfisher engagements on the keel plus approximately thirty Hydra shots.”

“What's our altitude, Trev?”

“Two hundred and fifty-seven,” Trevor replied. “Maximum slant range of an S-500S is supposed to be five hundred miles. We're going to be close.”

“Four minutes on the Wasp interceptors,” Christine said.

“Batteries released on all weapons, Valerie,” Kai said.

“Roger, sir, batteries released, Combat, clear to engage.”

“Roger, clear to—”

“Decoys!” Henry Lathrop shouted. “Warheads on the S-500 missiles splitting into two—no, three, three apiece!”

“Can you discriminate among them, Henry?”

“Not yet—too far away still,” Henry said. “When they get within three hundred miles I'll get 'em with the infrared sensor first to see if there's a temperature difference, then with the optronic sensor to see if there's a visual.”

“Three minutes on the Wasps.”

“Missiles away,” Henry Lathrop announced. “Two Trinities outbound, tracking. Next launches in ten and twenty seconds.” Exactly ten seconds later: “Missiles away. Good track on first salvo—damn, lost control on second Trinity for the second engagement, launching a third salvo on second inbound . . . fourth salvo on third inbound away, good track . . . good track on first salvo, intercept looks good . . . Hydra is ready on all inbounds, good track, stand by . . . coming up on first intercept . . . now.”

At that instant all the lights on Armstrong Space Station brightened to more than twice their normal level, then flickered and went dead. Several computer terminals went blank momentarily, but seconds later started an automatic reboot. “What was that?” Kai shouted. The intercom was dead. “What happened?” The crew remained calm, but they were staring at momentarily useless displays and readouts, then at each other—and a few were gauging their distance to the hatch for the lifeboat spheres. “What do you got, Valerie?”

“I think it was an EMP, sir!” Valerie shouted. “I think the warhead on that Wasp interceptor had a nuclear warhead on it!”

“Shit,” Kai cursed. He looked over at all the monitors around him. Thankfully they hadn't been fried—Armstrong Space Station was heavily shielded against cosmic radiation—but the power spike had reset all their computers. “How long before everything is back up?”

“Most will be back up in ninety seconds,” Trevor shouted across the command module, “but the synthetic-aperture radar might take three minutes or more.”

“Do you still have contact with the Trinities?”

“I got nothing until my computers reboot, sir,” Valerie said. “About a minute. Hopefully that EMP took out the Wasp interceptors as well as all our stuff.”

It was an agonizingly long wait, but soon the command module began coming back to life as computers rebooted and other systems were reset. “One Wasp missile remaining inbound!” Henry shouted when his computer monitor began displaying useful information. “All S-500 missiles still on course, about two minutes to intercept!”

“Nail that Wasp missile, Valerie!” Kai shouted.

“Trinities away!” Valerie said. “Hydra is not online yet—we can't back up the intercept with the Hydra on this engagement! Trinities will launch against the S-500s in fifteen seconds!”