December 2023. While test-driving its latest accomplishment, the Nekomi Motor Club finds something unexpected
TIL, nobody knows where the Eagle crash landed after being abandoned in Lunar orbit. NASA never tracked it. And since the original idea for Mackie's Griffon was a T-72 with a stuck AI, instead of the Griffon with a stuck throttle..... it seemed a shame not to use it in some fashion.
Also, done in about two hours.
EDIT: Made it a little more... sensible. It's now a heavily modified T-72, probably recovered missing parts and brought to Fenspace five years previously as a student project vehicle.
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--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
Quote:“Thousands of tons of armour and guns
Making it's way through the sand.”
Mackie was grinning. It was a savage, visceral grin, driven by the beat of the music blaring inside the turret, ringing off the steel walls and gun-breech. He sat in what had been the gunner’s chair - now surrounded by various viewscreens giving him detailed readouts of engine performance. Full-throttle, hard-charge, let’s see what this beast can do.
Both turbines screamed as the tank began to climb up the lip of a small crater.
“Our panzer battalion is back for revenge
Artillery sweeping the land”
The old T-72 pushed on, driving far harder than its Soviet builders had ever intended - pushing on through magnificent desolation no factory worker had ever expected it to see. He felt himself go light in the chair as the tank crested the lip before pitching nose down into the crated beyond
He pressed his eyes to the periscopes in time to see a bow-wave of grey lunar dust wash up over the bow of the battle tank, momentarily obscuring the headlight before splashing against the periscope glass. Hydro-pneumatic suspension creaked as it took the weight of near 55 tons of steel driving down into the crater floor.
“WOO-HOO!”
Leena - the driver - howled over the intercom, momentarily drowning out the best efforts of Sabaton. Mackie couldn’t help but laugh. This was why he’d been born.
“First strike is ours no mercy is shown
There's rivers of blood in our trail”
In the turret with him was Oezaki - team leader for the Motor-club. He was almost too tall for the Commander’s seat. He sat stooped over, helmetless except for a tight leather cap that did little good. A few strands of blond hair crept out from underneath.
“Turn left, turn left. We got a boulder ahead.”
The tank crashed into it. His skull cracked off the cupola lip.
“Fuckit Leena, you want to crack an axle out here? We just got this beast running again.”
“Sorry Oezaki. Thought you meant the other boulder.”
She was giggling. Mackie could hear it. Oezaki grimaced as he tenderly poked at a growing lump on his head. Mackie held up his hands in surrender, as if to say, ‘don’t blame me’. The tank wasn’t his idea - it was an accumulation of five year's worth final-year and graduate projects, mixed with some random fiddling by interested parties who had time to kill and an understanding professor. Using the powerplant from a Havoc maybe - he’d take the blame for that. But not the tank. Responsibility for Blownapart was shared by all.
"Breaking their lines of defence with our tanks
Infantry watching our back"
“Hey guys,” the radio crackled. Kone, back at Motor-club’s Kandor garage. He sounded bored as hell. “You having fun out there in Blownapart without us?”
Mackie paused the music. For a moment, the roar of the engines and the rattle of stones off the bottom of the armour was the only sound in the tank.
“Oh sure,” Oezaki answered. “Only Leena’s trying to kill us.”
“I am not! I’m just getting bad directions!”
The tanks frame shook as it pitched up once more. The pitch of the engines dropped as they strained against the mass of the machine, climbing back up the other side of the crater.
“Yeah, well, we need your performance data.”
Mackie flipped open his notepads, comparing his sketches with the instrument boards were telling him. It all looked good. It looked way-good.
“V-max, 162. V-av, 125. Fuel. 900 per hour. Transmission temps and suspension temps are green. Tell Dieork his dustguards are working. I think we’re good to push on to our turnpoint.”
He felt himself start shaking with excitement.
“Fuck it. Drive On,” Oezaki concurred, still massaging his tender forehead. A small seep of blood trickled from a shallow scratch.
“Aw man, I want a shot....”
“Too bad you suck at tankery!” Leena shot back. The crunch of another boulder crumbling under the inexorable tracks of the metal monstrosity added
“I didn’t park that car there!”
“Knock it off you two!” Oezaki cut in. “I don’t want to have to change crew. Not this close to the race”
“Sorry Daddy,” Leena groused.
“I’ll check in in an hour,” said Kone, flatly. “Out.”
The T-72 thundered on across the lunar surface, plowing its own furrow through virgin grey soil. Only the basic hull and turret structure had been kept from the original tank. Its engine had been replaced by a pair of fusion turbines, the life-support and cooling circuits had been overhauled to meet vacuum requirements and most of the seals had been replaced with ones that could tolerate moondust. Suspension was active-hydropneumatic, with reinforced bearings and torsion beams to take the extra speed. Someone had made an automatic CVT replacing the original manual, with an added control computer allowing for easy steering through a car-like wheel. The main gun still worked - if they had something to shoot through it, it'd fire at Lunar escape velocities.
It was, they club agreed, the perfect thing for the Armstrong Day classic this year, with a few buildup races in the preceding six months being enough to iron the last few bugs out. It wouldn't be the fastest over level ground - but was relentless in the rough stuff. It ate craters and boulders for breakfast, grinding along riding fountains of dust. Curls of moondust rolled around the exhausts, falling away from the engine dust-shields.
It was, Mackie felt, utterly unstoppable.
“Leena, Stop!”
The tracks dug into the dirt, pushing them all forwards in the seats. Oezaki’s skull met steel once more as Mackie struggled to keep his notes from tumbling across the turret floor.
“Okay, now that we can do an Emergency stop. Can we continue now?”
Oesaki pressed his face against the commander’s periscope “I thought I saw something metallic on my scope. Creep us ahead slow. Keep an eye out,”
“Nobody else is supposed to be out here,” said Mackie, checking with filed travel plans. Not that everyone made travel plans. He scanned through Kandors public records. “No crash records either, not within 50 kilometres.”
“I definitely saw it,” he said. “Let me try the searchlights.”
The transmission slammed back into gear, sending a shudder through the hull. The turbines whirred as the tank began to creep forwards. Spotlights swept out across the stark wasteland beyond, regolith glaring bright where the light passed over. Black shadows swung from every
Mackie stared forwards through the gunners periscopes. He saw nothing.
Nothing but moon and black space beyond.
“Holy crap! I see it!”
Leena’s voice in his ear made Mackie wince.
“Where?” Oezaki damanded. He might’ve tried
“30 degrees right,“ the driver answered. “Just ahead.”
“Gunsights,” said Mackie. He pressed one eye to the rubber guard around the eyepiece, taking hold of the turret controls with his free hand. Servomotors squealed as the turret slewed to the right. It seemed to make Oezaki dizzy for a moment...
Or maybe that was Leena’s driving and a concussion.
One of the searchlights reached out, tracking with the turret. He stared, watching the regolith pass through the reticle. Graded markings in cryllic told him where the shell would go if he squeezed the trigger.
Or if the tank’d been loaded with anything more than a few days worth of food and oxygen.
He caught a glimpse of it a moment, locking the reticle onto it a second later. He pressed a switch with his thumb to trigger the laser rangefinder.
“33 degrees right. Range. 50 metres,” he said.
“Stop us short, Leena. Guess well have to go out and take a look,” said Oezaki, already fumbling for his pressure mask and neck-seal.
It took time for them to prepare. They had basic bailout gear in case of an accident, or a hatch rupture - but it really wasn’t meant for long-term use. It was neither comfortable, nor stylish. But it did fit through the hatch.
It let them clamber up through onto the dust-coated hull, headlights casting a long bright pool. It was the only light they had. Both engines sat at idle, thin whisps of hot helium gas rising stirring dust around the exhaust outlets.
Leena clambered up out the the drivers compartment, using the barrel of the main gun to pull herself up. She was the shorted of the trio by far - and the only member of the Motor Club who’d actually fit in the driver’s seat.
Who wouldn’t back it up over an expensive resto-mod.
“It’s probably some asshole’s junk,” said Leena. She brushed the dust off her visor with the back of her glove, exhaling an angry sigh.
“Hopefully,” said Mackie. He bounded across the surface, boots kicking up whisps of dust. Above, a Gagarin passed overhead, boosting out from Korelvgrad. Earth was rising slowly over the horizon beyond.
“Still have to report it in if it’s not catalogued,” said Oezaki.
There were plenty of Fen who met their end silently. Many who disappeared without ever filing a flight plan, falling victim to mechanical mishap or space-junk impact. It might’ve been the gravesite of an unknown pilot.
All three of them felt that keenly. Even if they hoped otherwise.
It took about a minute for them to cross lunar surface. A few outlying pieces of wreckage had made it further, shards of grey metal shining as their torches passed over.
“Tin-foil?” asked Leena.
Mackie crouched down, take a sharp piece carefully in his glove. The edges had been twisted and folded back by the impact. It still buckled in his hand.
“It’s very flimsy,” he said, inspecting it closely. He held it in front of his faceplate. “Really not normal fen-stuff .”
He tossed it towards the rest of the wreckage. It landed in what was a shallow impact crater. So shallow in fact, that it scarcely deserved the description. It appeared as if the top layer of dust had been cleared away from the rock beneath, and that was it - leaving nothing but a ten-meter wide splatter of tin-foil, with various pieces of more solid junk strewn amongst it.
“It’s obviously a crash,” said Oezaki. “That looks like an engine bell.”
“I’ll get it,” said Leena. “There might be a serial number on it.”
Macie bounced around the wrecksite, scanning the debris. “Looks like it just sort of went splat, whatever it was..”
“No sign of a pilot, or anything that might’ve been a pilot,” said Oezaki. It was hard for him to hide the sound of relief in his voice. “Can’t find any sort of seat or....” he stopped dead.
“What is it?” asked Mackie. He felt his stomach curdle. He knew he didn’t technically have a stomach capable of curdling - but felt it nonetheless.
“A helmet,” said Oezaki. “Empty. Looks like parts of a spacesuit too.”
Yuk, thought Mackie. He crouched down, pickup up a piece of wreckage
“I’ve got control panel. Looks pretty old-school. All switches and stuff.”
He held it up. Tangles of wires hung from guarded toggle-switches. Markings on the panel had long since been baked off by sunlight.
“I’ve got the engine,” Leena called out. “Looks like a real old rocket motor. A small one.”
It was still much too bulky for one person to comfortably carry, despite having crumbled partially on impact.
“Guys,” Oezaki broke in. He held the helmet in his hands.
The visor had been smashed in and some of the fittings had been ruined. It’d split open across the back of the head when it’d hit the moon. But it was still recognisable.
“It’s NASA gear,”
Leena stared at him. “NASA?”
Mackie blinked. “Wait, what?”
“No doubt.” Oezaki’s voice had shrunk right down into his throat. Leena and Mackie stood there, coated in grey dust, eyes wide and waiting for an explanation. “And, I think I know what it is.”
“What?” asked Mackie.
“Look at the patch on the spacesuit,”
His voice was sombre. Shaking, stained by disbelief. They both bounced across the wrecksite, Mackie still carrying his piece of control panel. Oezaki beckoned them towards him, crouching down on his knees, placing the wrecked helmet on the ground.
Gingerly, he gripped a piece of the ruined grey spacesuit, offering his torch to it. They both crouched down on the regolith, taking care not to cut their pressure gear on the few remains shards of metal.
“So,” said Leena, calmly.
It’d been trashed, torn up in the impact, turned grey by the lunar dust and eaten by naked sunlight. Threads had unwound and frayed, exposing the layers underneath. Some had dried and cracked, flaking away as Oezaki angled it towards his light.
“Mission patch,” said Mackie.
“Look,” said Oezaki. Two more torches converged on small patch of fabric on what might once have been the shoulder. Barely visible were the faded colours of an American flag. “I think we found a crashed Apollo lander. And only one of them is still missing.... NASA never tracked it after it separated.”
Nobody said a word. They just stood there staring at it for what seemed like an age. Beyond, Blownapart the tank looked on, still waiting for them to come back. Above, the traffic to and from Kandor still flew. Earth was now full and high in the sky.
“Oh good sweet holy fuck,” said Leena, swallowing a fat lump that’d grown in her throat.
That about summed up the collective feelings of the group.
TIL, nobody knows where the Eagle crash landed after being abandoned in Lunar orbit. NASA never tracked it. And since the original idea for Mackie's Griffon was a T-72 with a stuck AI, instead of the Griffon with a stuck throttle..... it seemed a shame not to use it in some fashion.
Also, done in about two hours.
EDIT: Made it a little more... sensible. It's now a heavily modified T-72, probably recovered missing parts and brought to Fenspace five years previously as a student project vehicle.
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
