Legacy (55 page)

“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 compartment 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.