"Chances are the intercept is working on a proximity fuse," Crag reasoned. "All we'd have to do is work the drone into its flight path. We could use our own steering rockets to give us a bigger margin of safety."
"What would the loss of Able mean?"
Crag shrugged. "I'm more concerned with what the loss of the Aztec would mean."
"Might work." The Chief looked sharply at him. "What does Alpine say?"
"They say nuts." Crag looked at the scope. The intercept was much nearer. So was the S-two. Pickering's probably coming in for an eye-witness report, he thought sourly. Probably got an automatic camera so Gotch can watch the show. He looked quizzically at Prochaska. The Chief wore a frozen mask. He got back on the communicator and repeated his request. When he finished, there was a dead silence in the void.
The Colonel's answer was unprintable. He looked thoughtfully at Prochaska. Last time he'd broken ground orders he'd been invited to leave the Air Force. But Gotch had taken him despite that. He glanced over his shoulder trying to formulate a plan. Larkwell was lying back in his seat, eyes closed. Lucky dog, he thought. He doesn't know what he's in for. He twisted his head further. Nagel watched him with a narrow look. He pushed the oxygen man from his mind and turned back to the analog. The pip that was Pickering had moved a long way across the grid. The altitude needle tied into the grid showed that the satelloid was dropping fast. The intercept was nearer, too. Much nearer. Prochaska watched the scene on his radarscope.
"She's coming fast," he murmured. His face had paled.
"Too fast," Crag gritted. He got on the communicator and called Alpine. Gotch came on immediately.
Crag said defiantly. "We're going to use Drone Able as an intercept. It's the only chance."
"Commander, I ordered ground control." The Colonel's voice was icy, biting.