The men of the Astral sat for what seemed like an hour, coming to terms with the possibly gruesome fate that awaited them.
“Once everyone is assembled, we start for Shackleton Crater, and hope the Americans have better luck than us,” Marceau said, as he felt the coolness of his oxygen flow for the first time. That was when he realized it was the air hitting blood flowing freely from a head wound.
With the survival packs and extra oxygen, they had a total of fifteen hours of life remaining to them.
The president of the United States slowly placed the phone in its cradle.
The French president had just reported loss of contact with their Astral lander. Catastrophic failure was assumed. With the Russians so far behind, that meant possible hostile fire from the Chinese without backup.
His back was still bruised from the attempt on his own life just four days before. He thought about reaching for the intercom once more but pulled his hand back. His eagerness to know what was happening in the People’s Republic was gnawing at him but he knew it would be a mistake to push the chairman further.
The intercom gave out a soft tone.
“Yes,” he said softly, hoping it wasn’t one of the Joint Chiefs calling to tell him what he already knew about the disaster to the ESA mission.
“Mr. President, Wang Zhaoguo, vice chairman of National People’s Congress, is on the line from Beijing.”
The president sat up, but hesitated before reaching for the phone. He knew this was it, either they had an ally in the overall cause facing the planet or the Chinese mission to the Moon would continue as a hostile force. It all depended on the men Wang represented in the Politburo of the People’s Republic.
“Thank you. Please put the vice chairman through.” He sighed.
“Mr. Vice Chairman, how are you this evening?” he said when prompted.
“Mr. President, it is indeed good to hear your voice after such a dastardly plot against you,” the vice chairman said in very good English.
“Thank you, Mr. Vice Chairman.”
“You will excuse me if I make this call as brief as possible.”
“I understand,” the president said.
“As of this moment, the Politburo is split as to the question of the monumental action of the matter before us. Our generals are also split. As to our action, I am afraid the chairman has become overly suspicious of his closest advisors.”
The president knew without asking that the vice chairman was the youngest and most trusted of these advisors to the eighty-one-year-old chairman. If they didn’t act, the vice chairman would be caught and executed for treasonous acts against the People’s Republic. That would also include every one of the Chinese politicos and military men that had anything to do with going against the authority of the ruling body politic of that country.
“I sincerely hope-”
“Excuse me, Mr. President-as I said, I do not have much time. Our military leaders, while sympathetic to the decision of our best scientists, are still on the fence as far as action against the government is concerned. We will have to take a wait-and-see attitude for the next ten to twelve hours while they decide whether to assist us. Until that time, I am afraid the momentous choice of action or inaction is one that lay with our generals.”
“Are you all right, Mr. Vice Chairman?” the president asked.
“No, Mr. President, I am not. I will be arrested in a matter of moments. Thus at this time I wish us all luck. Please pass on to the French president our sincere condolences in regards to their spacecraft. It is always such a hard thing when men of bravery and honor die in the name of our future, is it not?”
“Indeed, sir, it is.”
“Mr. President, I hear my escort at this very moment coming to make sure I face my very backward superiors in the next hour. Good luck to us all.”
“Mr. Vice Chairman, I wish you-”
“The call is terminated, Mr. President,” said a voice over the line.
The president held the phone away from his ear for the longest time. Then he took a deep breath and placed the phone back to his ear.
“Get me an analysis of that conversation as soon as you can. I want background noises and levels of voice stress, ASAP.”
“Yes, sir,” came the same flat voice.
The president hung and stood to take a look out of the window. As he pulled the drapes back, he saw that the protesters on Pennsylvania Avenue had dwindled to only the most ardent religious fanatics. He shook his head as he watched a few men and women with their signs decrying the race to the Moon. Rain was falling in Washington and that fit his mood to a T as his eyes focused on the damp street outside beyond the steel gate. The mission to the Moon was still a priority and he could not change the parameters of that mission. He could not request that Altair change landing areas to assist the ESA crewmen if they were still alive and he was bothered by it. He only hoped any survivors could somehow make their way to the landing zone. For the French president to not even ask about rescue was to his credit. He understood the priorities as they were made clear by the Case Blue scenario.
As he allowed the curtain to fall back into place, blocking his view of the few protesters who braved the rains, he thought about Colonel Jack Collins and his team in Ecuador. He knew he had done all that he could on the political end of things, getting President DeSilva to stand down, but he also knew Jack had an uphill climb ahead of him in securing the mine shaft with the few international soldiers they could get at the last minute. The last call he received from the Event Group in Nevada was that the Ecuador team had company coming their way and there was nothing the national military of Ecuador could do about them other than defend them as a blocking force.
As these thoughts occurred to him, the president got angry. He turned and slammed his hand down on the intercom one more time.
“Get me General Caulfield,” he said without preamble into the intercom.
“The chairman of the Joint Chiefs in on the line, sir,” a female voice said less than a minute later.
The president picked up the phone and heard the voice of General Maxwell Caulfield, who spoke a small greeting that the president didn’t really hear at all.
“General, I want to know what you’ve come up with to get Colonel Collins and his team some help down in Ecuador.”
“Sir, as you know, both the 101st and 82nd Airborne are on their rotation to Afghanistan. The 10th Mountain has just recently returned and is in no shape to go back out. Thus far we have rounded up SEAL teams five and eight, and another unit that was just finishing NATO jump training at Fort Bragg.”
“Who are they?” the president asked, while rubbing his temple with his bandaged left hand.
As he heard the general explain, the president’s face grew concerned and his eyes closed.
“Is that all we have?”
“I’m afraid so, sir. We are spread out all over the world and this is the fastest group we could get together on such short notice. If we had another twenty-four hours we could get an entire division in there, as that would be the most expedient way to get Collins the help he needs. Believe me, sir, these boys can fight, and they’re ready to go.”
“Tell me I have a choice.”
“Jack will know what to do with them when they arrive, sir. Don’t worry about that.”
“Get them there as fast as you can, Max.”
“They’re already in the air with the SEAL teams, sir.”
“Okay, Max, I better make a phone call and explain to their president why I’m sending his boys to war without asking permission first. Goddamn it, what a mess.”