Just then, Lab Rat saw it, a streak of red on the horizon. He lifted his binoculars to his eyes and tweaked them into focus. There it was, its outline just barely visible and backlit by the now-rising sun.
“What’s the range?” Lab Rat asked.
“The ship is eighty miles off the coast.”
Lab Rat grunted. It wasn’t entirely realistic, not for an antimissile test system. A real ballistic missile would be coming in at a far higher altitude, cruising exo-atmosphere before tipping over, breaking into multiple warheads, and heading for targets. But this wasn’t a demonstration of the final system. It was simply proof that the remaining technical issues having to do with the laser and the control system had been resolved.
“Commencing target acquisition,” the controller’s voice announced, his excitement coming through even over the crackling circuit. “Searching, searching — acquisition now!”
From somewhere to the north of them, a spike of blue-green laser shot up from the coast. It was a narrow beam, too bright for any natural light source, and its intensity washed out the breaking dawn. It speared into the dark sky, burning its image on their retinas, then, in a flash of motion too quick to follow, searched the sky in a quartering pattern. Within seconds, it found the missile and locked on to it. The red lights of the missile were barely visible in the brilliance.
“Target acquisition,” the voice announced. “Maintaining lock through transition.”
The missile was closer now, its outlines bathed in blue-green light rather than the rising sun. It was running almost parallel to them, its shape clearly visible. The laser stayed with it, seemingly locked on a few atoms at the very tip of the warhead.
“Sometimes this is enough,” the senior chief murmured, quiet awe in his voice. “The high-powered beam burns out electronics pretty fast. A soft kill, but that may not be good enough. Depending on the warhead, it can still do a lot of damage if it makes land.”
Lab Rat stared at the laser beam. He had heard rumors of testing in the desert, of lasers flickering among the remote mountains in Arizona and New Mexico, but he had had no idea that the system itself was so close to implementation. The technical problems alone in maintaining the focus over distance of the laser light, in generating sufficient power and in target discrimination, had been reported as overwhelming.
“Fire one,” the controller’s voice said. Immediately, from somewhere in the vicinity of the laser, he saw fire arc up from the ground. For a moment, it looked like some god was throwing thunderbolts, but Lab Rat quickly realized it was simply the fire and exhaust from the tail of a small antimissile missile. It shone pure gold and white, stark against the primary colors of the laser and the red-lighted target. It spewed white exhaust in its wake in a faintly spiral pattern that gradually tightened and settled into a straight line.
Unerringly, the missile followed the laser beam, running just to one side of it and correcting its course as it arced up. The symmetry of the entire evolution was completely stunning, and the combination of colors, the time of day, and biting cold gave the entire scene a surreal feeling.
The antimissile missile winked out of existence. For a few microseconds, Lab Rat wondered if it had missed its target. Then a fiery explosion lit up the northern sky, a fireball of white and gold and black smoke, now illuminated by the sun coming over the horizon as well as the laser. The blue-green light played over the billowing clouds of black smoke and fire, as though it were hunting for any last remnants of the missile.
“Hard kill,” the controller’s voice announced with satisfaction. “All observation teams, return to base. Muster in conference room eleven for debrief.”
An expression of sheer joy lit the senior chief’s face. He stared up at the sky, his eyes transfixed and his face transformed. Finally, when he noticed Lab Rat staring, he turned back to his commander. “That’s what I was working on, sir. A lot of the targeting module is mine.”
“Is it deployable now?” he asked, unable to believe what he’d just seen. “If this works, it changes everything, doesn’t it?”
The senior chief nodded his agreement. “Oh, it will work. And, yes, sir, it does change everything. Now the question is: Do you want to be a part of this or not?”
Lab Rat’s mind reeled. If Brilliant Pebbles was deployed, there would be far less need for the nuclear arsenal the United States now maintained. He could see the submarine fleet standing down, ballistic missiles disarmed, and a flood of officers entering the job market. Maybe the senior chief was right — he should get in now, on the ground floor, before there was too much competition.
“It seems to me that they’ve got a ways to go, though,” Lab Rat said slowly, as he strode over the frost- encrusted ground, following the senior chief back to the humvee that would take them back to the compound. “The trajectory problems alone — we’ve discussed those. Head on it’s a tougher shot than on the beam. And tying this all in to the early warning systems, even into Cobra Dane and Cobra Judy — well, that will take some time.”
“It will. But can you imagine it, sir?” The senior chief’s voice was low, but filled with more intensity and passion than Lab Rat had ever heard before. “I grew up in the sixties, sir. I remember nuclear attack drills in elementary school, where we were supposed to get under our desks and put our hands over our heads. I remember the warning sirens. No, it never really came to that, but can you imagine never having to worry about that again? To be able to guarantee our continental safety and sovereignty? Sir, that’s worth fighting for.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
They walked in silence until they reached the humvee, and Senior Chief Armstrong slipped automatically into the driver’s seat. Lab Rat watched him for a moment, and a feeling of profound sadness swept over him. “You’ve made up your mind, have you?”
The senior chief looked uneasy. Finally, he nodded. “I think I have. It’s not that I don’t love the Navy, sir — I do, and working with you has been a real honor. But to be part of this”—he gestured, taking in the entire expanse of the horizon—“that would be something. I’ve got twenty-one years in — I can retire anytime.”
“Give it a few days’ thought,” Lab Rat urged.
The senior chief nodded. “I will. And, sir, you might give it some thought yourself.”
Elf put her Tomcat into a hard climb, then kicked in the afterburners. At the top of her climb, she rolled the Tomcat over, inverted, as she pulled out into level flight. Then she dropped the nose back down, kicked the afterburner off, and let gravity do its thing. She descended 5,000 feet in a hard dive, then gently pulled the Tomcat out at 7,000 feet. She followed up, just for the hell of it, with a couple of barrel rolls, then a hard break to the right.
Silence in the back seat. Elf sighed, glanced at her checklist and continued on to the next maneuver. The new skipper, Commander Gator Cummings, had welcomed her warmly when she’d reported to his stateroom with Lobo. He talked to her about his philosophy of combat, discussed her background with her, most of which he already knew, and then congratulated her again on making the transition from enlisted sailor to officer. “It won’t always be easy,” he warned. “There are people on the ship right now that will remember you from your plane captain days. And the whole fraternization thing — well, you’re the one ensign that I won’t have to explain that to, right?”
“Right, sir.”
“Well, then, check in with Safety and get your NATOPS quals taken care of. Unless Safety objects, ask Lobo to get you on the schedule for tomorrow. It’ll be a fam flight, your first hop. I’ll be your RIO and Bird Dog will be your wingman. He’ll put you through your paces, see what they’re teaching in the pipeline these days, and get you up to speed on all the local procedures.”
Elf groaned. Sure, she knew that she’d have to have a few check rides, but she had expected somebody from the safety department to do it. That it would be her new executive officer had not occurred to her.
“Something wrong, Ensign?” Gator asked.
“No, sir. Not at all.” She stood, and started to leave.
Gator held out his hand. “Welcome aboard again, Ensign. It’s good to see you again, and I’m extremely impressed with what you’ve accomplished. I’ve looked at your transcripts from the Naval Academy — outstanding, simply outstanding. If you’ve got half the smarts in the air that you’ve got on the ground, you’re going to be a real asset.”
“Count on it, sir,” she shot back. A grin broke out on her face. “And it’s a real treat to be back here, especially with you and the XO.”
After that introduction and her first meeting with Bird Dog in the ready room, she expected a casual approach
