Earth Lost Without Power

by L. S. Wood

  Timing for the speedy reentry of the Twitchel back through the ionosphere down into the atmosphere was quickly passing by. The Twitchel’s crew was in their last critical stages of positioning their craft for the proper reentry angle and decent. The youngest of the weary Soviet cosmonaut onboard the spacecraft who had lost his entire family to the big bang by his fearless leaders, mentally lost it. He suddenly cracked under depressing pressure very quietly after belting himself into his secured seat onboard the Twitchel. He just sat there dead silent in his seat for the next few hours gazing out into outer space in his own little world with glossy eyes, staring at the back of his American enemy’s helmet, thinking about all that which he had lost back home on Earth. He hurriedly removed his fastened downed seat belted body harness from its latches, and quickly threw himself forward and onto this enemy in front of him and began attacking the back of the head of the person.

  He didn’t know who or why he was attacking this person, but all he knew was he had to attack this enemy of his that had killed all of his relatives and friends back home before this person, this American enemy, could kill him and his fellow cosmonauts onboard with them. He didn’t know it or understand it at the time, but he was attacking the back of Captain Ann Mitchell’s helmet. She at the time was in the process of positioning the Twitchel for their final reentry course down into the atmosphere. She was busy with the flight computer and controls, trying to navigate the spacecraft safely home. Everyone looked the same to Scavonivich. All the American enemies had their bright white shiny helmets on with the enemy logo of the United States flag and a NASA emblem printed on them. All he knew for sure or felt in his very confused mind now was whoever this person was, this was the enemy whom he had to attack to save his life. It did not matter who it may have been, for this enemy was busy pushing these deadly computer buttons, and was turning and adjusting the speed dials of death on the control panel board positioned in front of them. This particular person in front of him was the person trying to execute him and every one of his fellow comrades that were with him onboard this death ship heading back toward the earth, so the enemy might destroy them all when they landed.

  He hit Ann with such force in the back of the head it knocked her out cold instantly. She was in her last final stages of calculating and setting the proper reentry procedures into the computers mainframe, trying very hard to position the Twitchel safely down into its final pitch and descent back into the earth’s atmosphere softly in its proper angle of descent. She had been knocked out just prior to hitting the reenter button on the onboard computers mainframe keyboard, never to accomplish her final reentry course settings on the computer, and lay slumped over motionless in her control seat. Another Russian cosmonaut quickly uncoupled his seat’s harness, and arose to the occasion to try to restrain his fellow comrade, but he was too late in doing so. His comrade had already done the damage, and the Twitchel continued down in the original slow descending orbit not responding to the silence of the program ready to go into its control memory, but lay ready at Ann’s fingertips to finish the job.

  Commander Nelson heard a muffled unintelligible sound in his headphone earpiece as he tried to talk to Ann. With no immediate response from Ann, he turned his head toward her to make eye contact and for her acknowledgement of their supposedly new course bearings. All he saw was a chaotic situation going on behind him between two of the Russian guests they had brought along with them onboard.

  Suddenly, Lieutenant Steven, David, and Chester were climbing all over the two Russian cosmonaut guests punching and pushing at one another all at the same time. He could not imagine what was taking place behind him or what could have triggered such a ruckus. Everyone was getting into the fight in the cockpit except for Major Bill and Ann. She knew nothing about the fight because she was the one knocked out cold at the time, unconscious at her controls.

  After securing the madcap cosmonaut who had lost control of his mind and sanity, they placed him back into his seat with restraints. They all returned to their positions at their controls, as Ann finally came back to consciousness. She could not imagine what had just happened to her or why she had passed out as she didn‘t feel sick, but knew she had a terrific headache. Then Commander Nelson briefed Ann in about what had just transpired and happened to her. Ann went immediately back to work, trying to reconfigure their next possible attempt at a safe reentry attempt for the day, but it was too late to try another attempt. Darkness was setting in, and without the light of day, they would all perish.

  According to her new calculations of re-entry time that she performed on the computer, they would have to wait another several hours until the next morning for their new attempt at reentry, if the weather around the cape permitted them to do so. They had lost their present window of opportunity for reentry for the present time. With no one below knowing the exact time of their reentry when they were planning to return to Earth, the runway would be indistinguishable to identify at sunset or during the dusk hours of daylight without the well-lit runway markers to assist them in their landing.

  None of the previous shuttle flights had ever attempted this task before even with runway lights. The chances of landing on an unlit runway at dusk was risky if not deadly because of the sun’s reflections off the ocean’s waters around Cape Canaveral, especially in the evening hours when everything becomes distorted without computer control of the craft during landing.

  During the disturbance, they drifted dangerously close to the most outer inner limits of the earth’s most outer atmosphere that could pull them in towards the earth, which would result in their eminent doom if it was to happen. They would probably make the reentry back into the atmosphere safely, but without a safe place to land. Without a runway to land on, it would more than likely cost them their lives. They could be lucky and last in a safe orbit in this position until the next morning, when and if there would be a window of opportunity for reentry should the window reopen for them again. Ann sat at her workstation with a throbbing headache wondering if the chance she took in trying to save her fellow astronauts had been worth volunteering for a chance in ending her own life.

  If that lunatic cosmonaut had not flipped his damn lid, they could have all been safely down and on the runway by now, but instead she was now looking at a window in her life that might prematurely close for her and for her to become a loss to her family.

  Commander Nelson broke her train of thought, and brought her back to reality. “Captain Morris, how much propellant do we have remaining onboard in the main thruster booster tanks?”

  “They are about one-quarter full, sir!” “How much propellant do we need Captain Mitchell for a safe reentry attempt to place this bird safely down into the earth’s atmosphere?”

  Ann looked at the fuel chart in front of her to make absolutely certain the quantity of fuel they would need for reentry. She knew in her own mind from the many long hours of training she had gone through, but wanted to double check her own thinking. We need at least one-eighth of a tank of propellant, Commander. With less than that, we could very possibly undershoot our reentry course and falter in our only attempt for a good landing. It would be very dangerous to attempt it with less than that amount, sir.”

  “Major! Prepare to revise the Twitchel’s attitude in preparation for increased altitude. Captain Mitchell on the three-count captain, a ten minute blast firing the main rockets”.

  “Yes, sir, Commander. One, two, three, contact.” Major Morris turned the dials on the computer in front of his station manually, altering the attitude of the Twitchel. The Twitchel pointed itself back into an outer space attitude away from the deadly gravitational pull of the earth’s atmosphere. The ship increased its speed and safely pulled up and away from its low orbit.

  Ten minutes into the burn, they were cruising at a much faster and higher safe altitude out of the danger zone from possibly being pulled back toward the earth unexpectedly during the next several hours. />
  “Captain Morris! What is the quantity status of our propellant now, Captain?”

  “Just barely over an eighth of propellant in each tank, sir.” All we can do now is just sit back and wait for our next window of opportunity to open up for us tomorrow, if it will,” said Commander Anderson.

  When they were safe in their new orbit, Commander Anderson made radio contact with the International Space Station. He informed the space station of the situation of what had just evolved onboard the Twitchel with Scavonivich, and was wondering what to expect to happen next. They were now forced to wait for the next window of opportunity to open up which might allow another attempt at trying the following day.

  “Space station, this is Commander Anderson of the U.S. Twitchel shuttle calling. Is Commander Ivan Khrushchev available to talk or take a message, please?”

  “One moment, please, Commander Anderson, while I send for Commander Ivan, sir.” “Commander Anderson, what can I do for you, Nelson?” As you can see, Ivan, we have not reentered the earth’s atmosphere as of yet, and cannot try again until a new window opens up for us tomorrow, if one opens up for us at all.

  One of your friendly comrades, Makita Scavonivich tried to get us all killed a little while ago, Ivan. He thought my crew of the Twitchel was bringing him and your fellow comrades back to the earth for their immediate execution. He knocked out our navigations officer, Captain Ann Mitchell. He knocked her out cold just prior to when she was about to start our decent down through the outer atmosphere. It was a good thing, if you can call it that. It was a good thing that he knocked her out when he did. If he had gone and done it half way through her final settings of reentry and having the wrong data applied for our reentry maneuvers, it could have killed all of us. He wants to come back to the space station to be with the rest of you, but we are too far away and very low on rocket propellant, Ivan. His request for returning to the space station is impossible or I would bring him back there immediately for you to handle. He has almost convinced a couple of your other fellow comrades that what he is saying is accurate and true. I wish you to talk to your fellow crewmembers with us please Commander, and assure them otherwise, for the best of everyone’s safety aboard the Twitchel, please Ivan.”

  “Nelson, please put your communications on intra-capsule conference channel please, Commander”

  “The conference switch is on already, Commander.”

  “Comrades, this is your commander, Commander Ivan speaking. You will, and I repeat you will all, including you Makita, pay strict attention to your friends the Americans. They are your friends! I repeat! They are our friends. They have come to help every one of us and if any of you interfere with them again, you will all face a Russian court-marshal immediately. That is an order! Do you understand?”

  They had all understood Ivan’s orders except for Makita Scavonivich. He still felt he was going to be being executed the first thing when they all returned to Earth right along with all his fellow comrades the minute the Twitchel set down on American soil. No one was going to convince him otherwise, including his own soviet Commander, Commander Ivan Khrushchev.

  The next several hours waiting for their window to open were very long weary hours for the crew of the Twitchel along with the several guests of Soviets they had onboard. Makita would not shut up. He continually, hour after hour, talked all night long about every one of his comrades killed by the Americans when and if they ever got back to Earth. He rambled on wildly, hardly taking a breath giving everyone onboard a massive headache.

  The dark of night seemed to last a life time over Cape Canaveral as the shuttle passed overhead several times during the night waiting for the light of day to come to the area. California looked like a good place to land, but nothing had landed there since the big disaster took place, and several broken up aircraft were still scattered everywhere about that might pose a problem for the shuttle if they were to attempt an emergency landing there.

  The weather for the day was cloud covered, covering the cape in dense fog it looked from so high above it, so Commander Nelson gave the word that the Twitchel and its crew would wait another day until the light of day again, and try a landing on the cape then.

  If Florida was still socked in on the second day, they would try landing in California or on the Salt Flats near Salt Lake City, Utah. They would land where they could land safely. They were running out of options, and had to land soon to survive themselves for they had no supplies onboard to sustain themselves any longer in orbit. When they had pulled away from the space station, they took almost no extra food or water with them to survive on for longer than a short reentry course that should have only taken them about three hours to accomplish. Commander Anderson wanted to leave behind as much food, water, and supplies as was possible for the remaining crewmembers of the space station. However, just in case of an extra go around in orbit, they took an extra half ration in food for each, to be split up between them all, and a smidgen extra drinking water.

  Just by chance had they have to wait out one or two extra passes before reentry, but it surely was not enough extra food or drink for two or three whole days it seemed it could take to make this a safe and final reentry landing.

  The little fiasco that took place between Makita and Captain Mitchell had caused just that situation of drastic despair to occur. The window had been clear just prior to the sudden occurrence as Ann was preparing the course and getting the Twitchel ready by typing in the new coordinates into the onboard computer to guide them safely back to Earth, when Makita clobbered her from behind knocking her out. Now the window for the day had closed, and their situation was becoming ever the more critical with every passing moment they had to spend in space.

  Ann suddenly experienced dreadful doubts that began floating wildly in her mind about making this bad choice of trying to help her fellow astronauts. She wondered again had she made a wise choice in her decision back home at the farm or had it been a choice of sympathy and apathy that had made up her mind over her friends for her own safety first.

  Was this whole thing really worth risking her life for someone else’s life? What would she have done if someone or anybody were drowning in a pond or body of water in front of her? Would she have jumped in to save them if she were trained to or would she just throw them a life preserver line, and let them fend for themselves hoping the best for them?

  During the long hours of darkness over the cape, Ann had no choice in the matter but to sit at her controls and think over the many difficult and varying situations in lives affected both above and below that were taking place. What would or could she do to help the numerous different victims out of their changeable circumstances if they were in as difficult a situation as her friends were in space?

  Night aboard the Twitchel was not quiet enough for anyone to sleep there. The night turned out to be a very long, loud very monotonously dragged out night listening to Scavonivich yelling and scream out over and over again. He constantly babbled on and on about how he and his fellow Soviet crewmember counterparts aboard the Twitchel were all going to be murdered, executed by the no-good Americans they were with when they all finally got back to earth. None onboard the Twitchel could sleep a wink with him carrying on so. Even if one wanted to, they could not. By morning, his once very loud wildly strong voice became a low very weak gravely toned down whispered drone sounding and annoying melancholy chorus in repeated words about execution and murder. His voice had become so hoarse, everyone aboard was hoping and wishing he would soon develop a severe case of laryngitis from it all, but they were not that lucky, and he did not.

  He relentlessly fought all nightlong with the several restraints applied him without physically tiring, and then had to be once again restrained even more this time than before for his own good, and the safety and welfare of all. By the next morning he was calling his entire fellow comrades criminal spies of the no good Americans as well. When they all got back t
o Earth and he was lucky enough to escape the clutches of the American pigs to make it all the way back to the Soviet Kremlin, they would all be prosecuted as smutty little no good American pig spies of their enemies.

  Early morning over Cape Canaveral brought with it clouded news everyone had suspected it might bring, for Cape Kennedy looked overcast still. It was still early enough in the early part of the day to make a couple more passes above the intended landing site before the window of the day was to close for them.

  If the weather did not break over the cape, they would have no other choice but to land the Twitchel on one of the other designated landing areas in California or on the massive Salt Lake Flats stretched out in Utah. They were quickly running out of time for choices, and it was getting critical in their attempt to return to Earth.

  The deep annoying scratchy voice of Scavonivich continually bitching, swearing, and carrying on about death repeatedly was thoroughly starting to get the best of everyone’s nerves, all being confined there with him forcing everyone to ponder, wondering what was going to happen next, for what he had caused earlier. Ann had had just about enough of this screeching no good son of a bitch maniac. With her head throbbing all night long from the concussion she received from the dip-shit he had given to her. The hard blow to the back her head and neck, making her feel incredibly sick to her empty stomach, possibly from not eating a healthy meal in over thirty six long consecutive hours, she had had it with him!

  Ann decided it was time. She got up off her lazy ass, she thought, seeing no one else in the damn cockpit would, and shut this babbling bastard up. She had had it with him and would deal with him herself. She unfastened her body harness from her flight station, and commenced to get up from her position to quiet him down herself. When standing and turning to accomplish the eager task she had in mind for him, she was too late. When she turned to quiet him down by her own means, one of his very own crewmates struck him a quieting hard blow upside his helmeted head with forceful meaning in it. The sharp blow to his head put his lights out for a while as Scavonivich’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head as he had done to her.