Fire of the Gods
2 June 1990
Launch Pad 39B
Kennedy Space Center
28° 36’ 30” N 80° 36’ 15” W
“Three, two, one, and liftoff! We have a liftoff of
Prometheus, on its mission of discovery and innovation on the red planet!”
The mighty F-1 engines of the Pegasus first stage pushed the heavy spacecraft through a crisp Florida morning sky. At a predetermined altitude, with the massive tanks drained of their gases, the Pegasus’s explosive connections blew, separating the engines from the stack. Pegasus made a lazy roll and spread its wings, angling for a graceful landing back at Kennedy.
Prometheus’s second stage pushed it through the upper atmosphere until the sky turned black.
As the blunted cone of
Prometheus headed for its rendezvous, ABC handed over their live coverage to Peter Jennings and Judy Resnik, live from the Astronaut Hall of Fame.
“Quite a show, wasn’t it? Judy, can you tell us what’s next for
Prometheus?”
“Sure. About three hours from now, Prometheus will meet up in orbit with
Zeus VI. After the two are linked up, or docked, as we say, Zeus will fire its large nuclear rocket and push Prometheus into a transfer orbit, which will intercept Mars in about six months. After it reaches Mars,
Prometheus will separate from
Zeus and fly down to the surface where it will begin its science mission.”
“Yes, tell us more about that,” Jennings said.
“Once
Prometheus is safely on the ground, it will deploy a small rover, the
Percival Lowell, or Percy, for short. While
Prometheus begins its work making fuel from the Martian air, Percy will explore the nearby landing site, looking for a rock or two to bring back to the sample container on
Prometheus.”
“A rock sample that will be returned to Earth, yes?”
“Yes, if all goes well, but that won’t happen until at least early 1993.”
“And how big of a sample are we talking about?”
Resnik demurred slightly, “Only a pound at most. The sample is really just a bonus for us.
Prometheus’s first goal is to prove that we can convert the Martian air into rocket fuel.”
“Rocket fuel that will be used to launch the sample back to Earth?”
“Exactly. The Sabatier converter will take the hydrogen stored in
Prometheus’s tanks and combine it with the carbon dioxide which makes up the majority of Mars’s atmosphere. It’s a fascinating process and those of you with chemistry teachers should ask about it in class. For you younger folks, the simple version is that when we combine hydrogen with Martian air, we can make rocket fuel and water. When astronauts get to Mars, they’ll need to make both.”
“And this mission is the first milestone for the Mars Millenium project?”
“Absolutely! By proving that we can make fuel and water on Mars, we’ll confirm that our designs are in good shape. Essentially
Prometheus is just a small-scale, robotic version of what we hope to do one day soon with astronauts. For those of you watching from elementary schools today, we want to have astronauts on Mars by the time you’re in college. For all of you, study hard and there’s a chance you could be one of those astronauts. Twenty years ago, kids your age watched the Moon landings, and some of them walk around on the Moon today. I know a few personally. You might be next.”
2 August 1990
Terminal 1
Kuwait International Airport
29° 13′ 36″ N 47° 58′ 48″ E
Kareem Ali Al-Sumait woke up to the gentle screech of rubber wheels on asphalt. The flight from Cairo had been delayed beyond any reasonable standard and now, after 1 a.m. he was finally back on the ground in Kuwait.
In a dazed fog he gathered his briefcase and proceeded into the airport itself. Now his only goal was to get home as quickly as possible. To baggage claim to get his suitcase. To the parking lot. Find his car and get to bed. The office would be wanting a summary of his meetings in Cairo. He was half-asleep as it was.
A low
whump sound started repeating in the back of his ear. It got steadily louder.
Possibly some malfunction in the air conditioning systems, he thought. It grew from a minor annoyance to a point of some interest. He heard a woman scream as the sound grew more perceptible. His mind snapped awake at the realization. It was the steady beating of air by helicopter rotors. The crowd began to stream quickly away from the large windows at the end of the terminal.
In the lights of the tarmac, he saw three helicopters landing not far from the row of 737s that were currently occupying the gates. As the landing skids touched down, soldiers streamed forth from the open side doors. They carried assault rifles and wore black uniforms. If their goal was anonymity, they’d missed the mark. Painted boldly on the tail of each helicopter was the distinctive flag of Iraq.
Kareem ran with the crowd, eager to avoid whatever was about to take place. Bravely, a pair of security guards found an open path amongst the stampeding civilians. Kareem saw one, a supervisor, draw his service pistol from a black leather holster. The second, a younger Indian man, was content to flank his boss, but not eager to resort to violence.
“There’s too many,” Kareem said, in a vain attempt to spare these two low-paid civil servants from a futile gesture of heroism.
Likely as not, his voice was lost amidst the cacophony of shrieks and helicopter blades.
A loud boom and a puff of white smoke marked the end of the door to Gate 3 as the heavy, grey, steel slab was blown off its hinges. Soldiers poured forth and spread like a hand, entering the terminal. More shouts and more panic spurred the massed citizens to run for their lives.
The lead security guard aimed his pistol at one of the first men through the door. He was in the midst of saying something, likely an order to stop, when another invader put three rounds through his chest. The man was dead before he hit the floor. In shock and horror, the younger guard watched his companion fall to the carpeted floor, then turned and ran with the civilians.
Kareem sprinted away from the scene, not pausing to look back. A side door and a long trek through an unfamiliar parking lot led him to one of the main roads. In a blind panic, he realized that he could not return for his vehicle. A moment later, the futility of the attempt became more apparent. At the intersection across from the airport, a large khaki tank rotated on its treads and made the turn towards the city center.
Kareem looked up at the stars and offered prayers for his family’s safety. He saw more soldiers and more tanks on side streets, making for the airport. He declined to waste a prayer for the security of his nation. It seemed clear now that the almighty had ceded control of his country to its northern neighbor. Kuwait had fallen.
18 September 1990
La Cañada Flintridge, California
Jet Propulsion Laboratory
34° 12′ 6.1″ N 118° 10′ 18″ W
The hallways at JPL had the same cold white that identified most government buildings. When you considered the places that their work touched, it almost seemed criminal that the light provided to the world’s preeminent space agency was florescent.
“I really don’t want unauthorized personnel in the control room during a maneuver.”
“He’s authorized. He’s from the Atomic Energy Commission.”
“I didn’t authorize him. He’s here to make sure that we don’t, what, accidentally turn the ship around and smack it into Portland?”
“He’s here to make sure that there’s no interference during the maneuver. Especially foreign interference.”
James stifled a laugh, “Hey, G-Man! There’s no Iraqi agents on my staff. You can go back to guarding a missile silo or whatever.”
“Jim, I’ve got a meeting on the other side of campus in about ten minutes. Can you spare me the next five minutes of ridiculousness that you’re going to do in the name of comedy and independence and just let this one go? I’ll come back around three o’clock and you can fight me about something else,” Sharon said.
James considered this for a moment, “Yeah. Okay, come on G-Man.”
“Thank you,” Sharon said.
As Sharon headed for the exit, James called back to her, “I tell you one thing. If I was gonna turn it around, I’d definitely aim it at Portland.”
“Whatever,” Sharon said.
“I’ve had it up to here with Oregon. It’s a whole state devoted to pine trees, Sharon.”
“You’re still mad they beat the Sonics in the playoffs,” Sharon said, then turned the corner.
“C’mon,” James said, motioning for the besuited government official to follow him.
“I’ll try not to get in your way,” the man said.
James threw up a dismissive wave, “It’s fine. Arguing with Sharon is my favorite part of this job.”
“Not landing ships on Mars?” the agent said.
“I’ll let you know if it happens,” James replied.
James took his seat at the center console and put on his headset. The room was a smaller version of the MOCR in Houston. It operated on similar principles. NASA was not an agency that liked to reinvent the wheel.
“Guidance, talk to me,” James said.
“Quadruple-checked. Here and through Honeysuckle and Maryland. Everyone agrees,” the young mathematician said.
“Control? Retro? Any objections?”
“Negative, Flight,” came the call from both stations.
“And how are we on the timeline?”
“No concerns, Flight,” said the FIDO operator.
“Okay, Comms? Uplink to
Prometheus. Send the command for CC2 with the new parameters.”
“Copy, Flight,” said the young woman at the Communications console.
A few keystrokes was all it took. A computer in La Canada Flintridge sent a command through a wire, which traveled around the world to Parkes Observatory in Australia, where it then becomes a radio signal in the eighteen-meter Kennedy dish, which flung it through space at the speed of light. After a few minutes of travel at the universe’s speed limit, the signal struck a radio receiver, which then processed the data into a binary that can then be processed by the onboard computer and communicated to the diminutive cold-gas attitude jets and the massive nuclear engine which was strapped to the back of the payload.
A brief burst of hydrogen gas was flung away from
Zeus’s engine bell and gave a slight nudge to the combined stack of spacecraft. In less than five seconds, the entire operation was complete and a new data packet of numbers had been generated.
The new numbers took longer to get to Earth than they did to process. When the largest supercomputers in southern California had confirmed the results of the burn, it fell upon the Retro station to report the outcome.
Half an hour of waiting culminated in a three-sentence statement, “Flight, Retro. CC2 burn completed at 99.8% accuracy. No residuals required at this time, over.”
“Good work everyone. Let’s get our stations squared away and get ready to crunch the data. We’ve only got one hundred and four days until CC3,” James said.
There was a wry expression that made its way across each face in the room, save the uncomprehending agent who stood on James’s left. As the team began to shut down and file out, the man asked for clarification.
James told him, “CC3 is our third course correction burn. It’ll also be where we detach from Zeus and put her on a course for home. At which point our nuclear phase will be over for this trip.”
“
Zeus isn’t staying in Mars orbit?”
“It’d use up too much fuel just to hang around and hope
Prometheus does its thing. Houston was kind enough to let us borrow their car, but they don’t want us using all their gas. Much easier to let
Zeus swing around and come back on its own,” James said.
“Okay then. See you in a hundred and four days,” the agent said.
“Bring the champagne. It’ll be New Year’s Eve,” James replied.
3 December 1990
GNN NewsNight
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. We have new developments in the situation in the Persian Gulf tonight.”
“At the United Nations late last week, Resolution 678 was passed. This has now created a timeline for the required withdrawal of all Iraqi forces from Kuwait by the fifteenth of January. The resolution further enables members to compel that withdrawal by quote ‘all necessary means’ unquote. In response, Iraqi Prime Minister Tariq Aziz has pledged that Iraq will attack if war breaks out.”
“The implementation of a deadline now puts a ticking clock on a situation which had threatened to become open-ended. With less than forty-five days until the deadline, Iraqi President Saddam Hussein will be under new pressure to act in some manner. The world watches to see what course he will take.”
“As that observation continues, the United States and its allies continue to strengthen their position. Today, three vessels from the Australian Navy, including a frigate and a destroyer entered the Persian Gulf.
“Vice President Kemp went to Ottawa today as part of a delegation to show thanks and solidarity with a group of Canadian soldiers who are being deployed alongside American forces as part of Operation Desert Shield.”
“At the White House, President McCain placed a call to the newly installed British Prime Minister John Major. Mr. Major reaffirmed the resolve of the British government to use whatever force would be necessary to ensure the withdrawal of Iraqi forces from Kuwait.”
6 January 1991
The White House
Washington, DC
38° 53′ 52″ N 77° 02′ 11″ W
“Good morning! Seven months ago, a fifteen-hundred-pound spacecraft blasted off from the Kennedy Space Center in Florida. Six hours ago, it touched down on a sandy plain at a place called Acidalia Planitia, on the planet Mars. This morning, you, me, and fifty thousand of your fellow students from all over the country, along with scientists and engineers from NASA Houston, the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, and right here at the White House are going to be the first to see what it sees.
Together we’ll explore a brand new world as we ride along on the incredible voyage of an unmanned ship called
Prometheus.”
17 January 1991
Al Rasheed Hotel
Baghdad, Iraq
33° 18′ 58″ N 44° 23′ 21″ E
“This is John Holliman, reporting, live from Baghdad. I’m joined by Bernard Shaw and Peter Arnett. We are now about to enter our third hour of near continuous bomb blasts echoing through downtown Baghdad. The skies are lit with intermittent flashes from explosions on the ground, as well as tracer fire from anti-aircraft weapons.
“If these are surgical strikes, I don’t like being this close to the operating table,” Bernard said.
“The coalition bombing strikes seem to be targeted at weapon installations and telecommunications centers. As the thin morning light comes in over the horizon, we’re seeing our first glimpses of the results of the coalition attacks. Buildings reduced to rubble, or with massive damage, like boxes crushed by giant hands. Just from what we can see from the window, Baghdad seems to be waking up to a nightmare of debris and devastation. Many gun emplacements are still visible on rooftops, but others have been taken out, along with the buildings they sat upon.”
22 January 1991
Prometheus I
Acidalia Planitia
42° 57′ 17″ N 20° 13′ 37″ W
The stone met all the engineering criteria. Sensors on the rover
Percival Lowell confirmed its weight at slightly less than one pound. It fit cleanly within the circular cutout on the top of the rover.
It took two attempts to lift the target sample with the sensor arm. On the first, the stone slipped from Gripper B. The payload door sealed properly on the first attempt.
Percival Lowell backed away and executed a three-point turn. Then it headed for the local outcropping known as Chaffee rock.
Onboard the
Prometheus, the Sabatier Fuel Converter continued the steady chemical exchange of local atmosphere into methane and water.
Over the duration of the sample loading maneuver, fuel reserves increased to eight percent.
Mission progress continued per the scheduled timeline.
8 February 1991
Skydock Space Station
Orbital Inclination: 29°
Altitude: 250 mi
As her ancestors had done thousands of years before, Teri Young looked towards the horizon and saw fire. Buffeted by fast desert winds, angry clouds of acrid black smoke drew massive cones of darkness across the Earth below.
“My God,” she said, unaware that her mike was open.
“What was that, Skydock?” came the ever vigilant response from Houston.
“They lit it up, Houston. The oil wells. They’re on fire,” she said.
“Oh, no,” came the reply.
She grabbed a camera from the nearest Velcro strip on the wall and started snapping photographs. “I can see three distinct fire systems, Houston. If my geography is right, they all look to be in Kuwait. That smoke is so thick though, there’s probably a lot more that’s obscured.”
“Copy that, Skydock,” CAPCOM said.
Karen Shaw, who had the command of Skydock floated over and joined the observation.
“They went scorched Earth,” she said.
Teri nodded, “Scorched… it’s like someone opened up an artery in the Earth and it’s spilling out onto the sand.”
27 February 1991
GNN Special Report
“Good evening. The city of Ramat Gan, outside Tel Aviv, Israel, was attacked this morning by a Scud missile launched from Iraq. Early reporting indicates that the Scud was armed with Sarin gas. The impact site was a street on the eastern side of the city. Preliminary reports indicate that, due to the heavy early morning traffic, the attack has resulted in the deaths of at least two hundred and fifty civilians. Search and Rescue teams are currently trying to get access to the site but have been struggling to deal with the remnants of the Sarin gas which was dispersed.
Iraq has seen the provocation of Israel as a major goal of its offensive efforts in this war. Prime Minister Shamir is expected to speak in a few hours. Many are anticipating that speech will accompany a formal declaration of war by the Knesset.
27 February 1991
The White House
Washington, DC
38° 53′ 52″ N 77° 02′ 11″ W
The State Department’s translator was fluent in Hebrew and Yiddish, but no one anticipated he’d be needed. Yitzhak Shamir spoke perfectly fluent English, though his outrage would have been apparent in any language.
The speaker phone on the Resolute Desk blared with righteous anger.
“Mr. President, respectfully, this call is a waste of both our times. I have three hundred and twelve dead on the ground in Ramat Gan. Gassed. Gassed, Mr. President. My government, my fellow Israelis, my military and myself will not allow this to stand.”
McCain winced. Nothing was so distasteful as arguing with someone who you felt was right, “I understand that, Mr. Prime Minister. I know that our sympathies and support are useless at this painful time, but I implore you. Look at the ramifications of the actions you’re preparing to take.”
“The choppers are loaded, Mr. President. The jets are fueling. Israel will have her revenge,” Shamir said.
“At the cost of our coalition and to the long-term detriment of the cause of Israel,” McCain said.
“You are not in a position to lecture us about the cause of Israel, Mr. President,” Shamir said.
There’s the landmine, McCain thought as he framed the most important speech of his Presidency.
“Yitzhak, if you attack tonight, you’ll cause our allies in Muslim countries to withdraw. Islamic nations in the region simply will not fight alongside Israelis. You’ll weaken our coalition, and you’ll extend this war unnecessarily. And if you succeed in striking a significant blow, you may well unite the regional Islamic powers against you and then we’ll have a whole new war on our hands. The worst kind: a religious war. One that will cost the lives of many more Israelis, win or lose.”
A beat passed. Air moved, the world did not.
“You would not be calling without something to offer, Mr. President. I’ll hear your plan before I enact mine.”
An hour later, F-16’s at the IAF base outside Nevatim were ordered to stand down for the night.
28 February 1991
USS America CV-66
Persian Gulf
28° 45′ 02″ N 49° 40′ 23″ E
The F/A-117SN Manta stealth fighter was the closest thing the U.S. Navy had to a UFO. Indeed, during early test flights in Nevada, the radar-shy, arrowhead shaped fighter/bomber was often mistaken for an alien craft by the excitable tourists who kept a constant vigil of the skies over Area 51.
Wider than her cousin from the Air Force, the Manta sported a larger bomb bay and the ability to carry air-to-air weaponry. Her onboard systems were more rugged, all the better to deal with the rigors of carrier landings and storm-tossed seas. While the Nighthawks had been the unsung stars of the first night of the war, six weeks later it was time for the Mantas to steal the show.
Captain Jonathon “Flathead” Turner finished his preflight checks and ascended the ladder. His only source of illumination was a ribbon of moonlight reflected off the water beyond the carrier deck. Night operations required a comfort with darkness. As he swung a leg into the cockpit the soft green glow from the instruments guided him into the seat.
He grimaced slightly as he settled in. A cockpit was less a room than a suit of armor. The snug fit of the controls and instrument displays was not designed for his one piece of personal cargo. He felt a twinge of pain in his leg but was reassured the item was in place.
He was unaccustomed to the ankle holster and was even less comfortable with the Beretta and the single, hollow-point bullet it contained. In three hours’ time, he looked forward to returning the weapon to the carrier’s onboard armory. Until then, it was a constant reminder of the gravity of this mission and the risks should he have to eject over enemy territory.
Through the angled cockpit windows, he looked up at the Moon. It had been less than a year ago that Turner had received a polite letter of rejection for his application to the astronaut corps. Having pulled the shortest of straws for tonight’s deadly errand, more and more he lamented that he wasn’t in Houston, training for a flight to the Moon, rather than a flight into infamy. Around him, the deck crew made the final preparations, mating the Manta’s forward gear to the catapult. He gave the proper hand signals, checked his gauges once again.
With throttles full, the Manta screamed off the carrier deck. Flung into a pitch-black sky, within seconds the Manta was nothing more than a shadow on a shadow. Turner brought the little harbinger of death towards the northern horizon.
To starboard he could see the USS Theodore Roosevelt, which had operational command for tonight’s operations. He keyed his microphone, calling up the Roosevelt’s CIC.
“Big Stick, this is Badman 1. Up and on-mission, over.”
“Copy Badman 1, this is Big Stick. Green light is on. Good hunting.”
The small cadre of aviators who flew stealth aircraft were somewhat laconic, especially compared to their fighter pilot brethren. As such, Turner did not lament the radio silence that would be required for tonight’s flight. If the White House or the Pentagon cared to change his orders now, he would be listening, but there was no need to talk.
Looking to port, he saw the outline of Badman 2 banking away from the carrier group. Other than the standard combat air patrols, no other coalition planes would come near this operational sector tonight. Anything that wasn’t stealth tended to draw attention, and attention was anathema to stealth pilots. With any luck, the Iraqis would think that the Navy had simply taken the night off.
As he went feet dry over the Kuwaiti border, Turner double checked his navigation and made the appropriate turn towards the chemical weapons plant. Climbing to the drop altitude, he armed the device. The Manta’s HUD looked exactly as it had for all his previous attacks with one notable exception.
The symbol next to the ordinance package reminded him of an angel. It struck him that it could only be an angel of death. If there was an angel of mercy, it no business in western Iraq tonight.
27 February 1991
The White House
Washington, DC
38° 53′ 52″ N 77° 02′ 11″ W
“Good evening, my fellow citizens. The coalition of allies, as promised, has taken extraordinary efforts to minimize civilian casualties and to conduct the operation of this current war with appropriate levels of force and restraint. Before armed conflict began last month, it was made indelibly clear to the Hussein regime that any use of chemical or biological weapons would give the United States and its allies no choice but to utilize every weapon in our arsenal.
Sadly, in light of the cruel and inhumane attacks on civilians in both Saudi Arabia and Israel, we have seen that the Hussein regime has chosen to disregard that warning. Now, they must be prepared to reap the whirlwind.
Less than an hour ago, American forces destroyed the chemical weapons facility in Maimuna and the Iraqi military complex at Al Gharraf, which was a logistical hub for the supply of Sarin gas to Scud missile launchers. The destruction of these facilities was achieved through the use of tactical nuclear weapons.
The decision to use nuclear weapons was not made lightly, or for the sake of revenge. This action is a deliberate signal to Saddam Hussein and those who obey him that we have entered a new phase in this war. The final phase.
On behalf of all coalition forces, I am issuing an ultimatum to the central government of Iraq. All Iraqi military forces must stand down, and Saddam Hussein must personally surrender himself within twenty-four hours. Mr. Hussein can surrender at any embassy from a nation which was a signatory to UN Resolution 678, or to any of the coalition forces in the region. He will not be a prisoner of the United States, but rather will be turned over to the United Nations for trial at an international criminal tribunal.
Mr. Hussein will be given a fair trial and will not be subject to torture, murder, or persecution. Rights that he has denied to his own people.
If these demands are not met, the further use of nuclear weapons will be authorized.
Mr. Hussein, you have a choice to make. You can face a fair trial and account for your actions, or you can govern over the rubble of your once-great nation. Your regime can end in peace, or in fire, but it has seen its last sunrise. Act in the interest of your people before it is too late.
1 March 1991
Mercedes-Benz 560 SL
Baghdad, Iraq
33° 18′ 30″ N 44° 22′ 36″ E
The grey Mercedes sped out from the underground garage, denting a fender on a pile of debris that the Americans had generously provided.
Making a right to head through the open gate, the two lieutenants in the driver and passenger seats nervously scanned the skies for signs of warplanes. The early morning light gave what was left of the city an eerie glow. A panicked search of the airspace was much more preferable to dealing with the fouls sight offered up in the back seat.
The colonel had put two rounds from a .45 into Saddam’s back. What was left of the man now lay crumpled over the rear seats. The blood leaked onto the leather and this car would never truly be clean again.
“Watch the road,” Omar advised the driver. The car swerved to avoid a goat that had stumbled out onto the boulevard.
With traffic at a minimum, Ali pressed hard on the accelerator, speeding through an intersection, heedless of any other vehicles that might be on the roads this morning. A car horn blared an angry admonishment as they narrowly avoided a red Honda that had somehow avoided the bomb blasts.
“Stop driving crazy!” Omar said.
“We’re already late!” Ali yelled back.
They skidded around a tight corner and took out a fruit stand that had been abandoned since the war began. The car backfired as they sped through what had formerly been a bazaar but was now a ghost town of empty racks and tattered canvas.
A small bump announced their entry into the diplomatic sector. As the brief moment of weightlessness passed, they heard a wheezing moan from the back seat.
“You said he was dead!” Ali said.
“He is dead!” Omar said back.
“Are you mad? He breathes!”
Omar muttered a word that his mother would have found to be unacceptable. He drew a pistol from the holster on his belt.
Ali raised an eyebrow and his tone, “What are you doing?”
“Just drive,” Omar said, as calm as still water.
The magazine held seven bullets. Two had been used on a bodyguard back at the palace. That left him five to put into the dictator’s back. The colonel had given strict instructions that the man’s face and head could not be mutilated. The Americans would be need it for proof.
Ali shouted and nearly lost control of the car as he instinctively tried to cover his ears from the loud concussive booms of the gunshots. The car’s exterior acted like an echo chamber, deafening both men as they skidded to a stop outside the embassy.
The pair of guards at the gate had flinched and braced themselves for an attack. They had heard the five shots from down the street. Trained to use force only as a last resort, they watched with vigilant wariness as the two soldiers opened the car doors. Together, they drug the body from the back seat and deposited it, in a bloody heap, on the sidewalk in front of the embassy gate.
Atop the body, Omar placed a plain white envelope. A moment later, Omar and Ali sped away.
Overhead, the red square banner with its brilliant white cross looked down on the scene.
1 March 1991
The White House
Washington, DC
38° 53′ 52″ N 77° 02′ 11″ W
Fueled by coffee and adrenaline, President John McCain hadn’t slept in nearly 24 hours. The lights of the Situation Room hurt his eyes. The room had a mild tinge of sweat and cigarette smoke. His shoes felt heavy. His head felt heavy. But the news from his advisors was doing much to lighten the load.
“So, they dumped the body at the Swiss embassy and just took off?”
“Not just that, sir. They left a note.”
“What did the note say?” McCain asked.
“Salam,” the general said.
“Peace,” McCain confirmed.
“Yes, sir.”
“What are we seeing now?”
“The Iraqi army is in full retreat. Right now, you could take all of southern Iraq with the North Dakota National Guard. The Iraqi forces look to be withdrawing to defensive positions south of Baghdad. Satellite intel shows them using earthmovers to dig in. It looks like they’re putting everything into a last stand posture.”
“Hmm,” McCain said.
From the speaker phone, a voice chimed in, “Mister President, General Powell and I are in agreement. This is likely the best we’ll do in terms of a resolution without incurring significant losses.”
“What do you anticipate if I send you in, Norman?” McCain asked the speaker phone.
“Our bombers are very accurate, but the positions they’ve assumed so far are interwoven with the civilian population that we’d be very likely to incur heavy civilian casualties.”
“And if we went in on the ground?”
“It’d be a dug-in opponent who knows we’re coming against our armor and better equipment. It’d be bloody, but we would win.”
“Which is where our next big problem would come in,” said another voice over the speaker.
“Oh, you’re there, Colin?” the President asked.
“Yes, sir,” General Powell said, “If we occupy Baghdad, we’d vastly extend the timeline of our forces being on the ground. It would take months or years for us to set up some kind of provisional governmental structure that would be able to provide basic necessities. And, likely as not, we’d be under constant attack from insurgent forces who would be indistinguishable from civilians.”
“Any other options worth discussing?” McCain asked.
Within the situation room, one bold intelligence officer raised a hand, “Sir, technically they haven’t complied with your ultimatum. Israel would be the first to agree. We could resume the heavy bombing…”
“You mean nuking,” said another general.
The CIA officer corrected himself with a tone that bordered on contemptuous, “Yes, sir. We demanded Iraqi troops to lay down arms. They haven’t done so. Do we really want to say that our word is only half good?”
“It took an enormous diplomatic effort to get NATO on board with this plan. If I have to go back to John and tell him we’re gonna go nuking again, he’s gonna say ‘let’s call it a day.’”
“We can’t know what kind of government that we’ll be dealing with from this power vacuum in Baghdad.”
“You really think we’d have a better time taking two years to set up a Vichy state?” Powell asked over the phone.
“Regime change isn’t worth much if the new regime thinks it can defy us just like the old one did,” said the man from CIA.
“I think two nukes sent a pretty clear message that they can’t. Does anyone here suspect they’ll march back into Kuwait in six months if we let this stand? Anyone think we can’t disarm them effectively through negotiation?” asked the President.
No one thought so.
“Okay. One Vietnam per lifetime, that’s what I always say. I want the State Department to start negotiations. Have an outline for me by close of business and be prepared to throw in our demands right alongside Israel’s. Nobody goes home this weekend. Colin, Norman, keep our boys fed, ready, and safe until we can lock in a deal. Take any actions you deem necessary for safety but try to avoid anything that could be construed as provocative.”
“Yes, sir,” Schwarzkopf acknowledged.
“Good work everyone. Now let’s close it out.”
Everyone stood as the President exited to get some much-needed sleep.
8 March 1991
La Cañada Flintridge, California
Jet Propulsion Laboratory
34° 12′ 6.1″ N 118° 10′ 18″ W
It wasn’t necessary to gather the entire team in the control room. The Delta team was handling rover operations this weekend, so this Friday wrap-up was just to cover any issues that might crop up by Monday morning.
James sat at the center of the table, in the style of the President in a Cabinet meeting, turning to each controller one at a time.
“Tara, how’s our converter looking?”
“SFC is still functioning. We haven’t seen much drop in efficiency, though the rate of production has slowed a bit with the dusting on the panels. If we get a good gust of wind, we might be back in great shape, but for the moment, I think it’s passable.”
“How full are the tanks currently?”
“We’re at twenty-three percent. Adding about zero point nine percent a day. That should keep us on track for a launch before the end of July,” Tara said.
“Luke, how are we structurally?”
“No signs of trouble from the legs.
Prometheus is healthy, but I’m not wild about Percy’s right front wheel. It’s taking too much power to turn. I’m betting we have grit in the motor housing,” Luke said.
“Something to keep an eye on. Marsha, talk to me about comms,” James said.
“Primary and secondary are still nominal. We have had a bit of hash with some of the latest pictures from the dunes, but that’s to be expected,” Marsha said.
“Okay, Meteorology? Randy, how are we looking?”
“That storm from last week seems to be heading for greener… er… redder pastures. Hard to say if it’ll kick up any remnants, but I think we’ll be good through the end of the month. Not seeing much action out of the west anymore.”
“Good. Good all around. Now, on to the bigger question… is it really possible that my son is dragging me to see something called ‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2’ this weekend?” James asked.
There was laughter around the table.
“It’s pretty good, chief,” said Darren, a younger engineer who sat along the back wall.
“Yeah?”
“Well, the first one wasn’t bad. Kinda dark for a kid’s film actually. I heard they toned it down a little this time,” Darren said.
“Let’s hope so. My ex was furious when she took Robby last year and found out there was cussing,” James said.
“The violence didn’t help, I bet,” Marsha said.
“No it did not. Is it really possible that the villain is someone called The Shredder?” James asked.
“That was the last one. This time they’re taking on the Technodrome,” Darren said.
“What is that? Some kind of alien disco?” James asked.
“It’s… eh… you’ll find out tomorrow. The scene with the blimp looks pretty good though,” Darren said.
“Whatever. If anyone needs me this weekend, Saturday I’ll be in the Technodome and Sunday I’ll be weeping for the youth of America.”
“It’s ‘drome,’ sir,” Darren said.
“What?”
“Drome… Technodrome. With an ‘r’.”
“Ugh, why couldn’t my kid just be into Superman. Dismissed, everybody. Enjoy the weekend.”
17 July 1991
La Cañada Flintridge, California
Jet Propulsion Laboratory
34° 12′ 6.1″ N 118° 10′ 18″ W
James did his best to stifle a sigh. Review boards were a much nicer way of saying “witch hunts”. Sharon was doing her best to prep him for the questions he might face in the coming days. Jim had been eager for the practice at first, but his patience was wearing thin.
Sharon had moved on to the results of this predicament rather than the cause.
“Is it retrievable?” Sharon asked.
“Anything is retrievable, but it’s just not worth it. A single, one-pound Mars rock? Give me 8 years and I’ll bring back enough to bury your car,” James said.
“Coming back to it, do we know why the rocket failed?”
“It didn’t fail exactly,” James said.
“It’s not coming back to Earth. Missed it by several million miles actually. I’d call that a failure.”
“
Prometheus’s onboard computer crashed less than one minute before MECO. The signals to close the fuel valves never got sent, so the valves stayed full open and every bit of fuel we had was burned. This wasn’t a mechanical failure. Both the Sabatier converter and the rocket itself did what they were designed to do. A computer failure is something that happens on Earth every day.
Prometheus’s primary objective was met. We proved that the Sabatier works on Mars and can produce enough propellant to get off the planet and back to Earth. We’re ready for the next phase.”
“That’s going to be a hard sell,” said Sharon.
“Not to the people who understand the engineering behind what we did. Just because not everything went according to plan…”
“Missed the Earth by twenty million miles,” Sharon muttered.
“Except for the one thing that went wrong, everything else went right. Percy is still down on the surface sending back photos and taking readings. We’ve got lots of good science to do. We may not bring back a souvenir, but we’re still on Mars.”
“Okay, you’ll be fine,” Sharon said.
“What do you think will happen?” James said.
“They’ll want more proof. That’s why over in the new R&D center, they’re already working on Prometheus 2.”
) we can only HOPE there is "cross contamination" in that FAM has stolen from you 
