“It was a crappy debrief,” Tom interjected. “They didn’t know the questions to ask. And we’re not going to be saying: ‘Colonel, are you sure that your memory wasn’t affected by the high Gs that you sustained?’ ”
“You
“Oh, yeah,” Alan said, taking a sip of beer and shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t ask the same questions now, but it was a crappy debrief. Tell us. Have some beer, tell the story, then we’ll toss it around.”
Bull nodded and took another sip.
The replay of the events took about an hour, he and Rene contributing about equally, their hands occasionally rising in the air to show the maneuvers. Through it all, Tom carried the majority of the questions. He’d clearly studied the original debrief. Roger, Alan and Traci just listened, nodding from time to time.
“Okay, let’s go back over that,” Tom said as Bull reached the point that he hit the ground. “You were closing at about—”
“Seven hundred knots,” Bull said, nodding. “We picked up a bit of speed in the dive, then bled off as we pulled up. Then we went to afterburners when I saw the attack plan was useless.”
“After,” Rene pointed out. “We’d cleared the cloud when we went to burners.”
“After,” Bull said, nodding.
“And they
“Yeah,” Bull replied, nodding again. “Definite bank.
“Thirty Gs would be nothing to those things,” Tom said, frowning. “They should have been able to stop on what would look like a dime and then come after you so fast you could barely see them.”
“Why?” Rene asked. “You knew they could do this?”
“It’s based on their interplanetary movements,” Tom said. “We can, to a limited degree, trace their projected movement time from Mars to the Moon. And we can
“Gravity interference?” Traci asked. “Does the reactionless drive react to gravity?”
“It’s what I’m thinking,” Tom admitted, coming partially out of his trance.
“Nah, I think it’s simpler than that,” Roger said, taking a sip of beer. “Atmospheric effects. At those speeds, the atmosphere is
“Makes more sense than gravitational interference,” Tom admitted.
“Then the higher they get, the faster they’re going to be,” Rene pointed out. “Get above about forty kilometers and they’re going to be nearly as fast as in space.”
“Maybe,” Roger said doubtfully.
“Nah,” Alan said. “They’re not made out of superunobtainium.”
“Plasma,” Tom said, nodding.
“Say again?” Bull asked.
“They’re not going to be able to move at interplanetary velocities because of heating,” Roger translated. “Like the SR-71? It had to be designed to stretch in flight because of atmospheric heating. Until they’re completely out of the atmosphere, they’re going to be somewhat limited. And that explains why they had trouble with the missiles, too.”
“It does?” Bull said. “I’d been wondering about that. I guessed it was maneuvering, but I wasn’t sure why.”
“They’ve apparently got a limited range on this tractor field or whatever,” Roger said. He looked at his nearly empty glass, looked around covertly and then reached for the pitcher.
“I’ll tell Casey on you!” Traci said. “CASEY!”
“I’ve got it,” the waitress said, walking over to their table. She topped up everyone’s glass, looked at the depleted tray of wings, filled out a form and hooked it to the overhead wire. “ORDER IN!”
“So you guys going to save the world today?” Casey asked. She was a tall brunette with hazel eyes, pleasantly mammalian, with narrow hips.
“We’re sure working on it, sweetie,” Roger said.
“Hey, congratulations on your promotion,” Casey said, grinning. “This is the first time I’ve ever served a deputy secretary of defense!”
“He’s not letting it go to his head,” Bull said solemnly.
“Good thing,” Casey replied, winking. Then she looked at him seriously. “Any word on when they’re going to cross?”
“We’re looking at it,” Roger said. “But right now, we’re trying to figure out how to stop them when they do.” He turned his attention back to his colleagues. “Okay, they’re going to be maneuver-limited in atmosphere. That’s good news. Not great, but it’s something. And you said that when they were hit, the secondaries took out others.”
