“What could we do?”
“We could possibly send over a Soyuz from the space station and shuttle them back to the ISS, but…”
Bill registered the troubled look on Doug’s face. “But what?”
“The Soyuz has only three seats. So there would need to be a couple trips to save all three men. The logistics could probably be worked out, but the problem is Peter probably doesn’t have a spacesuit.”
The President tilted his head. “Why?”
“The EMU suit he wore when he entered is too big and rigid to fit in the Descent Module, and I doubt the Chinese have a suit on board that would fit a six foot one inch tall man.”
The President leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. He appeared confused. “How did he get into the spacecraft in the first place?”
“Sir, remember the Shenzhou spacecraft is similar to the Soyuz, which has three different modules. Peter entered the bigger Orbital Module from space, which acted as an airlock. In order to get into the Descent Module, he had to remove his EMU suit. Before they enter the atmosphere in the Descent Module, they separate from the other two modules.” Doug put his head down. “If they have already separated from the Orbital Module, there would be no way of saving Peter. He would die when the hatch was opened.” Doug slumped deeper in his chair as his eyes grew wider.
“What is it?”
The NASA Administrator shook his head. “Sir, this problem they are having may require their spacecraft to enter the atmosphere ballistic.”
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s a very dangerous way to return to Earth. They will have no control of their spacecraft and will reach up to 9 g. This is tough on the body when wearing an anti-g spacesuit, and possibly fatal without one.”
A flash of disappointment swelled through the President. “Damn.” His voice grew in strength. “We need to re-establish communication with the Chinese. That hero cannot die.”
2
HANG ON
Something was terribly wrong. Peter’s heart was practically pounding out of his chest as a sickening feeling started to rush through him. The Shenzhou spacecraft was entering the atmosphere in the upside down position. Instead of feeling the powerful g-forces pushing him into his seat, he instead was being pulled, hanging helplessly by his restraining straps. The heat shield, needed to protect them from the fiery re-entry, was on the wrong side. As their capsule aerobraked in the upper atmosphere, the nose of the spacecraft was taking the brunt of the entry. If they continued entering in this incorrect position, it would only be a matter of minutes before the light metal hatch up front would burn, giving way and killing them all.
Tang struggled against all the jostling and g-forces trying to remedy the situation. Unfortunately, they were in a radio blackout, so no help was coming from CNSA. Due to the aerodynamic design of the Descent Module, it naturally wanted to fall with the heat shield forward; therefore, something was preventing it from rotating. Peter concluded one of the other two modules must not have separated when their explosive bolts fired. He was sure it was the Service Module since they were upside down.
Peter yelled out, “The Service Module must still be attached.”
“I understand. Nothing I can stop,” called out Tang, matter-of-factly.
Shit, that wasn’t what Peter wanted to hear. He looked straight ahead at the hatch in front of them as smoke started to seep in. If this thing doesn’t flip soon, we’re dead. The hatch couldn’t handle much more. He hated not having any control over the situation. He couldn’t die like this, not now. He looked out his porthole window to see a fiery display. As he studied the fire show, burning chunks occasionally passed by, which he was sure were parts of the Service Module. Come on baby, burn. Since they were free falling and had no control over the craft, their only chance of survival was for the Service Module to break free by the frictional forces. This would allow their craft to flip to its naturally designed orientation for re-entry, protecting them from the dangerous heat buildup.
Sweat was starting to drip profusely off Peter’s face, a sign they were entering the atmosphere. The temperature in the small cabin was reaching well over 100 F.
Suddenly, a woman’s voice blared through the cabin speakers, speaking in Chinese. Knowing it wasn’t CNSA, he assumed it was some kind of warning, possibly a voice synthesizer integrated into the spacecraft’s precautionary panels informing them of a problem. Peter forced a smirk. No shit, Sherlock.
Tang reached over with his gloved hand and aggressively flipped a switch, cutting her off in mid-sentence.
Peter peeked at the instrument panel; they were approaching 4 g. His eyeballs began bulging out of his head as the straps cut into his skin, the coveralls offering little protection. Damn, this hurts.
The spacecraft began to violently shudder back and forth as Peter held on for dear life. With a sudden loud bang, the capsule vigorously swung 180 degrees on its axis. The vicious centrifugal force slammed him into his seat, like some wild amusement ride. The force once pulling him was now smashing him into his seat as the craft now aerobraked in the correct position, leading with the heat shield.
Tang grunted, “Module free, go ballistic.”
The immediate sigh of relief Peter experienced with the decent module breaking free and still being in one piece was quickly displaced by the need to go into survival mode. Though happy he wasn’t going to burn to death, he now had to worry about surviving a ballistic return, the treacherous re-entry he didn’t want. They were falling out of control in a steep dive that would subject him to 9 g. The spacecraft began to slowly spin like a bullet. He was struggling to breath. It felt like an elephant was sitting on him. Unfortunately, his seat was not form fitted to his body so certain pressure points were digging into him; he simply had to bear the excruciating pain. He glanced at the g-force monitor and saw they were approaching 6 g. Shit, I have to handle three more of these!
Peter used all of his strength to push out his abdominal muscles to help with his labored breathing. He was having a hard time swallowing and willed his body to stop. His vision was beginning to blur. Come on, Peter, you can do this. Stay focused! The force on his body kept increasing, and every little shake of the spacecraft hurt. He felt himself starting to black out. He continued to flex his muscles throughout his body to fight off the pressure, forcing himself to stay conscious. From the grunts he heard in his headset, Tang and Nei were struggling too, but at least they had anti-g suits. Nobody moved or said a word.
KUANG PIN PACED nervously back and forth, rubbing his sweaty hands together in the Control Room of the China National Space Administration. As Director of CNSA, he knew he would be held responsible for failing to beat the Americans back to the moon, allowing the United States to expose China’s lies and humiliate his country in front of the world. His only possible hope for saving face was to take prisoner the American astronaut who had carried out the mission and question him.
Kuang stopped pacing and turned to the flight director. With a sense of anxiety creeping through his voice, he asked, “When should they emerge from the blackout?”
The young man covered the microphone of his headset before turning around to make eye contact with the director. “Radio transmission should be re-established in eight minutes, sir.”
Kuang raised his bushy eyebrows. “Do we have an accurate assessment of their landing zone?”
Without blinking, the flight director answered, “Within a twenty-five mile radius, sir, as long as no problems occur during blackout.”