Rocket Jumper Page 4

  Rick swallowed hard. The thing would actually cruise at five times the speed of sound. He calculated quickly. That speed was a little better than a mile a second at sea level.

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  “Its normal flight pattern,” Gordon continued, “will be at an altitude of one thousand feet. However, it will be capable of climbing to fifty thousand feet if necessary-although it will be less efficient at that altitude-or it can maintain Mach 5 flight at only five hundred feet. To do this, it will have to have a fully automatic control system, because no human could react fast enough to dodge obstacles. Its eyes will be radar of a special kind, capable of seeing over the horizon. Its brain will be a microminiaturized computer, which will take the radar information and continuously plot a path that will avoid mountains and smaller obstacles. I leave it to your imagination to decide what such a weapon system can do.”

  Rick realized that Ramshorn could be launched anywhere, follow a flight path even toAntarctica before it turned around and headed for the target. And it could follow any path to the target. Flying at such a low altitude, it would be very hard to find by radar, because hills and even buildings would interfere. It would fly so fast that even rocket defenses would have trouble reacting in time. Then, when it reached its assigned area, it could fire hydrogen bombs in a pattern that could cut a swath a thousand miles wide and several hundred miles long. Just one squadron of Ramshorns could blanket a large nation. With such a weapon in the hands of theUnited States , Rick knew, no nation would dare to start a war. It would be like a man going for his gun with a dozen cocked pistols pointed at his head.

  Gordon was continuing. “Here at Indian Springs, we are working on the airframe. The systems to go into the frame are being built at several West Coast plants. They’re about ready for installation. The power plant-the nuclear ramjet itself-is being tested at Jackass Flats. That’s the general picture. Now I want to introduce Ray Harmon, who is in charge of tracking and data acquisition.”

  Ray Harmon was a youthful engineer, with sandy hair and a deep tan. Rick liked his looks, and the crisp way he talked.

  “Our job,” Harmon began, “is to get information back from this big beast when it begins to fly, which will be in about a week. You men complete the team. We’re divided into two groups, fixed stations and mobile stations. Naturally, with anything this fast, tracking has to be automatic. So we’re using various fixed missile stations capable of fast tracking, and a few specially rigged mobile units. The mobile units are your job. My division has two group chiefs, one for the fixed installations and one for you. Now I’ll turn you over to the mobile unit chief, Captain Bob Aster of the United States Air Force.”

  This was the man to whom Rick was to report on behalf of Steve Ames. Captain Aster, tall and thin, looked more like a professor than an Air Force officer. Glasses with plastic rims emphasized the impression, but behind the glasses were a pair of keen, intelligent eyes. Aster’s voice was gentle, but clear and authoritative. “Welcome to all of you. I think we can clear out of this office now and make a tour of the plant. I’ll show you your units and issue handbooks and you can get to work. In two days we’ll start dry runs, tracking a high performance jet from Nellis Air Force Base. Let’s go.”

  The main section of Building Ten was a great open area with workbenches and equipment around its perimeter. But Rick glanced only briefly at the layout. His attention focused immediately on the object in the building’s center. Ramshorn!

  It was huge. Men scurrying around a vast cylinder of gleaming metal were dwarfed by its size. As Aster led the way closer to it, Rick saw that the tiny control surfaces were really large, bigger than the wings of a medium-range airliner. Even the vertical control surface, or vertical stabilizer, was bigger than the entire wing of his Sky Wagon.

  “It’ll never get off the ground,” Scotty said half-jokingly.

  Captain Aster heard the comment. “Doesn’t seem so, does it? But the power plant will have enough Page 21

  zoom to fly a rock that big.”

  “That’s not much more than a streamlined rock,” a lanky, bearded technician remarked.

  The group chuckled. It was obviously true. Only raw power could move anything that big.

  Rick could see that Ramshorn would be a natural target for enemy intelligence. Other nations would want to know all about it, and as soon as possible. The existence of such a project couldn’t really be kept secret; it was just too big and exciting. The problem, as always, was to find out how information was leaking. Security would be working on it all the time, and the boys were not supposed to substitute for the project intelligence officers, only to keep alert for signs of anything unusual or suspicious.

  Captain Aster led the group to a room that was entered from outside the building. This was their equipment room. The captain consulted his list and asked, “Which of you want to work together in teams of two?” Rick and Scotty raised their hands, as did some of the other men.“All right. Pair off and fall in by pairs. If any of you haven’t already picked someone to work with, I’ll make assignments.” Only four of the men had not already agreed to work in pairs, and the captain simply pointed.“You and you, and you and you. If any of you want to shift around in the next couple of days, let me know. Otherwise, the arrangement stands. We can’t change once we start dry runs.”

  There were five teams of two. Aster directed the first three teams to stacks of cases. “These will be yours. We’ll assign you jeeps and trailers.” He directed Rick and Scotty and the remaining pair, which included the lanky man with chin whiskers, to other cases. “These are lighter-weight units. You two teams will be assigned to helicopters, because your stations can’t be reached by land.”

  Rick and Scotty examined their cases of equipment. There were four, each one tagged with the notation

  “Team Five.” The thick volume of loose-leaf instructions Captain Aster handed them was also marked for Team Five.

  “My office is next door,” Aster said. “You have the rest of the day to study your handbooks. Tomorrow we’ll start setting up the equipment and checking it out. The next day we’ll practice loading and unloading, plus more practice in setting up. On the following day we’ll assign stations, and you’ll make dry runs to them and set up. If the schedule holds, we’ll start dry runs with a fighter plane for you to track. Turn your books in to my office before leaving this area.Any questions?”

  There were none. The men were already leafing through the instruction books.“All right. I’ll be in my office if you want me.”

  Rick waited until Aster had been gone for a few moments, then motioned to Scotty. “Here’s something I don’t get. Let’s see the captain and ask about it.”

  Scotty nodded, and the two left the workroom and stepped into the blazing sun. Captain Aster was at his desk in the small office he occupied alone next door. He looked up as the boys walked in.

  “Brant and Scott.You’re younger than I thought from Steve’s description. Welcome to Ramshorn.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Rick replied.“Any special instructions for us?”

  Aster shook his head. “Not at the moment. Just keep your eyes and ears open. I’ve assigned you to a helicopter in case something turns up that requires fast transportation, but so far we’ve no idea where the leaks are coming from. Your pilot, incidentally, will be Jimmy Taylor. He’s one of us.”

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  “Who are we?” Scotty asked.

  “Counterintelligence.We’re working with Security, and with JANIG, but we have our own men spotted around. Most of them are like me, specialists with additional duty.”

  “I guess we’d better get back to our handbook,” Rick said. He paused in the doorway. “Incidentally, Captain, have you any idea where I could get cylinders of hydrogen peroxide and nitrogen?”

  Aster’s eyebrows went up. “What on earth for?”

  “I have a rocket belt. It’s in my plane.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “No, sir.I flew it a cou
ple of times before we came out, and if there’s some spare time, I’d like to work on it while I’m here.”

  Aster grinned. “I’d like to help you. How about showing it to me at lunchtime? I have a hunch we can beg or borrow some peroxide and nitrogen from my buddies atScarletLake .”

  “Be glad to show it to you,” Rick agreed. “Come on, Scotty. We’ve got some studying to do.”

  Since the boys were not supposed to do anything with the equipment except operate it, they did not have to go into the detail that would have been needed for repairing and maintaining the equipment. Setup and operation didn’t look too difficult at first glance.

  They checked the contents of the cases against the list in the front of the book. One case contained the power supply, a compact gasoline generator. The second held equipment for turning signals from Rams-horn into position information and for retransmitting both position and data from the missile’s instruments to the base station. The third case held the control equipment that would allow the antenna to track the high-velocity missile, and the fourth held the antenna itself, with its control box of complicated gears.

  The equipment had been designed for dependability and ease of operation, and Rick knew they had no real problem ahead in learning how to handle it. The laser unit which they had taken toAfrica , and which had played a vital role in their previous adventure, The Veiled Raiders, had been much more difficult.

  Helping Captain Aster locate the information leaks in the project would be much less simple. Rick wondered if Scotty and he would be of any use at all.

  CHAPTER VI

  The Belt Gets Muscles

  The pink panel truck bearing the distinctive markings of the Jones Boys pulled up outside the Building Page 23

  Ten fence promptly at eleven that morning. Rick and Scotty, who had left the sun-heated workroom in favor of the shade on the north side of the building, saw it come.

  “That color is brighter than desert rock,” Scotty observed. “It hurts my eyes.”

  “They’re not trying to conceal their presence,” Rick agreed. He watched as the driver got out of the cab, walked around to the rear of the truck, opened the door, and got in. The driver was dressed in white shirt and white trousers, with a white chefs cap on his head.

  In a moment the entire top section of the panel truck’s side swung down, and Rick could see that the interior was outfitted with various restaurant equipment, cards to which prepared snacks were stapled, and plastic boxes made of clear polyethylene in which wrapped sandwiches, pies, and other edibles could be seen.

  The driver appeared to be lighting a stove. Rick saw the match flare, then the flame as priming fuel caught. It was probably an alcohol stove. The man adjusted the burner and put on a large coffee percolator, then lit the second burner and put a square metal box on it. Rick thought it was probably a hot-dog steamer.

  Rick watched a moment longer as the driver pulled up what was probably a stool or large box and sat at the counter. He reached overhead and produced a fishing rod. From its length and the appearance of the reel, Rick decided it was a spinning rod. The driver laid it on the counter and fished around in something under the counter, finally coming up with what seemed to be a new spool of line. He began to peel off the old line from the reel.

  In front of the building’s main entrance, Rick saw Gordon, Murphy, and Harmon engaged in some kind of heated discussion. Aster emerged and joined them.

  “Looks like a typical fight between scientists, engineers, and administration,” Scotty said with a chuckle.

  Rick agreed. “Let ‘emfight . We’ve got to get this assembly sequence down pat. Turn back a page and let’s go through the unpacking sequence again.”

  The boys settled down to studying, and became so engrossed in memorizing the sequence in which the parts were to be taken from the cases and assembled that they didn’t even notice Aster approaching.

  “Lunchtime,” he announced.“How about a quick snack and then a look at your rocket belt?”

  “Okay.” Rick scrambled to his feet, suddenly conscious that he was hungry. “What do we do with the book during lunch?”

  “Leave it in Murphy’s office. There’s always someone there.”

  Aster led the way to the main office, and Rick handed the handbook to Murphy’s secretary. “We’ll pick it up after lunch,” he said, thanking her for taking care of it. The three walked through the main gate to where a number of workmen were already gathered around the Jones Boys truck. The driver had restowed his fishing tackle and was dispensing sandwiches, hot dogs, coffee in paper cups, hard-boiled eggs, the pre-packaged snacks of cheese and crackers or sardines and crackers, pieces of pie, and assorted soft drinks.

  The three got in line. Rick looked at the driver from close range. He was round of face, and perspiring Page 24

  freely as he worked. His white clothes were already soggy. Under the wilted chef’s hat, Rick could see that the man was partially bald. His eyes were blue, and somewhat bloodshot, probably from the glare.

  Rick bought a corned-beef sandwich and a bottle of Coke. Scotty added a piece of pie to his sandwich and drink. It was commercially made, pre-wrapped pie, and the crust, Rick saw, was rubbery enough to use for a tire patch. “Lots of luck with that pie,” he said.

  Captain Aster got a sardine snack and coffee, then led the way to his jeep. “We can munch on the way to the Lomac administration building. Okay?”

  “Fine,” Rick said. “Are there many of these Jones Boys?”

  “Two. One operates here, and the other at the Nevada Test Site.Bill and Carl Jones. This one’s Carl.

  Why?”

  “Best possible form of sabotage,” Rick said. “If they sold pie like that to everyone in the project, no one would be left alive except a few human ostriches like my buddy.”

  Aster grinned. “I will guarantee that he won’t buy another piece of pie from Mr. Jones after sampling that one.”

  Scotty had finished his sandwich. Heunwrapped the pie and took a bite. “I’ve had worse,” he said. “At least I think I have, but I can’t remember where and when.”

  They finished the brief meal in the shadow of the Sky Wagon, then hauled the belt from the luggage compartment. Aster examined every detail with care.“Very good. Same idea as some of the early experimental belts, but simpler in some respects. Tell me about it.”

  Rick did so, briefly and concisely.

  Aster thought it over. “One minute flight time, and three hundred pounds thrust maximum, hmm?Doesn’t give you much time in the air.”

  “True,” Rick agreed. “But I had two limits. One was the tank size and the other was the kind of fuel I could get.”

  Aster nodded. “You did the best you could. But how would you like two minutes of flight time with another two hundred pounds of thrust?”

  “I’d like it fine,” Rick said promptly. “Can it be done?”

  “Sure. Of course I want something in exchange, like flying the belt a few times.” The captain grinned.

  “I’ve wanted to try one ever since I heard about the first design, but I’ve never been in a position to borrow one and haven’t had time to make one.”

  “It’s a deal,” Rick said quickly. “What’s to be done?”

  Aster pointed to the belt. “We put spherical tanks to hold nitrogen on top of the fuel tanks, then we modify the catalyst beds. Hydrazine needs a different land of catalyst than peroxide.”

  “Hydrazine!”Scotty exclaimed. “That’s what they use to power Titan rockets.”

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  “Yes,” Aster agreed, “but they burn it with an oxidizer. We’ll use it as a monopropellant, which is far less powerful.”

  “When do we start?” Rick asked.

  “We get through work at four-thirty. How about putting in a couple of hours atScarletLake tonight?”

  “It’s a deal,” Rick said again.“Starting at four-thirty. Incidentally, are you a rocket expert?”

  The captain smiled.“Sort of. I’m a m
echanical engineer by training. I helped to design some of the Air Force air-to-air rockets that fighters carry for use against enemy planes.”

  They hoisted the belt into the back of Aster’s jeep and drove back to Building Ten. The Jones Boys lunch wagon was still in front of the main gate. “I’m still thirsty,” Rick said. “Anyone want a drink?”

  “A Coke,” Scotty said. “You buy.”

  “Okay. You help carry the belt into the office.” Rick walked to the panel truck where the sweating proprietor was washing off his counter. “Two Cokes,” he said. On impulse, he added, “Neighbor.”

  Two slightly bloodshot eyes locked with his.“Neighbor?”

  “We moved into Aspen Lodge last night,” Rick explained.“The middle cabin.”

  “Oh.” Jones reached over the counter and offered a hand. Rick took it, sensing the strength under the rather plump exterior. “Welcome, neighbor. I’ll buy the Cokes.”

  “Thank you,” Rick replied. “Incidentally, where do you fish around here?”

  “Fish?”

  “I saw you putting new line on your reel.”

  “Oh. Actually, it isn’t around here. It’s up north of here, past Tonopah. A little stream that feeds intoFishLake has Dolly Varden trout in it. Ever see one?”

  Rick hadn’t.

  “I think it’s the most beautiful trout there is. My brother and I get up there about once every two weeks, usually on a Sunday. I just brought the rod along to work on it when I get a few minutes. It needs working over.”

  “This wagon is a pretty compact setup,” Rick observed. “Do any cookingyourself ?”

  “Just heating hot dogs and making coffee. I can heat up a hamburger if anyone asks for it. We get prepared stuff inLas Vegas every other day.”

  Rick walked around to the rear of the truck and looked in. “Just as compact as a boat,” he said. He saw that an ice chest was under the counter, and a stool behind it. There were cupboards and clips for just about everything, including the fishing rod. “Very nice,” he said. “It’s certainly a convenience for the Page 26