Nano herself grabbed a pair of insulated gloves and grasped the latch…but before Benneton could open the hatch, the levers moved and the door swung open from the inside.
“About time, Doc,” the electronically synthesized voice of Air Force Brigadier General Hal Briggs said. A wave of heat rolled out through the open hatch. “We thought you guys forgot about us.”
“For God’s sake, General…are you all right?” Benneton asked breathlessly.
“I’m okay — a little bored, that’s all,” Briggs said. He was inside a “Tin Man”—powered exoskeleton, a protective suit of electronic armor made up of composite materials thousands of times stronger than steel but just a fraction of the weight. The suit was composed of a material called BERP, or Ballistic Electronically Responsive Process, that kept the material flexible but instantly hardened into an almost impenetrable shell if struck. The BERP material was surrounded by thin microhydraulic actuators in a lightweight composite framework that gave the wearer superhuman strength, agility, and speed. The suit had a variety of sensors, communications equipment, and weapon control functions built into it, as well as its own environmental controls to keep the user comfortable in extreme conditions.
Benneton started to reach in and undo the straps securing Briggs in the aft-facing seat. “Let’s get you out of there, sir…”
Briggs held up a large armored hand. “Better not, Doc. My readouts say it’s over one-seventy Fahrenheit in here.” He looked over at his comrade while he undid his harness. “You okay over there, Sergeant Major?”
“Affirmative, sir,” the second passenger, U.S. Marine Corps Sergeant Major Chris Wohl replied, also wearing Tin Man armor, his usual emotionless monotone clearly identifiable through the electronic voice synthesizing system. The big Marine was seated in a forward-facing seat. He turned to Benneton while he unbuckled his harness. “I assume it’s not supposed to get this hot in here, Doc?” he deadpanned.
“The sergeant major has just expended his allotment of quips for the year,” Briggs interjected.
“Take it up with the aircraft commander,” she responded perturbedly. “If he had let the computers fly the re-entry and it stayed precisely on the programmed glide path everything would have been fine.” The bug-eyed helmeted figure looked at Benneton, then Noble, but said nothing in reply.
After downloading and checking all of the recorded data from the Tin Man suits, Briggs and Wohl disconnected and stepped out of the exoskeleton, removed their helmets, and shuffled off to the back of a Security Forces flatbed truck, helping themselves to cigars and bottles of water as they rested. “It was a good ride until the re-entry, Doc,” Briggs said. “I think normal folks would have trouble with that re-entry, though — other than the heat, the g-forces are pretty severe. Can’t you make it so you pull fewer g’s?”
“We did a two-point-five-g re-entry, which is about half of normal,” Hunter Noble said. “The Tin Man suits may have made it feel heavier than normal. How do you feel, Sergeant Major?”
“I feel fine, sir,” Wohl said. “Perhaps all of the seats should be forward-facing — the aft-facing seats get a pounding during both takeoff and re-entry.”
“Roger that,” Briggs agreed. “I know what ‘Spam in a can’ feels like now.”
“I’d also suggest maybe a few windows in there too,” Wohl added. “The commando delivery vehicle the Air Battle Force uses has windows.”
“I’ll bet it doesn’t go suborbital, Sergeant Major,” Hunter said. “Were you getting a little airsick up there? We noticed your vitals getting up there.” A warning glare from the big Marine told Boomer to terminate that line of questioning immediately. “Maybe we can put a computer monitor up front that can transmit mission data as well as outside horizon views. Good suggestion, Sergeant Major.” Wohl nodded, which instantly made Boomer feel that his life had just been spared.
“I’m sorry you had a rough ride, General,” Nano said, concern still evident in her voice.
“Hey, I had a great time, Lieutenant,” the Air Force Security Forces one-star general said. Hal Briggs was always an animated, energetic guy, but his face was fairly beaming as he remembered the flight he just took. “Man, I was in space. Me! I joined the Army to see the world, but I never thought I’d see it from space!” Hal Briggs had originally joined the U.S. Army but transferred to the Air Force when being a Ranger got too unexciting for him. “I’ll fly with you anytime, boys and girls, with or without the suit. Just call.”
After a brief physical exam, the first stop was maintenance debrief, which usually lasted a couple of hours. Mission data automatically datalinked to Earth stations during the flight was compared to digital mission logs collected on the ground, and then the smallest departure from flight-planned or nominal readings was examined and discussed. The flight crew sat together at a desk surrounded by six computer monitors, each linked to a different main office of the maintenance complex — propulsion, environmental/life support, electrical/hydraulic/pneumatic, payload, communications/computers, and airframe — and answered questions transmitted to them by technicians in the control center, aircraft hangar, and records room.
It was past noon and well over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit outside in the Nevada sunshine when Noble, Benneton, Briggs, and Wohl finally stepped out of the maintenance debrief building, where they found Colonel Martin Tehama waiting for them. He saluted Briggs. “I hope you are okay, General, Sergeant Major,” he said. “I’m glad to hear the medics gave you a clean bill of health.”
“Actually, I feel pretty good, Colonel — like I had a really vigorous workout,” Briggs said. “I guess whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, eh?”
“Yes, sir. And you, Sergeant Major?”
“Fine, sir,” Wohl said in his typical low, almost growling voice.
Briggs lit up a cigar, watching with interest as Tehama’s eyes widened in concern. “Uh…sir?” the HAWC commander said apologetically. “We don’t allow smoking here at the complex.”
Briggs nodded and looked directly at the Air Force full colonel. “Is that so, Colonel?” he asked simply, taking another deep drag of his cigar. “I’ve been assigned here for…what, Chris? Damn near twenty years?”
“A very long time, sir,” Wohl rumbled.
Briggs continued to stare at Tehama. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a ban on smoking outdoors except on the flight line, weapon storage area, and hangars,” he went on.
“Well, there is, sir.”
Briggs nodded, took another deep drag of his cigar, took it out of his mouth, and blew a cloud of smoke into Tehama’s face. “Duly noted. Is there anything else for me, Colonel?” he asked.
“Sir, I think it’s a bad example for the men to have a general officer flouting my regulations,” Tehama tried one more time.
“Do you think your men will be flouting your regulations because of me, Colonel?”
“I don’t believe they will, sir, no.”
“Then I don’t believe we have a problem here, Colonel.”
“But if the men see you violating one of my regulations…”
“Will that prompt them to go ahead and disobey your regulations?”
“I don’t think so, sir. But it…it shows a lack of regard for my regulations.”
“A lack of regard for some of your regulations, Colonel…like having a cigar after my first space flight, away from the flight line, outdoors, in a parking lot.” Tehama said nothing. “You are free to report my flagrant violation of your regulations to General Edgewater at Air Force Materiel Command, or to Major-General Furness at Air Battle Force. Want their numbers?”
Tehama briefly appeared as if he was going to argue with him, but he decided against it, scowling. “No, sir,” he said, saluting. Briggs raised his cigar to return his salute, and Tehama turned to depart.
“Oh, Colonel — what did you come out here for anyway?” Briggs asked.
Tehama stopped and half-turned, kicking himself for forgetting. “I need to speak with Captain Noble.” He could smell another waft of fine cigar smoke traveling his way and wished he had one himself right now.
“Very well. Carry on.”
Tehama strode quickly yet stiffly over to where Boomer and Nano were loading gear into a staff car. They both saluted their superior officer, but Tehama didn’t return their salutes. His conversation with Boomer and Nano was very short: Tehama stopped in front of them and, with his eyes averted and his face a mask of anger and frustration, said simply, “Benneton, I want the report on the module on my desk by sixteen hundred hours.”
“Yes, sir,” Nano responded, wondering if she had enough time and then immediately deciding, based on Tehama’s pained and angry expression, that she had better make the time.
“Noble, you’re off the flying schedule,” Tehama said. “You will report to the flight surgeon for a complete medical and psych eval.”
