1. PRELUDE
Loring AFB, Maine, 1982
Winter in northern Maine lets you know that you are an intruder in a profoundly hostile world. Its piercing beauty draws those hearty souls who relish icy winds, hard, frozen surfaces, and deep black nights, but it shows no mercy to the weak and unprepared.
This was the land my fellow fighter pilots and I endured, one week out of every five, as we sat alert in defense of our nation. On winter nights such as these, ours was a stark world—hard, cold, dark, solitary—where we served on the front lines of the Cold War. We felt our role acutely as lonely soldiers perched on the frontier, protecting our homeland from those who would destroy it.
Loring Air Force Base was home to a wing of B-52 bombers and air refueling tankers that were part of the United States’ strategic deterrent. The bombers and tankers stood ready to launch an attack within fifteen minutes of being called. Our two air defense fighters were there to protect them.
While the job was deadly serious, most of our time was spent fighting boredom. Some studied to pass the time, while others read. I often ruminated on the circumstances that had brought us there and what they said about our world.
The view this evening was particularly poignant, dominated by a row of B-52 bombers braving the icy night. They stood guard, as they always did, ready to launch with their deadly cargo the instant an incoming threat was detected. But instead of being parked in their normal roost at the north end of the runway, where their crews huddled in their earth-covered shelter, they were lined up near my post at the south end of the base. This put them closer to the active runway demanded by the unusually strong north wind.
Their urgency was heightened further by the presence of Soviet submarines close to the US coast. At such close range, their missiles were mere minutes from where we sat. To counter this, a pilot was stationed in each of the bombers, prepared to begin the start sequence while the rest of the crew raced to join them. Seconds counted; if war came, most of the bombers would be vaporized while still on the ground. It was a grim business.
The pale glow of a reading light inside the nearest bomber bore silent testimony to the lonely vigil of a young man fighting his personal battle to stay warm and alert within its frigid shell. His only company was the guard standing outside, fighting pathetically against the wind, there to ensure no enemy agents could choose this frightful night to sabotage our defenses. These unknown heroes bore the full force of the night against their many layers of clothing.
I shivered as I sipped my tea and pulled my jacket close, wondering again at the men and women who bore such duty alone and without glory. I wondered, too, at what had brought us to this point, both as a nation and as a species. How could it be that we would squander our treasure and youth to be certain of destroying each other? What kind of insanity had led our countries to put the future of humankind at such grave risk? The firepower stored on this base alone could destroy a dozen countries, and the combined weapons of the two superpowers could reset Earth’s evolutionary clock by millions of years. Why were we doing this, and more importantly, what could be done to stop it?
During that winter of the Cold War, living on the tip of the spear, it was hard to be optimistic about the future of a world where so much was controlled by fear and hate, with millions of our fellows dedicated to our mutual destruction. How could we ever back down from this confrontation? How could we ever hope to overcome the fear and mistrust that had brought us to the brink of global nuclear war?
And if we tried—if we and the Soviets somehow decided that working together peacefully was better than threatening to destroy one another—could we learn to trust each other? Could we put aside decades of hating, fearing, training, and propaganda? Would any of us ever be able to call the other “friend”?
NASAJohnson Space Center, Houston, Texas, October 1993
We quietly filed into the conference room and took our places at the table. The room had been the venue for some of the greatest decisions in NASA’s history, and we hoped that today would bring one of equal portent. The dark wooden table and walls that had borne witness to so much history now gave our efforts a somber air; my colleagues were unusually quiet as we assembled. Across the table, our Russian counterparts waited in grim silence.
On this day, the room held the leadership of the new international program to build a space station. Built on the bones of NASA’s recently canceled Space Station Freedom, and hoping to take advantage of the long Russian history of space stations, this program was created to bring our two space programs together.
As obvious as it was, it was not our idea. President Clinton had canceled Freedom, making it clear that he would only support the billions of tax dollars it would take to build a new station if the program contributed more than the distant promise of science and technology. His support required that it contribute to urgent foreign policy goals as well, and we hoped that healing the scars of the Cold War would be such a worthy goal.
At the head of the table sat Dan Goldin, the fiery NASA administrator, and Yuri Koptev, his bellicose counterpart. Their grim determination flooded the room as their teams assembled for this important discussion. My colleagues and I would prese