Seven Veils of Wisdom – Bloc One – by P J Searle
Chapter Fifteen

On the edge of the chemosphere the rogue missile’s rocket motor flamed out; deplete of fuel it started its descent to Earth. Closing on its tail was fusion fighter three, Jack-knife. It appeared out of the clear blue sky. In the cockpit the pilot spoke into his high-altitude helmet.

‘JACK-KNIFE HERE. DON’T KNOW IF ANYONE CAN READ ME, BUT I GOT A LOCK ON THE MISSILE. IT’S IN FREEFALL. I CAN’T TRUST MY GUIDANCE SYSTEMS SO I’M GOING IN CLOSE AND TAKE IT OUT BY EYE. – OVER.’ He waited a moment then skip’s voice came through over his radio.

‘BLUEBERRY HERE – HI, JACK-KNIFE. THOUGHT WE’D LOST YOU. YOU HAVE ONE CHANCE; IT MUST BE THE NOSECONE. IF YOU CAN BURN IT, THERE’S A CHANCE IT WON’T DETONATE. I’LL HANG ON DOWN HERE IN CASE YOU MISS. BANDITS! GOT TO GO…’ In his cockpit, Bram Holaday twiddled his moustache and uttered his accompanying, tedious catch phrase: ‘MOUSTDASH! … HAPPY HUNTING, JACK-KNIFE. – OVER AND OUT.’

Two miles to the east a Vlad pulsejet entered the theatre. As it closed it launched a computer-locked, air-to-air missile onto Blueberry’s trajectory. From his cockpit, Skip saw the contrail. He pulled the great silver fusion fighter into a climb, at the same time firing his rocket booster. The craft leaped; rocket and scram-jets throwing out strings of diamond contrails as it reached Mach three, forcing the scramjet into the perilous climb just managing to out-run the incoming air-to-air rocket. Skip was momentarily rendered unconscious by the g-force. The air-to-air rocket blundered past and exploded two hundred feet off-target, the shockwave rocked the fusion fighter, causing it to yaw violently and spiral out of control, earthwards.

After some moments, Skip regained consciousness, the fierce descent rushing blood to his brain. His nose and ears were now bleeding from absorbing inertia. After a few moments his drowsiness passed; he gathered himself and began the fight for control. The Vlad pulsejet had turned and followed for the kill. Blueberry was now just a thousand feet from the ground. In the cockpit of the Vlad, the pilot scanned for missile lock. A red light flashed and he launched a second air-to-air rocket. At five hundred feet Skip battled with the controls of the fusion jet. Through the canopy, he could see the desert hurtling up. The air-to-air rocket closed. At three hundred feet Skip fully reclaimed control. As the ATA was about to contact he ripped two levers then pulled the stick back. Immediately the craft pitched into vertical. A sonic boom sounded as both fiery contrails scorched the desert sands just two hundred feet below. The air-to-air rocket was unable to match this manoeuvre and exploded into the dunes. Blueberry now had advantage over the Vlad.

Falstaff had finished cutting a gaping hole into the submarine’s compartment wall, allowing a fierce jet of water into the near flooded control room. He and Rees were backed up against the bulkhead, waiting.

‘Ready?’ said Falstaff, Rees nodded, yes. ’Okay, the force of the outside water will close the escape hatch as the internal pressure drops… hopefully. When we’re in, make a quick assessment as to the repair of the hatch… nod, yea or nay. If yea, you stay and make fast.

‘Right,’ said Rees, far from certain of the success of the crazy plan.

‘With luck,’ continued Falstaff, ‘by the time I get to Walden, the water will be low enough for the second submersible to attach and open the hatch. When we’re in we weigh anchor and leave the Mare to rot. And let’s make it quick, you know how I hate the cold. We got just four minutes then we freeze. You got all that?’

Rees smiled, ‘You’s the… Yes, Sir.’

High over the Caspian Sea, the missile began its free-fall. From the cockpit of the fusion scramjet, Jack-knife, the pilot could see Iraq, the Persian Republic and, far in the distance, the Arabian Sea. Just before the two rapidly closing craft met, the scramjet yawed away. It made an incredibly tight turn, again rendering its pilot unconscious. After a few moments he regained control and plotted a course for the kill, his rocket booster and scramjet motors screaming in unison. The pilot again tried his air-to-air guidance system. The screen still displayed the single word, ‘marjoram’. He switched it off and set his rockets to ‘detonate on close impact’. He lifted the button cover and pressed to fire. Two air-to-air rockets launched and flew seemingly true on course. The first rocket narrowly missed, the second struck the missile and exploded in a plume of fire. As the fireball subsided the pilot could see that the nosecone was still intact – just half the body of the great missile was torn away.

The pilot armed another two rockets and prepared to launch. He hesitated; through his canopy, he saw the nosecone blast away from the missile, releasing its deadly cargo. The blanket-bombs scattered and exploded in a huge nuclear shroud of radiation thousands of feet above the Earth. Fifty miles away Skip’s jet was still pursuing the two Vlads. He saw the massive explosion to his left and immediately banked his fusion fighter into a tight turn. The two Russian Vlads did the same. Now they would race to outrun the nuclear tempest as it unfolded at incredible speed towards them. Only the fusion scramjet, under jet and rocket boost, made it. The two pulsejets were overtaken and consumed in the inferno.

From her aircraft, Jessica had the remaining two Vlads in her sights. She fired a single round from each cannon just to confirm both were armed. The huge aircraft closed rapidly and she prepared to fire, her finger hovering over the button. Then she too saw the nuclear conflagration some hundred miles away. She switched buttons and fired her rocket booster. Immediately the jet responded and she was now high over the Vlads. She lifted the covers on the air-to-air buttons and fired two missiles into the void. They exploded a mile in front of the Russian aircraft as a show of force. She then tipped her wings in cessation, broke away and joined up with the other two fusion scramjets and flew for home. The remaining Russian aircraft did likewise.

In the flooded control bay, Rees, under four foot of water, manually undid the seal on the bulkhead. Falstaff helped to throw the metal bolts. It opened with force, knocking both men aside as the water equalised. Recovering, they swam through the now-gaping bulkhead into the next bay. Rees pulled the hatch closed and sealed it off, then inspected the docking hatch. He nodded to Falstaff, confirming the docking bay was repairable. Falstaff nodded back, and then swam off down the hull towards the rocket silo.

In the Pentagon war room, all eyes watched the Megatron screen. Caxton had his hand over his eyes, listening and viewing his QuickVision implant. He suddenly gasped in exaltation, ‘Hallelujah! Hall,el,ujah, we survive again!’ There were equal gasps of disbelief as the information on the nuclear explosion started to display on the massive screen. Caxton composed himself and continued. ‘The nuclear cloud is forecast to blow out with a cyclone and disperse in the Indian Ocean. I believe the divine hand of God to be, in not some small way, involved.’ Ravenhill stood and beckoned to the chair. Caxton nodded for her to speak.

’How ‘bout our boys, Mister President?’

‘And girl… All returning home.’

The whole room broke into applause, led by Ravenhill.

De Loock was feverishly working at the rocket housing with an acetylene torch. He suddenly felt a presence. He stopped and turned. Lieutenant Miro was standing behind him with a look of utter bewilderment at his captain’s bizarre activity.

‘Lieutenant!’ growled De Loock, ‘I ordered you to leave. I take back what I said; you’ll make a lousy captain.’ Miro tried to speak. De Loock continued over him. ‘No time!’ He indicated to the torch, ‘It’s an expedient. If she doesn’t blow, nothing will stop the missiles launching.’

‘The ship’s sinking, Captain. What’s the–’

‘Just listen!’ said De Loock, speaking over him again. ‘I’m cutting the housing. Take a torch and start on number two.’

‘But what’s the plan?’ Miro managed to say it.

’The ‘plan’ is… when one blasts off it will tumble, hopefully, the rest will go like dominoes,’ he looked at his lieutenant and laughed, ’That is ‘the plan.’

Miro gave a look of amazement at the crudity of the operation, then picked up a torch and leaped to action.’

Falstaff waded to the last air lock. The water was only waist high. He was halfway across to the bulkhead. On the other side, Walden was sitting waiting, staring mesmerised at the bunch of wires in his hand, trailing deep into the silo. He jumped with shock as the airlock spun open with a hiss of air.

‘Jesus H Christ! – Captain!! Do me a favour will ya, knock next time! I don’t need scares like that when I’m holding stuff like this.’ He offered the wires to Falstaff’s view. ‘Good to see you, Sir. How’s Rees?’

‘Rees is okay, he’s fixing the escape hatch… looks like he’s going to make it. That gismo in your head, can you reach top-side from here?’

‘No. Not through the silo’s armour. I’ll try from the next bay. What’s the next course of action, Sir? What steps we gonna take?’ sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

‘Steps! Damn great big ones! We need a submersible, quickly. We are all getting out. Then I’m going to blow the lot.’

‘I don’t think so, Captain,’ said Walden, shaking his head. ‘I already tried that. That’s what these wires were for.’

Falstaff gave him a questioning look. ‘You tried?’

‘I thought I was on my own, Sir. I thought maybe you an’ Rees had got out, or were both dead.’ He gave a sheepish look.

’So you thought ‘maybe’ you’d blow us to KINGDOM COME?’ He yelled the last two words.

Walden yelled back, ‘HOW IN HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO GODDAM KNOW… Sir? Anyways, the Mare wouldn’t let me do it. She’s in command, it would seem.’

‘So… the wires,’ said Falstaff, ignoring the outburst, ‘What were they supposed to do?’

Walden gave a wicked smile. ‘I’ve managed to trick the Bitch. She thinks she’s got the missiles in firing order.’

‘And?’

’Well, the best I could do was jumble them. By rights, they should launch, port then starboard, for minimum salvo recoil. I think I’ve worked it to launch, port, port, and port.

‘And?’

Walden gave a wicked smile. ‘And… the Mare will roll, and with any luck, she’ll shoot some of them, maybe the lot into yonder reef before the booster rockets fire. And that means the war-heads won’t activate – that is right, yeah?’

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Falstaff, amazed. ‘Will it work?’

‘I doubt it... could do… maybe... yeah, why not?’

‘You’re sure now?’ Falstaff said, risking a jest.

Walden considered. He checked the wires running his fingers through the jumble of loops and connections. He looked back at Falstaff and shrugged, ‘That’s all there is, Captain.’

’Okay. I’ve called up the second submersible… let’s take them ‘steps’ out of here.

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