Chapter 32: Combat Information Center

NSS McDivitt, December 3, 2141
Combat Information Center

Alan stepped into the CIC, still wearing his pressure suit and carrying his helmet and gloves. Some wag had painted the helmet purple and put white horns on the side. He did not know why it was painted like that, but he was now being called “Alan the Red” by the senior staff. He had just finished a four-hour search pattern and had a ton of squadron paperwork to do. The search was grueling because it was all visual searching. Radar probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a fat cargo hauler and a fat rock.

He wanted to go take a long hot sauna with Hilde but she was out flying top cap, watching out for the Eastern Bloc people that were sure to come, especially if they saw the two squadrons searching one area. They had to know what was going on.

He still couldn’t believe he was a Lieutenant Junior Grade, an O-2 commanding one of the most important missions since the war of 2085 (WWIV). As he stepped inside the CinC, Commander Tim Kanopa, the executive officer of the McDivitt, called the room to attention. By habit, Alan snapped to attention. “No, that was for you, sir!” grinned Tim. He was a large man with a shaved head, dark brows, and a pointed nose. He spoke with a strange earth accent and called everyone “Bloke” or “Mate.” He rarely smiled, but today he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Why, am I a general now?”

“You may be when Eagle gets here, he’s nine hours out, but you found it!”

“We found it? Where? Show me!”

The large plexigraph status board showed the cube of space they’ve been searching for the past eighteen days. It was in the lower corner nearest to where the McDivitt was sitting. “It was turning the search ninety degrees that did it sir,” said Commander Kanopa. “It was pressed against a large asteroid and is covered with dust.”

The way navigation is standardized, the sun is always north. Zero degrees dividing east from west on the solar system plane is a straight line between the sun and Proxima Centauri. If you were looking straight down on the solar system and you saw the earth was at the Nine o’clock position, it was sitting at 270° on its orbit. That usually put it in mid-December. To go above or below the solar system plane, your movement was measured in degrees on the Z axis, or in numerical distance measured as Z+ or Z-. The plane is determined by the Earth’s revolutions around the sun, not because that’s where life began, but because Earth has the flattest orbit around the sun. It defines the planetary orbital plane for the solar system.

When they began searching, they were making north to south passes in the search area, and they dropped two KM (Z - 2KM) between passes. They used radar and magnetometers, but primarily it was the Star Strike’s landing lights and two pairs of eyeballs doing the majority of the searching. They finished searching the search area three days previously and were now sweeping east to west, moving up on the Z axis (Z = 2KM) after each pass.

Nobody called out “I found it!” on the radio. They were too professional. It was Berserker Eight, Commander Rhea Seddon, MD, who saw it and called out, “Berserker Maintenance, this is Berserker Eight. I have a FTS warning light come on, I’m going to stop and look at this. Can you send a mechanic?”

“What’s an FTS warning light?” asked Commander Kanopa.

“FTS stands for Found The Ship,” grinned Alan. “Tell my A flight to report to the cockpit,” and he dashed off to life support where Anna Vasquez and Tasha Kikina were taking off their pressure suits. “Get them back on you two, we’re going back out.”

“Blin!” (Damn it) shouted Tasha Kikina.

“Maldita sea!” (Damn it!) shouted Anna Vasquez.

“I knew it was going to happen,” said Scott Kelly, Anna Vasquez’s RIO. He was still fully dressed in a pressure suit and eating peach slices from a small container. Their recent supply drop included several cases of peach slices, and Scott had become addicted to them.

“Let’s go, called Alan. “Doctor Seddon had an FTS warning light!”

“Let’s rock!” shouted Scott, and he helped Anna Vasquez get her horse collar on. (The horse collar is a protective portion of the pressure suit that contains shoulder pads and the helmet ring. It’s a pain to pull over your head when putting on the pressure suit.)

“Kikina!” shouted the technician from life support. “Your helmet is done!” and he tossed her a purple helmet with white Viking horns and the tall Russian tossed her plain beige helmet back.

“What is with these helmets?” asked Alan.

“You’re a berserker, right? And a berserker is a Viking, Right? There you go!” said the life support technician. “Vasquez and Kelly, I’ll have yours ready when you get back.”

“I still don’t get it,” muttered Alan as they headed off to the hangar deck.

The four fliers piled into the air lock and were soon in the maintenance hangar. Their ships were being readied for the flight. After a quick walk around inspection, Alan released the magnetic lock and the three crew members of Berserker One (Alan, Tasha, and Gene) pushed their ship out to the center of the hangar, followed by Berserker Two.

Alan floated up to the cockpit and settled into the seat. The magnets in his pressure suit locked into the seat and once all eight magnets were locked, the seat pulled him tight. His slimline oxygen system on his back connected to his ship, and he was good for hours. “One A ready,” said Tasha Kikina.

“Berserker One ready, canopy coming down,” said Alan as the two canopies on the F-201 Star Strike closed.

“Berserker Two ready, canopy coming down,” said Anna Vasquez to let Alan know she’s ready to launch.

“McDivitt Spaceboss, this is Berserker one, I’ve got a flight of two strikers and we’re ready to launch, requesting MITO.”

“Berserker one, I show you ready, hangar doors coming open, have a pleasant flight, Spaceboss clear.”

The moment that the hangar doors were open wide enough, Alan’s ship was flung out into space, Berserker two was five seconds behind him. “Ok, my fellow Martian, we’ll turn right and head Zee Minus about three hundred kilometers.”