As Collins made sure his sidearm was snapped into its holster, Everett came into the small clearing where they had assembled, only three hundred yards above the mining compound.
“Okay, Jack, the men are in position. I have Pete, Charlie, and Niles standing by. We have a reserve element of ten men, which can be on the move as soon as we gain access.”
“Good,” Jack said, “Now if we-”
“Wait, Jack, there’s more. A listening post on the far side of the camp has picked up a large force five miles away and closing on foot. He can’t get an exact count, but they look hostile and they aren’t wearing uniforms.”
“It can’t be McCabe, I mean why would he sneak into his own area? No, this is something else.” Jack looked down into the center of the Ecuadorian encampment. All was quiet there. “The listening post is a part of the follow-up element, right?”
Everett nodded his head in the predawn darkness.
“Leave him in place. I want to know all he can see before that force arrives in theater,” Jack said, looking at Sebastian.
“Right,” he said and held out his hand to Everett and then Collins. “Good luck. I wouldn’t want your job.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Jack said with a smile, and released the German’s hand. “Just remember. When we walk up to that gate we won’t have a chance to signal, so take it for granted that the mission is on.”
Sebastian didn’t stick around to answer. He turned and hurried away to distribute what few radios they had to the follow-up element and to the two snipers.
“Well, Mr. Everett, shall we go for a walk?”
“About damn time. I was starting to get bored after my life of crime.”
“Me too,” Collins said, and turned and started downhill toward the Ecuadorian camp.
***
“Alto,” a voice said out of the darkness.
Jack and Carl stopped in the middle of the dirt road only a thousand yards from the front gate.
“Dos hombres, Estados Unidos,” Jack called out. “Dos americanos.”
“Oh, boy, here we go,” Everett mumbled, wanting to at least unsnap the holster strap at his side when he heard the sound of men running toward them.
Four men came out of the darkness and shone bright flashlights in their eyes. “Raise your hands, senor,” the first said, leveling an old M-16.
“You speak good English,” Collins said. “We need to see your commanding officer.”
“And he would like to see you also, Colonel Collins.”
“Uh-oh,” Everett said, their plan flying right out the window.
“It seems you have the advantage,” Jack said as he considered the clean-shaven officer. He didn’t look anything like a local militia man.
“We certainly do have the advantage, Colonel. Now, if you will follow me. You may lower your hands, but please keep them far away from your weapons,” the officer said. “Professional courtesy will go only so far.”
Jack looked at Everett and then lowered his hands. They both followed the Ecuadorian officer. They walked into the silent camp and were led straight to the largest of the tents that had recently been set up. Jack eyed not only his immediate surroundings but also the main gate, which was now only five hundred yards away. The lighting hadn’t been brought to a brighter level, so the alert status at the mine was unchanged. The officer looked at Jack and Everett, then relieved them both of their sidearms.
“Courtesy to a fellow soldier can go only so far.”
“I promise not to shoot your commanding officer, son,” Jack said, looking at the large air-conditioned tent.
“My commanding officer, senor?” The man almost snickered. “Colonel Collins, your actions in my country have earned the highest attention from the highest authority.” The officer pulled the tent flap aside and gestured for Everett and Collins to enter.
There were six men inside. One was dressed in civilian clothing, wearing a black sport coat with a white shirt underneath and pressed black pants. He held a large ice-filled glass in his hand, topped off with an amber liquid, and seemed freshly showered. The other five men had a galaxy of stars on their shoulders. They looked upon Jack and Carl with little more than curiosity.
The officer who had escorted them into the tent stepped in front of the two Americans.
“Colonel Collins and Captain Everett, sir. Gentlemen,” he said, turning to face Jack and Carl. “May I present to you El Presidente de la Republica del Ecuador, Rafael Vicente Correa DiSilva.”
The president of Ecuador handed one of his generals the drink he was holding. He eyed Everett and Jack in turn.
“You have been very busy men in my country.”
“Yes, sir, we seek-”
Delgado held up a hand.
“Did you have designs on attacking this force of men who are bivouacking in their own country, Colonel?”
“Of course not, sir,” Collins said, looking shocked at the allegation. “We were merely going to ask the commander here if we could assault that mine and the bad guys guarding it.”
The president couldn’t resist. He smiled and then looked back at his generals. At first they didn’t find anything funny, at least not until the president did. Then they too laughed aloud.
“You were going ask the commander here to leave the area?”
“Yes, we were.”
“Tell me, Colonel Collins, all of this trouble you have caused in my capital and the troubles you are accused of in Germany-are you saying you are innocent of these things, and that you are not what you would call a bad guy?”
“Yes, sir, innocent to a certain point. I believe the men responsible for these events are on their way here now, just to the south of this area.”
“Is that so?” the president asked, turning to face his generals. “Well, Colonel,” he said, glancing at Everett, “and Captain, I have recently had a very long conversation with your president, and he says while you are a man of considerable trouble to him at times, he does not know you as a liar.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“He’s also explained some very strange things to me. Let’s say he has taken me into his confidence, so to speak. Colonel, we have very strange times coming, which is why I am pulling this detail out of the Andes. You may do as you wish, with the proviso that Colonel Raul DeSouza here accompanies you while you are in my country. I am afraid that is all I can offer, as the mine is legally owned by an American and a German national. As I studied economics at your University of Illinois, I am aware that any assault on these mine shafts would have to prove beyond any doubt that they hold illegal goods or some operation that is hurtful to my nation.” He smiled at Jack. “Besides, your president has asked that this operation be kept between him and me, and not to allow any more men into that mine than necessary.”
“I wish I could say I understand, but the president has told you far more than us.”
“As for the men that you say are coming up from the south, General Santiago here will lead an assault against them to buy you time. There is also further news. Another hundred men are coming from the east, a similar number from the north. We are heavily outnumbered, and my men are lightly armed. They will no doubt meet more firepower than they have on hand. Unfortunately, the rest of my small army is in the cities of my country to guard against the violent protests by various religious factions. We are attempting to get helicopter support, possibly a squadron of Cobra gunships; they are old, but still pack a powerful punch. I am sorry that this is all we have for you, Colonel. Do what you need to do, but please make it fast.”
Jack saluted the man in front of him, as did Everett. President DiSilva just smiled a sad smile and nodded, and he and his generals left the tent.
“Well, I guess this was a good news, bad news kind of thing, huh, Jack?”
Collins accepted his nine-millimeter from the Ecuadorian colonel and turned to Everett.
“You know, you’re always looking at the dark side of things. I don’t know about your attitude
lately, Mr. Everett, I think you’re getting old, buddy.”
“I hope to grow just a little older, Colonel dear.”
EUROPEAN SPACE AGENCY LUNAR LANDER ASTRAL, 7 MILES ABOVE LUNAR SURFACE
The Astral was named for the corporation that designed her, EADS Astrium in Bremen She was a two-story, three-deck design that had failed in every simulation for the three years she was in development. The lander carried two pilots and eight crewmen, only four of whom were mission specialists; the other four were trained commandos from the elite Commandos Marine of the French navy.
The Astral had received severe damage after the attack on the Ariane platforms during launch. One of her four landing gear had been sheared off at the landing pad and was floating free somewhere outside the International Space Station. Since detaching from the command module, Bonaparte 1, the command and control systems had failed twice, and she was now on the third and final backup motherboard for her navigation system. In order to save that last, precious module, the commander, Major Jean Marceau, had ordered the pilots to navigate by directional viewing, meaning they had to rely on map and visual references for landing. They would save the only NAV board on the computer for the all-important rendezvous with the Bonaparte when she lifted free of the lunar surface.
As far as the two pilots could tell, they were coming in far too fast and at least 106 miles from the Shackleton landing area. As the Astral ’s main engine burn flared brightly in the closed circuit television system inside the cabin, all eyes nervously watched the clock as Astral was nearing her burn duration-she was fast running out of fuel.
“We must have a faulty gauge, or we’re losing fuel somewhere between the tanks and the engine,” the copilot said as he vigorously recalculated their consumption by handheld computer. “As near as I can tell we have two minutes of fuel remaining. We’re too high and traveling too fast. We have to set her down now, Major.”
Marceau turned and ordered all crewmen to get ready for an emergency landing. They secured their helmets and checked their vital systems. The two pilots placed their helmets on in relays as Astral halted its forward trajectory and commenced an attitude straight down toward the rocky surface below.
“Major, we have Shackleton in sight at 34.04672 kilometers distant,” the copilot reported as calmly as he could.
“Over twenty-one miles distant,” Marceau said to himself, as he leaned over and saw the giant crater from two miles up. “We can’t help it now. Sit her down. We have some walking ahead of us.”
“God, Major, look at that!” the copilot said, gazing out the large command windows on the upper deck.
Marceau saw Shackleton and the damage the explosion had caused. Three quarters of the north wall of the crater was gone. The interior of Shackleton looked scorched and the debris from its interior had spread around the hole like a shotgun blast pattern. The major smiled.
“Some of the interior structures have survived,” he said as he looked at the four scientists that were strapped in on the lower deck along with the four commandos. “They must have been built to endure a heavy strike for them to still be standing.” As he turned back, he saw that distance and lower altitude had taken the view away from him. Astral continued descending.
“One minute of fuel remaining, thirty-two kilometers downrange of landing target. Altitude is ten thousand, descending at three thousand feet per minute.” The copilot looked over at his lander pilot. “We’re not going to make it.”
“Stand by to cut power to main engine. We’ll allow Astral to free-fall for twenty-two seconds. Then fire everything we have for the final approach.”
The copilot’s eyes widened as he finally understood the plan for reaching the lunar surface. The last he had heard, there was no such thing as a glide pattern in the airless void of the Moon.
“Stand by… stand by… shut down!”
The copilot cut the fuel feed to the large main engine, sending the Astral into complete silence as she hurtled toward the surface. The pilot and copilot knew that, if the main engine failed to restart, they would impact the Moon’s surface at close to two miles a minute, sending pieces of the ESA mission all over the Moon’s dusty surface.
Below, all eyes were either closed or looking at the person next to them. There was no sensation of falling, just one of near total silence, with only the blipping and squeaking of the radar to be heard. The copilot was audible through the Astral ’s communications system.
“Major, we are at two thousand feet. Long-range cameras are picking up rocks in the landing zone. Do we adjust with OHM’s rockets?”
“Negative, we don’t have the fuel. We just have to hope the rocks aren’t that big,” the pilot said. He risked a quick look at his younger copilot. “Stand by for main engine ignition. Crew, brace for impact,” the pilot ordered calmly. “It’s not going to be soft. Remember your emergency egress plan. If we land intact, stand by with purge patches in case there are holes anywhere in the ship.”
Marceau knew that this scenario wasn’t a viable plan at all. Purge patches were designed in case they were struck in orbit by a small meteorite or debris, creating a small hole in the platform, thus requiring the crew to place small plastic and rubber seals with adhesive backing over the hole to stop any evacuation of the interior environment. Any large breach wasn’t covered by the manufacturer’s design team. The crew would be either swept from the pressurized cabin or crushed in the impact.
“Three, two, one, fire main engine!” This time the major said it loudly. The command rang throughout Astral as the copilot initiated main engine start. The crew heard the blast of fuel as it was purged from the tanks below them. Then they all grimaced as a loud explosion was heard inside of the cabin. The sensation hit them that they were slowing.
“We have main engine start at three hundred feet!”
“Bring main engine and aft OHMs to a full power setting. Burn them until the fuel is exhausted,” the major said, as Astral hurtled toward the surface.
“Firing six OHMs at attitude zero degrees. We have burn.”
With the main engine and OHM attitude jets firing all at once, Astral slowed even further. They all knew the small engine bells of the OHM’s rockets were not designed for landing, only for maneuvering in space and for small adjustments during the landing cycle.
“Fuel is running out. We just lost the starboard OHMs,” the copilot said loudly as Astral started vibrating beyond anything they had encountered in simulations. Each crewman who wasn’t on the upper command deck was deep in prayer as Astral started tilting to the right.
“Shut down all OHM’s jets, now!” the major called out. “I’ll gimbal the main engine bell to straighten our attitude.”
As Astral came within a hundred feet of the rock-strewn landing zone, the main engine bell of the lander gimbaled to the right, sending the large craft in that direction and straightening her fall.
“Come on, come on,” Marceau said out loud, as he braced for the impact he knew was coming. He looked down and made sure the crew members were strapped in tight as the call came from up above.
“Zero fuel!” the copilot said.
“Brace for impact!” the major called out. He adjusted his feet on the Velcro pads just as he lost sight of the horizon. He hit a small red button on the control under his right hand, sending a signal up to the orbiting command module. “ Bonaparte, Bonaparte, Astral is going down. I repeat, we are going down!”
“Ten feet, five feet-”
Astral hit hard, sending her pad-less landing strut deep into the lunar surface. As she sank to the starboard side, the number four strut struck a large rock, shearing off at the engine housing. Then number two collapsed from the sheer weight of the impact. The lander hit as her main engine bell plunged deep into the lunar dust. Astral bounced and then came down again.
Marceau felt something in his back give way and as he reacted to the sudden awareness that he felt no more pain, the main bulkhead gave way and one man was thrown free of the compartmen
t as it opened to the Moon’s environment. Astral rolled once, twice, and then came to a stop as the second deck partially separated from the first.
As Astral stopped its crazily spinning momentum, loose papers and debris were swept out of the compartment. The electrical system was failing, as sparks and smoke started flowing from the environmental control system. To Major Marceau all seemed to be happening in slow motion.
“All crewmen out now. The environmental controls are completely off-line. We have no air. She’s bleeding to death and we’re on fire,” a voice shouted from a strange and cockeyed angle far to their left.
The men started reacting after the shock of the crash. Safety harnesses were released and hands grabbed those too injured to assist in their own egress. Marceau felt hands on him and thought he was finally going to feel the pain of his broken back, but nothing happened as he was finally pulled from his upright seat. He knew then that he was paralyzed from at least the chest down. He turned his head and was relieved he could do even that.
“Survival packs-get the survival packs,” he managed to say as he was pulled toward a large breach in Astral ’s hull.
“We have them, Major, extra oxygen also,” one of the French commandos said. He looked shaken but he was in control as he pulled Marceau along by the arm. “The pilot is dead and the copilot has two broken legs.”
Marceau felt himself pulled free of the wreckage and he immediately saw the star-filled sky overhead as he was laid next to one of the broken landing struts of Astral. As he listened to the rescue of his crew, he knew the ESA mission to the Moon was now officially dead. He only hoped they would be alive long enough to tell someone.
As the surviving men of Astral scrambled free and took cover behind the small rim of a crater, they felt as well as saw the bright flash of her tanks as the electrical short ignited the fumes inside. At the same moment, sparks struck the damaged oxygen cylinders bundled underneath the main engine housing. In complete and utter silence, the men of ESA Moon Mission 01 watched Astral rise into the airless sky and come apart, peppering the area with debris. It was as though a bomb had exploded. All of their supplies and weapons were gone in a flash of brilliant brightness.
Legacy eg-6 Page 40
