bulkhead people.”
Lt. Merryweather was still standing next to the exterior door and behind a large crate that half blocked the entrance when the door had been open. Rodriguez noticed that the cylindrical metal clamps that secured the other pallets to the deck were missing from the crate in front of the Lieutenant. “Lieutenant! Get away from the crate!” Then the cargo bay tipped on end.
The Gunny had been standing about a foot from the aft bulkhead. She was slammed against it on her side as the bulkhead became the new floor. Sharp pain coursed through her arm and shoulder. Looking sideways along the bulkhead, two of the Marines who had been lying prone slid into the wall and crumpled up. Beyond them, the Lieutenant slammed face down into the wall from about four feet away, followed immediately by the heavy unsecured crate.
There were snapping sounds, but it was hard to tell if they were from the crate or the Lieutenant's bones breaking. Lying pinned against the bulkhead, immobilized by the crushing acceleration, Rodriguez could see Lt. Merryweather's arm sticking out from under the crate, his hand bent back, its fingers arched in pain.
The Gunny struggled with all her strength and managed to roll onto her back. Over the roaring background noise, she could hear moaning on either side. Staring up at the cargo bay, as the suffocating hand of six gravities tried to push her through the bulkhead wall, she thought, we have really screwed the pooch on this one.
The Ranch House, Parker's Ranch
The Chief Marshal looked back out the window just in time to see two bent, 70 by 90 foot hangar doors flutter through the air like spastic butterflies. The silver object that had exited the hangar seconds ago was a blur, already more than a kilometer away and rapidly disappearing, due east.
“I'd step back from the window if I were you, gentlemen,” TK offered, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. The party of lawmen looked back at the smiling old man just in time for the arriving sonic boom to shatter every window in the house.
As they were picking themselves back up off the floor, brushing off the shards of glass, the lawmen heard the old man say with great satisfaction: “damn fools, that weren't no rocket ship, that was a by God spaceship.”
The Bridge, Parker's Folly, underway
TK Parker's spaceship surged forward with the acceleration of a top fuel dragster or a fighter jet being catapulted from the deck of an aircraft carrier. A force equivalent to six times that of normal Earth gravity pressed the bridge crew back into their padded seats. Parker's Folly was unarguably and irrevocably under way.
The massive vessel was accelerating at 60 m/sec 2 – slightly more than six gravities. One second after helmsman Vincent initiated forward flight, Parker's Folly had traveled 30 meters and was moving at 216 km/hr. She had tossed the hangar doors aside as if they were made of paper and the forward quarter of her hull was outside the building.
Two seconds after launch, the ship had all but cleared the hangar and was traveling at 432 km/hour. Six seconds, a tenth of a minute into the flight, Folly was over a kilometer from the hangar, headed east across the flat Texas scrub. She had just broken the sound barrier and was moving at nearly 1300 km/hr.
Following a course headed straight for San Angelo, the local elevation dropped but the land became progressively more hilly. Riding on the gravitational cushion created by the repulsor array, the ship undulated over minor wrinkles in the terrain. Things would get dangerous rapidly if the ship did not gain altitude, and quickly.
On the bridge, the crew was partially incapacitated by the sudden and unexpectedly strong acceleration. Between ragged breaths of air, the Captain gasped “cut... back... engines... now.”
The helmsmen's chairs had controls built into their armrest much like a modern fighter jet. Billy Ray was able to focus enough to reduce drive thrust until
Lt. Merryweather was still standing next to the exterior door and behind a large crate that half blocked the entrance when the door had been open. Rodriguez noticed that the cylindrical metal clamps that secured the other pallets to the deck were missing from the crate in front of the Lieutenant. “Lieutenant! Get away from the crate!” Then the cargo bay tipped on end.
The Gunny had been standing about a foot from the aft bulkhead. She was slammed against it on her side as the bulkhead became the new floor. Sharp pain coursed through her arm and shoulder. Looking sideways along the bulkhead, two of the Marines who had been lying prone slid into the wall and crumpled up. Beyond them, the Lieutenant slammed face down into the wall from about four feet away, followed immediately by the heavy unsecured crate.
There were snapping sounds, but it was hard to tell if they were from the crate or the Lieutenant's bones breaking. Lying pinned against the bulkhead, immobilized by the crushing acceleration, Rodriguez could see Lt. Merryweather's arm sticking out from under the crate, his hand bent back, its fingers arched in pain.
The Gunny struggled with all her strength and managed to roll onto her back. Over the roaring background noise, she could hear moaning on either side. Staring up at the cargo bay, as the suffocating hand of six gravities tried to push her through the bulkhead wall, she thought, we have really screwed the pooch on this one.
The Ranch House, Parker's Ranch
The Chief Marshal looked back out the window just in time to see two bent, 70 by 90 foot hangar doors flutter through the air like spastic butterflies. The silver object that had exited the hangar seconds ago was a blur, already more than a kilometer away and rapidly disappearing, due east.
“I'd step back from the window if I were you, gentlemen,” TK offered, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. The party of lawmen looked back at the smiling old man just in time for the arriving sonic boom to shatter every window in the house.
As they were picking themselves back up off the floor, brushing off the shards of glass, the lawmen heard the old man say with great satisfaction: “damn fools, that weren't no rocket ship, that was a by God spaceship.”
The Bridge, Parker's Folly, underway
TK Parker's spaceship surged forward with the acceleration of a top fuel dragster or a fighter jet being catapulted from the deck of an aircraft carrier. A force equivalent to six times that of normal Earth gravity pressed the bridge crew back into their padded seats. Parker's Folly was unarguably and irrevocably under way.
The massive vessel was accelerating at 60 m/sec 2 – slightly more than six gravities. One second after helmsman Vincent initiated forward flight, Parker's Folly had traveled 30 meters and was moving at 216 km/hr. She had tossed the hangar doors aside as if they were made of paper and the forward quarter of her hull was outside the building.
Two seconds after launch, the ship had all but cleared the hangar and was traveling at 432 km/hour. Six seconds, a tenth of a minute into the flight, Folly was over a kilometer from the hangar, headed east across the flat Texas scrub. She had just broken the sound barrier and was moving at nearly 1300 km/hr.
Following a course headed straight for San Angelo, the local elevation dropped but the land became progressively more hilly. Riding on the gravitational cushion created by the repulsor array, the ship undulated over minor wrinkles in the terrain. Things would get dangerous rapidly if the ship did not gain altitude, and quickly.
On the bridge, the crew was partially incapacitated by the sudden and unexpectedly strong acceleration. Between ragged breaths of air, the Captain gasped “cut... back... engines... now.”
The helmsmen's chairs had controls built into their armrest much like a modern fighter jet. Billy Ray was able to focus enough to reduce drive thrust until
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