Missile, resembled a large cruise missile. It had three solid rocket motors and folding wings to give it lift while in the atmosphere. ALARM, in effect, used the DC-10 as its first stage engine.
The ALARM boosters carried four satellites internally. The satellites, called NIRTSats, or Need It Right This Second Satellites, were washing-machine-size multipurpose reconnaissance satellites designed to stay in orbit for less than a month; they carried very little maneuvering fuel and were meant to stay in one set orbit, with only a few minor orbit changes or realignments allowed. These satellites were being placed into orbit to serve field commanders in Afghanistan.
“Pretty friggin’ amazing,” the mission commander, a U.S. Air Force major from the Thirtieth Space Wing at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California, said. “Less than twelve hours ago I got the call to launch this constellation. Now, we’re about to do it. Normally it takes the Air Force a week to do something like this.”
“That’s why you should just call on us from now on,” the aircraft commander, a civilian working for Sky Masters Inc., said proudly.
“Yeah, but you guys are too expensive.”
“You want the job done fast and right, you gotta pay for the best,” the pilot said. “Besides, it’s not your money, it’s the Air Force’s.”
“Well, however you guys do it and however much we’re paying you, it’s worth it,” the mission commander said.
“We aim to please,” the pilot said. He flipped a page on his multifunction display when he received a blinking message annunciation, read the incoming satellite message, cleared it back to the main navigation page, switched his intercom to “private,” and spoke.
“What was that?” the mission commander asked.
“Nothing, just a fast request to the release crews,” the pilot said. The Air Force major didn’t notice him, but the flight engineer sitting behind him was suddenly pulling out charts and typing on his mission planning computer. “How much longer to release?” the pilot asked.
“Sixty seconds…now,” the mission commander said. He checked his own multifunction display, where he had the mission data displayed. They were flying to a precise location and a particular heading that would put the ALARM booster on the perfect trajectory for a successful insertion. Because the NIRTSats carried so little fuel, the closer they could shoot the booster into the perfect orbit, the better.
“Stand by, flight crew,” the pilot said. “Report checklists complete to the MC.”
“Flight deck configured and ready to go, MC,” the flight engineer said.
“Cabin deck ready, MC,” the civilian in charge of the cabin reported after getting a thumbs-up from his Air Force counterpart observing the release. The cabin of the modified DC-10 was split into pressurized and unpressurized compartments. In the pressurized compartment was a second ALARM booster, suspended on loading cables; the compartment could hold two ALARMs, plus one in the unpressurized compartment.
The first ALARM booster was already loaded into the unpressurized launch compartment, where it would be ejected into the slipstream underneath the DC-10. After release, its first solid rocket motor would fire, and it would fly under, then ahead of the DC-10, then start a sharp climb. Its second and third stage motors would fire in turn until the booster had accelerated to orbital speed and was at the proper altitude in space—in this case, eighty-eight miles above Earth—and then it would begin releasing the NIRTSats.
“Stand by,” the MC said. “Five…four…three…two…one…drop.” He waited for the brief pitch-down caused by the ALARM booster dropping free of the DC-10 before the fuel and trim systems could rebalance the plane. That was always the trickiest part of these releases; if the aircraft didn’t rebalance itself and the plane started rapid pitch motions, and if the ALARM booster was caught up in the disrupted slipstream, it could fly off course or out of control. That was a rare occurrence, but…
Then the MC realized he didn’t feel the pitch movement. He looked at his multifunction display…and saw that the ALARM booster hadn’t released! “Hey, what happened?” He checked his indicators…and saw that the pilot’s launch override was engaged. “Hey, you stopped the launch! You overrode the release! What’s going on?”
“We got orders,” the pilot said. “We’re going to get refueled, and then we’re going to change to a different launch axis.”
“Orders? Different launch? You can’t do this! This is an Air Force mission! Who told you to do this?”
“The boss.”
“What boss? Who?
“You can tell them what we did after we launch this booster.”
“This booster, this mission belongs to the U.S. Air Force! I’m not going to let you hijack an Air Force missile.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say that, Major,” the pilot said kindly…just as the flight engineer reached up behind the MC, stuck a stun gun on the Air Force officer’s neck, and pressed the switch, instantly knocking him unconscious.
“How long will he stay out, Jim?” the pilot asked.
“Couple hours, I think.”
“Long enough,” the pilot said. He clicked the intercom: “Okay, John, send him up.” A few moments later the Air Force technician assigned to monitor the launch entered the flight deck, and he, too, was stunned unconscious by the flight engineer. “Okay, while the NIRTSats are reprogrammed by the front office in Vegas by satellite, I need a potty break before we rendezvous with the tanker. Double-check the new launch plan. Good job, everyone. Thanks for thinking on your feet. We’ll all deserve a raise after this…if we’re not in prison, that is.”
“Where’s the new tasking?” the launch deck technician asked.
“Turkey,” the pilot said. “Looks like the shit is hitting the fan out there.”
“
The tactical director, or TD, studied the Patriot radar display. “Medium speed, not maneuvering, medium altitude—probably reconnaissance drones,” he said. “How many?”
“Eight. They’re heading right for our radar sites.”
“I don’t want to waste missiles on drones,” he said, “but we’re supposed to seal this sector.” He thought for a moment, then said, “If they change altitude, engage. Otherwise we’ll try to get them with antiaircraft artillery.”
“What if they dive onto our radar sites, sir?” the TAO asked.
“I don’t know of any cruise missiles that start at a vulnerable altitude, then dive onto their targets,” the tactical director said. “Attack missiles will fly very low or very high. This one is right in the envelope for antiaircraft artillery. Heck, even the lousy Syrian gunners might have a chance to nail them. Watch them for now. If they start to accelerate or descend, we’ll—”
“Sir, Sector Four reports multiple inbound bogeys as well!” the communications officer shouted. That sector was the one adjacent to them in the east. “Another eight bogeys, medium altitude, medium subsonic, also headed for our radar sites!”
“Sixteen reconnaissance drones, all flying into Turkey at the exact same time…and from where?” the tactical director said aloud. “Turkey attacked all of the American bases this morning. There is no way they could launch so many drones so soon. They have to be air-launched.”
“Or they could be false targets, like the last time we launched,” the TAO said.
Sixteen targets…that meant thirty-two Patriots, since Patriot always launched two missiles at every target to ensure a kill. Thirty-two Patriots represented
The tactical director picked up the phone and passed all the information to the Sector Air Defense Coordinator in Diyarbakir. “Shoot them down,” the sector coordinator said. “They’re on an attack profile. Check your systems for any sign of spoofing.”
“Acknowledged,” the tactical director said. “TAO, prepare for—”
