David Golemon - Legacy

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.”

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.