Colonel Illya Sokolov whistled as he walked along the spacecraft’s undercarriage. She was a massive machine, almost fifty-eight meters long with short stubby wings reaching out forty-five meters. The landing gear held the craft just high enough for him to get his slim six-foot frame partially underneath for inspection. After reading the eight hundred page spec manual and flight checklist in two days, he knew most of what he was looking at. 

He ran a hand over his shaved head. “How the hell are we going to get this bitch into orbit, Minsky? She’ll be a fat 500 tonnes at least.”

“They’re rushing the production of a Yenisei booster with upgraded engines. It will lift this beast and its load.”

Illya chortled. “If we don’t explode in a puff of glory.”

“They’ll build a magnificent monument in your memory if it does.”

“Yeah. At a rest stop toilet on a minor roadway,” Illya replied as he climbed a maintenance platform to inspect the craft’s unique hot end. “I’ve never seen these engines. Another new twist.” 

They moved to the maintenance ladder set up at the entry hatch. Both men examined the construction as they mounted the stairs. The onyx hull reflected almost nothing… alien black against hangar lights. They saw more of the manta-ray shape from the top of the stairs. To Illya, it was a fat manta with a mid-body bulge. Like a manta that had swallowed an orca.

Inside, the subdued lighting lit everything without insulting the eyes. Illya surveyed the interior and found the path to the flight deck. He had memorized the entire manual but still scanned every inch as he walked. Occasionally, he let out a whistle in praise of the work, and the flight deck elicited an even louder whistle of appreciation. 

“Who built this? Must have been Ferrari or Mercedes,” Illya asked Minsky.

“A secret ministry built it. They kept it under wraps for many years, I was told.”

Illya shook his head; he knew it was a lie. He opened several maintenance access doors and studied the work. “Remember the piece of crap shuttle they were building, then gave up on? This makes that look like my great aunt’s steam tractor. More bullshit! Muzhiks did not build this, my friend.”

“Of course it wasn’t peasants. Brilliant scientists and engineers of the motherland did. And hey! We didn’t die in the shuttle.”

“No, we didn’t. Because it never flew.”

This caused Illya to laugh even harder. He sat down and surveyed the control console. “Not bad,” he said aloud. “I like this set-up. It’s logical and well organized.”

They spent the rest of the day exploring the flight deck and other stations. They paid particular attention to the weapons station. The targeting device was unlike anything they’d seen, even in the most advanced Mig fighters. “Tell me again, who built this?” asked quietly. “No bullshit now. My kids always bullshit me about smoking pot. I hate bullshit,” Illya said.

“I only know what Melenikof told me. Nothing more. We have this beast, a specialist to help, and a crew to transport for a top secret mission.”

“I guess we’ll learn all that in a future meeting. For now, we study and learn”

“Yeah, just like we learned about the suicide mission in Afghanistan, in a meeting with people who couldn’t find their asses with a hunting dog and a map.”

“We got home, though. We got medals, kisses, and nice houses.”

Illya nodded. “Okay. Let’s go find some vodka and women. It may be our last party for a while.” 

The tall wolf and the short bulldog walked toward the hangar door. The bond between them was far more than friendship. A bond forged in combat and test flights over a lifetime.