by Bobby Akart
Gunner grinned and shrugged as he pulled out the barstool and got settled in front of Hart. He shook the rain off his sleeves and ran his fingers through his slightly shaggy blond hair. Gunner wasn’t much for hats and raincoats. He’d only held an umbrella once in his entire life, at a funeral when they buried his mother. He’d vowed never to do that again.
“Yeah,” he replied, accepting a pint of Hooter Brown Tupelo Honey Ale. The rich chocolate and honey flavors of Hooter Brown worked well with Gunner’s preferred means of sustenance—Apalachicola Bay oysters. He took a sip of his beer and expanded on his answer. “They told me to push the aircraft, you know, to see what she’d do. So I did. And it fell apart.”
“It’s all over the news. The reporter said you tried to fly it to the moon and back. Dozen on the half shell?”
Gunner smiled and chuckled to himself. In a way, he supposed he had.
“Better make it two, Sammy. I threw up a lot yesterday from drinking all that salt water. My stomach is pretty empty.”
Hart rapped his knuckles on the polished teak bar top and turned to one of the servers, who hovered nearby, to pass along the order. Gunner took a long swig of his beer and glanced at the television monitor that was mounted in the corner of the bar. CNN was providing continuous coverage of Comet Oort, which was a day away from making its closest approach to Earth.
“You wanna talk about it?” asked Hart when he returned to Gunner. He glanced past his only patron as three attractive college-age girls entered the restaurant. It was spring break, and nearby St. George Island was a popular destination for families and the occasional group of college students. Hart shot a glance at the only server on duty, who provided a knowing nod in return. During spring break, the Oyster City family of eateries was especially strict on checking identification to avoid serving someone underage.
“Hell, I don’t know, Sammy, might as well. I’m supposed to be in the shrink’s office right now for the mandatory post-crash convo, but the weather sucks, so I couldn’t take the boat, and I don’t feel like driving a hundred sixty miles in the rain, dodging drunk spring-breakers.”
“I get it.”
“Listen, the bottom line is they needed to know what this bird would do. I needed to know, for pilots like myself, whether it was combat ready. It needed to be pushed, so I did. It’s not my fault it fell apart.”
Gunner quickly dispatched his first beer and slid it toward his host. He reached into his pocket and tossed his debit card next to the glass so that Hart could begin running a tab.
The attentive bartender had already turned to pour another Hooter Brown and set it in front of Gunner. Then Hart pushed the debit card back toward him. “Not today, my friend. Never on this day.”
Gunner took a big gulp of the beer, and a wash of sadness came over his face. He nodded his appreciation. “You remembered?”
“I’ll never forget, Gunner. Never. I’m sor—”
Gunner raised his hand to cut him off. “Thanks, Sammy. I know.”
Suddenly, the three young women began giggling, grabbing both men’s attention. Gunner glanced over his shoulder and noticed one of them giving him the come-hither look. Seeing that he’d made eye contact, she sashayed over to the bar.
“Two more Corona Lights, please,” she said, glancing through the liquor bottles mounted on glass shelving in the arched brick back wall in an attempt to catch sight of Gunner in the mirror. She was unsuccessful, thus missing Gunner’s eye roll at her choice of beer.
Spring-breakers had no appreciation for a fine craft beer, such as Oyster City, which was brewed across the street. They bought into the corporate-created vision of the beach with swaying palm trees, turquoise blue waters, and the tanned pretty people drinking a Corona, the taste of which had to be obscured with the tartness of a lime just to make it palatable. And the salt. Don’t forget the salt. Gunner often wondered why Corona drinkers didn’t equate drinking their favorite beer with the downing of the harshest flavored liquor he’d ever tasted—tequila.
The young woman, who was attractive in a University of Alabama cheerleader sort of way, leaned over toward Gunner and asked, “Can I buy you a beer, sailor?”
Gunner ignored her, and Sammy quickly provided the requested Corona Lights and the obligatory limes. “He’s Air Force, and today he needs some time alone. Is that cool?”
“But—” she began to protest as Sammy slid the beers closer to her.
“Anything else?” Sammy’s tone of voice indicated his persistence.
“Um, no.”
“I’ll make sure that your server takes care of you from here on, okay?”
The girl shrugged and returned to her friends, who were having a playful argument over the vintage Atari Asteroids game that sat in the front corner of The Tap Room. The sound of them laughing and tapping on the console, destroying space saucers and asteroids in rapid succession, did little to distract Gunner from the weighty things on his mind.
Chapter 6
Monday, April 2
The Tap Room
Apalachicola, Florida
“Hey, Sammy, could you turn on the closed-captioning?” asked Gunner, pointing up to the television monitor. He was attempting to spin a cardboard coaster like a top on the bar, with little success.
“Sure. You want me to turn up the volume? I’d love to unplug Asteroids. Those three would complain, but their quota of Coronas is about there anyway.”
“Nah, closed-captioning is fine.” Gunner sipped on his third beer and focused on the news report. It was nearly noon and several more diners had entered The Tap Room. An older couple sat next to him at the bar and focused their attention on the television.
The older gentleman politely interrupted. “We wouldn’t mind listening if that’s okay. It’s big news.”
Gunner shrugged and Hart motioned to the server, instructing her to give the young ladies their last call. He slowly turned up the volume until the older man gave him a thumbs-up.
Thus far, Gunner hadn’t paid that much attention to Comet Oort and its near-Earth approach. Sometimes, the hype in the media didn’t match reality. It just gave them something to draw viewers, that in turn enabled them to sell more advertising time. If he needed to get straight talk on something like this, he had half a dozen people he could call at the Department of Defense or NASA.
The reporter stood in front of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory at CalTech in Pasadena. “The night sky came alive last night as the world got its closest view to date of Comet Oort on its approach toward Earth. The comet first came into view in February, but it has steadily brightened as the sun has illuminated its long tail. In two days, Comet Oort will make its closest approach to Earth and will be visible with the naked eye.”
Late-morning CNN news anchor, Megyn Kelly, asked, “When you say closest approach, just how close will it come to us? I mean, are we in any danger?”
“Well, Megyn, to be sure, the prospect of a comet of this size coming directly for us is frightening. However, all of the trajectory projections show it passing half a million miles away. That’s more than twice as far as it is from here to the Moon.”
“What about the tail? The so-called debris field that scientists have discussed at great length. It is the longest on record. Is it possible that the tail could spin off meteors or anything like that?”
The reporter nodded his head, acknowledging the purpose of Kelly’s question. “Megyn, this comet has come on quite a journey from the far reaches of our galaxy. As it rounded the Sun, Comet Oort and its debris field remained largely intact. The brightness, coupled with the direct approach, will make it visible, but does not make it a threat in any way.”
The elderly coupled clinked their pints of beer. “Well, that certainly is good news. We’ve just started our vacation and it sure would be a shame to become extinct.”
Hart laughed with his new customers. “The good news is that we have plenty of beer to last through the onslaught from the sky.”
“Megyn,
the Little Dipper is commonly looked upon as our brightest constellation, especially the handle. Comet Oort will easily surpass that level of intensity. Amateur astronomers have relished the opportunity to join their professional counterparts in following the path of this Great Comet, hosting parties around the Northern Hemisphere each night.”
Kelly began to stack her notes on the desk in front of her and then asked another question. “I’ve tried to follow the comet using my husband’s binoculars. I have to ask, why does it look so fuzzy and ghostly?”
“Comet Oort is about a mile across, with a core that is three-quarters of a mile wide. It’s a little-known fact that comets, like our planet, have an atmosphere, commonly referred to as a coma. In the case of Comet Oort, its coma is bigger than Jupiter’s. When its orbit took it around the Sun, the icy nature of the comet necessarily resulted in some melting. That’s what created the glowing green cloud.”
Kelly added, “That also explains why it blocked out the rest of the night sky. It’s as if the stars behind Comet Oort disappeared.”
The reporter shrugged. “Yes, I suppose it does have a bit of a masking effect. Well, in any event, after it passes us in a few days, stargazers can begin to focus their attention on the rest of the universe after having experienced the celestial event of a lifetime.”
The report ended and CNN went to a commercial break. The elderly gentleman ordered another beer for himself and thanked Hart for turning up the television. The volume was lowered once again and he turned toward Gunner.
“What do you think about all of this, young man?” he asked.
Gunner finished off his beer and took a deep breath. Usually closed off, Gunner responded, “You know, it’s kinda like a game of cosmic pinball. It’s hard to fathom how large the universe is in comparison to our planet. Comets, asteroids, and meteors buzz by us all the time, and sometimes they hit. Fortunately, this one is likely to miss.”
“So we’ve dodged a bullet?”
Gunner nodded and held his hand up to Hart, declining the offer of another beer. “Being struck by a comet or asteroid is what scientists call a low-probability, high-consequence event. That said, it’s happened before and will likely happen again.”
“And then what?” asked the man’s wife.
Gunner chuckled and responded with a smile. “Well, ma’am, have you seen any dinosaurs roaming around?”
Hart joined the conversation. “You know what bothers me, especially with these meteors? They don’t see ’em comin’. I mean, just the other day, there was an article about a meteor that whizzed by Earth, and they didn’t discover it until the day before. What the heck are we supposed to do about that?”
“They can do a lot of damage, right?” asked the elderly man.
“Yes, they can,” replied Gunner. “Technically speaking, they’re meteorites if they strike Earth. Meteors enter the atmosphere and then burn up.”
“They’re smaller than an asteroid, right?” the woman asked. She’d ordered gator balls and dipped one into some cocktail sauce, but she kept her eyes focused on Gunner.
“Yes, ma’am. Asteroids are bigger than meteors and are made mostly of rock. Unlike the comet that’s approaching Earth, which is made of chunks of ice and rock, followed by a tail, an asteroid just rocks along, pardon the pun, and remains unnoticed. They are the most difficult space object to track because they don’t have the ice coma and tail. Well, most times, anyway.”
The elderly man jutted out his lip and nodded his head. “You seem pretty knowledgeable about this stuff. Are you a scientist?”
Hart moved in and placed both palms on the bar. “Let me tell you about my friend.”
“Oh no. Here we go,” lamented Gunner as he sat back against the bar chair’s back. He was in an unusually jovial mood, considering the circumstances. The beers, coupled with hanging out with his friend, took his mind off things.
“No, seriously. You won’t brag on yourself, so somebody has to.”
Gunner smiled and gestured for Hart to continue. At this point, two diners who’d been eavesdropping on the conversation picked up their drinks and sat at the bar to Gunner’s right.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” began Hart, adopting an announcer-like voice, “this here is Major Gunner Fox, United States Air Force and a genuine war hero. And he lives right here in our very own Franklin County.”
“A war hero?” asked one of the late arrivals to the conversation.
“You betcha,” replied Hart. “Gunner has flown military missions all over the world for our great nation. He’s been shot down in combat more times than I can count. But not because he’s a bad pilot. It’s because it took three or four chasing his tail before they got him. Am I right, Gunner?”
“Maybe, but that’s classified,” he replied, having just enough beer in him to decide to play along on an otherwise solemn day. Gunner hadn’t slept well the night before. His body was weak from the incessant vomiting. And, well, it was not a day to crack jokes. His favorite bartender, Sammy Hart, who had a better understanding of Gunner’s psyche than any psychologist, had a way of dragging him out of the doldrums.
“Well, here’s what’s not classified,” added Hart. “In addition to being ridiculously handsome, in a chiseled, taller-than-Tom-Cruise sort of way, as you can see, he’s smart as a whip. He is, in fact, a scientist.”
“An Earth scientist,” interjected Gunner.
“Exactly,” continued Hart. “This guy shoots down bad guys with the most technologically advanced aircraft in the world by day, and at night, he can tell you everything you ever wanted to know about the center of the Earth to the stars in the sky.”
“That’s a pretty nice résumé, Major,” said the older gentleman. “Our son is a Navy pilot. He trained at NAS Fallon in Nevada.”
“The new TOPGUN,” said Gunner. “Impressive.” Despite Gunner’s disdain for the Navy’s attempts to oversee the design and build of fighter jets, he had the utmost respect for their pilots.
“Yes, sir,” added the gentleman. “The Strike Fighter Tactics program has come a long way since the days of carousing and barhopping in San Diego portrayed in the movie.”
“It has,” said Gunner. “I’ve flown sorties with some of their aviators. I’ve admired their capabilities.”
“Sir,” interrupted the middle-aged woman to Gunner’s left. “What do you think about the jet fighter crash yesterday? Did you see that on the news?”
Gunner made eye contact and laughed. He almost spoke when Hart answered her question first.
“Ma’am, he is the news.”
Chapter 7
Monday, April 2
NASA Symposium on Planetary Defense
Johns Hopkins University
Baltimore, Maryland
“Hollywood has it all wrong!” shouted one of the scientists from Johns Hopkins who was part of a roundtable symposium on comets and asteroids that was hastily called due to the timing of Comet Oort’s near-Earth approach. “Especially as is relates to asteroids. They are considerably tougher and require a much greater force of energy to destroy than any of us have calculated.”
She and another scientist had been engaged in a lively debate, much to the delight of the audience of college students and academics. Comet Oort had raised public awareness about the threat of near-Earth objects and was being used by NASA and the Jet Propulsion Laboratory to increase their budgets with Congress.
The other scientist countered her argument. “All of our experiments and simulations have produced consistent results. The larger the object, the more easily it would be to break apart because they are more likely to have flaws and inherent structural weaknesses. This makes our proposed deflection and diversion protocols more than adequate.”
“I’m telling you, it won’t work, based upon the data received from the exploration of Asteroid Bennu. The results of the OSIRIS-REx mission proved my point. You simply cannot assassinate an asteroid. It would be a fruitless exercise. And, even if you were able to split i
t apart, the gravitational pull will take over and draw it into a clump of ejected shards of rock.”
Another scientist chimed in, joining the argument. “Rebuild itself? Really. Now who has a Hollywood mindset?”
“Yes, rebuild itself, and it’s not science fiction or part of a Hollywood script. Bennu proves my theory.”
The sole female scientist on the panel, a late entry into the symposium from the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, was adamant in her position.
OSIRIS-REx—an acronym for origins, spectral interpretation, resource identification, security, and regolith explorer—was a spacecraft that reached Bennu in December 2018. Bennu was of particular interest to scientists because of its composition, size, and proximity to Earth. It was a rare type of asteroid, primitive and carbon rich, that had traveled over a million miles on its close approach to our planet.
The spacecraft performed months of experiments, and the success encouraged other nations, such as the Japanese, to target other asteroids in order to compare their findings. At a recent Lunar and Planetary Sciences Conference, representatives from several nations who studied the materials returned to Earth expressed surprise at the composition of the samples.
For one thing, the surfaces of asteroids are much rockier than expected, but devoid of large boulders. Bennu, for example, had little in the way of smooth surfaces, such as pebbles or loose soil. Not only did this make landing on the asteroid difficult for OSIRIS-REx, but it revealed why Bennu, which was as tall and wide as the height of the Empire State Building, was one of the darkest objects ever studied in the solar system—reflecting only four percent of sunlight.
“Blasting it will prove to be ineffectual. Painting is the better option.”
Several members of the audience snickered at the suggestion. The female scientist noticed the giggles and guffaws and quickly explained her theory.
“Listen, I understand the headlines will make me out to be a crackpot, but hear me out. The Chinese are developing laser technology. Some of you supported the orbital slingshot method to alter trajectories. We have DART, the Double Asteroid Redirection Test. Naturally, the Russians are experimenting with a three-megaton nuke that is a few thousand times more powerful than the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. Three megatons! What I propose to do is alter the surface of a threatening near-Earth object. Give it a makeover, so to speak.”