Dazed, stomach still flip-flopping, Burkett used his left hand to tug another ring and flew quickly to the entrance to the passage. Inside, he saw that Rodriguez was bandaging Captain Mayweather. There was blood floating in a small cloud nearby. One of Mayweather’s shoulders was crooked. The Captain was floating on his back, held stable by Dorman as Rod worked over him.

  “He needs to get into his seat, sir,” Rodriguez said. “He’s got to move around as little as possible.”

  Mayweather groaned with pain, coughed.

  “Art…I’ve got an order for you.” His voice was hoarse.

  Burkett swallowed hard. “Yes sir?”

  “Pursue the mission.” His face pasty, Mayweather grimaced as Rod tightened the bandage. “Whatever it takes.”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s got a concussion,” Rod said. “Bones broken. He got bounced around in there after he got the hatch closed, banging from wall to wall.” He shook his head. “He needs more than I have to give, Lieutenant.”

  “Captain, we need to get you to help,” Burkett said. “Maybe the Air Force can get a surgeon up here.” Descending into strong gravitation might kill Mayweather.

  “Sure.” Another cough. “Soon as the mission’s done. We’re almost there. Can’t stop now. Look at me, Lieutenant. You think I’m delusional because I got a knock on the head?”

  Burkett looked into his eyes. “No sir.”

  “Then you know this is a real order. Carry it out. Those are my orders. These men are witnesses.”

  Burkett took a deep, shuddery breath. “Yes sir. Rod, get him strapped down and ease his pain best you can.”

  Rod nodded. “Good call, Lieutenant.” Burkett turned away—then turned back to Mayweather and met his eyes. He saluted him.

  Mayweather used his functional hand to manage a weak response. “Good luck, Art.”

  Heart sinking, Burkett took a deep breath and pushed toward the aft hatch. He looked through the hatch window—and saw stars. The mine had exploded under the engine’s tail thruster, on the underside of the orbcraft below aft storage for the Light-Up and other ordnance. There was a big gash in the deck where the mine had blown. Stars sparkled through the gash.

  Everything had been secured except a big repair kit used for the Light-Up. The box and its power tools clanked around the hole in the deck—the gash in the hull wasn’t terribly wide. The air had been sucked out by the vacuum of space, but some of the tools were large enough to be stuck.

  “Ike, is main engine operational?” Burkett called.

  “Yes, it is, Lieutenant,” Faraday replied. “At least, that’s what systems tells me. We haven’t tried a burn yet. I’m pretty much braked out here. No seeing any more bogeys from the battle station—not yet.”

  “They’re waiting for an optimum shot. Story is they have only one missile left.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Strickland’s voice came through fuzzily. “Computer reports the mine detonated under the engine, probably by remote control—most of the impact on the underside. Seems to have busted through the lower deck.”

  “It has, but with luck… Actually, this gives me an idea. Dabiri, you copy all this?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” came the Corporal’s voice.

  “Get your helmet, meet me at the airlock in two minutes.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Is he really coming back, Mom?” Nate asked.

  Ashley hesitated. They were sitting on the back porch, holding hands on the glider in midmorning, listening to cicadas and the sound of a plane rumbling overhead. The air was sweet with the exhalation of a recent rain.

  This morning they’d been in a nice hotel, placed there by the Defense Intelligence Agency. Ashley decided they were going home. This was where Nate wanted to be—so they could wait here for Art.

  Ashley didn’t think it likely they were in danger here. She hoped she was right.

  “Mom? I asked a question.”

  She answered evasively. “Hasn’t your dad always come back?”

  “Yes.”

  “We need to have faith that he’ll come back this time too. One thing I’m sure of, he’s doing everything he possibly can to get home.” Ashley felt a little ashamed, managing her son’s expectations this way. Not wanting to guarantee anything, but not wanting to outright lie to him.

  There had been new orders. A new mission, and she could guess what it was. The White House said that the Russians had broken the treaty. A world war was simmering, and she was almost as afraid for Nate’s life as for Art’s.

  Wouldn’t it be odd if she and Nate died here, in nuclear fire—while Art was still alive in orbit?

  “Mom you’re hurting my hand.”

  “Oh—did I squeeze it too hard?” Ashley lifted his hand up and kissed the palm. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  “When will he come back?”

  “I think we’ll know very, very soon, Private Nathan Burkett.”

  He smiled wanly. “I’m not a real ‘private.’”

  “You’re my hero, is what you are.”

  “If it was nighttime, could we see Dad’s spaceship, up there?”

  “Maybe if we had a big telescope and knew just where to look, but about the time we get that, he’ll be…” She swallowed. “…he’ll be walking up behind us to look through it too.”

  Nate laughed.

  She hugged him close, looked up at the blank blue sky, and wished it was night out. It’d be nice to look up at the stars—and just believe.

  * * *

  First Lieutenant Burkett fastened his helmet in place. Dabiri helped him secure it, and Burkett did the same for him. They were about to head for the airlock when Burkett got the call.

  “Lieutenant?”

  Burkett knew, from Rodriguez’s voice on his headset. He took off his biosuit helmet and pushed into the cabin, to Mayweather’s seat. Randall Mayweather’s head was lolled forward over his chest.

  “He died about a minute ago, Lieutenant,” Rod said, a thickness in his voice. Burkett noticed that Mayweather had something clutched in his right hand. It was his Ranger’s Airborne pin.

  Rod noticed Burkett staring at it. “He pulled that off his hat, just before he died, Lieutenant. Seemed to need it in his hand. He gave me a message for his wife… And he said to tell you you’re in command. That was about it.”

  Rodriguez closed his eyes, his lips buckling. Burkett swallowed hard, as the other Rangers gathered silently around.

  “Have a good trip, Captain,” he said. “We’ll see you there, sooner or later.” Then he saluted Mayweather. The others saluted, too, snapping theirs in place almost simultaneously. Burkett finished the salute then frowned at Ike.

  “What’re you doing away from your position, Faraday?”

  “Sorry sir.” The pilot put a trembling hand to his face. He went back to the flight deck. Strickland followed him.

  “Should I get a body bag, sir?”

  Burkett shook his head. “No. Not yet. He’s in his seat on his command. We’ll leave him there for now. In case we…” He shrugged. “Just in case.”

  He didn’t want to say, In case we get shot out of the sky.

  “Corporal Dabiri, let’s go. We’re going to carry out the Captain’s orders.”

  * * *

  Burkett and Dabiri came in through the back door.

  Faraday had lowered the “rump ramp,” as Tafir called it, at the aft of the orbcraft, so that some of the loose tools had floated out into space. Burkett and Tafir used their SAFERs to maneuver into the storage compartment, then activated their electromagnetic boots.

  “Creepy in here,” Dabiri murmured.

  Burkett had to agree. The aft storage deck, lit only with a red emergency light, looked like some other place entirely. He glanced back through the ramp entrance, saw a slice of the Earth glowing blue and white.

  He led the way to the armory and selected the smallest charge of plastic explosives he could find. Ranger-grade plastic explosives were not thermobaric—they didn’t need a surrounding atmosphere to detonate. There was enough reactive iron-oxide blended in to do the job.

  Putting the explosive and its radio detonator in a pouch, he then selected a much larger brick of plastics. He opened the side of the scarred old Light-Up vehicle, then attached the larger explosive and its radio detonator to the floor over the gas tank. Burkett climbed out and clumped over the deck to the back of the LTV, where he opened the back door of the vehicle.

  “Let’s load ’er up.”

  They put all the tools they could find, along with a spare oxygen tank and twenty mortar rounds, into the vehicle.

  “Mortar rounds going to blow up in space?” Dabiri asked.

  “They can—if launched and properly impacted, they’ll detonate. Not sure if that’s what we’re doing here. Just taking the shot.”

  “We’re going to be making a mess, Lieutenant.”

  “More fun for Griskin.” He paused and studied their handiwork. “I think we’ve got enough in here. I don’t want it too packed in.” Burkett climbed out and placed the smaller plastic explosive and detonator on the back bumper of the Light-Up. “Corporal, you unhook that side, I’ll get this side.”

  “Roger that,” Dabiri said. They each had a lockdown key and quickly used it to unclamp the wheels of the LTV. It floated up just a hand’s breadth over the deck. “But won’t it slide out when we accelerate, sir?”

  “We’re going to close the ramp for now, once we’re outside. Let’s get the rest of the plastics we’re gonna need and get back to the airlock.”

  They retrieved four more blocks of explosives, shut off their boot magnetism, then used the SAFERS to travel outside the ramp entrance. Returning power to their magnetic boots, they walked up the bulkhead to either side of the ramp hatch.

  “Like flies on a wall,” Tafir said.

  “Close the ramp hatch, Ike,” Burkett ordered.

  “Closing aft hatch, sir.”

  “Let’s move, Corporal.”

  Burkett and Tafir hurried over the hull, back to the airlock, climbed in and got it pressurized, opened the door to the ladderway—and Burkett got another call.

  “I think the Russians have locked onto us,” Strickland said.

  “Tell Ike to do whatever he needs to.”

  Burkett and Tafir took off their helmets and hurried forward down the ladderway to push off toward the flight deck.

  “Incoming?” Burkett asked. His heart was banging away. He told it to chill out. It ignored him.

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “Give it a twenty count, Lieutenant, then accelerate directly at the battle station, fast but not full speed.” He gripped the straps he’d rigged. “Let’s get their attention riveted on us. Dabiri, get to your seat and transmit the detonator markers to Ike.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sergeant Strickland, you clear on what to do with the combine?”

  “I… yes, sir.”

  “Some hesitancy there?”

  “I just—oh, incoming, sir!”

  “Where away?”

  She read off its position, fifty klicks out. “A missile, direct from Gogol-1.”

  “Ike, when it’s about to close, accelerate out of its way. Linda—” There wasn’t time for the extra syllables in “Sergeant Strickland.” “—accelerate the combine, release when you’re at the programmed point, don’t wait for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Here it comes,” Faraday said. “Hold on.” He changed course and increased acceleration. Burkett held on against the inertia. The missile zipped past them but changed course to pursue.

  “Reduce speed by one quarter, Ike… Let it get closer…”

  “It’s gaining, sir.”

  “Open the ramp and give us some TV!”

  “Ramp opened.”

  Burkett watched it open on the security monitor.

  “Detonate charge one.”

  “Detonating!”

  The small charge blew, just enough force to propel the Light-Up out the back of the vessel—right into the missile’s path.

  “Fifteen seconds till the missile closes with us, sir!” Linda said.

  “Accelerate, wait five, and detonate!”

  “Sir!”

  The orbcraft accelerated powerfully—and then Faraday detonated the big charge inside the floating LTV. Mayweather’s beloved vehicle…

  It exploded, dispersing shrapnel, tools, and explosives directly into the oncoming missile.

  “And the missile… is gone sir!” Strickland said, grinning.

  “Close the ramp, Lieutenant Faraday.”

  “Closed, sir.”

  “Releasing the net!” Strickland called. At her preprogrammed direction, Griskin’s combine raced toward Gogol-1 from an angle on the far side of the battle station, towing a net full of space junk.

  Suddenly the combine changed directions, getting out of the netting’s way.

  The loose mass of junk continued in the towing trajectory—and fast. The net, a ball of hard metal objects of all kinds, flew like a comet toward Gogol-1—its extra netting the comet’s tail. It opened up just as Griskin designed it to, the fine threads breaking so that the debris would disperse just enough…

  * * *

  Arsov stared at the radar screen in disbelief. Something must have gone wrong with the scan. The missile had vanished.

  Batkin and Volsky were hunched behind him, looking over his shoulder. Andrei cleared his throat.

  “Sir—it’s just gone, and the enemy craft is still there.”

  Volsky grunted. “The Americans have destroyed the missile. Our last missile. We’ll have to get out of here. I’ll set the course myself.”

  “Sir!” Arsov gulped down the lump in his throat. “We have an incoming object… it’s not the American spacecraft. It’s closing—”

  A crack, a flash of heat and blinding light—

  The spacejunk cluster striking the battle station was moving at a little more than orbital speed. Orbital speed, seven kilometers a second, was itself so fast that a small object the size of a baseball could smash through a hull and bulkhead with such force that the impacted metal would liquify. The pieces that struck Gogol-1 did so with various degrees of efficiency, some glancing off the armor, some breaking through but stopping at the bulkhead. One piece of steel followed a previous impact. The inner wall was breached, molten metal striking the two wounded men strapped down in the sick bay, burning through them. They added their screams to the screaming of the air as it was sucked into the void.

  Andrei pushed up from his post and kicked off his radar monitor, grabbing the breach stopper from its emergency post by the hatch to the next compartment. He pushed fast toward the breach, drawn now by the current of air—pushing the magnetic plug ahead so when he arrived it slapped over the sizzling gap.

  He was going so fast he barely had time to cushion his head with his arm as he struck the bulkhead. Dazed with pain, he heard Batkin shout that the commander had been struck by something…

  TWENTY-NINE

  Gogol-1 was all but blind.

  Strickland and Faraday agreed on that after a close observation of the battle station. The debris assault had knocked out the station’s radar and lidar antennas, and its exterior cameras. All that remained, apart from one radio antenna, were a few ports—small windows. Since the station had a completely blind side, facing away from the Earth, the S-7 was able to come within an eighth-kilometer.

  Alpha Team, suited up, standing by in the aft storage compartment.

  “In position, sir,” Faraday said over the radio.

  “Open the back door, Ike.”

  “Sir.”

  The ramp unsealed and lowered. Burkett could see Gogol-1 through it, in the distance, superimposed darkly against the shining globe of the Earth. Bits of debris glinted close to the battle station.

  Switching off his boot magnetism, he used his SAFER’s maneuvering thrusters to take him out of the orbcraft. The others followed, everyone moving as rapidly as they safely could.

  Blinded or not, Gogol-1 could still hurt them, Burkett knew. It could fire its maneuvering thrusters while they were approaching. But Strickland had picked up a radio exchange between Gogol-1 and its ground control. The computer’s clumsy but generally correct translation suggested that there was some disagreement going on between the commander of Gogol-1 and his superiors.

  He was asking for permission to relocate, but so far they’d put him off. Burkett didn’t know how much time he had before the Gogol-1 started its maneuvering thrusters. Alpha team had to get this done fast. If the station became aware of an enemy on its hull, the Russians could fire the thrusters to try to catch the squad in the heat-blast, or to shake them off like fleas.

  Burkett’s plan required stealth.

  Behind Alpha team, the S-7 did a very short burn from its main engine, just enough to get it gliding along till it could swing around and approach Gogol-1 from the Earth side. That would focus attention on the orbcraft, away from what was happening on the station’s blind side. Faraday knew what to do once he was out there.

  From a half-kilometer out, quite visible through the Earth-side ports, he would be calling the Russian station, introducing himself as the S-7’s new commander—which he was till Burkett got back—and asking to talk to someone who spoke English. If they didn’t have an English speaker, he’d use the computer translator.

  Faraday would demand an unconditional surrender. He would assure them that once they surrendered, he could have another SubOrbital craft up here fairly quickly, equipped with surgeons and medical supplies and with room to take them back to Earth. They would be treated well.

  “At least get them talking, if you can, Ike…” Burkett had told him. “If they don’t answer, just keep radioing anyway.”

  His EVA team knew what to do. Maintaining radio silence, each Ranger maneuvered to a preselected cluster of thrusters, big orange metal cones in groups of three, each a little less than a meter deep, nozzles aimed like trumpets outward from the station. Two of four groups of maneuvering thrusters on the other side had been destroyed by the debris from Griskin’s net, their nozzles twisted into tangles of metal.