“I knew the XR-A9 had the capability, sir,” Patrick said. “I decided to try it out.”
“You flew that experimental and still-classified spaceplane into orbit without permission, General?” Sparks thundered. “You ‘decided’ on your own to do it? You’re not even a pilot! Do you think that it is your own personal property, your own private conveyance? If so, you are sadly mistaken.”
“It’s okay, Jonas — this time,” the President said. “I didn’t authorize General McLanahan to go into orbit either, but I didn’t prohibit it either. What I asked for was a demonstration of the spaceplane’s capabilities, and I believe I got one.”
“I see,” Sparks said. “Thank you for the clarification, sir.” He turned to Patrick and added, “I’ve heard this about you for many years, General — now I see why.”
“What would that be, sir?” Patrick asked.
“Your proclivity to authorize yourself to take action; your willingness to take unnecessary and in many cases dangerous risks; your horse-blinder view of the world. Do you need me to go further, General?”
“I didn’t know you took such an interest in my career, sir,” Patrick said wryly. “I’m flattered.” Sparks gave him a look like a snake that was busy digesting a mouse, but said nothing.
“It’s still pretty incredible,” General Glenbrook commented, suppressing a grin at the quiet interchange taking place before them. “Climb into a jet, take off, and shoot yourself into orbit minutes later? Impressive.”
“I’ll say,” Maureen added. “And can it be done again?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Boomer said, finally relaxing a bit. “We’re parked over at Patuxent River now — we can gas up, do a flight plan, and be in space in about an hour.”
“No launch pad, no space suits, no massive boosters — none of that stuff?” the national security adviser asked, his voice skeptical.
That was just the right level of technical questioning and curious disbelief Boomer needed to ignite his brain. “That stuff is unnecessary and outdated technology,” he said. “We had to change our way of thinking about space flight first, and then we built the equipment to do the job.”
“What do you mean, Captain?”
“Government and military space was always predicated on lifting large payloads — big multi-function satellites mostly — into high orbits,” Boomer said. “Those payloads are very versatile and can stay in service for years, even decades, but are expensive, difficult, and take time to put into orbit. With the invention of small single-purpose satellites designed to be used for short periods of time — weeks or a month or two at the most — we don’t need a big expensive launch system to get them up. Black Stallion is designed to place small payloads into low Earth orbit quickly and efficiently.”
“Can’t we already do that, Captain?” Sparks asked, emphasizing the word “captain” to give Noble one more chance to remember who he was talking to.
“Yes, we can,” Boomer replied. “But Black Stallion can do it faster, better, and cheaper, and it’s more versatile.”
“How so?”
“The Stud — er, the Black Stallion — can not only insert payloads into orbit, but can also fly passengers anywhere on the planet in just a few hours,” Boomer said. “None of the other quick-launch systems, like Pegasus or Taurus, can fly passengers. Our other advantage is sustainability and quick-reaction capability: we can launch payloads into orbit once per day in normal use or twice per day in dedicated surge mode, where other so-called ‘quick launch vehicles’ could take weeks or months to prepare.”
“But how do you get that kind of power and thrust?” General Glenbrook asked. “The Space Shuttle orbiter needs two immense solid rocket boosters and a huge fuel tank to reach orbit, and then it has to glide back for a landing.”
“Because the empty weight of the orbiter is about three times heavier than the Black Stallion, sir,” Boomer replied. “It carries ten times the payload and four times as many crewmembers. The Stud is designed to get into orbit quickly from almost any military base in the world and carry small payloads. The Stud can’t replace expendable launch vehicles and the Shuttle, but it can do things that the others can’t.”
“The other difference is the ‘leopards’ engines Captain Noble developed, sir,” Patrick added. “The engines are very high-tech and at the same time remarkably simple, using upgraded designs first drawn up almost fifty years ago. The engines are hybrid jet-rocket engines that burn jet fuel and a hydrogen peroxide compound oxidizer…”
“Hydrogen peroxide? You mean, the stuff you use to clean wounds with?”
“The same, only highly purified and combined with compounds such as boron to increase the specific impulse,” Boomer explained. “But we can do it with regular hydrogen peroxide also. Outside of the atmosphere, the fuel and oxidizer are burned in a combustion chamber that uses laser pulses for ignition and to superheat the gases, which also increases thrust. In the atmosphere, the engines switch back to regular turbofan engines and it flies like a conventional jet fighter.”
“What’s wrong with what we have now, Captain?” Sparks asked. “We have the most reliable launch systems and satellites in the world. Our satellites are designed to stay in space three times longer than the Russians’, and they often stay up three times longer than planned.”
“All that’s okay — for the older generation,” Boomer said. Sparks ruffled again but tried not to let it show. “Today and for the near future, that system is slow, inefficient, costly, and not flexible enough for current-day missions.” Patrick tried not to grimace as he listened to the test pilot not only interrupt a superior officer and throw a challenging remark at the national security adviser, but forget to call him “sir” when addressing him. “We should scrap it and build a brand-new system.”
“Your system, I assume, eh, Captain?” Sparks asked. “We replace satellites that stay in orbit for ten years for satellites that stay in orbit for ten weeks, max? Scrap a shuttle program that can carry sixty thousand pounds into orbit and back again for a system that can carry six thousand?”
“We build a system that can do the jobs the military needs done today, not forty years ago.” Still no “sir,” Patrick noticed, and Sparks was getting pissed.
“You’ve been in the Air Force for how long, Captain? Six years?”
“Five.”
“Five years. And you think you have all the answers, Captain?” Boomer finally, finally realized who he was talking to, and he wisely just shook his head. “Well, Captain?”
“N-no. Sir,” Boomer stammered.
“I don’t think so either, Captain Noble,” Sparks said, “but thank you for your input anyway. I’m sure we’ll give it all due regard.”
“You made your point, General Sparks,” Joint Chiefs of Staff chairman William Glenbrook said, not raising his eyes to directly challenge Sparks, but not backing down either. To Boomer, he asked, “What’s your max payload, Captain?”
“Depends on the orbit, sir,” Boomer replied. “I believe we can shoot five hundred pounds to the moon.” That got a lot of folks’ attention in the Oval Office. “We can put a four-thousand-pound bunker-buster bomb down on a bad guy’s head anywhere on the planet in about ninety minutes.”
“A more typical attack payload, sir,” Patrick interjected, “would be a spread of three precision-guided supersonic attack missiles, or sixteen two-hundred-and-fifty-pound small-diameter precision-guided bombs. Launched from over the U.S., the bombs could hit sixteen individual targets anywhere on the planet within hours. But Captain Noble is correct: with a small payload and a booster section similar to the Air Force’s Payload Assist Module, we can push a small satellite out beyond Earth orbit into space. A moon shot is certainly not out of the question.”