In 1990 the rumor was the SR-71, the fastest aircraft ever constructed, had been grounded, while in reality it was modified and converted into a manned transporter — a small manned version of the original space shuttle. The Pratt-Whitney engines were replaced with smaller, more efficient ramjet engines reaching Mach-5 or 3250 mph. Something new was added to the Blackbird. Fully developed scramjets were built into the modified version and would take it directly into space at a speed reaching Mach-25.
“Sir, may I add we had the technology before you were born. In 1960 the X-15 reached a speed in excess of 4500 mph and an altitude of over 350,000 feet. That’s seventy miles high. At 150,000, the Blackbird’s liquid hydrogen scramjets take over and you have more control now than ever before. We never needed the Shuttle. The bureaucratic tampering stalled the space plane.”
“All right, all right,” said Beau, holding his hands in the air. “What is the purpose of this mission, if I may ask?”
“Yes sir,” said Robert. “Just a show for the news media before the real flight next week, when the Blackbird will rendezvous and dock with the space station, Starburst. We have twenty-five men and women working the station now. The purpose of the mission is to prove we can launch men into space at a moment’s notice. We can save billions of dollars. The old space shuttle will be finished. The new Blackbird will be capable of docking with Starburst and retrieving or leaving men anytime, from any place in America. Soon the larger space planes will completely replace the SR-71. Another space plane is being built to carry a dozen men.”
“How will the Blackbird maneuver in space?”
“Small hydrogen-peroxide rockets installed on the side. Much like the old shuttle.”
“Thank you Robert, the information was very interesting,” said Beau.
“That’s all, you’re dismissed,” said Garrett. When Schmitt closed the door behind him Garrett added, “We have made leaps and bounds in space research in the last five years. When NASA turned to private enterprise, it changed everything and made the Aurora Project possible.” Garrett laughed. “You’ll like Robby. He’s the best man with a wrench. If it can be fixed, he can do it, and no one seems able to touch him when it comes to computers. After your test flight the Blackbird is to be flown to the Kingsville Naval Air Station. Next week it will fly a mission to Starburst. We need to show the media we can fly anywhere, anytime.”
“Progress, I suppose,” said Beau. He was just happy to have a chance to fly the SR-71 one more time. Modified or not, it was still the Blackbird.
Garrett came around the front of the large desk and stood directly in front of him. He shook his head then reached out and they hugged each other. He pulled away, looked around stepped over to his radio and turned it up the volume. He hesitated then turned back to Beau.
“Damn it, son, I thought those Arabs were gonna kill you for sure. I swear you must have more lives than a cat.” He walked to his favorite chair. Before he sat, he motioned for Beau to take a chair. “Sit down, let’s talk.” Garrett pulled a chair next to Beau and put a finger to his lips for Beau to be quiet.
Confused, Beau said in a hushed tone, “What’s going on?”
“What we’re gonna say now is off the record,” Garrett half whispered. “Everything is being monitored. It’s hard to trust anyone in the military. Do you understand?” Beau nodded and Garrett leaned closer to Beau, “To be a Christian in the military is treason. The President wants all of those that believe in America out. He is determined to destroy America and I won’t accept that but there are only a few men like me that remain. He reminds me of Hitler and what happened in Germany. They’ve asked other questions and if you refuse to say you will kill Americans you are drummed out of the service.”
Beau smiled, “You’re still here.”
Garrett chuckled, “When they asked me that question I lied. But never the les it may be too late now.” The shock reflected in Beau’s eyes was evident. Garrett smiled, “Not much we can do. Now about the mission.”
Beau began to relax. Garrett leaned back in the chair and sighed. Pointing to the picture of his mother Beau said, “See you still have Mom’s picture.”
A loving smile filled the deeply furrowed face as Garrett reached for the photo, grasped it in both hands, and pulled it near. “Wouldn’t be without it.” The admiral clung to the picture, and was momentarily drawn to the past. He had almost married Beau’s mother, Beverly, but instead his best friend, Bob Gex, had captured her heart. Bob and Beverly were a strange duo. Bea, as he called her, had Norwegian parents and Bob Gex was a French Cajun of Acadian descent.
Garrett peered over the top of the picture at Beau. He noticed the man next to him had inherited the best of both. Beau had grown up fast after his father was murdered in the 1996 fatwa. He helped raise his three brothers, but Ted was always there if the boys needed something. He took great pride in watching Beau progress to become one of the finest pilots he had ever seen.
“She was a wonderful woman,” sighed Garrett, gently putting her picture back in its rightful place on his desk.
“Yeah, I know. I miss her. You loved her, didn’t you?”
Something seemed to be in Garrett’s eye as he made an effort to remove the imaginary irritant. “Loved the old girl a lot.” He coughed and tried to regain his composure and his voice. “Listen, I had to pull a lot of strings to get you back and it wasn’t easy. Some special groups still want to skin you and hang you up by your balls. The president wants to hear your story, but first he has a trip planned to Las Vegas again with the King from Saudi. I’m sure all he wants to use it for is a political toy. But you tell me, what is this about, some God-damn invasion?”
Beau placed both hands in front of his face to where the fingers and thumb of both hands were touching each other, with his chin resting on his thumbs. The small finger of his left hand waved helpless in the air unable to find its matching companion.
“That’s right, Ted. They intend to invade and I’m afraid it will be soon.”
The missing finger did not go unnoticed. “Did that happen during your capture?” asked Garrett, pointing to the injured digit.
Sitting back in the chair Beau admired the stub where his finger had once been. Then he told the full story of his capture and rescue. He told Ted all he knew of the Syrian General, Rasht Sharafan, the man they called Cobra.
“Unbelievable!”
“Ted, this guy Cobra is the worst kind of terrorist. Any other would have sacrificed his life for Allah and all that bullshit — but not him! He bargained my life for his escape.”
“Lucky for you,” said the admiral.
“They should’ve killed us both. He’s too dangerous!”
The comment shocked Admiral Garrett. “Maybe there’s a reason you lived.”
“What? Predestination, God’s will, or just plain bad luck? There was no reason. It just happened. I don’t believe in fate. Now, thanks to you I’ve come to tell my story. I only hope it will help.”
“Maybe you’re here to save the country.”
“Wake up, Ted. There are over 300 million people in the United States. I’m one person.”
“We’ll see,” said Garrett.
“Besides, after what I saw at the front gate, I wonder if Americans will stay together during an invasion.”
Garrett shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve noticed it getting worse for the last ten years. Abortion, guns, religion, sex, gays, racial conflicts — all of them have become fanatical and violent. Both sides! All seem determined to eliminate the other to install their beliefs. I’ve never seen so many factions as diverse and varied, yet so determined to eliminate the others.”