Chapter 11: Geosynchronous Orbit Above the Remains of Camp Lejeune

Camp Schmidt, June 3, 2041
Geosynchronous Orbit Above the Remains of Camp Lejeune

Ensign Alan Scarlett sat in the briefing room in the outer ring of Camp Schmitt, the Western Alliance Marine space station in geosynchronous orbit above the Camp Lejeune crater. His newly awarded gold bar of rank gleamed on his shoulder, but in his case, that gold ensign’s bar was rimmed with Martian red, showing that he was unique in the Western Alliance Navy, a Martian in an Earthman’s navy. Mars was growing in importance to the Western Alliance as vast deposits of iron, nickel, and osmium were being opened up. Osmium is extremely rare on Earth but has been found in quantity on Mars and is immeasurably important in spaceship construction, so the Western Alliance plays nice with Mars.

Lieutenant Commander Ellison was giving the briefing to six new Naval Spacemen. “Congratulations, this is it. In one hour, you will become the loneliest humans in the universe. The flight plan is simple. Depart from Camp Schmidt with a thirty-minute separation. You will orbit the Earth three times or until given permission to execute a Trans-Lunar-Injection burn or are ordered back to Camp Schmitt. If given timer codes for a TLI, you will enter them into your nav computer and with luck will then proceed to Luna, where you will perform three lunar orbits and recover at Armstrong Station at Lagrange Point One.”

Alan looked around at the five other fledgling fliers known as “chicks” to their trainers. They have been told repeatedly that their first solo mission has an average survival rate of 80%, which means that one of them is not coming back. Their lifeless body will be found drifting in space weeks from now as the ship’s batteries die while sending out a weak distress signal.

They have also been told that this is the last time that they will be ordered to fly alone in space. Every flight after this one will be at least in pairs or on larger ships with multi spaceman crews. Cargo haulers and troop ships are not in Alan Scarlett’s future, he’s in it to become a fighter pilot. He’s studied the exploits of the fighter/explorers of the past from the Vikings to the space age and he wanted to join that exulted group. Man does not leave his mark on the galaxy from the radio room of an ore freighter. If he’s going to die on a mission, he wants a solo grave and not a shared pit with 30 other crew members.

“ENSIGN SCARLETT!” shouted Commander Ellison. “Do you care to share with us why you’re looking around the room and not at your mission map?”

Sometimes honesty is the worst policy, which is when Alan becomes the most honest person you’d ever know. If he’s telling the truth, it’s probably because he wants to piss you off. Alan Scarlett was raised by geniuses whose IQ levels were off the charts, and he is clearly superior to them all. One of those geniuses was his Uncle Ray, who was also a no-holds-barred wiseass, and he is the parental figure that impacted Alan the most. The Western Alliance Navy may not be ready for Alan Scarlett, but he was ready for them. Alan rose and said with an arrogant sneer. “Just trying to guess which of my classmates is going to crack first. Sir.”

“Explain!” demanded Commander Ellison.

“My classmates were all born on Earth, they grew up breathing free air, drinking as much water as they wanted. They climbed hills, mountains, trees and they were never alone in a confined space unless they were being punished by their mommy. I was born in space and grew up in a tin can. I know what drinking purified piss and breathing recycled farts is like because that’s what I grew up with. Three days alone in a cramped cockpit? While they’re freaking out, I’ll be catching up on my reading. Everyone knows that the best spacemen come from Luna, starting today I’m going to prove the best come from Mars.”

“Mister Scarlett” said their commander with a sneer. “That is the most callous, arrogant thing I’ve ever heard in this classroom ... and I like it. You chicks had better develop an attitude like that and you better do it within the next hour, because if you are not the very best spacemen at least in your minds, you will die out there. I have not spent the last six months trying to train you to be an attractive corpse. When I see your bodies again in three days they had better be fully animated. Go gear up. DISMISSED!”

The six chicks rose and filed out of the briefing room and went to the life support section to gather their space suits and survival equipment.

“Can you believe the arrogance of that guy?” said Lt. Commander Ellison’s teaching assistant, Lieutenant Briscoe.

“Yes I can. He’s a red-blooded Martian. Pun intended. I know the man that raised him after his folks died, Ray Clark. Ray is the politest, but at the same time the most arrogant son of a bitch you’d ever meet. He once told me that he was going to be President of a united Mars, and that Alan was going to follow him ... and I believe him.”

“But to say that about your classmates just before your solo mission...”

“With luck he pissed them off enough to get them to pull their heads out of their asses and survive,” said Lieutenant Commander Ellison. “I wasn’t getting through to all of them, let’s hope he did.”

In the survival equipment room, Alan quietly adjusted his space suit while the other five members of his flight complained about his arrogant statement. Ensign Stan Michalowski stood in front of Alan and demanded, “What makes you think one of us is going to die? You’re the first bird out, how do you know I’m not going to shoot you in the back?”

“Ski, I firmly believe that you can put your laser emitter in my mouth and blow your own balls off,” said Alan calmly as he tested his suit’s radio system.

“No!” said Michalowski. “You can’t spout a bunch of bullshit in front of us and get away with it.”

“Yes I can,” said Alan as he test fitted his gloves. “Everything I said in that room is true. Ski, I’ve been flying solo in space since I was twelve. I was fourteen when I decided to join the Navy, I have done nothing but fly since that day. I was made a trainee navigator at twelve as we flew from Earth back to Mars and pulled full shifts on the bridge of the RSS Reliant. Why do you think I walked into Annapolis with an advanced degree in celestial navigation? While you were working on your bachelor’s degree at Annapolis, I was writing a doctoral dissertation.”

“And that makes you better than me?” demanded Michalowski.

“Ski, I’m fully suited and ready to fly, while you are standing there whining and bitching to me in your underwear. That is what makes me better than you.” With that, Alan grabbed his helmet and map bag and left for the hangar.

There he found the six Vaught-Kingsbury F-9 Star Kites. The ship was named for the bird, not the toy and sadly, it was originally designed as an aircraft and was modified to become a spacecraft. The bird named kite can soar for days without landing and the F-9 is able to fly for days if you’re good at managing your reaction mass fuel. And like the kite, the F-9 had a split tail resembling a swallow. Those tails were threat warning receivers, constantly looking for other spacecraft. The stub wings were designed to carry missiles, but the launch system was designed for an aircraft, not a spacecraft and so the act of launching an intercept missile threw the F-9 off course, losing radar lock causing the missile to veer wildly off into space. The wings were rebuilt with automatic bore sighting APNQ-178 Laser Emitters.