On this particular afternoon, the ocean appeared deceptively calm. Noticeably absent were the surging riptides, pounding surf, and pea-soup fogs that not only cut visibility down to zero, but distorted and muffled sound as well. Each of these factors helped give the Point its tragic notoriety.
Direct proof of the area’s dangers lay immediately to Lansford’s left. There, placed on a bed of concrete, was a rusted anchor, raised from the surf in 1973. It belonged to the U.S.S. Chauncery, one of seven Navy destroyers that had plowed into the Devil’s Jaw on the night of September 8, 1923. Lansford had read an account of this tragedy upon his initial deployment at Vandenberg. At that time he had been shocked by this incident that had somehow been kept out of his collegiate history books.
It had been a simple navigational error that had led this squadron of high-speed warships onto the reefs off Point Arguello. Though all seven ships had been sunk, miraculously only 23 seamen out of a possible 800 had been killed. The tragedy had occurred when the navigator of the lead destroyer, the U.S.S. Delphy, had miscalculated a directional radio beacon signal. Veiled by a thick nighttime fog, the ship’s officers had thought they were well south of Point Conception, on their journey from San Francisco to San Diego. Because of this error in their calculations, they had ordered the ships to turn due eastward into what they had presumed was sheltered Santa Barbara Channel. Yet, in reality, they had yet to pass Point Arguello, three miles north of Point Conception. The destroyers had been running in a tight battle formation, and ship after ship had plowed into the awaiting rocks, their horrified captains unable to halt their forward progress until too late. And once again the Devil’s Jaw had added yet another pile of debris to its already bone-littered sea floor.
Pondering this unbelievable tale, Lansford noticed the weird, brooding silence that seemed to haunt the spot. No seabird or gull cried overhead, the only sound audible being that of the wind and the incessant, surging surf.
Angling his line of sight back out to sea, he studied the breakers that formed in long frothing sets over a quarter of a mile beyond. It was beneath these crashing waves that his search would begin.
Preliminary reports from the submarine U.S.S. Razorback showed the initial debris field to lay approximately three and a half miles offshore. There, in 150 feet of water, the first major pieces of wreckage had been spotted. A subsequent sonar scan of the ocean’s bottom had picked up over 500 additional pieces of debris, lying in a sector 5 miles long and 400 feet wide. Because this path led out to sea, much of the wreckage could lie in depths of over 800 feet.
Their first objective was to completely search, localize, and visually classify. Then, utilizing such unique platforms as the Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicle Marlin, they would initiate the difficult task of exhuming as many of the pieces of wreckage as possible. Without benefit of the DSRV’s articulated manipulator arms, such a task would have been impossible.
Aware of the time limitations all too recently placed upon him, Lansford prayed that relatively stable weather would continue to prevail. A series of storms now could delay their efforts for weeks. At last report, the base meteorologist had seen no significant lowpressure systems in the immediate area. If this remained constant, the first actual piece of debris could be extracted as early as the next day. Of course, this still depended upon various logistical concerns that he had absolutely no control over, such as a mechanical breakdown in their equipment. Yet, as it stood now, his superiors would be accepting no excuses.
What they demanded were results. This was the bottom line that he would have to be working for no matter the cost.
Stifling a yawn, Lansford ran his hand through his crew-cut. There would be little time for sleep until they learned just what had taken the mighty Titan down. Glad that Marjorie and their two boys were off in Florida visiting her parents, he was prepared to give this project his all. The vital importance of its ultimate ramifications couldn’t be ignored.
The lieutenant colonel had known the identity of the Titan’s top-secret payload from the very beginning. Thus he hadn’t been surprised when the first calls had begun arriving from the Pentagon as news of the missile’s failure reached Washington. What he was having problems understanding was the unusual speed with which his superiors were demanding results. An investigation of this type could take weeks to complete. Even then, it was somewhat doubtful if they’d ever know the exact cause of the explosion.
Lansford had only begun understanding just how vitally important it was for the Air Force to get the last remaining Keyhole in orbit late the previous night, when orders had arrived instructing them to ready Slik 6 for a possible launch. He had been shocked to learn that this directive also included instructions to get the Condor out of storage and ready to fly.
Both the launch complex and the shuttle vehicle had been mothballed, ever since the Challenger disaster had put the whole program in a state of indefinite suspension. Only recently had NASA agreed to a series of design corrections which were to be implemented on the surviving shuttle vehicles to make flight safer. Yet the Condor, a top-secret military version of the shuttle, had yet to be adapted. It was designed to be launched from Vandenberg, with as little public fanfare as possible, its ultimate mission veiled in secrecy. Lansford and his coworkers had not expected to see it fly for at least two years, when the design changes were scheduled to be completed. That was why these new directives had come as such a shock to him.
He could only assume that the nation’s very security was currently being threatened. There could be no denying the effectiveness of the Keyhole reconnaisance satellite program. As the space-home eyes and ears of the nation, such a platform would give the U.S. its first hint of an enemy’s hostile intentions.
Though such an important satellite always had a back-up in orbit, something must have occurred to necessitate the tragic, rushed launch of the Titan.
Since that previously reliable delivery system was now in question, and since a replacement Titan would take over a month to assemble, a decision had been made to ready the Condor.
As a member of the military, Lansford was no stranger to risk. His daily assignments often sent him to the far corners of the globe. Oblivious to the dangers involved, he did his duty without question.
Yet, in this instance, he couldn’t help but find himself doubting the rationality of those he served. Even if a Keyhole had to get airborne, did it necessitate risking a billion-dollar space craft known to be deficient, and its brave crew besides?
The shrill ring of his car phone interrupted his thoughts. Shifting his line of sight from the surging Pacific, he turned his attention to his current means of transportation. The dark-blue Air Force station wagon was parked less than a quarter of a mile away.
The earthen roadway was cracked and dusty as he crossed the plateau and approached his vehicle. Without opening the automobile’s door, he reached inside the open window and picked up the black plastic receiver.
“This is Lieutenant Colonel Lansford speaking.”
The familiar voice on the other end replied instantly.
“Sir, it’s Master Sergeant Sprawlings. I thought you’d like to know that the C-5A you’ve been waiting for from Hawaii is on its final approach. ETA. is at half past the hour.”
Hastily checking his watch, Lansford responded, “Very good. Sergeant. I’m down at the Point presently, and should have just enough time to get over to the airfield to greet them.”
“Do you want me to meet you there, sir?”
“You’d better continue to hold down the fort. By the way, any more calls from D.C.?”