Asteroid Diversion Read online

  “Are you talking about DART?” asked the Defense Secretary.

  “Yes,” replied Frederick. “As a congressman, I co-sponsored the Double Asteroid Redirection Test bill that created the mission. Designed by scientists at Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Laboratory, it uses a kinetic impactor technique whereby a fast-moving spacecraft would smash into a NEO, causing it to gradually shift its orbit.”

  “Plan B,” the president muttered. Only his chief of staff heard the utterance, and she imperceptibly nodded her head.

  Frederick continued. “Several years ago, we successfully tested the asteroid-deflection technique by smashing a refrigerator-sized spacecraft into a nonthreatening asteroid. It moved the asteroid ever so slightly from its original orbital path.

  “Then we became more ambitious. With the cooperation of the other space agencies, we identified a binary pairing of asteroids, Didymos A and Didymos B, which was only five hundred thirty feet wide. Using a slightly larger spacecraft with a nominal nuclear payload, we successfully moved Didymos B away from the gravitational pull of A. Technically speaking, so we understand, B, also known as Didymoon, is significantly smaller than Didymos.

  “We never got the opportunity to test a nuclear weapon on the larger asteroid, as the cooperation between our nation and Russia ceased. Nonetheless, we learned a lot from the DART missions. These objects are quite rocky, not necessarily a smooth, rounded object. With each pass by the sun, their compositions change somewhat, which is a benefit to our mission because it creates points of weakness that can be exploited.”

  The president was growing anxious for Frederick to get to the point. “How does the DART mission help us today?”

  Frederick, who had been a big supporter of the president while on the campaign trail, knew his boss well. “Sir, the DART mission allowed scientists the ability to analyze the effects of these impacts, especially as it relates to how many kinetic impacts are required to sufficiently move a single target.”

  “Do you have any data on the composition of IM86?” asked Fielding.

  “We don’t, but we suspect the Russians do,” replied Frederick. “At this time, they haven’t given any indication as to whether they’ve landed. However, they possess the same technology we do, which enables them to assess the composition of the asteroid while orbiting it. If they would share this data with us, we could better formulate a plan of attack.”

  “That’s an interesting choice of words, Jim,” said the president.

  “Well, sir, that’s basically what we propose. We need to attack IM86 with nuclear missiles that strike strategic points of weakness on the surface. The more information we can have in advance, the better we can prepare our pilot for this complicated endeavor.”

  The president appeared puzzled. “Jim, you have to help me out here. Do we even possess a spacecraft capable of conducting an air raid on an asteroid? One that is equipped to launch nuclear missiles?”

  Frederick took a deep breath and averted his eyes from the camera momentarily. It was a sign that his confidence in the mission was not one hundred percent. “Yes, sir, we do. It’s experimental. In fact, it’s never been flown into space.”

  “That’s comforting,” said the president sarcastically. Then he asked, “If you’ve never flown said spacecraft, do you even have a pilot to command this mission?”

  The chairman of the Joint Chiefs, an Air Force general, squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

  Frederick’s answer was curt. “Yes, sir. There were several candidates, but we believe we have the right one for this particular mission.”

  “Good,” said the president, seemingly reassured.

  The chairman of the Joint Chiefs closed his eyes, as if in prayer.

  Chapter 7

  Friday, April 13

  Gunner’s Residence

  Dog Island

  Florida Panhandle

  “Long time no see,” Cam said casually as she exited the elevator. The mood was subdued, and she was the last to arrive at Gunner’s home on Dog Island. Ordinarily, the trio of best friends would be celebrating one thing or another, but not on this day. Certainly, they’d mourned the loss of loved ones before, but this time, decisions would have to be made concerning their future.

  “Hi, Cam,” Pop greeted her with a smile. He rubbed his hands off on his blue chambray apron with his name stitched on it and met her at the elevator. She dropped her duffle bag, packing lighter than normal because she only expected to be there for a couple of nights.

  “Hi, Pop.” She leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek. He was covered in flour and she wasn’t quite ready to dive into his baking activities.

  “Cam, do you wanna beer? The guys are out on the deck with Howard.”

  “Not just yet, Pop. I’d better hear what’s up, first.”

  He reached for a plate of butter crescents and offered her one. Surprisingly, she passed for now. She wasn’t in the mood for cookies or beer.

  Gunner had the wall of windows fully open. The four large sliding windows moved on tracks until they were hidden behind the exterior walls, lending the appearance that the home was completely open to the outdoors. With the cooling temperatures, Gunner and Pop had opened up the beach house, allowing the Gulf breezes to flow throughout. On any other day, Kenny Chesney would be blasting through the Sonos wireless speakers, the Oyster City beer would be flowing, and the smell of cigars mixed with burgers on the grill would permeate her senses.

  Not today. The failure of the launch from Cape Canaveral had damaged the psyche of the entire nation, and especially the Fox family, of which she considered herself to be a part. When Pop had sent her the text after Gunner had been approached at The Tap Room in Apalachicola, she called Bear, and the two of them agreed to head for Dog Island to lend the guys some moral support.

  “You know, the Merlin engines have an insane amount of power,” Bear said as she walked onto the deck. “I watched those static fire tests at the SpaceX facility in McGregor, Texas. It was awesome, man.”

  Cam used the pause as her opportunity to interrupt. “Hey, guys.”

  Bear stood up and snapped a salute to the new major in the Air Force.

  “Sit down, Sergeant King. That’s an order.”

  “With pleasure, Madam Major.”

  Gunner stood and gave his best friend a hug. “Cam, you guys didn’t need to come over here. Seriously, it’s all good. Besides, I’m not sure what to tell you at this point.”

  She held him for another moment and then allowed him to take his seat on the Adirondack chair. Cam leaned against the rail and pushed her way up until she was seated on top of it.

  “Um, Cam, you do know it’s almost twenty feet to the ground, right?”

  Cam, a tomboy at heart and generally fearless, laughed. “I do. But, hey, we’ve done worse, remember?”

  “Don’t you know it!” exclaimed Bear. “I’ll never forget how you two suckered me onto that ledge. You swore you’d keep me between the two of you in case these size thirteens slipped.” Bear held his feet up. Bigfoot had nothing on Staff Sergeant Barrett King.

  Cam laughed. She remembered the operation well. The three of them had almost died that day. “Yeah, well, it was either that or you’d be indoctrinated by the Taliban by now, like that guy on Homeland.”

  “Yeah, well, then I could’ve hooked up with Claire-what’s-her-name. You know, the crazy blonde chick.”

  “Dude, the last thing you need is a crazy blonde girlfriend,” said Cam. “How’s it going now that you’re back with your main squeeze?”

  “Not bad,” he began in reply. “She’s all apocalyptic, you know. She goes online and reads all of these reports of how we’re gonna be extinct and stuff.”

  “It’s a shame they frighten people that way,” added Cam.

  “Well, it’s great for my sex life. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ready to be cancelled by some asteroid, but I really dig the sextacular bedroom activity.”

  “TMI, Bear,” grumbled Gunner, who’d
remained quiet during the back-and-forth. He rotated his beer in his right hand, periodically following seagulls that flew across the horizon.

  “Sorry, man. Anyway, about the Merlin engines.”

  Gunner shook his head, so Bear stopped explaining his theory. “No, I know what I saw. There was a flash bang preceded by a streak of white light. I know what a missile impacting an aircraft looks like, even from a distance.”

  Cam dangled her feet and studied Gunner. He was troubled by the cause of the accident, perhaps more than the loss of life.

  “Gunner, the logical culprit for such a bold move would be the Russians. China has the capability, but they’d have no incentive to shoot down a NASA space mission, especially one that was intended to save the planet.”

  “Why would the Russians shoot it down?” asked Bear.

  “I don’t know,” replied Gunner. “However, I agree with Cam that the Chinese probably didn’t do it. And, hopefully, but nothing is certain in this world, we didn’t shoot it down ourselves.”

  Cam twisted her back to stretch. “Guys, do you think there’s a correlation between our mission to the Cosmodrome and what happened this morning? I mean, it’s pretty damn coincidental.”

  “I do,” said Gunner bluntly. “Our intelligence agencies must’ve suspected that the Russians were up to something, perhaps a launch to get to the asteroid. They needed us to shed light on their activities.”

  “So what’s with the mining equipment?” asked Bear.

  Gunner applied his expertise garnered from his education in Earth sciences. “It’s twofold, Bear. For one thing, there might be minerals and resources that man has never been exposed to. You guys may not know this, but the periodic table is constantly being adjusted based upon newly discovered elements with unknown chemical properties. Imagine what a space rock originating from the other end of our solar system might contain.”

  “Weapons-grade plutonium or something like that,” speculated Cam.

  Gunner nodded. “Exactly. A find of that nature could change the balance of power on our planet in a significant way.”

  Bear chuckled. “Yeah, so when the asteroid misses us, we can either let the Russians blast us off the face of the planet, or pack our shit and head for the Siberian salt mines.”

  Gunner shook his head and laughed at his somewhat negative friend. “The other thing is purely scientific. An asteroid of this size could provide insight into the origins of the solar system.”

  “And what good will that do us?” asked Bear.

  “So we’ll know, you dope,” Cam shot back.

  Gunner smiled for the first time. He enjoyed the playful, albeit hostile at times, banter between Cam and Bear.

  The group grew quiet for a moment, during which time Pop came outside and told them he’d made lasagna for dinner. He told the trio to let him know when they were an hour away from being hungry.

  Bear roared uproariously at that statement as he asked Pop how he was supposed to predict the future, to which Pop replied, “Just guess, then.”

  Cam turned the conversation back to Gunner. “So, this mysterious no-name guy who showed up at the bar earlier, did he give you any idea what the mission is? I take it we’re not involved.”

  Gunner shrugged. “He didn’t say anything about you guys, and I’m gonna let ’em know, as I always do, that we’re a team. All he said was, quote, your country needs you.”

  Bear laughed. “You could’ve told him to go pound sand or that you gave at the office.”

  “I pretty much did, at first. But then, I don’t know, I saw the video on the TV behind the bar, and something struck a nerve, I guess. I think that spaceship was shot down, guys, and it could be the DOD needs me to look into it.”

  “Without us?” asked Cam with a slight pout.

  “Like I said, I’ll let them know how I feel about working without you guys.”

  Bear speculated that it might be a solo flight, a run-and-gun type assault in retaliation for the Russians shooting down the orbiter.

  Cam agreed. “I think Bear may be right. It’s the only thing I can think of that wouldn’t involve us.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by a text message coming into Gunner’s phone.

  “It’s from Ghost.”

  GHOST: Pickup at 0800 tomorrow. Pack light.

  Gunner passed his phone to Bear, who then tossed it up to Cam.

  “That’s all you get?” she asked.

  “It appears so. Just like the Russian mission. I’ve got no clue where I’m headed, or why.”

  Chapter 8

  Friday, April 13

  Gunner’s Residence

  Dog Island

  Florida Panhandle

  Gunner couldn’t sleep that night. He was not one to suffer from anxiety, as most people define it. Anxiety was an expected part of life. It could be partially from excitement of what the new day might bring, or it could be intense, persistent worry that consumes someone’s mind. For Gunner, his sleepless night was a combination of old memories invading the present, coupled with an overwhelming sense of unease that he’d volunteered for a one-way mission.

  Howard, like many dogs, was able to read human emotions. He and Gunner had been best pals since Howard had been weaned off his mother. Over the years, Howard had studied Gunner’s and Heather’s voices. When he heard positive sounds, he would study their faces, and he’d do the same when something negative was being communicated.

  Over time, the lovable basset hound had integrated the two sources of sensory perception of emotion and internally categorized them. He’d developed a cognitive ability to read Gunner’s emotional state, and used those emotional cues to make his human companion feel better.

  So when Howard began licking his face at three o’clock that morning, coupled with emitting several dog-talk sounds, a smile came across Gunner’s face. Gunner reached for his phone, checked the time, and realized it was way too early to wake up. He glanced outside into the darkness, where a new moon allowed the stars to shine brightly.

  “You know what, buddy,” Gunner whispered, disregarding the early hour, “let’s go for a walk on the beach. Whadya think?”

  Howard loved the beach, and it was one of the few words that set his tail on fire, so to speak. He immediately began to put out the fire by pounding it against the bed.

  “Shhh,” Gunner admonished his faithful friend. “You’ll wake Cam. Come on, we’ll take the stairs. I’ll carry you so you don’t make a lot of noise.”

  Howard crawled out of bed and stood patiently by the elevator. He didn’t quite grasp the carry-down-the-stairs thing until Gunner knelt down and hoisted him into his arms.

  “Damn, you big old sixty-pounder. Has Pop been feeding you cookies again? Or is it that Nummy Tum Tum stuff?”

  Howard licked Gunner’s face and passed gas in response.

  Gunner laughed and the two headed downstairs, attempting to be all stealth-like. Once they reached the concrete pad underneath the house, he put Howard down, who immediately hustled off toward the beach as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. His elongated body swayed side to side, opposite to the motion of his long wagging tail.

  Thirty seconds later the two of them stood side by side, staring off toward the water that was gently lapping on shore. It was deathly quiet except for the occasional trills and squeaks emanating from the dolphin pod, which had grown in size in the Gulf waters surrounding Dog Island.

  “Which way, pal?”

  Howard looked back and forth before moseying westward toward St. George Island. Gunner’s property was on the western end of the barrier island, fronting the beach and stretching across two sandy roads to a private dock on St. George Sound. Following a series of hurricanes, three of the four houses farther west had been destroyed in part, and later demolished. The owners, who had no insurance, couldn’t afford to rebuild, so Gunner’s home became somewhat secluded.

  This suited Howard just fine because he wasn’t a social pup. Unlike other dogs who co
uldn’t wait to encounter another dog, going through the customary ritual of wagging tails and sniffing butt, Howard preferred human companionship. In a way, his basset hound was more people than pup.

  As they walked, Gunner talked it out. “Howard, I’ve got a bad feeling about this mission, especially since I have no idea what it is they want from me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid. There’s a difference between danger and fear. I don’t walk tightropes without a net because I don’t get enough benefit from walking along a rope where I could die for no reason.

  “Danger is different. You overcome fear of being killed in a dangerous situation by being competent. That’s why I push these aircraft to their limits. That’s why I train at the range and role-play using live rounds with other operators.”

  Howard pressed forward into the darkness, periodically stopping to inspect the turtle nests that were staked off by local volunteers. He was listening, Gunner was sure of it. So he continued. “Once I make a decision, I’m optimistic about the outcome. I work it through in my head, and when I attack a problem, I know I’ll succeed.”

  Gunner managed a laugh as Howard stopped to urinate on a discarded beer cooler with the New Orleans Saints logo on it.

  “The thing is, I’ve heard that people call me arrogant. Egotistical. I prefer to look at it as confidence. There was an old baseball pitcher named Dizzy Dean who said it ain’t braggin’ if you can do it.”

  Gunner looked down at Howard, who was losing interest in the conversation and now turned his attention to a scent that caused him to pick up the pace.

  “Heather used to say that God blessed us both with these talents. I’ve given up on thinking like that. I’ve experienced too many things to believe that God could possibly have a hand in them. Do you think I’m wrong for thinking that way?”

  Howard ignored the question and raced ahead, if you could call a basset hound’s waddle racing. Gunner jogged behind him in the pitch dark, stumbling over a piece of driftwood on one occasion and avoiding a dead jellyfish on another.