“You asshole, you should have known better,” he groaned to himself. I’m either getting old or dumb, he thought. He knew that giant pterosaurs lived in this time and in this area. And just like the condors of home that also had large wingspans and preferred high altitudes for their nesting so they captured the updrafts to make take-off easy, of course the Cretaceous giants of the air would be nesting in the mountains.
Dumb. And dumb gets you dead, he cursed.
“Gluck.”
Andy eased up to sitting and opened his bag, seeing the miniscule version of the thing that nearly ate both of them staring up at him.
“Nasty bird.” Gluck seemed to frown, but only for a moment. “Andy good?”
Andy sucked in one last big breath and nodded. “Yeah, Andy good. This time.” He looked around. “But Andy needs to pay attention or we both won’t be good.”
He looked out through the trees and into the distance. He could still make out the reflective glint on the horizon. He knew it had to be a large body of water.
“My sea,” he said and looked down into the bag. “But I think we’ll travel at night until we’re out of the mountains; otherwise, we’ll both end up as bird shit.”
“Gluck.”
“Yeah, I’m hungry too.” He closed the bag. “We’ll make camp soon and have dinner, I promise.”
CHAPTER 18
Lieutenant Redmond “Red” Gordon was jammed in tight. There were so many dials, tubes, buttons, switches, and electronics surrounding him that he could feel the electromagnetic waves all the way to his back teeth. Added to that, they made the heat in the compact space capsule nearly unbearable and the bulky flame-retardant suit he wore was like a layer of canvas pillows.
But he was thankful for the padding now, as the blast-off and acceleration had been like riding a 1,500-pound rodeo bull, and after several hours of being strapped in place, every single fiber of his body ached and screamed to be able to stand up and move around.
Gordon was an engineer and test pilot with the U.S. Air Force, and he had been selected to pilot the new ballistic rocket system that was to make him the first man to fully orbit Earth, beating Russia by just a few years.
In his ear was the constant professional command center babble of NASA, the newly formed space agency, and his constant companion, ground control leader Mitch Brammel. He looked up to the countdown clock and saw he had mere hours until he’d commence re-entry and be on his way to splashdown in the Florida Bay where he bet helicopters were already hovering.
The Archimedes was coming up over South America, still at a height of 87 nautical miles, as Gordon began the re-entry checklist with ground control; all was going to plan. Until everything went dark. So dark, he thought for a few seconds that he’d gone blind.
“Command center, come back.” Gordon licked suddenly dry lips. “Command center, come back. Ah, Mitch, are you there?”
There was nothing, no sound, not even any static. There was only his own rasping breath.
“Ames Command Center, this is Major Redmond Gordon requesting immediate response, come back.”
Nothing. He was in a void of nothingness where there was no sound, no light, and no constant hum of the electronics. And the craft even felt different now. There was no sensation of the sliding acceleration as he skimmed above the atmosphere in a space orbit heading toward re-entry.
“Damnit, Mitch, where are you?” Gordon cursed and brought a fist down on his thigh. His stomach began to flip and he knew why — gravity was kicking in and he knew he was in free fall.
“Ah shit.”
Gordon shook his head. “Come on, guys, don’t do this to me.” He tried the comms again, and again, and again, and by the fourth time, he knew he was alone.
The words: total system failure, screamed in his head.
“I’ve damn well trained for this,” he told himself to regain some calm over the waves of panic wanting to wash over him.
There were manual procedures, processes, and instruments for him to use, and he reached forward to a small compartment and grabbed a glow stick, broke it, and held it up. Manual clock face dials told him his speed, orientation, and altitude. Thankfully, he was well inside the atmosphere now but had reached a terminal velocity, and he had no idea over what.
Now, there would be no automatic ejection of his capsule from the booster, and no capsule ejection meant no deployment of the parachutes. He had zero idea where he was, but he’d have to deploy himself or he’d be a smudge on some road, swamp, mountainside, or beach somewhere.
Gordon sucked in a deep breath and shook his head to try and flick away streams of greasy perspiration that ran down his face.
The altitude dial spun fast, and he counted down the seconds. He grabbed the manual disengagement lever and prayed he wasn’t too high or too low — too high and the air was too thin for the chutes to grab and open. Too low and he’d never slow himself enough to walk away.
“Command center, I am manually disengaging and deploying. Mitch, I’m coming in hot.” He swallowed. “Hope you’re there when I arrive, buddy.”
All or nothing, he thought, and gripped the red lever. “5-4-3-2-1… disengage.”
There was a massive kick as small explosive charges blew the rocket’s nose cone, and his tiny claustrophobic home spun away from its ballistic missile thrusters. Gordon felt himself tumble once, and then the air brakes kicked in as the chutes now automatically unfolded — thankfully, they filled — and began to slow him down.
Gordon stared hard at the altimeter as the feet counted down. He had jammed the glow stick in beside it, and it was a tiny pool of yellow light beside the dial that was now his whole world. He felt like some sort of tiny insect that had crawled into the back of a giant’s crystal radio set as he watched and waited.
He blinked away more sweat; he had a ways to go, as he was still 2,000 feet up. But it would be eaten up fast. He gripped the armrests, preparing for whatever came next — he’d strike hard if he hit water or green. If it was rock, chutes or no chutes, he’d more than likely break apart.
In a few more seconds, he was at 1,500 feet, and then strangely he felt the first strike. He bounced, struck something else, and then felt the tin skin of the capsule being thrashed and pummeled as there came the sounds of branches snapping and leaves slapping at him.
In another few seconds, he landed softly and bounced — like in a hammock. He waited for a few seconds and then began to grin.
“Ho-le-y crap.” He started to chuckle. “Thank you, mother nature.”
He looked up at the instrument panels that were all still as dead as dodos. “You’re no help.”
He immediately began to unbuckle, unstrap, unhook, and unwind from the multitude of safety harnesses, monitors, and communication’s equipment, and then he shifted forward to grab handholds so he could lever himself up to the door.
Gordon had to use the spanner to literally unscrew the metal door, and after 20 minutes was able to shoulder the lid off where it fell to the ground. He looked out.
Green.
Everything was green.
He flipped his faceplate up and was hit by a wave of cloyingly sweet scents, wet heat, and a cacophony of jungle sounds.