The hellish suction pressed Elsa and Ziegler against the closing hatch. They cowered to protect themselves from the flying debris as it sparked and dented the large hatch, the pair of prisoners acting like a knife-thrower’s assistant. Brutus, however, wasn’t so lucky. As he cowered amongst the landing gear of one of the probes, his arms wrapped around the spindly supports, the wind yanked him from his vantage point and pulled him down the length of the rocking airlock. He grabbed at his fellow inmates, but he still slid relentlessly towards the hatch. One prisoner, unfortunately, collided with his twisting body – Elsa. Almost gleefully, the large male prisoner wrapped himself around her slight frame. She desperately attempted to beat him off as the suction pulled them both towards the gap in the hatch.
The open hatch first swallowed Brutus’ legs like the jaws of a prehistoric beast. He screamed in agony as the heavy door crunched into his torso, the unyielding metal slowly inching into his flesh. Even now, Brutus refused to let go of Elsa. In fact, he drew her in even closer, face to face, and eye to eye. ‘You’re coming with me, my pretty,’ Brutus hissed as a stream of frothy blood vomited from his mouth and across Elsa’s face.
The mocking statement stung Elsa into action. She snapped her head to one side and bit off a finger on Brutus’ other hand. Once again the bully bellowed in agony as blood spurted from the denuded stump.
‘That’s two fingers I’ve taken from you now, you bastard!’ she cried.
At that instant she was released, and Elsa was free to claw away and watch as Brutus was squashed even further by the hatch.
Below, in the passageway, Konrad saw the wedged body and cold-heartedly seized his chance. He carefully let go of the rattling hand-rail and reached out to grab hold of the Kapo’s dangling legs. The air around his hand felt solid, as if it was encased inside a block of glass, such was the force of the escaping air, but Konrad managed to push his hand through this transparent barrier and grab Brutus’ striped trousers. He repeated the laborious process with his other hand until all his weight was taken by Brutus’ legs. At that second, the hand-rail was wrenched away from under him, and so Konrad was left with little choice but to climb up the shrieking prisoner. As he climbed he could hear ribs cracking sickeningly as the hatch continued to cut a path through Brutus. Blood and internal organs started to ooze and bubble from the impact point, the red and sticky globules splashing and dancing in the suction.
Konrad squeezed through the gap into the airlock and rolled across the top of the blood-smeared hatch. He squeezed past Brutus, whose upper body still quivered in its death-throes. The two prisoners locked eyes. Even now, as the hatch crushed the life from him, the Kapo was still full of hatred for the prisoner. The hatch finally completed its messy journey through the prisoner. It slammed into place and the airlock’s red lights flicked to a reassuring white. As Konrad gathered his breath next to Elsa and Ziegler, Brutus’ upper torso tottered over, its wet impact deadened by the sound of the command module purging itself of its broken body.
A ring of explosive bolts fired as the globe’s pitted and smashed outer-casing peeled away. The spherical module within this damaged and scarred chrysalis then automatically fired another ring of engines which blasted it from the devastated remains of its mother ship. Twisted pieces of the Odin clung and spun with the escaping globe like pieces of mechanical after-birth disgorged from some grotesque machine, but they were soon flung aside as the globe’s escape-engines powered up to full speed and pushed it into the unforgiving atmosphere of Vanaheim.
Like the claws of some fiery demon, a glow slowly enveloped the plummeting globe. Luminescent gases of all colours popped and fizzled as the heat-resistant surface bore the brunt of the descent. A rain of flaming debris, both large and small, accompanied the globe on its journey, but unlike the sturdier module, these smaller pieces of wreckage were soon consumed by the inky clouds that swallowed the red-hot metal eagerly.
Eventually the globe broke through the atmospheric barrier. Now free of its shimmering shroud, the pre-programmed systems activated and fired a series of retro-rockets, their aim being to slow the globe’s ballistic descent. At first, their effect was imperceptible, but soon, the cloak of flaming flotsam that had survived the re-entry sped past the slowing module as the rocket’s successfully performed their job. The globe shuddered as its rockets blasted a large cloud of dust from the ground and into the air. The globe may have slowed down from its super-sonic dive, but it still ploughed into the ground – hard. A great groan resounded as the battered craft tumbled across the plain. As it did, a large mound of debris piled up in front of the wrecked globe, the massive volume of soil and rock slowing it down all the time. Then with a thunderous crash the globe abruptly halted against an endless black wall and a mighty peal rolled across the surface as the dust settled upon the crash-site.
Towering above all this destruction, its visage unmarked and unyielding, was the spire. It stood blankly as the dust from the impact rolled against its façade like the fingers of an expectant lover. It was as if the vast structure was looking down upon the command module which rested helplessly at its feet; poised to either destroy what remained of the once proud vessel or scoop it up and embrace it within its dark arms.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The first thing Admiral Bauer felt as he emerged from unconsciousness was the warm touch of the blood that trickled from his forehead. Soon, his other senses started to return. His taste detected the salty, metallic blood in his mouth, while the smell of smoke, burnt flesh, sweat and tears overpowered Bauer. Screaming, shouting, the sound of feet upon metal and the whine of alarms surrounded him. Finally his vision emerged from the ether to reveal the sources of the sounds, smells and tastes. But dominating all his senses was the excruciating, heart-rending, unbelievable pain he was in. A sheared catwalk pinned the Admiral down, its twisted frame digging deep into his legs. Bauer attempted to pull himself out from under the obstacle, but he soon stopped as the pain became too much. But the Admiral’s movements disturbed a body close by. The body was that of Mesler, and much to the Admiral’s relief, he was still alive. The officer groaned into life. For a moment, Mesler, like the Admiral, struggled to regain his senses, but unlike Bauer, he was free from injury and more importantly, he was free of the carpet of wreckage that surrounded them.
‘Mesler, you’re alright, thank the maker!’
‘My head doesn’t think so, Herr Admiral,’ Mesler winced. He looked down at his trapped commander and immediately clambered down to join him. ‘Are you alright?’
‘My legs are pinned beneath this damned catwalk. I can’t move.’
The Admiral gazed around the wrecked control room. A nest of misshapen metal and plastic obscured his view of the horror that the sound and smells hinted at.
‘Have we landed?’ Bauer asked. ‘I can’t remember anything after you activated the purge mechanism.’
Mesler squatted next to the catwalk and braced himself. ‘I have to assume that we have. We can check together once I remove this catwalk,’ he said pushing the obstruction to one side. The wreckage was surprisingly easy to move and Mesler wondered why the Admiral hadn’t simply done the same. Then he saw why. The Admiral’s remaining arm rested at an unnatural angle across his chest, obviously broken.
Bauer saw the concern in Mesler’s eyes, but ever the professional, ever the commander, he turned his gaze back to the surrounding mess and his crew. His concerns, as always, were with them. ‘I see the emergency lighting’s still on, that means the reactor didn’t kick in.’