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§ 165.T07-0450 Temporary Security Zone; Atlantic Ocean, Cape Canaveral, FL.
(a) Location. The following area is a safety zone: All waters of the Atlantic Ocean, from surface to bottom, encompassed by a line connecting the following points beginning at Point 1: 28° 36’ 51.88” N 80° 35’ 57.33” W, thence to Point 2: 28° 34’ 0.00” 80° 25’ 0.00” W, thence to Point 3: 28° 14’ 0.00” 80° 13’ 0.00” W, thence to Point 4: 28° 12’ 0.00” N 80° 23’ 0.00” W, thence to Point 5: 28° 16’ 0.00” N, 80° 26’ 00.00” W, thence to point 6: 28° 26’ 31.81” N, 80° 33’ 8.02” W. These coordinates are based on WGS 84.
(b) Definitions. As used in this section, designated representative means a Coast Guard Patrol Commander, including a Coast Guard coxswain, petty officer, or other officer operating a Coast Guard vessel, and U.S. Air Force range safety personnel, and a Federal, State, and local officer designated by or assisting the Captain of the Port Jacksonville (COTP) in the enforcement of the safety zone.
(c) Regulations.
(1) Under the general safety zone regulations in subpart C of this part, you may not enter the safety zone described in paragraph (a) of this section unless authorized by the COTP or the COTP’s designated representative.
(2) To seek permission to enter, transit through, anchor in, or remain within the safety zone, contact the COTP Jacksonville by telephone or the COTP’s representative via VHF-FM radio on channel 16. Those in the safety zone must comply with all lawful orders or directions given to them by the COTP or the COTP’s designated representative.
(d) Enforcement period. This section will be enforced from 13 October through 15 October, during times when a Broadcast Notice to Mariners informs mariners that space vehicles are being launched in a direction resulting in a southerly trajectory.
Signed: D. L. Hemmings, Captain, U.S. Coast Guard, Captain of the Port.
The situation was tense on the Bridge while Kauai kept pace seventy-five yards from the eighty-two-foot motor yacht Bon Temps, heading north at eighteen knots. The cutter was at Law Enforcement Stations with the Bridge’s command console fully manned and operating. Hopkins was conning the ship while keeping a close watch on the Bon Temps’s movements—at this speed and close range, a collision was a definite risk. Ben was fully outfitted in law enforcement gear and would head to the boat deck to lead the boarding when the vessel had stopped. Sam was overseeing everything from the command chair.
Kauai was doing her “day job” on this sortie—enforcing range safety for large payload research mission launches from the Cape. It was a perfect day for a launch, with a high-pressure area over the Cape bringing clear skies, a comfortable temperature of eighty-two, and light winds out of the east. The two boats rolled gently in the three-foot seas coming out of the east as they sped northward.
Launches at Cape Canaveral occurred at a rate of one every month and a half, on average, a mixture of commercial and government research payloads. The military payloads and reconnaissance satellites were usually launched from Vandenberg in California or Wallops in Virginia, which eased the security burden at Cape Canaveral. The launches here drew excited spectators looking for the anticipation and thrill of a giant rocket liftoff rather than geopolitical activists.
Not today.
The Galle-Adams-Le Verrier spacecraft, known as GALV, was scheduled for liftoff at 13:27 local time atop a Delta IV Heavy launch vehicle on the first dedicated mission to explore the planet Neptune and its satellites. GALV would be the heaviest interplanetary probe ever launched, weighing slightly over three-and-a-half metric tons. Like the earlier Voyager 2 mission, GALV would make close approaches to Jupiter and Saturn and use their massive gravity to slingshot to the vicinity of the Solar System’s outermost planet, approximately 4.6 billion kilometers from the sun.
To complete a journey of over a decade and still have the power to conduct scientific observations and reliably transmit data the four and a half billion kilometers back to Earth, the spacecraft needed the most long-lived and durable power source available. Solar power was not an option with the dim sunlight available in Neptune’s orbit. The ship would require solar panels larger than those of the International Space Station to meet the 2.5-kilowatt system demand. This left nuclear power, provided by eight Radioisotope Thermoelectric Generators, using the heat released in the radioactive decay of their plutonium-238 fuel to generate electricity. It was an elegant balance of space, weight, power, and longevity.
And like anything else incorporating the words “nuclear” and “plutonium,” it drove some people batshit crazy.
An amorphous collective of environmentalists, with anti-big government activists and religious fanatics thrown in, had banded together to oppose the launch for various reasons. The issue for the environmentalists was fear of the release of the vehicle’s highly radioactive and chemically toxic plutonium into the atmosphere. The few who believed that GALV was actually a world government-enabling weapons platform or that it was an offense to God made excellent copy for Internet journalists but were hardly representative of the majority. After failing in Congress and the courts, several thousand people converged on the area in an effort of civil disobedience self-titled Occupy Cape Canaveral. But Florida was not New York City—protesters who tried to disrupt traffic outside Space Force Station Cape Canaveral were immediately arrested and removed by state police and national guard troops deployed to assist. Those who scaled the station’s perimeter fence were instantly scooped up and incarcerated by federal law enforcement personnel.
The seaborne element of OCC fared no better against the Coast Guard and Florida Marine Patrol, deployed in force in the near-shore area. After a few arrests and the threat of Asset Forfeiture against any boats involved in security zone violations, both sides lapsed into an uneasy stalemate. The Bon Temps was the last gasp. A leased yacht contributed anonymously and staffed with fifteen activist grandmothers, aging nonconformists, and radical college students excited for the cause. The FBI had infiltrated the group and relayed intelligence of their intention to dash into the security zone and tie up the Coast Guard long enough to abort the launch.
The vessel was tracked from the moment it sailed from West Palm Beach, both by the federal authorities and the public, via an embedded Internet journalist named Austin Childress. He published regular podcast updates to his employers at the Global Multicast Network, GMN, which were breathlessly relayed to the public. As the Bon Temps approached Canaveral Bight, Kauai moved to be able to intercept if it crossed the boundary line into the security zone.
The Bon Temps had penetrated the perimeter of the security zone five minutes ago, heading for the inner prohibited area. This was the no-go area directly downrange of the launch complex along the flight path, into which fragments of the launch vehicle were likely to fall in the event of a mishap or post-liftoff abort. If this area were not clear, the launch would have to be scrubbed for safety. A two-billion-dollar mission was at stake—the launch had been delayed three times already because of weather and technical issues. The launch window, constrained by the movement of three giant planets and the Earth, was rapidly closing.
The yacht occupants knew this and that they would risk substantial penalties, including prison terms, for this act. They were gambling their lives that the U.S. Government would not use deadly force just to enable the launch of a peaceful scientific mission. They were right—the Coast Guard would not use gunfire to stop them, and the yacht was too large to risk a shouldering maneuver by the patrol boat. What they did not know was Kauai had a non-lethal ace up her sleeve: a projector firing nets that entangled a boat’s propellers and disabled it.
The action was recorded in real-time, both by Kauai’s powerful electro-optical camera on her mast and a smaller camera mounted in an RQ-20 Puma drone orbiting the two vessels. The full-motion video feed captured by the cameras was displayed on screens in the command console and relayed digitally by radio to the Seventh District Command Center in Miami. Sam was awaiting a “Statement of No Objection,” essentially a permission slip from the District Commander to employ non-lethal force to stop this target. They had better pull their thumbs out of their asses and decide, Ben thought as he looked at the navigation screen. This sucker will be in the prohibited area in about fifteen minutes!
“Williams, switch to targeting on EO and warm up the Squid,” Sam said. “Squid” was the nickname for the entangling weapon, essentially a three-barreled recoilless cannon shooting encapsulated nets that popped open at the end of their flight and landed in a pre-set pattern. The launcher, mounted on the foredeck forward of the main gun, took target and environmental data from Williams’s console and adjusted the firing bearing and elevation to deploy the nets in a pattern a speeding boat could not avoid. The boat would overrun a net, foul the propellers, and be stopped without using lethal gunfire.
Electronics Technician First Class Joseph “Joe” Williams, sitting at the Fire Control Station in the center of the command console, pressed two buttons and said, “EO in targeting mode and locked on. All systems are feeding the Squid, sir.” The Electro-optical camera was now tracking the yacht automatically and pinging it with a laser rangefinder to deliver precise bearing and range information to the Squid. The system’s artificial intelligence combined the bearing and range information with GPS and environmental data to generate and update an optimal firing solution for the launcher. As long as they were within two hundred meters and the relative motion was stable, a launch would almost certainly result in the Bon Temps running afoul of at least one net.
Chief Avionics Electrical Technician Erich “Fritz” Deffler sat to Williams’s left at the console, controlling the Puma’s flight and camera operations. Deffler was not part of Kauai’s standing crew, but was assigned to the Coast Guard’s aviation deployment center in Jacksonville. When Kauai needed UAV support, Deffler usually led the aviation team, allowing him to be together with Hopkins. They had met in his first deployment on Kauai last January and had built a romantic relationship since. When onboard the boat, they were consummate professionals—when they were off duty, well....
Operations Specialist Third Class Natalya Zuccaro, sitting to Williams’s right at the console, completed the command-and-control crew. She monitored navigation and communications and kept the ship’s electronic logbook. She was a relative newcomer to the crew, assigned last March after Kauai had completed her bridge systems upgrade. Zuccaro suddenly sat upright and turned. “Captain, incoming SIPR chat message from D7. D7 Commander has no objection to the use of non-lethal force to stop motor vessel Bon Temps if the subject is still within security zone 165.T07-0450.”
Sam nodded. “Thank you, Zuccaro.” He turned to Ben. “XO, give him a final warning.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Ben said, grabbing the microphone and switching to the VHF-FM radio. “Motor Vessel Bon Temps, this is the U.S. Coast Guard on Channel 16. Stop your engines immediately for boarding, or we will use force to compel compliance. Repeat, stop, or we will use force. This is your final warning.” He then switched the microphone over to the loudhailer and repeated the message through the powerful speakers on the mast. Ben hung up the microphone and looked at the EO camera display. There was no question that the dozen people visible on the Bon Temps’s deck heard and understood the message. The reaction was a mixture of bewildered looks, laughing, waving, and middle fingers up. After a moment, Ben turned to Sam. “No joy, Captain.”
Sam nodded back. “OK, they had their chance. Petty Officer Zuccaro, log the time, our position course and speed, and the Bon Temps’s position, course, and speed. I am employing non-lethal force to stop this vessel for violation of security zone 165.T07-0450, as authorized by D7 Commander’s SNO.”
After sounds of furious typing in the electronic log, Zuccaro said, “Log entry complete, sir.”
Sam said, “Very well. Williams, surface action port, target Squid on the Bon Temps.”
With the targeting data continuously updating, Williams had only to push a single button on his console. Within a second, the amber “Target Solution” light came on. “Targeting solution achieved, Captain.”
“Match generated bearings and shoot.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Williams replied, then pressed the “Set” button. On the foredeck, the projector came alive, pivoting to a bearing pointing slightly forward of the speeding yacht and then trained upward around fifteen degrees. The Target Solution light turned green, and Williams said, “Firing.” Then he pressed the “Fire” button.
Three loud “bangs” erupted from the foredeck. The canisters sped over the yacht, tiny fins spinning them at fifteen revolutions per second to stabilize them in flight and disperse the nets on detonation. Immediately after the third bang, Hopkins brought the thrust levers back to a ten-knot setting as she ordered, “Right full rudder!”
Seaman Pickins, standing in front of the helm console, replied, “Right full rudder, Chief!” After putting his helm lever fully to the right and noting the rudder position showing a swing over to the “30” mark on the right side, he added, “Chief, my rudder is right full.”
“Very well.”
The reaction on board the Bon Temps to the Squid firing was a universal shock. Some people on deck instinctively ducked or cried out, and others caught sight of the canisters and stared in fascination as they arced overhead. The twenty-year-old college student manning the helm watched in confusion as Kauai suddenly swung away to the right in its clearing maneuver after the bangs and did not attempt any course change. Even if he had, it would not have made any difference.
As the canisters reached the end of their three-second flight, explosive charges popped them open. Small weights on the periphery instantly spread the nets to their full fifteen-meter diameter, and they dropped into the water in an overlapping pattern thirty meters in front of the Bon Temps. The yacht ran over the left-hand and center nets, drawing them into both its spinning propellers, wrapping them in a fatal embrace. The engine safeties noted the dramatic spike in torque and instantly tripped, declutching the propeller shafts and rolling the diesel engines back to idle. The Bon Temps coasted to a stop within half a minute, adrift a good three and a half nautical miles short of the prohibited area boundary.
As Kauai came through and completed her right-hand circle, Hopkins brought the thrust levers to stop and ordered, “Rudder amidships.”
“Rudder amidships,” Pickins repeated. As the rudder angle approached zero, he said, “Chief, my rudder is amidships.”
“Very well. At all stop, Captain.”
“Thank you, Chief,” Sam said. “Petty Officer Williams, report on the target and nets, please.”
“Captain, the target is stopped bearing three-four-nine true at two hundred ninety yards. Nets one and two are fouled on the target, and net three is at three-five-two true and one hundred forty yards.” A small buoy with a radar reflector in the center of each net allowed Kauai to track it. Now that its primary function had been served, the third net was just a hazard to navigation that Kauai needed to recover. For now, they needed to keep track of it while they completed the boarding on the Bon Temps.
“Very well. Petty Officer Zuccaro, log our position and that of the Bon Temps. Record vessel successfully stopped using non-lethal entanglement system, initiating boarding. Pass that to the command center using SIPR chat when you’re done.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Zuccaro replied.
“Chief Hopkins, maneuver to clear net three and put the Bon Temps fifty yards off our starboard beam.”
“Very good, sir,” Hopkins said as she pushed the thrust levers out of the stop detent to a slow forward setting.
“Chief Deffler, keep the UAV over the Bon Temps. I need continuous overhead EO coverage through the boarding.”
“Very good, Captain,” Deffler said, then made some adjustments using the console controls.
Sam reached over and gave Ben’s arm a soft squeeze. “You’re on, XO. Any questions?”
“No, sir,” Ben replied. They had briefed thoroughly before the Bon Temps’s arrival. This would be one of the most complex boardings Ben had ever conducted—these were ordinary citizens, not drug or human smugglers, and emotions were running high. With his boarding team outnumbered three to one and use of force options pretty limited, it would take a lot of luck and patience to prevent a disaster. Piece of cake, he thought ruefully.
“Right. Good luck,” Sam said with a nod.
As Ben turned and departed down the bridge ladder, he heard Williams begin the broadcast over the loudspeakers. “On the Motor Vessel Bon Temps, this is the U.S. Coast Guard. You have been stopped for violation of the United States Code of Federal Regulations, Title thirty-three, Section one-thirty-five. Standby for boarding by federal officers. If you are carrying any weapons, place them on the deck and stand away from them. For your own and our officers’ safety, do not approach the officers unless told by them to do so....”
Ben reached the main deck and approached his boarding team, grouped beside the RHIB positioned for launch at the rail. Bondurant would be his assistant boarding officer on this one. Besides being a cool customer, his great size might give any hotheads on the Bon Temps pause. Lee was included instead of driving her beloved RHIB because of the presence of females on the target. Maritime Enforcement Specialist Third Class Lopez and Seaman Mitchell Harris completed the boarding team, and Boatswain’s Mate Third Class Brian Jenkins would be the RHIB coxswain. With the entire deck force absorbed by the boarding, Chief Drake would work the boat crane for the operation. Ben decided to get a jab in as he approached. “Good to see you in the sunshine, COB. Are you sure you can operate this thing?”
“I think I can muddle through, sir,” Drake replied with a mock scowl.
“Well, my insurance is paid up anyway,” Ben quipped. He turned to the rest of the crew. “OK, folks. Things are going pretty much as we expected so far, so no change in what we briefed. Anyone have questions?” Seeing nothing but head shakes, Ben continued. “Right, the watchword is to play it cool and courteous. Let me do the talking. Remember there’s an Internet journalist on board, so don’t say or do anything you don’t want the entire world to see.” Ben turned to Bondurant and said, “Boats, if it looks like I’m going to throw him overboard, please do an intervention.”
Bondurant grinned and said, “If you say so, XO. Personally, I’d pay real money to see that.”
The rest of the gathering chuckled. It was not an entirely facetious comment. While Ben understood the need for journalism in principle, he had a spectrum of dislike for journalists in practice. He thought the print and local news reporters were alright—a little loose with facts, but they tried. Ben regarded the national network news as just a bunch of clowns starring in another TV show. But he despised the cable and Internet news for their lack of integrity and thought their employment of information warfare techniques to boost ratings and “clicks” to be borderline treason. He had to concentrate on maintaining his objectivity today.
They remained on deck during Kauai’s slow approach. As they pulled abeam from the Bon Temps, Ben could feel and hear Hopkins slowing Kauai and then goosing the engines to maintain position and orientation. Finally, Ben’s headset crackled. “LE One, Kauai, cleared for launch.”
“Alright, let’s do it,” Ben said, leading his crew into the boat. They launched from the port side, opposite from the Bon Temps, and after releasing the crane hook, Jenkins took the heavily loaded RHIB in a wide left-hand turn off Kauai’s stern. The Bon Temps had a boarding port and ladder on her transom, and Jenkins headed for that point. As they approached, Ben could see that a half-dozen people had gathered on the yacht’s upper deck, and three men stood near the boarding ladder. Ben turned to Jenkins and said, “Coxswain, park us ten feet off the stern until I clear those people back.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Jenkins replied, his face a mask of concentration.
Ben scanned the three men standing near the ladder as they pulled to a stop behind the Bon Temps. One was a white, forty-ish man with long hair, wearing a stern expression with his arms folded. One was another white man, more youthful, in his twenties maybe, pointing what looked like a small camera in their direction. Ben recognized the third man as the Internet journalist, Childress, giving directions to the cameraman. Ben looked at the older man and said, “Fellas, you need to go on the upper deck so we can come on board.”
“Why do I need to do that? This is my boat, and I’ll stand where I want,” the older man responded.
“You need to comply with our instructions, sir,” Ben said coldly.
“Or what, you’ll arrest me? You’re going to do that, anyway.”
“True, but there’s an easy way and hard way. Let’s assess the situation. Whatever you intended with this stunt, it’s over, and that rocket will launch regardless of what happens with your folks and my folks. So, the decision before you now is: do you want to be charged with trespassing in a security zone, or do you want to add interfering with a federal officer and resisting arrest to that charge?”
The man stared without replying for about ten seconds, then turned and climbed the ladder to the upper deck. The cameraman and Childress watched him leave, then turned to look at Ben.
Ben stared back coldly. “Was I unclear about something, gentlemen?”
“I don’t think you know who we are, officer,” Childress replied.
“No, I know exactly who you are, sir. You are two men suspected of trespassing in a security zone, about to become two men in custody on that big white boat over there for trespassing in a security zone, interfering with a federal officer, and resisting arrest. This is your last warning. Rejoin the others, NOW.”
The cameraman stopped filming and immediately turned to climb the ladder to the upper deck. Childress watched with a disgusted look, and after one last glare at Ben, turned and followed. Ben turned to his crew and said, “Well, that was fun. OK, Coxswain, let’s move in.”
Jenkins brought the RHIB close, and Ben grabbed on the ladder rail and boarded, followed by Bondurant and the rest of the team. When they were all on board, Ben turned to Jenkins and said, “Stay close. We might need a quick getaway.”
“Understood, sir,” Jenkins replied, then backed the RHIB away about ten feet.
Ben led the way up the ladder, followed by his team. Word had apparently been passed around—the people on board were gathered on the forward part of the deck, leaving plenty of space around the ladder. Once his team had followed and positioned themselves behind him, Ben addressed the crowd. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I and these people behind me are United States Coast Guard officers. The Coast Guard is impounding this vessel for trespass within security zone 165.T07-0450, and will tow it into Port Canaveral for disposition. You will be detained on board for questioning until otherwise advised. Please remain here unless you are directed otherwise by one of us.”
A young man, barely out of his teens by the look of him, stepped forward and said, “We don’t recognize your authority to detain us without charge!” There were murmurs and looks of alarm among others in the crowd, particularly among the older people.
Great, the undergraduate law expert makes his appearance. Ben was careful not to show any emotion. “That would be a mistake, sir. As things stand right now, depending on your level of participation in the chartering and operation of this vessel, you may be cited for trespassing—a misdemeanor.” He paused and looked meaningfully over the crowd. “Or not.
“On the other hand, if you fail to comply with our directions or attempt to interfere with us in any way, you will immediately be placed under arrest and charged with a violation of title eighteen, section one-eleven, United States Code. That charge could result in a felony conviction. Do you have any questions about this?”
The young man kept his mouth shut and sullenly stepped back into the crowd.
“Does anyone else have questions?” There was more murmuring and head shakes, but no one in the crowd spoke out. Ben nodded and continued, “Thank you. Now, is there anyone who needs medical help or any special accommodations?” There was visible relief among the crowd at Ben’s solicitude, particularly among the older members, but no one called out. Keeping his eyes toward them, Ben whispered, “Lope, take Harris and do a security sweep for any holdouts. Call me when it’s complete.”
“On it, sir,” Lopez replied, and then Ben heard their steps on the ladder behind him. After three minutes, which seemed like three hours, Ben’s headset crackled again to Lopez’s voice. “Sweep complete, XO. Nothing found.”
“Very well, head to the bow.”
“WILCO, sir.”
Ben then switched his headset from intercom to radio and keyed his microphone. “Kauai, LE-One.”
“LE-One, Kauai. Go ahead.”
“Kauai, we have completed a sweep and detained all POB without incident. Standing by.”
“LE-One, roger. Tarpon is in sight now and should be alongside in twenty mikes.”
“Kauai, LE-One, roger, out.” Ben let out a sigh of relief and whispered, “Stand easy, guys, but keep your head and eyes in the game.”
“Roger that, sir,” Lee muttered from behind him.
Just as the tension seemed to wane, Childress and his cameraman stepped from the crowd and walked toward Ben.
Great, Ben thought. Here we go.
“Officer, I’m Austin Childress, Global Multicast Network. Now that things have calmed down, I wonder if I can ask a few questions,” he said with a smarmy smile.
“I don’t have any information I can provide you, Mr. Childress,” Ben said. “I suggest you contact the Seventh Coast Guard District public affairs office when you reach port. They are best equipped to handle these...” he gave Childress a contemptuous scan from head to foot. “Things.”
“Can I get your names for my report?” Childress asked. The boarding team’s nametags were concealed by their survival vests.
“No.”
“Well, fine. My viewers would like to hear your comment about the Coast Guard’s firing on an unarmed civilian vessel.”
OK, there it is. “Now, Mr. Childress, you know that is a lie. The Bon Temps was not fired upon, and no Coast Guard member has employed any firearm in this operation. The operators of the Bon Temps knowingly violated a lawfully established security zone. After they ignored repeated warnings to stop, the Coast Guard deployed a non-lethal device that safely brought the Bon Temps to a stop with no harm to the vessel or anyone on board.”
“And what was the nature of that device?”
“No comment.”
“I can find out, you know.”
“Knock yourself out.”
Childress turned to Bondurant and asked, “Would you care to comment, officer?”
“You must be joking,” Bondurant replied.
Childress said, “I see.” He turned to Lee. “And you? Any comment?”
Lee returned a scowl. “I’d like to say screw you and your viewers, but that would be unprofessional. So, I’ll settle for no comment.”
Childress turned to Ben and said, “It’s a shame you and your people won’t cooperate. It would be in your personal best interests to get ahead of this story.”
For the first time, Ben smiled. “In our personal best interests? Really? Someone might take that as a threat.” Ben leaned forward, and his expression grew intense. “Are you threatening federal officers in the course of their duties, sir?”
Childress reflexively took a step back. “No, of course not.”
“Very well. Neither my crew nor I have any answers for you. So, you and your assistant need to rejoin the group.” When Childress seemed to hesitate, Ben said firmly, “Now!”
After Childress and his cameraman turned and returned to the crowd, Bondurant whispered, “Real money, XO.”
Ben turned and gave him a warm smile. “Knock it off, Boats. I’m having a hard enough time holding back as it is.”
The remaining wait was tense, but uneventful. Ben and the two boatswain’s mates maintained a steady, friendly demeanor while the crowd relaxed and chatted amongst themselves. The Coast Guard Cutter Tarpon arrived fifteen minutes later. It conveyed over two FBI agents and four more Coast Guard Maritime Enforcement Specialists to whom Ben was glad to turn over custody of the Bon Temps and her passengers.
After picking up Ben’s team, the RHIB retrieved the last net used in the operation and returned to Kauai. Ben had just stepped aboard when a roar from the northwest caught his attention. He looked over and watched as the two hundred fifty-ton rocket carrying GALV lifted into the azure blue sky atop three pillars of flame. After a minute, it had faded from sight, leaving a dissipating white contrail behind. Ben smiled—he always enjoyed the view of those beautiful and powerful machines as they launched, and this one was particularly meaningful to him. Godspeed, GALV!
