Legacy: An Event Group Thriller

by David L. Golemon

  “Get my men together. Just from my twenty security personnel and the nearest group. Make it no more than ten. We will go to the river and backtrack to the waterfall, then we will enter the mine at that point. That is where the Americans escaped last week and that is where we will go.”

  As the man followed his orders, the Mechanic looked at the front line on the ridge. He tried to see who was there, determine who was directing the fight, but all he could see was fire coming from that position.

  “You have been blessed for the moment, but God will allow me the final victory.”

  * * *

  Jack slapped the wounded lieutenant on his shoulder, careful to avoid the still bleeding wound on his leg.

  “Well,” Jack said, laying his radio down in the pile of expended shell casings, “say hello to elements of the Second Special Polish Parachute Brigade and two teams of U.S. Navy SEALs.”

  “A grand sight indeed, Colonel. Now where did the air support come from?”

  “Compliments of the U.S. Navy, and the Enterprise battle group, which finally decided to get into the fight.”

  “I never thought I would be pulled from the fire by a Polish brigade and the U.S. Navy, Colonel. Remind me to send them a note of thanks.”

  “I think we better include the president in that. It took him a while, but he came through.”

  Jack helped the lieutenant to his feet and handed him off to a dirty but smiling German comrade. Collins looked around at the Polish soldiers as they checked the dead and wounded of the attacking element. The parachute brigade had done its job, and was now learning that being nice to terrorists, either unharmed or wounded, was not an easy task.

  “Colonel Collins?”

  Jack turned and saw a man with thick green greasepaint covering his face. His bush hat was crumpled and only the whites of his eyes stood out.

  “That’s my name,” Jack said, looking at the man and his two companions.

  “Compliments of the president, sir. Lieutenant Commander Scott Englehorn, U.S. Navy, relieving you.”

  Jack ignored the salute from the SEAL and just held out his hand.

  The young officer was taken back. He looked uncomfortable at first, and then he smiled as he took the colonel’s hand in his own and shook it.

  “I think you may have a buddy up there on the ridgeline somewhere. I think that’s where I put the Navy, anyway.”

  The commander looked around and nodded his head. “We heard there were other ball bouncers around these parts.”

  Jack smiled at the familiar term the SEALs had for each other, referring to a seal balancing a ball on its nose.

  “You can tell them how you liked commanding Polish paratroopers.”

  The lieutenant commander leaned into Jack and whispered, “Sir, those sons of bitches are fighting fools. I’ll take them into combat anytime.”

  “Pass on to them my thanks, Commander. Now I have to get going. Secure the area and please take care of these men. They deserve it. Bring up the Polish company and make sure that mine entrance is secure. Deadly force is authorized without warning—be sure no one gets in.”

  This time the Navy SEAL did salute and Jack returned it. As he was moving off the line, he looked at his gathered defense team. They were limping down from the upper ridge, assisting their wounded or carrying their dead. They stopped as one and looked at the man who had held them together for an hour and a half of pure hell. Colonel Jack Collins simply nodded his head at his men. For their part, the men stood watching Jack for the longest time, then slowly moved off to the aid station that the SEALs and Polish paratroopers had set up.

  Jack turned away, always proud of the way men acted in the toughest of situations. He had started climbing back up toward the mine opening when he ran straight into the Vietnamese sergeant and his lone surviving private—the sniper from the upper ridge. The smaller man laid the now empty and still hot M-14 at Collins’s feet and nodded his head. Jack smiled and handed the boy private his M-16.

  “Sergeant, can I borrow this man for a few hours. I think I would feel safer with him along.”

  The Vietnamese sergeant half bowed and interpreted the colonel’s request to his man. The kid smiled and nodded his head.

  “Private Tram, am I correct?” Jack asked. He gestured for the kid to follow him toward the entrance to the mine.

  The private nodded, understanding Jack’s small bit of English.

  “I think this is the start of a long and fruitful relationship, kid.”

  14

  DARK STAR 3, FOUR HOURS FROM ORBIT INSERTION

  The command module Falcon 1, with attached Altair lander, passed extremely close to the insertion path the ESA spacecraft had traveled just five hours previous. The crew listened as several large and small pieces of insulation from the French-made Astral lander struck their spacecraft. The damage the ESA vehicle had sustained in the recent attacks had been enough to leave a continual debris trail in her wake as she approached the Moon. Every time the spacecraft was peppered with those floating particles, the crew cringed at the thought of the damage they might sustain to the fragile lander and the command module that was the only way home for them.

  Sarah was in the umbilical tunnel that connected the two spacecraft when a loud bang was heard aft of the crew module on Falcon 1. Mendenhall, who was busy exercising on the bicycle in the lander, saw Sarah stop and tense as a slight rumble was felt throughout both modules.

  “That didn’t sound good,” Mendenhall said. He turned and faced the mission commander. Colonel Kendal reached out from where he had been doing isometric exercises with hand grips and pulled Sarah free of the tunnel. He immediately floated into the large command module.

  “He seemed a little worried too,” Mendenhall said. He looked over at Ryan, who was drinking a Dr. Pepper from a small Mylar package.

  “Attention, we have some red warning lights up here. I want all nonessential crew members to take station inside Altair for the time being. Seal all access hatches and go to separate life support until we get a grasp on what’s happening.”

  After the command module’s pilot stopped talking, Ryan floated over to the large triangular window at the pilot’s station. As his eyes roamed over the exterior face of Altair, he saw several large pieces of gold and silver insulation pass by no more than three feet away.

  “No wonder the ESA lost contact with their lander,” Ryan said, sipping his Dr. Pepper through a straw. “Most of it seems to be floating right into our path. A lot of that debris is insulation from their oxygen and water tanks.”

  As his eyes stared at the star field and the growing daylight side of the Moon, he lowered the small package of soft drink and hit the VOX communicator at his side.

  “Hang on. We have a large chunk of something coming right at us!” he called out, just as the radar threat receiver sounded throughout both craft.

  Ryan’s words had no sooner left his mouth than part of the European Astral’s docking collar slammed into the upper portion of the command module, missing the large pilot’s window on Altair by a mere foot. The impact sent a shock wave through both spacecraft and sent every crew member scrambling for their environmental equipment in case they had been holed.

  “We ran over something in the road,” one of the Green Berets said as he strapped himself in the crew chamber below the upper deck of Altair.

  “And it was a big something too,” Will said. He and Sarah put on helmets and connected their environmental suits to the individual computer stations. The connection would automatically update the suits’ GPS computers and their oxygen status, as well as the current disposition of all mapping and telemetry connections.

  In the command module, Kendal had cleared most of the crew and placed everyone in the Altair in case Falcon 1 lost her air or was in fire danger mode

  He hit his own VOX switch and studied the battery situation. Then he examined the eight LED readouts concerning oxygen status and the water tanks housed near the main engine of the comma
nd module. In relief he saw that there was no leakage showing on the sensitive gauges.

  “Houston, Falcon 1, copy?” Kendal said into the small mike attached to his overalls. He half turned when the LEM pilot held out his ENVI suit and helmet. Kendal shook his head and pointed to the LED readouts on the main console. The needles were holding steady. Pressure readings, a major concern, were at their normal PSI.

  “Houston, Falcon 1, do you copy?”

  As he released the transmit switch, he looked at the Navy pilot and nodded. The young pilot and five-year astronaut lowered his hand to the own voice communication switch on his belt.

  “Houston, Falcon 1—we have sustained an external collision with an unknown object. Do you copy, over?”

  Every crew member waited for the answer from the Johnson Space Center, some staring at nothing, others closing their eyes and hoping the dead air was just a fluke in the COMM system.

  “Get on the CCT and see if there’s any damage to the ST5-3-10 high-gain antenna,” Kendal said, knowing they were in for it if what he thought happened had indeed happened. He looked at the gain numbers on the COMM console and saw that the needle was flat-lined at zero transmit, zero receiving.

  The lieutenant brought the closed circuit exterior cameras online and found the camera that showed the large high-gain antenna.

  “Jesus, skipper,” the pilot said, examining the empty frame.

  “Damn thing was torn completely off its mountings,” Kendal said. The main cable that attached the interior to the antenna was stretched to its limit. “Adjust angle and see if we’re lucky enough to be dragging it in our wake.”

  The camera angle adjusted, and with relief they saw the ST5-3-10 dish dangling straight out from the taut cable.

  “Well, we have to go get that damn thing and repair it,” the colonel said. He hissed through his teeth.

  “I volunteer for the walk,” Ryan said, popping his head into the command module.

  Kendal turned and saw the eager lander pilot. He shook his head. “Negative, Ryan. You don’t have the space walk training.”

  Ryan floated the rest of the way into the large cabin.

  “Excuse me, Colonel, but do you?”

  “The lieutenant and I have two hundred simulations on record, and that’s two hundred more than you.”

  Ryan continued to push.

  “Look, I’m sitting here like a bump on a log. I have nothing to do other than being a backup to the lieutenant. And, frankly speaking, if something happens to him, we’re shit out of luck. We need him in here to land this damn thing. I need to go out there instead of him.”

  “Sorry, Ryan. I’ll make sure nothing happens to Lieutenant Dugan. After all the times you crashed the Altair in simulations, believe me, I’ll watch him closely. You stand down, son, but thanks for the offer. You stay in here and assist Maggio with the command module. Contact Houston as soon as we have a signal—clear?”

  Ryan looked at the module pilot and then at Dugan, the lander pilot. Both men shook their heads at the obvious eagerness of the untrained and dangerous man they had in Ryan.

  “Yes, sir, stay with the womenfolk,” Jason said sarcastically.

  “Good,” Kendal said. “Now, get your environmental suit on, you’ll be reeling us out of the module’s hatch.”

  Ryan moved to comply and as he did he saw the dirty look from Sarah as he entered the lowest deck of the Altair.

  “Quit volunteering for things, Jason. Jack will be pissed. You remember what he said about volunteering?”

  “Always let someone else do the volunteering, then you can be the smart one when you pull their asses out of the fire,” Jason and Will said simultaneously in the most mundane voices they could use.

  “Right,” Sarah said. She had to smile at the dull voices her two friends used when imitating Jack’s dry sense of humor.

  Ryan started pulling on his helmet with the assistance of several of the Army personnel. He looked at Will and Sarah as they locked it into place.

  “Don’t worry, guys. Mr. Redundancy will be safe and sound inside the command module while others take the risk.”

  As they watched Ryan float back through the umbilical tunnel connecting Altair and Falcon 1, Sarah couldn’t help but think about the bad luck the ship was having and about how Jack was faring back on Earth, which now seemed light-years away.

  “Jason worries me sometimes,” Will said, frowning through his glass faceplate.

  “You guys are all the same,” said an angry Sarah McIntire.

  * * *

  Ryan took the copilot’s seat to monitor the space walk. The two men were tethered by separate leads in case one fouled. The space packs they each wore were controlled by hydrogen jets in case something went wrong with the tethers. Ryan and Maggio watched through the camera system while the rest of the crew stood by belowdecks on Altair, waiting for word from outside the spacecraft. They watched on the CCT system as Dugan and Kendal made their way back along Falcon toward the damaged high-gain antenna.

  As the spacecraft was traveling in excess of 34,000 miles per hour, the view was disorienting because they looked as if they were standing still. Kendal made sure the tool belt he was carrying was strapped tightly to his suit and gently pushed off from the hatch. Dugan soon followed. The glare of the sun shone brightly off the white-painted aluminum of Falcon 1 as they eased themselves hand over hand toward the mount that once held the antenna array. As they came up to the severely damaged mount, Kendal held fast as Dugan started to slip his thickly gloved hand around the cable that was the only anchor for the drifting dish. As he attempted to grab hold, Kendal waved him off.

  “Secure yourself to the spacecraft,” the colonel said over the radio.

  “Roger, sorry,” Dugan said. He slipped his hook through the base of the mount. When he did, Kendal waved for him to take hold of the cable.

  Dugan expected resistance, as if he were pulling something in from deep water. Instead, he was rewarded with the dish actually sliding nicely toward the mount. Kendal studied the panel that housed the recessed radar system. He saw a large dent on the cover and he shook his head inside the large helmet.

  “Here’s the problem with the radar and why we got such a late collision warning,” he said as he started to unscrew the access panel. When he had the cover off, he saw the smashed circuit on the radar’s motherboard. “Falcon cut the power to the radar through the circuit breaker panel.”

  Inside Falcon, Ryan lifted free of his seat and floated toward the circuit breaker panel for outside systems. He found circuit breaker 1911-b, radar and sonar, and he easily reached out and popped it into the break position.

  “Power down,” Ryan confirmed to Kendal.

  “Roger, pulling the motherboard for the system. Stand by.”

  Kendal reached down and pulled the damaged board from the access hole. He looked to make sure that Dugan was having no trouble pulling in the dish. Satisfied, he let the damaged circuit board float free. He reached into his bag and pulled the new motherboard from its protective antistatic covering, then slipped it inside just as the damaged telecommunications dish hit the hard body of Falcon 1.

  “There we go. She looks good, skipper,” Dugan said, as he examined the highly complex dish up close. “Cable is in fine shape. A new bolt assembly ought to do the job.”

  As Kendal connected the small electronics cable to the motherboard, he looked up and nodded his head. Before Dugan could start placing the dish back on its mount, his VOX system came to life.

  “Breakers back on, Colonel. We have radar contact bearing 117. It’s big and coming right for us,” Ryan said, and then hurriedly read off the coordinates. Maggio says you two should move to the bottom side of Falcon 1. The object is traveling fast.”

  Kendal looked at Dugan and gestured for him to put the dish in its place.

  “Wire-tie it for now and we’ll come back to bolt it into place.”

  “Roger, skipper,” he said. As he reached for a wire-tie in his pouc
h, the radio came alive again.

  “Smaller debris is heading our way in front of the main object!” Ryan called out on VOX. “Thirteen—no, make that fifteen small targets.”

  As Kendal looked forward, he saw what Ryan was picking up on radar. From his position it looked like an oxygen or water tank that had once been attached to the ESA craft Astral. The smaller pieces were part of the landing pad from its missing gear. It had shattered when the Astral had separated from its mother ship. Dugan never knew what hit him as the rubberized pad slammed into him at over 34,000 miles per hour. The landing pad and several of its restraining bolts hit Dugan in the backpack and helmet, sending him skidding off the slick skin of Falcon 1, pulling his cable tether taught as it sprung like a bow string when he was hit. As Kendal reached for Dugan, he saw the blood inside the lunar lander pilot’s helmet as it spread quickly in the oxygen-rich environment. The sight made the colonel lose his grip and Dugan went flying past. Kendal held on tightly to the bulkhead as the rest of the debris slammed into him.

  Ryan pushed off from the main breaker panel and went to the aft window of Falcon, where he saw Kendal’s suit get punctured in three different places. He saw the venting of his suit’s atmosphere just as the tether holding Dugan close to the spacecraft snapped. Ryan watched in absolute horror as Dugan slipped out of view and then Kendal, who gagged for air that wasn’t there. Jason watched, his eyes widening as Kendal’s rubber-coated tether became taut and then snapped as the ESA oxygen tank from Astral not only hit the communications array mount but the spot where Kendal had been anchored. The commander quickly flew free of Falcon 1. Kendal smashed into the engine bell and the impact sent him spinning crazily off into space.

  Ryan continued to stare out of the window in silence. The two men were so far beyond sight that he just stared at the spot where they had been a brief moment before.

  “What’s happening?” Maggio asked loudly.

  Ryan didn’t answer. He continued looking out the thick glass of the window.

  “Ryan! Come on, man, what’s going on?” Maggio called out again.