THUNDERBALL: by Ian Fleming

“S’evening, I’d say.” Leiter’s voice was uneasy. “I must have been drunk last night to have sent for her. Christ, we’re creating one hell of a flap, James. It doesn’t look too good in the cold light of dawn. Anyway, what the hell? There’s Grand Bahama coming up dead ahead. Want me to give the rocket base a buzz? Prohibited flying area, but we might as well go in up to our ears while we’re about it. Just listen to the bawling out we’ll be getting in just a minute or two.” He reached up and switched on the radio.

They flew eastward along the fifty miles of beautiful coast toward what looked like a small city of aluminum hutments among which red and white and silver structures rose like small skyscrapers above the low roofs. “That’s it,” said Leiter. “See the yellow warning balloons at the corners of the base? Warning to aircraft and fishermen. There’s a flight test on this morning. Better get out to sea a bit and keep south. If it’s a full test, they’ll be firing toward Ascension Island—about five thousand miles east. Off the African coast. Don’t want to get an Atlas missile up our backsides. Look over there to the left-sticking up like a pencil beside that red and white gantry! Atlas or a Titan—intercontinental. Or might be a prototype Polaris. The other two gantries’ll be for Matador and Snark and perhaps your Thunderbird. That big gun thing, like a howitzer, that’s the camera tracker. The two saucer-shaped reflectors are the radar screen. Golly! One of them’s turning away toward us! We’re going to get hell in a minute. That strip of concrete down the middle of the island. That’s the skid strip for bringing in missiles that are recallable. Can’t see the central control for telemetering and guidance and destruction of the things if they go mad. That’ll be underground—one of those squat blockhouse things. Some brass hat’ll be sitting down there with his staff getting all set for the countdown or whatever’s going to happen and telling someone to do something about that goddamn little plane that’s fouling up the works.”

Above their heads the radio crackled. A metallic voice said, “N/AKOI, N/AKOI. You’re in a prohibited area. Can you hear me. Change course southwards immediately. N/AKOI. This is Grand Bahama Rocket Base. Keep clear. Keep clear.”

Leiter said, “Oh, hell! No use interfering with world progress. Anyway, we’ve seen all we want. No good getting on the Windsor Field report to add to our troubles.” He banked the little plane sharply. “But you see what I mean? If that little heap of iron-mongery isn’t worth a quarter of a billion dollars my name’s P. Rick. And it’s just about a hundred miles from Nassau. Perfect for the Disco .”

The radio started again: “N/AKOI, N/AKOI. You will be reported for entering a prohibited area and for failing to acknowledge. Keep flying south and watch out for sudden turbulence. Over.” The radio went silent.

Leiter said, “That means they’re going to fire a test. Keep an eye on them and let me know when. I’ll cut down the revs. No harm in watching ten million dollars of the taxpayer’s money being blown off, Look! The radar scanner’s turned back to the east. They’ll be sweating it out in that blockhouse all right. I’ve seen ’em at it. Lights’11 be blinking all over the big board way down underground. The Kibitzers’11 be at their periscopes. Voices’ll come down over the P.A. system—‘Beacon contact . . . Warning balloons up … Telemeter contact . . . Tank pressure okay . . . Gyros okay . . . Rocket-tank pressure correct . . . Rocket clear . . . Recorders alive . . . Lights all green . . . Ten, nine, eight, seven, six … Fire!”’

Despite Leiter’s graphic countdown, nothing happened. Then, through his glasses, Bond saw a wisp of steam coming from the base of the rocket. Then a great cloud of steam and smoke and a flash of bright light that turned red. Breathlessly, for there was something terrible in the sight, Bond gave the blow-by-blow to Leiter. “It’s edging up off the pad. There’s a jet of flame. It seems to be sitting on it. Now it’s going up like a lift. Now it’s off! God, it’s going fast! Now there’s nothing but a spark of fire in the sky. Now it’s gone. Whew!” Bond mopped his brow. “Remember that Moonraker job I was on a few years back? Interesting to see what the people out front saw.”

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