- Ronnie says we are not far from the former eastern coast of Venezuela, in Caracas area, which had been covered with sands. Though his eyes tell that he hardly believes in what he says. And so to speak, where is the sea breeze? At the border of the sand and the ocean air currents are mixed constantly, and it must be blowing like in the wind tunnel. But here? Ah, what to say ... - Dybal put the binoculars to his eyes and stared at the horizon. Standing on the capsule, he resembled a monument to some Ancient Mariner, who looked through binoculars at the squadron of enemy fleet...
-Well, the main thing is that we are on Earth. It is strange but we're still alive...
- Everything is relative, John. It seems to me that before the accident at "Independence", when there was light, a cold "Pepsi" and different kinds of sausage, we were a little more alive than here, where at best we can catch a weedy lizard and nothing at worst.
- Where is the second container? Where is Eichberger, Hoffman and all the supplies?
- Makliff leaned against the hull of the container, and suddenly pulled back, it was still hot from aerodynamic heating, and moreover warmed up by the sun. It was hot like hell.
- It's not clear yet. Either they landed too far from us, or did not land at all - said Whitehouse. He handed a flat jar of reactive water to Mackliff.
Flight engineer turned the release cover and gray powder filled the cap. In contact with air the powder turned into what looked like icy water in contrast to the red hot air.
Mackliff gently sipped this iron flavored liquid:
- What do we do next?
- We should at least find out our location to answer this question.
- Ronald, you said that we were in the Caracas area.
Whitehouse shrugged his shoulders.
Having had a good look at the surroundings, Dybal spent some time inside the capsule, and then climbed out red as a tomato, as if he has spent an hour in a Finnish sauna. But at the same time happy. He gently cradled a small box of a shortwave transmitter in his hands:
- Here you go. It seems to work. Now we can connect with the satellite-based positioning. We will send an emergency call and-and-and-and......
- Well-well... And who is going to show up for your call sign? - Sand cracked on the teeth of Whitehouse. He spat aside.
- What do you mean?
- Well then, no outgoing signals. First let's try to listen to the incoming signal. - Forestalling the hesitant navigator, Whitehouse clicked the tumbler and pressed the 100.00 Hertz button.
The transmitter responded with a bang and a howl of automatic tuning. An alarmed voice could be heard through the ethereal sound; it was mumbling so fast that you could hardly parse a word.
After a while, a few more voices joined in. Sometimes the signal was muffled by the trills of triggered aircraft "friend or foe" identification systems.
- I think they speak Spanish - Said Dybal lifting the transmitter right to his ear:
-Please give permission for military approach...
Go ahead...
Iglesias, cover me...
-Yeah right. They attack our second container with Eichberger and Hoffman... Coal-colored cylinder, about three feet in diameter, open aero braking shield, two parachutes...
They do not respond to inquiries; do not shoot off the signal flares.
- In Spanish? So we are still in the SAU.
These are their patrol fighters. The SAU is neutral.
-Perhaps we could try to enable the emergency calls. - Perked up Mackliff.
Whitehouse shook his head:
- No need to hurry up, John. Yes, the SAU"s are neutral, but now we only have the information that we had before the collision with "Das Rein." But then we were attacked by the Arabs. And who knows, maybe another war broke out.
And when the war starts, you can never vouch for the neutrals" position.
- Oh, shit! They brought it down them bastards, they brought down the container! - Dybal suddenly shouted, clutching his head.
- Damn it... What could a helpless container, an iron box hanging on the parachutes possibly do to them? Nasty freaks... Ah... - Whitehouse clenched his fists.
At this point, a little moan escaped from Von Conrad"s mouth. Dybal bent over him:
- What is it, Manfred? Do you need something? Water, a painkiller...
Von Conrad was in a very bad state. Despite the fact that his body had no serious injuries, the general condition worsened with each hour.
When the capsule with him Whitehouse, Mackliff and Dybal, released the aero braking shield at the estimated height it started buffing and the heat reached its maximum.
After thirty seconds of falling in the atmosphere at a speed of 1750 miles per hour the titanium seal around the hatch had depressurized, and the temperature inside the container went off scale.
The fireproof fabric of the suits got wrinkled and softened, like cellophane by the fire, and air conditioning systems continued to work by a miracle.
That was the end.
Mackliff gritted his teeth and said that his life was not lived in vain, that he has developed quite a few first-class control systems of various levels, invented a probe accumulation of solar energy reflected from the moon"s surface and had it affirmed by the NASA commission; made a spectrum estimation analyzer of orbital dust; said that he always liked the guys like Whitehouse and Dybal, and if he sometimes was grumbling and angry, it was only for the good cause.
He has also said that he had always loved only two women - his mother, Ann Stone Mackliff and his wife Dorothy, and all the rest were an accident, a passing moment though he could not say anything bad about them, they all believed him.
He shook his head in the misted pressure helmet, slapped Whitehouse on the shoulder, clinging to the cadmium fabric overalls with his glove, and said that he always wanted to have such children like he had: naughty boys Arnie and George; and sympathized with the pilot that it would be hard for them to stay out of bad company, drugs and juvenile prisons without a father.
Whitehouse did not get the rest of the flight engineer"s shouts, but he just subtly abused the designers of emergency suits for the fabric"s lack of heat resistance.
When the silicone zipper clasps began to smolder and tear at the seams, von Conrad pulled the tube of service module cooling, and liquid helium poured onto his chest.
Everything was shrouded in icy fog, the temperature dropped to normal, but through the vibration rumble and burning boarding you could hear the cracking sound of the colonel"s suit.
Forty seconds later the braking shield opened and the first pair of parachutes opened up.
Then the second pair unfolded.
They have been saved, but the colonel received a severe thermal burn; up on one elbow, he made hoarse sounds, either trying to address his companions or God.
Mackliff could hardly suppress the urge to hide from this terrible, swollen, bluish face.
Whitehouse was standing nearby waving a piece of parachute fabric over the colonel. Meanwhile Dybal continued listening to conversations of the SAU pilots with their base:
- Damn it, they know that there was another container.
They're looking for us.
They have just passed the information on the search sector and probable coordinates 15-2 and 15-3 to the pilot...
- Too bad. Sooner or later they will find us here. And I'm afraid they are not going to offer us coffee. We have to leave. According to the numeration of squares, used in the SAU Air Forces we are near the foothills of the Andes, somewhere in Medell;n, unless memory deceives me... Maybe we are standing on one of its former avenues...