Down Pad 3
Retrieval Operations / Active Duty
Retrieval Operations
TSgt Antoine Ambrose Carrington of the Shrike Operations Squadron was assigned to the Retrieval Operations Flight, Team A. Currently, his team was in charge of first stage transport from down pad BC-1 to the check-out hangar, where they decided whether to send it on to the refurbishment facility or the operational hangar.
Shrike launch was at 1000 today, so everyone was out of the office and at the jeeps by 0900. They all wore helmets, with embedded short-range comm.
TSgt Carrington got into the jeep that Spec4 Corea was driving, with Spec3 Garcia and Spec2 Thomas. Spec2 Budd drove the other jeep, with Spec4 Johnson and Spec2 Salinas.
“Time to go,” Carrington said, over the comm.
It was a 24 minute drive to the down pad, so they had left early enough to give Johnson and Salinas plenty of time to set up to monitor from the bunker next to the down pad.
When they arrived, the Range Ops emergency team continued to watch the screens at their desks, but Johnson and Salinas just sat at the table that Range Ops gave them and plugged their roachpads (official name: data communication device, handheld, or DCD-H) into the monitor stations.
Carrington didn’t feel like sitting down. He looked out the reinforced window at the down pad, and watched the checklist on his roachpad accumulate green checks. The rest of the team either watched from the observation room, or stayed with the jeeps where they were parked inside the bunker.
10:00:00 Shrike launch. Check.
10:02:41 Stage one Main Engine Cut Off (MECO). Check.
10:02:44 Stage one separation. Check.
“Flip maneuver,” announced Johnson. “Nominal.”
Boostback burn. Grid fins deployed. Entry burn. Starting to get visual at down pad. Everything nominal, everything on time.
Carrington watched through the window as the first stage booster came down. Final landing burn. Legs deployed. And… engine off, exhaust extinguished. The first stage was settled, nine minutes after Shrike launch. Less time than it had taken for his team to get from their office building to the bunker at the down pad.
The status checklist on his roachpad was set to “transport to check-out hangar” for current status. No issues indicated. He tapped “details” to get the temperature at the base of the rocket at the down pad. The curve was decreasing within the right parameters. The propellant tank pressures were, too.
“Time to go,” he said, when the tank pressures got low enough, and waved the team to their vehicles. The emergency team from Range Ops would stay on standby at the bunker. Carrington and his team drove the short distance to the down pad.
“Clearing the tanks,” said Johnson, after he and Salinas got out of the jeep Corea was driving, at the down pad. The first step was to vent the oxygen and drain off any kerosene still in the tanks.
“Hurry up and wait, right?” said Salinas, monitoring the kerosene.
Meanwhile, Garcia and Thomas left the other jeep, that Budd had driven, and each got into one of the down pad cranes. Carrington got out of the same jeep and kept an eye on the status on his roachpad.
Corea and Budd attached the cranes to the rocket stage so that Garcia and Thomas could set it on its side on the transporter. Then the two drivers locked the rocket in, before moving to the transporter’s cab.
“You don’t know what wait means,” said Corea over the comm. “You ever have to wait for the shuttle transporter? Six hours to go a little over four miles.”
“Fun fact,” said Johnson. “This is the shuttle transporter. The one they used to transport the shuttle to the refurbishment facility after it landed.”
“You’re go to head out,” said Carrington.
Corea and Budd started driving the transporter toward the hangar. Garcia drove the jeep with Johnson and Salinas, while Carrington rode in the jeep Thomas was driving.
“It’s not the shuttle transporter we’re using, it’s the Orbiter transporter. Get your terms straight. Shuttle means Orbiter, SRBs and external tank,” said Corea.
“Orbiter transporter is still cool,” said Budd. “Driving something older than I am. I’m kinda glad they keep this in the rotation of the transporters.”
“Keep it moving,” said Carrington. “We’re minus four hours on the next Shrike launch, so we’ll have another stage dropping in three and ten.”
It took Carrington’s team fifteen minutes to get to the check-out hangar at transporter speed.
Once they arrived, the four specialists who had already gotten there hooked the first stage to the overhead cranes and set it onto the inspection framework, which they called the Rack. Then all six went to the areas they were responsible for inspecting.
Corea and Budd headed for the nine Merlin engines of the rocket. “Some soot build-up,” reported Corea and they both worked on cleaning it out with the engine sweepers.
Garcia and Thomas ran the x-ray equipment from one end of the rocket to the other, looking for structural flaws. Johnson and Salinas checked out the microcontrollers and ran diagnostics on the 27 computers, three for each engine.
Whatever they couldn’t get done in three hours had to be sent on to the refurb facility on the railroad tracks, but this was a standard check of a booster that wasn’t due for refurb yet.
They sent the data on to Carrington after each check. He looked the data over, confirmed that the rocket stage didn’t need to go to refurb, and sent the data and status on to headquarters.
“Okay,” he said. “Looks good. I’m switching the booster onto the operational hangar track.” He pressed a button on his roachpad so that the booster would be on the railroad track to the operational hangar instead of off to the refurb facility.
Garcia and Thomas went back to the overhead cranes and worked with Johnson and Salinas on the ground to move the rocket from the Rack to the trailer that was hooked up to the railroad mounted truck.
Budd and Corea got into the high rail truck and drove the booster over to the operational hangar.
“Don’t you wish this was a real railroad engine?” asked Budd.
“Put in a req and see if it flies,” said Salinas over the comm.
“Do you think it would…?” asked Budd, then stopped talking as he heard the snickers over his comm. Including from Corea, sitting next to him.
“I think I will,” Budd continued then. “How about for a steam engine? Choo, choo.”
Carrington couldn’t help grinning himself at the comeback, as he heard the snickers, groans and laughing over the comm. Budd could be a little slow on the uptake, but he was a good sport.
By the time they got back to the check-out hangar, Garcia and Thomas had the cranes back in ready position, and Johnson and Salinas had the inspection equipment ready for the next incoming first stage.
“Take fifteen,” said Carrington. “Then you’ll have time for your personal checklists before we need to head out for the next one. Scheduled landing in one and twenty.”
Every member of the Space Force was expected to have a personal checklist of skill or learning goals related to a Space Force Military Occupational Specialty (MOS). “Other – Specify” was not rare, and the goals in “specify” had already defined new specialties.
They went to the coffee station for a snack and something to drink.
“So, sarge,” said Salinas. “Think we should expect a Carrington Event during this solar cycle?”
“Well, sure, Salinas,” he answered. For some reason, it appeared necessary for some member of his team to make this joke at least once a week. Apparently, it was IT’s turn this week. “I’m having a barbecue picnic for the team at my house this Saturday. Aren’t you signed up yet?”
“Promises, promises,” said Thomas. “If you ever go through with it, I’m bringing the potato salad.”
“I’ll bring venison sausage,” said Garcia. “You hunt, too, don’t you Budd?”
“Yes, but nothing edible,” he answered. “Bobcat.”
Active Duty
Camden Tanner and Jake Blacksmith walked down the hallway of the junior enlisted barracks at the Space Force base until they saw the number on the door. Some of the doors down the hallway were open, showing men who were still moving things in or just relaxing in their rooms. Others were doing the same as Tanner and Blacksmith – lugging their duffel bags to doors.
Tanner got his Military ID card out and slid it in the card lock. After a couple of tries, the lock flashed green and he pulled at the wooden door. It stuck, but then opened.
“Not too bad,” said Tanner. “About the size of a triple at State U.”
“I didn’t think you went to college,” said Jake, and threw his duffel down on the floor next to one of the two beds.
“I didn’t. My big brother did. I visited him in college and saw what they had there.” He swung his duffel down to the floor at his feet.
“Did they have climbing walls?”
“None of that crap,” said Tanner. “But it did look better than this does. Do you want to make these into bunk beds? Give us more room?”
“You know how to do that?” asked Jake. “Could be a good idea.”
“Yes. Let’s see if there are….” He looked around the room. “There. Those are the risers you put between the four bed posts. Otherwise, you can pick them up at the hardware store.”
Tanner and Blacksmith stacked the two single beds into a bunk, and moved it over against one wall.
“Much better,” said Tanner, after it was done. “I want the top. That okay?”
“No problem.”
They picked closets and desks and started putting their clothes away.
“So, let’s take a look at the facilities,” said Jake, and headed out the door. At one end of the hall was a room with toilets and showers. He peered in. To the right were the stalls and urinals. Those were normal, and there were actual barriers sticking out of the wall between the urinals. Not much – nothing to keep someone from looking over the barrier at someone else, but that was more privacy than they’d had at boot camp.
Then he turned left and went to the showers. He just stopped and looked. There weren’t just lockers in one wall with benches along it and shower heads along another. There were actual stalls with doors for each shower. He opened one and looked in. There was a small bench and then another door, that led to the shower head.
Tanner was there as well. “Actual privacy,” he said. “Like the college dorms. Wonder if that’s what this used to be?”
“It’s better on the other side, too,” said Jake. “Still pretty exposed there, though.”
“What do you think?”
“I dunno,” said Jake. “There was something kinda easy about the ‘reveals’ in boot camp. All I had to do was be me, everyone could see, and that was that. But here? Everyone’s going to know something’s off….”
“It’s none of their business,” said Tanner.
“And that would have worked with you?” asked Jake.
“No,” said Tanner. “Of course not. I didn’t really get it until I saw it.”
The next day, Tanner reported to Major Goldstein at Space Force Base IT Support.
Goldstein ran the support facility, two floors underground, nicknamed the dungeon. The whole thing was in a Faraday cage, safe from an electromagnetic pulse (EMP). No electrical signals were going to get in or out. The computers were attached to fiber optic cable.
He turned to the new Specialist that had been assigned to his facility. Usually, he only got officers, because they usually required a college degree to work here. But Tanner had one of the highest scores they’d ever seen on the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) and significant programming work on GitHub. So they’d assigned him here.
“We’re at solar maximum,” Major Goldstein told him. “We can run all of IT for both the base and the deltas from here during a major Coronal Mass Ejection (CME) or an EMP. Right now we’re running our scheduled check that we can do that. Shadow Lt Smith on the DNS server. I’ll have you rotate through all the positions here.”
Tanner sat down next to Smith without saying a word. He watched while she booted up a computer and signed in. “DNS server active,” she said.
Jake reported to Tsgt Antoine Ambrose Carrington of the Shrike Operations Squadron, Retrieval Operations.
“Specialist Blacksmith, reporting for duty,” he said, and set his orders on the desk.
Carrington picked up the orders. “First assignment?” he asked, just to open the conversation. It obviously was – he already had Blacksmith’s personnel records, including the digital version of the orders he’d just set on his desk.
“Yes, Tech Sergeant,” he said.
“Please be seated,” said Antoine. One step closer to full complement, eight out of nine people. As was very common in the Space Force, Blacksmith was older than the typical enlistee, at least in the other branches of the service. But not by much. Most new Specialists were 18 when they enlisted and some turned 19 before they got their first active duty assignment. Blacksmith was 22, so he’d taken a break between high school and enlistment. Not that unusual, even outside the Space Force.
Carrington turned his screen around and gave Blacksmith an overview of Retrieval Operations. Then he brought Blacksmith into the main office where the rest of the team had their desks. Everyone but the computer geeks were paying attention, curious about the new member of their team.
“Johnson! Salinas!” said Carrington.
“Just a sec, sarge,” said Johnson, not looking up.
Salinas went over to the table of computer equipment that Johnson called his “place” and elbowed him. “Huh?” said Johnson, then, “Right. Sorry.” And turned away from his table.
Antoine thought it would be nice if Johnson just gave him his attention immediately, but he always harbored a fear that forcing an interruption might lead to something important crashing or being corrupted. Especially when he was madly typing, as he had been just then.
“Oh,” said Johnson. “The new guy.”
“Thank you for your attention, Specialist Johnson,” said Carrington, dryly. “Okay, everyone, this is Specialist Blacksmith, Jacob Blacksmith, our odd man out.”
Jake stiffened at the description. He knew what was in his files, but were they really going to start there…? But all he saw was curiosity, no strange looks.
“So come over here,” said Salinas. “Let’s get you set up with your roachpad and station….”
“Just a moment, Salinas,” said Carrington. “Introductions first.”
“Spec4 Arlo Johnson is the guy who wasn’t paying attention,” said Carrington. “He’s ranking IT on this team. In recovery ops, he and Spec2 Jose Salinas do computer and microcontroller diagnostics and data monitoring. And yes, they’ll set you up with your DCD-H and work station.” Johnson was white, and his skin tanned. Salinas’s didn’t.
“Over there are our drivers, Spec4 Andy Corea and Spec2 Jarvis Budd. The old man and the kid.” The old man was big and bald. The kid was black, much lighter than Carrington, with red freckles.
Budd looked Blacksmith over. “I’m still the kid, aren’t I?” he groused.
Jake’s mouth curved up on one side. “Don’t worry,” he said, “you still outrank me.”
“Age doesn’t mean rank around here,” said Corea. “I was 39 when I enlisted.”
“And here,” Carrington said, waving his hand, “are the heavy equipment operators. Spec3 Miguel Garcia –”
Garcia raised his hand, “The other old man. Had a construction business before I joined.”
“And Spec2 Sandy Thomas.”
Thomas raised her hand, “The token woman. Factory work.”
“Tech Sergeant,” said Jake, “what did you mean, ‘odd man out’?”
“I don’t know where to put you,” he answered, “so I’m going to rotate you through all three areas. Then I’ll figure out where you go. But Salinas is right. Start over with the IT geeks.”
He turned toward the equipment strewn tables that were IT, but then turned back. “Tech Sergeant?” he said, frowning. “Carrington, right?”
“Yes, Specialist, you have a question?”
“Like Carrington event? The coronal mass ejection, EMP thing?”
“No, I’m not named for that, either the man or the event, but yes, it’s the same spelling.”
“Sarge,” said Corea, “I thought we were going to have to throw him back.”
“Over here,” said Salinas. “You’re kinda slow aren’t you? Welcome to the graveyard.” That was what he called his table. And he waved Jake to a chair next to it.
That night in the barracks, Tanner would have preferred to have the door to their room closed, and Jake wanted it open, so they compromised. The door was a few inches open, and Tanner was hidden from sight of the hallway at his desk, playing a video game, while Jake was clearly visible on the bed, reading something on his Notepad.
A face appeared at the door. “Jake?”
“Budd,” said Jake, getting up. “Come in.”
Tanner frowned at the interruption and continued his game.
Budd thought of introducing himself to the guy furiously immersed in his game, but thought better of it and went over to Jake.
“IT guy?” he asked in a low voice.
“As a matter of fact,” said Tanner, breaking away from his game, “I am. And who are you?”
“Budd,” he said, putting out his hand, then awkwardly dropping it to his side when Tanner didn’t take it. “That’s my last name, but everyone calls me that anyway.” He looked over to Jake.
“Budd’s one of our drivers,” said Jake.
Budd looked back and forth between Jake and the weird IT guy. “Um,” he said, “and your name?”
Tanner opened his mouth to answer, but seemed to be having trouble getting anything out. Then finally, he answered, “Denny.”
“Hi, Denny,” said Budd. “I’m Jarvis, so you can see why I go by Budd.”
Some dam seemed to break, then. “What do you drive?” asked Denny.
“The first stage transporter from the down pad to the check-out hangar. And the high rail truck that pulls it to the right hangar after check-out. And on my own, a Ural motorcycle with sidecar and a Harley.”
“First stage transporter?” asked Denny. “Aren’t they using the old Space Shuttle Orbiter transporter for one of those?”
“Yup,” said Budd, grinning. “Guess I’m the only one who didn’t know that. And now I’m driving it.”
“What’s a Ural?” asked Denny. “I never heard of a motorcycle like that.”
“You ever see Saving Private Ryan? The Tom Hanks character dies next to one. It’s an old style motorcycle from Russia that hasn’t changed in decades. No electronics at all. The guys say it wouldn’t even notice a Carrington event or an EMP.”
Later, when Budd had left, Jake looked at Tanner. “Denny? You never said that before.”
“You got a problem with it?” asked Tanner, automatically, then backed off. He’d spent enough time with Jake to trust him. A little. “That’s what I always wanted to be called. You know, CamDEN, Denny? Or even Den, that’s cool, too. But no one ever calls me what I want. Wiltshire and Doke called me Tanman, but mostly I got called Cami growing up. I was lucky if they just said Tanner.”
“You don’t like Tanman?”
Tanner sighed. “It’s not bad. At least it’s not girly, like Cami. But it’s really just a play on me being so white, isn’t it? Because I’m like, the opposite of tan? Melanin-deficient. A person of no color.”
Jake chuckled. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re so smart some ways and so stupid other ways.”
“I was jealous of you at boot camp, you know,” he said. “All the stuff people said, and you let it just roll off your back. And you didn’t mind people calling you Ugly at all, did you?”
“It’s a good nickname for a guy who’s too ‘pretty,’” said Jake. “That’s not how Doke came up with it – and I don’t mind that either – but it’s easy to explain. Of course they called me Ugly. Because I’m so pretty.”
Tanner shook his head. “I don’t get it. You don’t seem to push back at all but somehow you end up getting a name you like. That never worked for me. I have to take whatever name they give me, whether I like it or not.”
“Not today,” said Jake. “You’re Denny, now.”
“Really?” said Tanner.
“But you came really close to blowing it, Denny,” Jake said. “Budd’s really easygoing, and you were with me, so he made the IT excuse for you. But you know, you were really, really rude. For no reason at all.”
“People are rude to me all the time!”
“Maybe they were when you were growing up, but I didn’t see anything out of line at boot camp,” said Jake.
“No?” asked Denny.
“Not really,” said Jake. “There wasn’t even anything really out of line with me, either. They just test you. To see if you can take it, if they can trust you. We’re military. That’s kind of important.”
“I… can’t tell. When it’s a test or serious or mocking,” he said.
“I sort of figured,” said Jake.