They slowed the ship down to supersonic speeds and then were ripped off by the increased atmospheric pressures.
“Elvis Aaron Presree, you fuck your mother – in the ass!” said the AI.
“Damn. That’s not good, “said Sir Richard.
“Seventeen thousand, five hundred, one thousand, and fifty-two,” said Armstrong.
“Deploying airbrakes, now!” exclaimed Branson.
The craft, flying inverted again, spun around its long axis like a corkscrew.
It was all Branson could do to keep the nose up, and he noticed that the ground was fast approaching.
“OK, people. Brace for impact. I am going to try to land it on one of those slopes below us,” said Branson.
He nodded towards a range of mountainous terrain, snow-covered and treacherous.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” yelled Armstrong.
“Relax, Ben, I was a champion skier in my day!” exclaimed Branson, with a tight grimace.
“Elvis Aaron Presree, you fuck your mother – in the ass!” said the AI.
“Moneypenny, please cease and desist that repulsive tone,” said Sir Richard.
“Elvis Aaron Presree, you fuck your mother – in the ass!” said the AI.
“Ben, please smack that console directly above you with your fist, hard!” he said.
“Elvis Aaron Presree, you fuck your mother – in the ass!” said the AI.
Armstrong instantly smashed his gloved fist into the panel.
“- in the ass. In the ass. In the ass,” said the AI.
“Again, please!” said Branson.
Armstrong punched the console.
“Fuck. Ass. Fuck. Ass. Fuck. Ass. Fuck. Ass,” the AI repeated.
Armstrong and Branson looked at each other and shrugged.
“Sorry,” said Sir Richard, with another shrug.
*****
Spaceship Seven was in an inverted dive towards the snow laden mountain top.
Moments before it hit, Branson managed to maneuver the craft upright, with the nose up and the body flared just exactly enough to allow it to impact a large snowbank.
Snow flew all around them, and the astronauts were mercilessly thrown against their restraint harnesses.
The ship bounced high into the air, and several pieces flew off.
Branson punched three buttons, and the landing gear deployed. He pulled a lever, and the rocket engines jettisoned from the craft with another loud bang. They smashed into the ground, exploding, but were quickly left behind as the ship slammed forward.
As the ship hit the next bank, the landing gear was sheared off. This impact had slowed down the vessel even more, but it now was heading towards a ravine.
Branson threw all his weight and strength into the yoke, knowing that he was no longer aerodynamic, but sure he could still affect their downward descent with increased angle of attack. Spaceship Seven hit another snow bank and launched into the air. It sailed over the ravine and arced towards the ground.
The craft did a huge belly flop up against the other side of the valley and crashed through one more large snow bank, and then skidded along a frozen stream, crashing through the ice and showering the bank of the creek with water and mud.
The wings tore off, and Spaceship Seven spun around like a top.
The back end smashed against a stump, and flew across the stream, blasting itself into another pond of frozen water.
It finally came to a stop against a copse of trees.
The quiet after the crash was unearthly.
The astronauts lay in their seats, stunned, groaning, and bruised, but they were alive. Armstrong had never been in any manner of crash such as this one and doubted he was still living. But, carefully feeling around his body, he determined he was intact.
“Sound off!” he shouted, a bit too loudly.
“Cooper, here.”
“Sonya, da.”
All of them answered in the affirmative.
“Well,” said Sir Richard, smiling broadly. “Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing, righto?”
Armstrong looked at him.
Sir Richard sat, disheveled but apparently nonplussed, his helmet on his lap, as he sucked at the tube on a tea-thermos.
Armstrong believed that the man was probably crazy.
But, all he said was “I really don’t care how E-ticket that ride was. Once was enough.”
The ships speakers continued to play music, interspersed with the rambling of the crazed AI.
“Fuck. Ass. Fuck. Ass. Fuck. Ass. Fuck. Ass,” the AI repeated, as the music concluded.
Sir Richard punched the console above his head.
“Greetings, Sir. I hope you enjoyed your flight,” said Moneypenny in her most proper British accent.
Sir Richard blew out a breath, rolling his eyes.
Some distance away, Major Anton Golovanov watched carefully, lying down in the back of the Unimog.
He watched the crew exit from the wreckage, not believing anyone would have even survived such a crash.
His respect for the pilot went up substantially.
He carefully took in the scene as Branson and the ISS crew began to assemble their meager supplies for the evening.
He thought he recognized Branson, but was certain that he knew Armstrong.
There was no mistaking the fact that the ISS crew all wore standard space gear.
The Major put down his binoculars and waited.
“A throne is only a bench covered with velvet.”
-- Napoleon Bonaparte
“When placed in command, take charge.”
-- Norman Schwarzkopf
“Life is a dream for the wise, a game for the fool, a comedy for the rich, a tragedy for the poor.”
-- Sholom Aleichem
Chapter Seventeen
ON BOARD ARK THE FIRST – IMPACT WITH THE WAVE IMMINENT
“Give me a status, Captain,” said the Queen.
“Your Majesty,” said the Captain, matter-of-factly, we are on a collision course with the Moon.”
“What do you expect the damages will be, Captain?” the Queen asked.
“Our current trajectory will bring us into the Mare Orientale, on the dark side of the Moon. The depths of the lunar dust at that point should be enough to cushion our landing and provide a suitable margin of survival,” he said, almost with relief.
“Captain, I can assure you that any casualties will have repercussions, as you well are aware!” exclaimed the Queen, archly.
The Captain gulped, and returned his attention to the instruments that showed that, within a few hours, they would be smashing onto the lunar surface.
Originally targeting the L2 Lagrange Point, something had happened to one of the batteries of Orion engines, during the Asparagus staging. Asymmetric thrust had pushed the Ark off-course, despite the best efforts of the Navigation Team, and the Piloting Team.
When it had become evident that the Ark was deviating from the planned trajectory, the Science Team had conferred with the Engineering Team and the Structural Team as to what could be expected. It was quickly determined that the path could be modified by using a critical evasion maneuver at the right time, but there was no escaping the fact that the Ark was going to crash-land in the Mare Orientale, at the edge of the Far and Near sides of the Moon.
Probes had long ago determined that much of the ‘seas’ observed on the Moon were primarily vast deposits of dust, accreted from millennia of meteoric impacts and other lunar phenomena. It was hoped that the specific density of this dust was less than water, due to both the low gravity and the nature of the extremely pulverized ejecta from the impacts. If the measurements were correct, the effect of the Ark impacting in that area would be severe, but still within the design parameters of the material strength.
The key areas for survival were constructed in the centers of the arks; enormous cylindrical structures that jutted from a central hub.
The geometry of the arks was compri
sed of twenty stacked ‘wheels’. Each ‘wheel’ consisted of sixteen cylindrical ‘spokes’. Each spoke was a triple-pressure hulled construct, with bulkheads that sealed off critical areas hermetically.
At this particular point, The Queen was distracted by both the imminent impact of the Ark with the Moon, and the concurrent approach of The Wave. She knew that at least one of those things was bad enough; two major problems were most vexing.
The Queen sipped at her tea, not tasting it, and bitterly regretting that she did not have all of the information needed to take a decisive course of action. Her own personal survival shuttle was ready, but she told herself she was going to wait until the last possible second before utilizing that trump card.
It was the prudent thing to do.
*****
ON BOARD ARK THE SEVENTH - IMPACT WITH THE WAVE IMMINENT
Prince Charles was not in a pleasant mood. As the Ark approached Lagrange 5, the sensors were reporting nothing ominous nor out of the ordinary. But, he knew, as did everyone on board the immense spaceship, that The Wave was on a direct collision course with them.
“This must be what the captain of the Titanic felt, as Fate bore down upon them, that fatal evening,” he thought to himself. “Perhaps it is what all men feel as they grab the axles of their Destiny.”
He took a glass of water from one of the servants, and sat on his throne, contemplating the situation. He knew that the Queen Mum had managed to get off with the Washingtonian Ark and that he and Camilla had just made the launch window for the Atlanta Ark, with only a few minutes to spare.
He wondered about his sons, and Diana, of course.
Transmissions from the installations and operations centers back on Earth were relaying that a nuclear war had apparently broken out between Russia and the United States. India and Pakistan had also lobbed nukes at each other, and the Middle East was being engulfed in nuclear fires as Israel, Iran, Iraq and Saudi Arabia consummated their millennia-long hatred.
The entire thing was an enormous cock-up, he thought, not for the first time. Why had they decided to launch instead of wait?
Personally, he felt he would have simply preferred to stay on Earth, in an underground bunker, to ride out The Wave. What could possibly happen? It appeared from the little he had seen of the Mars information that some alien bugs had vanished, but that meant almost nothing.
Charles, his impetuous nature bristling at the sheer inconvenience imposed on him by the circumstances, grumbled under his breath.
At least the Ark was performing properly.
Suddenly, there was an urgent prodding from one of his aides.
“Your Highness!” said the aide.
“Yes, yes, what is it?” replied Charles, not actually wanting to be stirred from his brooding.
“There has been a problem with the navigation set for the First Ark, sir,” said the worthy. “It has gone off-course, by a substantial degree. Our projections indicate it is heading directly for the Moon’s surface. Impact will be within 200 minutes, sir!”
Charles considered this new information carefully.
As the ostensibly the first in line for succession to the Throne of England, he knew he was the rightful heir and monarch of the Empire and Leader of the Elites.
The fact that that bitch Diana had usurped his authority irritated him mightily. He still felt the sting from the realization that, with her ensconced back on Earth, (as he wished he could be!) she was in command of all the resources of the Elite. That, plus the fact that it was more likely one of his sons that would actually be the King before he was added a layer of smoldering anger to the annoyance.
He was stupid to have left Earth!
Now, he would be at a significant disadvantage should The Wave prove innocuous!
Seething, Prince Charles threw the glass across the room, and it crashed into shards on the perfect marble floor.
A servant immediately set about cleaning up the mess, and Charles secretly wished he could throw the woman out an airlock, just for spite.
He began to make plans for his triumphant return to Earth, swearing to himself, again, that he would kill Diana.
This time, it was going to work, and this time he finally would rule as the rightful King of England.
*****
CAMP DAVID
Global Hawk drone flights over the remains of Washington DC had given little new information as to the cause of the blasts.
The President ordered the Joint Chiefs to reposition the Boeing X-37 and have the Navy deploy enough of the new Northrop Grumman unmanned RQ-180 stealth drones to the District and Atlanta, Georgia.
FEMA units were being deployed, as rapidly as possible to deal with the literal and figurative fallout from the blasts. The country was in disarray, but rudimentary efforts were beginning to show some progress and organization.
The President was in constant communication, as much as possible, with Putin and the Chinese Premier.
After the initial exchange had been verified, the Middle East had exploded into a nuclear holocaust, and India and Pakistan had decided to settle their scores in nuclear fireballs. The possibility of adverse climate effects were closely considered in the remaining offices of government, and specialists were being rallied to offer strategic and actionable knowledge.
The specter of a nuclear winter hung in the air, and the three major powers wanted to be sure to attempt to manage the situation as much as possible to prevent that from occurring.
On the morning of The Wave impact, the President called a meeting of his chief advisers in the cabinet.
Represented were the heads of the CIA, the NSA, the NRO, the FBI, the ATF, the National Institute of Standards, Atomic Energy Commission, and all the other departments of State as well as the Joint Chiefs.
“Okay, gentlemen and ladies,” said the President. “I expect that by the end of today we are going to have a very detailed and thorough understanding of what happened in Washington DC and Atlanta Georgia.”
“I want it understood by everyone here that nothing leaves the room and this is all classified at the highest level,” he continued.
“I have three items to cover on the agenda this morning,” said the President.
He picked up his cup of coffee and blew on it to cool it down. Taking a small sip, he frowned at the taste.
An aide noticed his look, and immediately brought a fresh pot of coffee and a serving set next to the President and began preparing a new cup.
The President waited until the aide had completed and then continued. The others in the room fidgeted restlessly and then paid close attention.
“As I was saying, I have three items immediately needing attention on my agenda,” he said.
“The first item is to dissect our information regarding the incidents in Washington, DC and Atlanta, Georgia.
We have lost hundreds of thousands, perhaps over a million, of our fellow Americans in this disastrous and cowardly attack. Never before have the United States been subjected to destruction of this magnitude. “
“Mr. President,” said the Director of the CIA, “if I may ask a question?”
“Please wait until I have finished,” said the President.
Looking directly at the man, the President spoke.
“I want to be very clear as to what I expect the goals of this meeting to be, and I don’t mean to be interrupted again until I complete this introduction. Understood?” he said.
The Director stared at him defiantly, for just a small moment, and then nodded his head.
The President continued and glanced around the room to assure he had everyone’s immediate and complete attention. He was in no mood to argue, and he needed to set the tone and make sure understood the chain of command. This was not a time for weakness.
“The second item I would like to address is our response to these disasters, as well as the ongoing operations in regards to controlling the situation,” he said.
“My third item is to have a complete pi
cture of the situation as regards the nuclear exchanges on a global basis and why we cannot communicate effectively using the nominal channels,” he finished.
The President then sat down and tested the temperature of his coffee with his finger. He took a sip and gave his aide a thumbs up. The assistant smiled with relief and the President nodded that the briefings could begin.
*****
First up was the head of the Air Force, who began by giving an overview of the information collected from the X-37 and the Predator drones that had been able to be deployed in the areas of Washington DC and Atlanta Georgia.
“Mr. President,” he began, “We understand now that the nuclear detonations were not as a result of missiles that were targeted towards our cities. The evidence we have collected, both by satellites and local resources who had survived the incident shows that something erupted from the ground and then headed into the upper atmosphere. In both cities, the massive damage incurred to the population were results of the exhaust of unknown structures. Our current calculations indicate that both vehicles, if indeed that’s what they are, were launched into space using nuclear detonations, which is a technique that NASA had explored in the early 1960s. The nuclear signatures that we had recorded using our NEST instrumentation decidedly indicate START II-era weaponry, and technology.”
“Are you trying to say that to spacecraft were launched from underneath our major cities?” asked the President, incredulous. “You are seriously suggesting that city-sized spaceships blasted off from Earth and had been constructed entirely in the black from all of our intelligence assets?”
The Director of the CIA looked over to the Directors of the NSA and NRO. The three exchanged meaningful looks, and the directors of the NSA and NRO nodded their heads.
“Mr. President,” said the Director of the CIA.
“If I may?” the man asked.
The President looked sharply at the director. He slowly nodded his head as the Director stood to his feet and moved over to one of the monitors that were showing video of the event as captured by many surveillance feeds.
“I would first like to propose,” said the Director, “that what we are witnessing here is not without precedent.” There was a murmur in the room as this information was processed by all those present.
Terminal Reset Omnibus: The Coming of The Wave Page 24