Андрей Демидов - Natotevaal. War Chronicle

– Here is the calculation. If we release the braking shields five minutes forty-five seconds earlier, and at the same time open up the first couple of parachutes, the internal temperature in the containers can be held at the level of forty to fifty degrees Celsius. Plus our air conditioned suits which we will be wearing. The temperature will be quite permissible. The first couple of parachutes will burn up of course, but the main domes will still be there…

– All of us will not fit in there, – glumly said Whitehouse, reckoning something in his head.

– Why? Two containers are ready. One will carry the badly wounded, the doctor and supplies. All the others will fit in a second container. We will have to leave the deceased, though.

The Shuttle twitched and there was a grinding sound, all port windows were closed by the body of Islamist station; the Arabs docked to the ‘Independence’ side-by-side.

Eichberger grabbed Whitehouse by the sleeve of his overalls:

-We can wait no more, Herr Commander. They will be inside the Shuttle in half an hour. We have to make a decision. We either give up, discrediting ourselves, or turn on the system of self-destruction and attempt to escape in the containers.

At this time, Von Conrad, looking like a samurai, who was sentenced to death, took out a screwdriver from Eicherger’s pocket, and clasping it in his hand, turned to the airlock.

From the outside you could hear the sound of scuffling, soft footsteps on the shell plating, the hum of the cutters; Islamists began to open the airlock hatch, and ‘Independence’ was rapidly falling under the escort of enemy ships.

Whitehouse was trifling a piece of paper with Mackliff’s calculations in his hands, unseeing eyes looked at the lines of differential equations of eighth order while he listened to his inner voice, that always helped him out. When he was a kid, on his way back from Grandma Theresa he had turned to a totally strange yard and in a minute a war between clans of Stone and Ho Chi broke out in the Great Park. Afterwards the police up nine corpses of random passersby that had been pierced with holes from quick squirts from the pavement.

And later, in Foot Strasse, at the training base of 51st wing of the U.S. air forces, where he did not make to after dismissal, because he got drunk in a pub just opposite the CPT base, at the same time, when his perfect all-weather interceptor with a pilot substituting for him was broken to pieces. And then, on the frontline in the center of besieged Ankara, when he and two rangers entered the rear of the command post of the 115th shock division of the Islamists, found themselves in the lair of the enemy, under the mass of concrete just a few minutes before a local nuclear attack…

Now, floating in zero gravity among the rubbish and garbage, under a luminous board showing 251 miles at perigee, he did not hear that inner voice, and therefore lingered.

– Hurry up, Ronny, don’t fall asleep, – Dybal startled him out of his apathy.

He and Eicberger were already fully clothed in suits and gently shoved Aydem into the suit.

The light blue emergency lights were slowly fading, giving deathly shade to faces of feverishly working people, the altimeter was signaling monotonously, changing the decreasing numbers, heat sealing that was cooling off in the containers had a disgusting smell.

It was getting unbearably stuffy with every minute; without getting enough voltage, the respiratory mixture regenerators had stopped functioning.

The Arabs had already passed through the outer hatch of the airlock, and there was a sound of grinding diamond drills, that were exposing the first inner membrane.

Someone was rummaging in the engine compartment, having got in through the hole in the empty fuel tanks.

– Why the hell did you take «Coke», throw it out immediately. And what's this? Goose liver? Will do. Dried rice? All right. Strawberry jam? Leave it to the Arabs. Chocolate? Suitable…– Whitehouse and Dybal loaded the second container with product packs and most valuable instruments.

Unconscious Hoffman was already inside with Eichberger, who was taking the load and arranging it in a form of small pyramids.

Mackliff and von Conrad dragged Aydem:

– Step aside we are going to ship the commander.

– The most interesting fact is that he will not fit in there. He will have to fly in our container. See how many things we have got? And we cannot put Hoffman in a different position. You do not want to tie his knees to the chest while he is unconscious. – Whitehouse froze with a box of rice in his hands and a blank face.

– Meanwhile Dybal leaned over the hatch to Eichberger’s container, turning his shoulder timer to him:

– Hey, man, if you do not want us to be blown apart by a couple hundred miles, then listen carefully and memorize. Let’s check the time first. It is fifteen forty – forty one– forty two– forty three on my timer …

– Have you managed to set the time? Good for you.

So, you must reset the timer at start, and when it comes up to twenty-seven minutes fifteen seconds, you press that button there below the elbow. Shield braking will open and the parachutes will shoot off.

It will shake, but not much. Then you can relax.

All the rest will be done automatically. If we do it synchronously, we will land within half a mile from each other. If not, then much further. Yes, there is one more thing. If at landing a ‘010’ symbol appears this will mean you have landed on water. Do not unlock the hatch in any case, and turn on the beacon immediately. Got it?

– All right. God bless us! We are 99% dead already. Therefore farewell. – Eichberger crossed himself and closed the glass of his pressure helmet.

Von Conrad helped him lower the heavy round hatch:

– Goodbye. But still you should sit back. Just in case we get lucky.

When there was a click of internal bolt, still warm from Mackliff’s design tweaks, flight engineer sighed with relief:

– Seems that it worked. Let us hope that design of our capsule will not fail us either, – he was looking for something wooden to knock three times against the evil eye by the Russian tradition, which he remembered all of a sudden.

He did not find anything wooden, of course, so he spit three times over his left shoulder, and climbed in the container.

– Yo, damn mechanic, what is that hissing sound? – Whitehouse asked warily; he could hardly settle between Dybal and the colonel.

-Oh… I opened a goodbye helium tank, – said Dybal and listened to the whistling sound, as if overheated steam burst out from a kettle. He added with a wry grin:

-That will be a nice big blow when self-destruction is triggered. The "Green ones" will definitely enjoy it.

The Arabs were creaking with their diamond drills in the airlock, exposing the inner flap; liquid helium was hissing, flowing like a mist; self-destruct timer was buzzing; an alarm sound was roaring at regular intervals and dispassionate voice in the headsets repeated:

-The station is ready to explode. Three minutes left…

– The station is ready to explode. Two minutes forty-five seconds left.

– Batten down the window, Al. Automatic start will set off in a minute, – snapped Whitehouse and rolled down the glass of his pressure helmet.

Dybal quickly pulled the cover and spun the bolt wheel:

– Farewell, father "Independence" and mother life!

Pressurized helmet lights illuminated the inner parts of the container; astronauts were cramped like canned sprats.

They could not even stir; there was no question about it.

All they could was to move their hands a little that have been prudently placed in front of the dashboards of their spacesuits.

Von Conrad was either whispering something quickly, or praying, or piling up one of his creepy complex abuse.