Исай Лукодьянов - The Black Pillar

"Good evening!" he cried on the threshold. And, restraining the joyful note in his voice with difficulty, he added: "Will, congratulate me! Mrs. Hampton, congratulate me!"

"What's happened, laddie?" asked the Scotsman.

"I'm going to launch the bomb!" Kravtsov laughed happily. "Isn't that marvellous? I got round the old man! Jim Parkinson and me. Marvellous, Will."

"Congratulations," muttered Will, "though I don't -see why you're so happy."

"Well, I understand," said Norma, smiling, and giving Kravtsov her hand. "Congratulations, Mr. Kravtsov. Of course it's a great honour. I shall.send the news to my paper. When will it be?"

"In two days time."

"I wouldn't know you, Mrs. Hampton," thought Kravtsov. "You used to be such a pusher before -you always got the news before anyone else. And now all you want to do is to sit here…"

"In two days time!" Norma laid aside her work and straightened herself. "I suppose I ought to write… Still, I expect Reuters have sent the official statement to Britain."

As there was no radio communication with the rest of the world, the main press agencies had arranged to send out news on their own jet aircraft."

Kravtsov confirmed this, saving that Renter's plane had taken off as usual that morning from the "Furious"; Norma took up her needlework again.

"They'll be testing for another couple of days," Kravtsov continued excitedly, "and then, ladies and gentlemen, then we'll send the 'fire-fly' up into the air and smash the pillar…"

"What the devil are you meddling in this for?" demanded Will. "Let the atomic scientists do it themselves!"

"But they are doing it. They'll prepare everything and then Jim and I will switch on the clockwork. I had a job to persuade Morozov. Tokunaga had no objection and the Security Council approved."

"Go on, go on! Do your best for the papers. Before the launching say something-well, impressive."

"Will, do you really think like that about it?" Kravtsov was disconcerted and all his joy was damped. "Do you really think I'm doing it for the sake of?…"

He broke off. Will did not reply but his fingers worked violently at the yellow lump of plasticine.

"Well, all right," said Kravtsov. "Good night!"

It was a fresh morning, with a wind and flasks.

Lit up by the lightning, the gay bunting with which the ships of the flotilla were dressed overall flapped and fluttered in the wind: red flag's, the Stars and Stripes, white flags with red circles on them, and many others, and, of course, the blue flags of the United Nations.

The storm raged over the ocean. Clouds billowed and swirled, and it was a long time since the men had seen sunshine. But soon they would -very, very soon!

A streamlined launch danced on the choppy sea alongside the white hull of the "Fukuoka Marti". Before long Alexander Kravtsov and Jim Parkinson would step into it, but just now they were on board the flagship and hearing their last instructions.

"Do you remember everything exactly?" asked the senior atomic engineer.

"I wish you success, gentlemen," the portly representative of the Security Council said solemnly.

"A pity they won't let me go with you," said Ali-Ovsad.

"Don't delay, my dear fellows. As soon as you've switched on, back into the launch immediately, and home," said Morozov.

"Good luck," said Tokunaga softly.

And now Kravtsov and Parkinson, in their crackling grey-blue protective suits, had boarded the launch and away it sped, leaving along wake of foam behind. On board the "Fukuoka" men waved and shouted, and the upper decks of the other ships were black with people also shouting and waving; while the brass band on the "Furious" crashed out 'and a mighty resounding cheer came from the "Ivan Kulibin".

"Jim, have you ever review troops like a big shot?" Kravtsov tried to conceal his excitement under a joke.

"Sure, sir." As always, Jim was imperturbable and seemed casual. "When I was a kid I worked as a cowboy for a crazy rancher. He used to parade his cows across the ranch."

The rig was rising from the ocean swell. At first only its upper tip was visible, and then its whole hull emerged. It had long ago lost its spruce white look. Now it was blackened with smoke, ripped by gas welders, covered with purple bruises. Its tall side hid the sea and sky from view, now slowly it circled round the black pillar: a steamer with rudder fixed had been moored to it for the purpose. The crew had been taken off and its boilers were fed by a mechanical stoker.

The launch came to a standstill by the landing stage. A petty officer, dextrously hooking on to one of the stanchions, said in broken English:

"It's a great day today," and smiled respectfully.

Kravtsov and Parkinson stepped out on the landing and proceeded towards the ladder, the glasscloth of their protective suits rustling and racking at every step. Through the visors of their air-tight helmets everything looked yellow.

Up the zigzags of the ladder, no lift, of course, and it was tough going with thirty metres to climb. The narrow steel treads vibrated underfoot. So the two men clambered up, stopping more and more frequently to take breath. From that height, the white launch looked like a small plastic toy on the grey sea.

The upper deck at last.

They went slowly past the deserted verandah of the messroom, past the row of cabins with wide-open doors, past the chaotic heaps of wooden and metal scaffolding, now no longer needed. The steam crane, its long neck bent, seemed to greet them. But they must not look down at the ocean: the spinning horizon made them giddy.

They were dazzled by the ceaseless flashes of lightning, which struck deafeningly again and again at the black pillar just above their heads.

"I think it's got wider still," thought Kravtsov to himself, his mind fixed on the mysterious field of the pillar. He purposely took a few steps towards the centre of the rig, and then returned to the side. It was certainly more difficult to return.

It had certainly become wider. A control apparatus set up on a post near the platform, confirmed this.

And here was the platform. A huge container resembling a torpedo stood on it. And so Kravtsov never saw the atom bomb with his own eyes: the "fire-fly" had been put on the rig in a special container with a device to direct the explosion horizontally. Outside, only the muzzles of the instruments, covered with copper nets, could be seen. The eye of the safety device shone with a friendly green light, just as it had done the evening before, after a long, trying day of testing, tuning, and checking.

Under the framework of the platform there was a tube filled with the compressed rings of solid rocket fuel. The simplest of all possible jet engines. The day before, a similar platform-with a steel block on it instead of a bomb-driven by a similar engine, had rolled faster and faster along the rails to the centre of the rig. The pillar had drawn it to itself and the platform, crashing into its black side, had rushed upward with the pillar at the speed of a passenger plane.

It was an eerie sight!

They switched on the batteries of the intercom, and the usual static noises were heard in their helmetphones.

"Can you hear me?" asked Kravtsov.

"Yes. Shall we start?"

"Yes, come on!"

First, they had to pull out the safety chocks. And that, it seemed, was not easy. The wheels of the platform were jammed with them, and they had to get crowbars and push the platform back a bit.

The chocks were thrown off the rails.

That done, Kravtsov carefully moved the pointers of the first clockwork mechanism, which was connected to the fuse of the jet engine. He made a sign to Jim, who pressed the launching button.

The green light went out. A red light flashed on.