Chapter 36: Six Hours To Trinity

NSS McDivitt, December 8, 2141
Six Hours To Trinity

Alan stared at the surgery door that he was standing in front of, but he could have been hanging upside down from his magnetic boots. Being weightless, there’s no reason to sit, and pacing aimlessly in magnetic boots is too much work. Both MDs on board the NSS McDivitt and the finest in medi-bots were working on Hilde. Twice a nurse came out and said, “Thank God you were there, you saved her life.”

“But what about her legs?”

“That’s up to her. She needs a positive attitude and support to heal.”

“Thank you.”

Captain Schirra entered the surgical area and stood toe to toe with Alan. “Why did you charge Spaceman Curtis with accessory to Murder?”

Alan shrugged. “I know he’s going to beat the charge in any court martial, but he’s going to have to take the stand and explain why he did nothing to help his critically wounded commander. He just sat in his ship and watched. He should have had a bag of popcorn so he’d enjoy the show. I want to see the spineless worm take the stand. I want to hear his spineless ass lie to me. I would charge the entire squadron if I could.”

“It’s not the entire squadron, it’s the new bodies that were brought aboard the McDivitt from Armstrong,” said Captain Schirra. “Hilde sent her most faithful fliers to Mars, she was trying to work with these people and most didn’t want to listen to a Luna.”

“I don’t know what to do...” groaned Alan. For the first time since his parents died, he was lost for an action to take.

“I need you on the bridge. It’s time to go.”

“Shit...” with a forlorn look at the door to surgery, Alan turned to go to the bridge. He was only there once before. Fliers don’t go there, that was for the blue-water navy, not fliers. It was nothing like you’d see on video shows, where the bridge was huge and well lit. The bridge on the McDivitt was small, cramped, dark, and noisy. Commander Kanopa was sitting on a chair used by the captain.

“I’m here, what do you need?” asked Alan.

Tim Kanopa looked and recoiled. Alan was still wearing his pressure suit, still soaked in Tasha and Hilde’s blood. His blood smeared helmet was tucked under his arm and he was still wearing his blood covered gloves. “Recall the flying squadrons, we’re heading for Mars.”

“You’re late,” said Alan. “We should have set course for Mars over thirty minutes ago.”

“Our captain is indisposed. Are you going to recall the flying squadrons?”

“Are you going to get underway?”

Tim sighed. “Let’s get underway. MISTER Scarlett has his own plans for bringing aboard the spacecraft.”

“Aye, sir,” called out the helmsman.

“Navigator, plot a course for Mars.”

“Aye, aye sir,” said the Navigator, and she leaned over her star charts and began calculating.

Alan waited for a full five minutes watching her flip from chart to chart in confusion before he cried out “Oh for Gods sakes! This course should have been plotted five hours ago! In what street gutter did you find your navigator’s license?”

The navigator looked at the blood covered Lieutenant JG in terror. “I can’t do this with you staring at me!”

“And what are you going to do knowing there’s an Eastern Bloc carrier out there looking to shoot us the fuck out of the universe!” roared Alan.

“What carrier?” said Commander Kanopa.

“Where do you think that pair of featherback fighters that killed my RIO came from? Polaris? Jeezuz ... Let me show you how a navigator works...” he looked at the navigator’s rank and rolled his eyes in disgust and pronounced it “co-man-dur. He shoved all the star charts off the worktable onto the deck revealing the plexigraph star chart underneath. “Here’s us, here’s the sun, here’s Mars...” he wrote several equations on the glowing worktable with a grease pencil. “The solar system is a flat disc. Ignore the rest of the universe. We’re staying on this disc.” He used an ancient circular cardboard computer and said, “You figure out when do you want to get there and work backwards...” he scribbled out a few more equations then said, “here is where Mars will be in eight days,” then drew a line on Mar’s orbit. Then he drew a line from their position to Mars future location. “Helmsman, steer zero-one-five degrees, zee plus two degrees for twenty hours, then level up on zee minus zero.”

“Is that right navigator?” asked Commander Kanopa.

“uhhh, yes sir. That’s not the way we were trained but it’s right...” ‘and fast!’ she thought.

“He has a doctorate in Astrophysics. He knows his way around a star chart,” said the XO.

“Now that you have the course plotted is the time to worry about navigation points,” said Alan and he handed the blood covered grease pencil to the terrified navigator. “You don’t worry about them first.”

“Helmsman, steer zero one five degrees, nose up two degrees,” said Commander Kanopa

“Coming about, to ... zero one five degrees, sir.”

“Let’s light the fires, all ahead...”

“Take it easy sir, we have three surgeries in progress,” said Alan.

“That’s right,” said Tim. “Helmsman, all ahead slow. Ease her up five percent every thirty seconds.”

“Aye, aye sir, she’s answering the helm.”

“Thee surgeries?” asked Commander Kanopa.

“Yes sir, they’re trying to attach a pair of legs to Commander Marks, and a pair of balls to her gutless RIO.” He picked up the microphone and called, “Spaceboss, bring the Berserkers aboard and have maintenance get them ready to cover for that other unit.”

“Bridge,” called the Spaceboss. “What about the Werewolves?”

“Fuck ‘em,” said Alan. “They’re not my problem,” and he hung the mic back up and left the bridge.

“What was that?” asked the engineering officer.

“I don’t know but I’ll get to the bottom of this.” With that, Tim Kanopa left the bridge and followed Alan down the corridor, shouting, “Mister Scarlett ... MISTER Scarlett...”

“What?” Alan said without turning around.

“Mister Scarlett, what is with this attitude?”

Alan spun, stood nose to nose with Commander Kanopa. “I’m getting ready to nuke the remains of my Aunt and my cousin and suddenly my RIO gets cut in half and my fiancée gets her legs chopped off. I call for help three fucking times and nobody responds. I called for the Berserkers and they all showed up. And that fucking gutless cocksucking RIO sat there and watched.”

“Lieutenant, I’m sorry but...”

“This blood is all I have of the best RIO I’ve ever had, goddamn it.”

“I’m sorry lieutenant...”

“Not as sorry as those assholes are going to be...” and he stormed off.

“You’re not going to recall them to the ship?” shouted Tim.

“I’m not their goddamn commander!” replied Alan, without turning around. He could feel the ship start to accelerate and he hurried down to the surgery. When he got there, he found the doctors Rhea Seddon and Ellen Baker washing up after surgery. “Well? Is she ok? Will she live? Will she be able to fly again?”

“She’s going to be ok,” said Ellen. “Most people ask if she’s going to walk again, you asked if she’d fly again.”

“She loves to fly. She never mentioned walking. I suppose recovering on Luna will help a lot,” said Alan breathlessly. Then he got quiet. “Is there any problem with having a baby?”

“Mister Scarlett, it’s all up to her. She’s suffered a horrible trauma. Physically she should do fine, but emotionally? Watching her baby fall trying to walk could set off an episode, but nobody knows.”

“When can I see her?”

“I knocked her out for eight hours,” said Ellen. “You can tell her all about the end of the Lake Baikal when she wakes up.”

Alan spent the next four hours getting his plane ready. He pulled a weapon out of storage; it was a B71 Mark 1 Mod2 atomic bomb. The B71 was designed for in-atmosphere release, but the Mark 1 Mod 2 was designed for use in a vacuum or near vacuum, like on Mars. Instead of having a parachute to slow the bomb’s descent, it had retro rockets. As the maintenance teams and the flight crews busied themselves getting their ships ready to fly, Alan pulled the bomb out of storage on a handling dolly, lowered it until the magnetic casters contacted the steel floor, then rolled it under the F-201.

He took his time. He pumped the hydraulic handle raising the bomb, checked the alignment, pumped it up a little more, then when he was happy with the alignment he lowered the bomb down, opened a panel on the center line bomb rack and connected a cable to the F-201, then closed up the panel, routing the cable through a hole in the panel. Then he pumped the bomb back up. “Lieutenant?” came the soft voice of Anna Vasquez in his headset.

“Yes lieutenant.”

“I know what you’re going to do, I want to be your RIO.”

“You’re one of my pilots, I can’t afford to lose you as a pilot.”

“You can’t drop this properly without a RIO, I know how to handle the B71. I know how to modify the rocket pattern to keep it on target.”

Alan pumped the bomb up close, then reached between the bomb and the fighter and connected the cable he installed to the bomb. “What a pain in the ass,” he groaned. Then he pumped the handling fixture a few more times and said, “Not you pain in the ass, the damn bomb.” He pumped until the bomb locked into the bomb rack, then he lowered the fixture and pulled it out of the way. With Anna on the other side of the bomb, they shook the bomb side to side, which caused the bomb rack to tighten down on the bomb and keep it from rattling when they flew.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” said Anna.

“Oh, I suppose it’s not going to matter when this is over. Ok, yeah, let’s do it. Is your bird lined up?”

“Yes sir,” said Anna.

“You don’t have to call me that, you out rank me,” said Alan as he moved the handling fixture out from under the plane.

“No, I don’t sir. You’re my commander.”

Alan moved the handling fixture back to storage, then checked the time. “Oh shit...” He tapped a button on his suit radio control and called, “The movie of the week and popcorn in the squadron briefing room in fifteen minutes.”

Alan was angry when he finally entered the Squadron briefing room. The berserker side was full, the werewolf side was filling up, the promise of a movie and popcorn was too enticing to ignore. There was even cold soda. “The movie today is, The Lake Baikal Story,” said Alan as he stood behind the fliers who were watching the scene. “It’s a silent film, so I’ll add the soundtrack.”

“The Lake Baikal is a Mars flagged heavy lift cargo transport with passenger accommodations for six cabins and twenty four coach seats.” A picture of the ugly, pudgy ship sitting straight up on its landing legs filled the screen. “It was built in twenty one twelve and serviced the Earth to Mars ore trade. Flying an orbit to orbit profile, its maximum load was 10,000 tons, but it could lift 3,100 tons from the surface of the earth. For its last ten years of life it took 3,100 tons of water from Earth, land on Mars, offload the water and return to Earth with 3,100 tons of high grade Martian iron ore. That was called an oar/ore flight. With the removable cargo modules in the cargo bays the Lake Baikal could be offloaded, reloaded, and ready to fly in eight hours.”