Almost against his will, Brad smiled. “Remind me to go over the precise American English definition of ‘fun’ with you when we’re back home.”
“It is a date,” she said.
The voice of the S-29’s computer intruded. “Propulsion systems and electronics are go for all nanosatellites. Guidance systems initialized and final navigation data downloaded.” Moments later, it said, “Range to target now eighty-two miles. Launching nanosatellites.”
Brad held his breath as spring mechanisms ejected the cloud of twenty-four tiny Sky Masters — built machines out into space — releasing them from separate points around the forward section of the bay at quarter-second intervals to avoid any collisions. Once the nanosats were clear of the doors, short bursts from their small chemical engines sent them flying on ahead of the spaceplane in a carefully calculated constellation.
“Good launches on all nanosatellites,” the S-29 reported, sounding almost smug… for a collection of electronic circuits and computer chips.
Brad exhaled. That was one hurdle down. Now they would see how the ingenuity and hard work of Jason Richter’s engineers and technicians stacked up against Mars One’s array of high-powered radars, IR sensors, and telescopes.
“Activating ECM constellation,” the spaceplane’s computer said.
Konnikov bent over his console, paging through displays from his different sensors at a rapid, controlled pace. “Our X-band radar has a solid lock on the enemy S-29 Shadow. Range is one hundred thirty kilometers and closing. I’m transferring the tracking data to the laser fire-control computers.”
“Tracking data received,” Revin confirmed from the station’s forward weapons module. “Both Hobnail lasers are locked on and ready to fire. The target will be at maximum effective range in twenty-five seconds.”
Konnikov stiffened suddenly. “New launch detection, centered on the American spacecraft! L-band radar shows many new contacts, twenty-plus, on closing trajectories.” He locked their X-band radar on to the contacts picked up by the lower-frequency system. “The bogeys are small, not even one meter in diameter. Relative closing velocity is roughly three hundred and fifty meters per second.”
This was definitely a saturation attack, Strelkov decided. The Americans were throwing large numbers of weapons at Mars One in an effort to overwhelm the defensive lasers and drain their battery packs. The comparatively slow speed of the devices the S-29 had just launched suggested their propulsion systems must be small… with a correspondingly larger fragmentation warhead. If just one or two of those mobile space mines made it past Revin’s lasers and detonated, they might be able to inflict crippling damage on the station. “Shift targets, Leonid,” he ordered quickly. “Destroy those newly launched weapons first!”
“Yes, Colonel,” Revin replied. “All targets are laid into my computer. I am…”
“Jamming!” Konnikov shouted. “Both radars have lost all contact.” He tapped frantically at his keyboard. “Initiating frequency-hopping to counter the jamming and regain contact.”
Strelkov fought to stay calm. “What is the source of this jamming? The American spaceplane?”
Konnikov shook his head. “No, sir. It’s coming from that cloud of small spacecraft the Americans launched at us.” He swallowed hard. “Radar frequency-hopping is ineffective. There are too many different jamming sources and they’re changing frequencies to match my systems with incredible speed.”
“Then shift to your IR sensors,” Strelkov said tightly. “And send the information you obtain from them to the laser fire-control computers.”
“Other enemy countermeasures make that impossible,” Konnikov told him. “My thermal sensors now show well over one hundred potential targets!” There was a definite undercurrent of fear in the younger officer’s voice now. “At this range, I cannot discriminate between the decoys and the genuine enemy contacts!”
Strelkov stared at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Konnikov twisted away from his console. “I think several of those small spacecraft are dispensing the equivalent of aircraft decoy flares, Colonel,” he explained urgently. “Made of some kind of pyrotechnic mixture with its own oxidizer to allow combustion in a vacuum.”
“Find a way to penetrate the enemy’s countermeasures screen, Major,” Strelkov said. “And fast.”
He could sense his heart rate increasing in time with their deteriorating tactical situation. The mix of weapons and jammers launched by the Americans could be within lethal range of Mars One in minutes. And who knew what the S-29 Shadow itself was doing while it was hidden from their sight? With Konnikov’s X-band radar jammed, they didn’t have enough tracking information to zero in visually on the enemy spaceplane using the station’s powerful telescopes. For now, the colonel and his fellow cosmonauts were effectively blind.
“ECM constellation is fully operational,” the S-29’s computer reported. “No lock by enemy X-band radar system.”
Through his COMS’ IR sensors, Brad saw the space between their spaceplane and the Russian space station come alive with hundreds of new bright green heat signatures. Imagining the frustration aboard Mars One as its crew tried desperately to sort out which of those were real and which were fakes made him smile, despite his own rapidly increasing tension.
He opened a channel to Nadia and Peter Vasey. “Wolf One to all Wolves. Report status on Wolf cubs.”
“Cubs Two and Three are ready,” Nadia said. The two unpiloted COMS under her control were good to fly.
Vasey came in next. “Cub Four is in the green.”
Through a data link, Brad checked Cub One, the robot spacecraft remotely tied to his own Wolf One. It was also ready.
“Estimated range to target now seventy-one miles. COMS release in five seconds.”
Pulled by motors attached to the sides of the S-29’s cargo bay, the webbing holding their egg-shaped robots in place retracted. Freed from restraint, the seven COMS deployed one by one, propelled “up” out of the spaceplane by short bursts from the tiny maneuvering thrusters that studded their outer surfaces.
Secure in his cockpit, Brad stared in wonder at the immensity all around him. Through his neural link, the visual and other sensors set around the robot’s exterior gave him a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of his surroundings — creating the eerie illusion that he was flying through space without a helmet to obstruct his view. He had almost complete situational awareness of the darkened earth below, the other six COMS around him, and the winged Sky Masters spaceplane behind them.
The S-29 Shadow’s thrusters popped briefly — altering its trajectory just enough so that it would pass beneath Mars One without risking a collision. The large spacecraft’s cargo bay doors were already closing as it rolled to turn the thermal protection tiles on its undercarriage toward the still-invisible Russian space station.
“Predicted time to rendezvous with target now four minutes, thirty-five seconds,” the COMS computer told him. “Closing velocity is one thousand feet per second.”
Resolutely, Brad tamped down on the sudden queasy sensation in his gut. Knowing that they were all orbiting the world at more than seventeen thousand miles per hour was one thing. Realizing that he was headed straight for Mars One fast enough to slam into its metal surface at nearly seven hundred miles per hour was quite another. Braking safely was going to stress the COMS thrusters to the very edge of their rated capabilities — requiring a deceleration rate twelve times greater than would have been possible with the Manned Maneuvering Units used by NASA astronauts during EVAs.