“Nice job, comandante,” Ernesto said after Boomer had strapped in. They exchanged a fist bump. “Do you think we can get them out and transfer them to station, boss?”
“Not sure,” Boomer said, taking a few moments to let his breathing and heartbeat start to return to normal. “The passenger module is definitely breached, but the cockpit looked intact. I saw LEDs on their suits, but I couldn’t tell if they were warning lights or what. We might be able to get messages to the vice president on how to open the airlock or cockpit canopies, and then we hope they can survive the transfer. Let’s get back to station.”
It took them a half hour of careful maneuvering to tow the crippled S-19 Midnight spaceplane back to Armstrong Space Station. Crewmembers were already standing by with more cargo straps and cutters, and the remote manipulator arms were extended as far as they could to do whatever was necessary. Boomer docked the S-29 with the station.
“Good job, Boomer,” Kai radioed as he studied the images of the stricken S-19 Midnight and the crewmembers working on gaining access to the passenger module. “I’ve ordered the S-29 refueled and as much cargo as possible unloaded. We can use one of the airlocks as a hyperbaric chamber. I’m going to have you and your MC stay with the spaceplane. We’ve got about three hours before we arrive at the next DB, so if you need to get out and use the ‘wicks,’ do it now.” Ernesto waved a hand, signaling that’s what he wanted. The “wicks,” or WCS, was the Waste Containment System, or space toilet, on Armstrong Space Station.
“Roger,” Boomer said. “Which duck blind are we coming up on?”
“The worst one,” Kai said. “Delta Bravo-One. Downtown. Right up the middle.” Boomer was very familiar with which ones they were: Moscow and St. Petersburg. They had overlapping kill circles from multiple antisatellite sites that extended coverage from the Barents Sea to the Gulf of Azov. “With the Russian Orbital Section detached and not having our own maneuvering module, we can’t reposition station for a less dangerous orbit.”
“Ernesto is clearing off to use the ‘wicks,’?” Boomer announced as Ernesto began unstrapping. “I want to supervise the refueling. I need someone in the seat to watch for faults.”
“We’re running low on spaceplane crewmembers, Boomer,” Kai said. He turned to station manager Trevor Shale. “Trev, want to suit up and—”
“Send Brad McLanahan,” Boomer said. “He’s not busy. Hell, he’s practically a spaceplane pilot already.”
Brad had been silent ever since the S-19 Midnight had been hit by the Russian ASAT, watching out a window at the workers surrounding the Midnight and hoping to catch a glimpse of Sondra, but he brightened when he heard his name. “You bet I will!” he said excitedly on intercom.
“Report to the airlock—someone will help you into an ACES,” Kai said. “You’ll have to be fully suited up and on oxygen. There’s no time to get you into an LCVG.” The LCVG, or Liquid Cooling and Ventilation Garment, was a formfitting suit with water tubes running through it that absorbed heat from the body. “Trev, help Brad get to the airlock.” Trevor led Brad to the hatch leading to the storage and processing module. Because he would not be wearing an LCVG, it was relatively quick and simple to don an ACES suit, gloves, and boots, and in just a few minutes Brad was on his way to the tunnel connecting the S-29 Shadow spaceplane to the station.
On the way into the docked spaceplane, Brad passed Ernesto Hermosillo heading to the Galaxy module. “Hey, good news about Sondra, man,” Ernesto said, giving Brad a fist bump. “I hope she’ll be all right. We’ll know soon, amigo.”
“Gracias, Ernesto,” Brad said.
A technician helped Brad through the docking tunnel, and Brad made his way through the airlock and into the cockpit. Boomer handed him his umbilicals. “Hello, Brad,” Boomer said on intercom. “Everything that can be done for Sondra and the others is being done. My guess is that she and the Secret Service agent will have to spend the night in an airlock pressurized with pure oxygen. They might be out for a while, but if they made it through the attack with their suits intact, they should pull out of it.”
“Thanks, Boomer,” Brad said.