Андрей Демидов - Natotevaal. War Chronicle

He finally managed to get away from the chaos of the brain, and tear off his tongue from the palate:

– Al, John, what’s up, guys?

– It sucks, – answered Dybal in Russian and turned his tired sweaty face to him. – That probe with no identification marks, Ronny, that were the Arabs…

– Nonsense, it can’t be, – Whitehouse opened the belts that were holding him, stood up from the bed and hung over the handrails of a racing simulator. – Nonsense.

– If a neighboring space object interferes with the work of one or more computers and jams several channels of communication, it may be an unfortunate coincidence, – said Mackliff tediously and shrugged his shoulders. – But if this object paralyses the work of all computer systems and moreover does this permanently, than it is…

– An invasion! – finished off Dybal.

– An invasion? You must be out of your minds. Since last year the Arabs have been lurking in their holes like mice, thanking Allah they were able to sign a rectification on fire suspension at four levels: sea, land, air and space. Mutual nuclear attacks in Asia, nuclear canopy and burning oil fields taught them well.

They are now engaged in extinguishing fire in the wells, deactivation of mosques and military coups. No, guys, there is something confusing about it. – Whitehouse barely crept to the window and stared into space; they went round the dark side of the Earth.

Dybal sighed deeply and heavily:

You are both right and wrong, Ronald. Islamists are actually sitting quietly and they are not going to start a new campaign in the near future, although it is possible. But believe me they will not miss a chance to capture two of the newest and magnificent spaceships, which are moreover very high-tech. Well, is this clear? This is a tidbit. Apparently they found out that we failed to notify the Center about our dislocation and situation. You see? They jammed our signal and surrounded us. They are going to take us like helpless blind kittens and they will find out whatever they want. Remember, how they have tortured two British pilots who were brought down over Balkhash?

– What ring? I don't see anything, – said the pilot, still staring into the darkness; he decided this was a joke; he didn't want to; he dreaded the thought of believing them. -This is a bad joke, guys.

"Well… I burned the decoder because of you! – Something shorted and burned under the soldering iron of the flight engineer. A cloud of bluish grey and caustic smoke appeared. Mackliff angrily spat at the steaming board and by several hysterical blows of the screwdriver turned the remains of a transmitter, and block orientation of external antennas into a swarm of ugly debris:

-Why do you need a transmitter here? What can it possibly do?

Dybal smiled bitterly:

– Are you getting emotional, John?

– Well, stop boasting of your composure. If you shot twice from a machine gun in the direction of Ankara, it does not make you a hero! In a couple of hours you will be wrapped in reflex spirals and fried until you answer all their questions. Then I will see if you have any – having lost his temper Mackliff shouted suddenly. His short black beard was messed up, green eyes bulging, throbbing veins stood out on his forehead.

Dybal only waved his hand and moved to navigator cabin, where Dick Aidem was moaning feebly.

– Look! There they are three Islamist stations! – Panting flight engineer got to the window, where Whitehouse was hanging in confusion, and began to rub his ragged nail on the dark glass furiously. “There they are: three humpback shapeless silhouettes. Only a blind man would not see them! Look…” – he had such a brutal face, as if he was going to strangle the pilot.

Whitehouse pulled himself together, took hold of the fire extinguisher bell for greater stability and thundered:

-Flight engineer John Harriman Mackliff, I order you to shut up. According to the Statute, after the failure of the captain, his duties are performed by the pilot. I order you to immediately stop the hysteria, and prepare to launch the empty cylinders of the diffusion reactor. Execute an order! – the pilot survived Mackliff’s suddenly vitreous stare and made his way to the navigation bridge being careful not to touch the bodies of Dunois and Fujiecka, that were wrapped in sheets and fastened along the casing of the main on-Board computer.

He tried not to look into black holes of windows and not to think that Mackliff can lose control and start a rampage.

A fight on a falling shuttle is a nightmare.

At the moment when he knelt down beside the humps of emergency batteries, he could hear a rustle of still running internal communication from the dynamics beside the navigation pane of the charthouse. A confident voice has started broadcasting in perfect English:

– Astronauts of «Independence» and «Das Rhein»! The Supreme command of the united armed forces of the Arab States Bloc gives you a promise to save your life and dignity, as well as to provide you with medical care and hot meals.

Give up.

Open gateway bays and disconnect the system of self-destruction.

Think about your families, kind and gentle women waiting for you, about your mothers. Surrender, and your life will be saved otherwise you will be destroyed.

Do not wait for help as our probes mimic your emergency call onto the orbits of a different azimuth. Astronauts of the “Independence” and “Das Rhein”, the Supreme…

All of a sudden the Shuttle was filled with a powerful buzzing, as if its hull had a few APS distribution transformers pinned to it.

From the depths of the living quarters you could hear Mackliff shouting:

"Jerry, it is jerry! Idiots, they turned on the military emitter! Fanatics! I had almost thought it out, and they…

Whitehouse and Dybal rushed to the side port.

From the right solar battery of «Independence», from the spot where a combat ship was sticking out of his body; short pale-blue flashes were splitting the darkness. One after the other the probes for tracking and jamming, lit up and were destroyed between them.

The Arabs could not turn off their signal lights, necessary for safety control, and the German gunner methodically shot these electronic suitcases.

Islamist stations began to move away slowly to a safe distance closing them in a cloud of reflecting suspension.

– Come on, comrades, let’s burn the green devils! We are all done for anyway! Let’s have some fun after all…– Dybal was striking out wildly.

At the same time Whitehouse was feverishly writing on the sheets that were torn out of the logbook:

«On the 34th day of the flight we were attacked by the BIS warships.

We have lost the connection.

Fulfilling the duties of the «Independence» NIS, Ronald Scott Whitehouse. Finder must immediately pass this to representatives of the authorities. »

Having nervously filled up six sheets with the same message, he rushed to the reactor of ozone diffusion synthesis and found that Mackliff was already here, finishing the preparation of the cylinders for the launch.

Flight engineer seemed changed.

He was busy. His fingers stopped shaking there was a metallic gleam in his eyes, and the cheekbones were tightened.

It was the former Mackliff.

Cylinders were intended for many operations: from the input of ozone into the atmosphere up to the dumping of nuclear warheads, and they were designed for multiple passing through the burning atmosphere.

Now they were being prepared to launch without calculation, not above the critical points, and could fall anywhere, but there was a chance that they will be found by their people or allies. So, having torn out the filling tubes, Whitehouse stuck the notes inside and shut the lids. He looked at the flight engineer with expectation.