Below Mercury by Mark Anson

its brakes holding the craft in place.
    ‘Starting three.’
    The sheets of water on the fuelling apron rippled as waves of hot gas swept across the surface, driving the water towards the surface drains. The third, then fourth engines spun up and joined the others, until four turbojets roared in the damp air.
    Below the spaceplane’s nose, the ground dispatcher exchanged a last few words with the flight crew on the intercom, before disconnecting the ground power cable and stowing it back on the power truck. He slammed the cable locker shut and looked up at the cockpit windows, high above his head. The rain pelted down on his yellow waterproof overalls and ran into his face as he snapped off a salute.
    Inside the cockpit, Clare returned the salute, and watched as the dispatcher ran for the truck’s cabin, and shelter from the rain. Moments later, the power truck pulled away and disappeared into the curtains of rain.
    The voice of Andersen Tower came over Wilson’s headset.
    ‘Mercury Two Zero Seven, clear taxi to Runway Zero Six Right via Taxiway Bravo. Line up on runway and report ready for takeoff.’
    ‘Clear taxi Runway Zero Six Right via Bravo, Mercury Two Zero Seven.’ Wilson responded. He looked out of his side windows. ‘All clear my side.’
    ‘Okay. Clear my side. Moving off.’ Clare reached out, and eased the four thrust levers forward.
    A small boy froze at the passenger window of a rented car as the engines’ roar increased. His head turned, following the spaceplane as it started to move. As if he could sense the small boy watching, Bergman was filled with a sudden yearning to reach out and hug his son one last time.
    The spaceplane turned left and moved at a walking pace down the taxiway, its twin tailfins piercing the rain-filled sky.
    Bergman’s wife reached back and squeezed her son’s hand, but he was oblivious, riveted to the sight and sound of the spaceplane, its navigation lights winking, rolling past where their car stood, its four engines tearing the air with their roar.
    Something moved in her peripheral vision, and she watched as three crash tenders rolled along at a discreet distance behind the spaceplane, their red lights turning in the rain. They followed the spaceplane as it took another turn to the right, along the avenue of blue lights that led to the runway.
    Other eyes were watching, too. A kilometre away in the main control tower, Colonel Helligan stood behind the ground controllers, binoculars to his eyes, chewing gum as he followed the spaceplane’s progress towards the runway. He watched the elevons and rudders cycle through their control movements: up, down, left, right, as the crew checked the control surfaces for full and free movement.
    Two floors down in the tower, Rebecca Short and a group of relatives watched through the rain-soaked windows of viewing area, their hopes and fears embodied in the distant craft that moved through the rain. Short glanced at her watch. Zero hour.
    The spaceplane came to the end of the taxiway and rolled onto the main runway, its landing gear thumping loudly as it passed over the joints in the pavement.
    Clare waited until the cockpit was well past the centreline, and then turned the ponderous bulk of the spaceplane, the cockpit seeming to move sideways as the nose swung round. The long lines of brilliant white lights, outlining the edges and centreline, came into view, stretching off into the distance. Clare eased off on the turn, letting the spaceplane roll forwards until it was lined up down the centre of the runway.
    The weather was easing slightly, but the end of the long runway was still hidden in the distance behind sheets of falling rain. Clare applied the brakes, and the spaceplane slowed to a halt, rocking back and forth slightly on its landing gear.
    ‘Mercury Two Zero Seven, Runway Zero Six Right, wind zero four zero at one seven, gust to two one, clear for takeoff. Left turn after takeoff, heading zero five two, clear to climb to