“18, Houston, did you call?”
Svetlana took two paces forward, aimed carefully and pulled the trigger.
The Makarov Pistol was a proven Soviet design, standard military issue, and had been included in the Almaz return capsule’s survival pack in case of off-target landings. It was modeled on the German Walther PP, but it was heavier, all steel, ruggedized with fewer moving parts for simplicity. As Svetlana pulled the trigger, the connecting rod released the spring-loaded hammer, driving the pointed firing pin hard into the center of the 9.27 mm cartridge loaded in the chamber. The impact ignited the mercury fulminate primer, sending a shower of sparks into the gunpowder, explosively burning it, the expanding gases pushing the round-nosed steel bullet up the short, rifled barrel. As it exited at the tip, the small, six-gram metal-jacketed projectile was traveling at just under 1,000 feet per second.
The explosion pushed the sliding bolt against a blowback spring, ejecting the empty casing and allowing the eight-round magazine inside the pistol’s handle to push a fresh bullet up into the chamber. The heavy spring yanked the bolt forward, and the new round snicked home into place, ready for a second shot. Svetlana had trained on the firing range in Star City, and had squeezed her gloved fist tightly against the recoil. The gun kicked up, but by the time the new round was in the barrel, she was lowering it to aim again.
The small ejected empty steel casing arced high to Svetlana’s right and behind her, glinting in the sunlight as it tumbled, finally raising a small cloud of dust as it hit the surface 120 feet away.
Chad saw the muzzle flash and instinctively jerked back. The bullet flashed past him, falling slowly in the light gravity with no air to slow it, eventually plowing a short furrow and creating a small new crater 1,300 feet behind him.
Svetlana had intended to miss. She wanted him to see that she was willing to shoot—to let him know that the pistol worked.
“Seriozna,” she said, her voice flat. I’m serious.
JW spoke on the Mission Control internal loop. “FLIGHT, SURGEON, we just saw a big jump in Chad’s heart rate.”
Kaz nodded, and asked again, “18, did you call?”
Chad’s thoughts were reeling. Holy shit! That bullet barely missed! He stayed still to reassure her, thinking fast, weighing the options. He couldn’t tell Houston what was going on: there were too many secrets, and some of them the cosmonaut knew. He forced his voice to sound normal. “Hey, Houston, we’re just working on something here. Disregard.”
Kaz looked across at JW, who shrugged.
Svetlana waved twice with the pistol, gesturing for Chad to move away from Lunokhod, then aimed again at his head. She watched him step clear and decided it was time for her to take control.
Through the interpreter, she said, “Houston, this is Major Gromova. The lunar soil samples are stowed in their carrying case, and the astronaut and I are both back outside. How can I best help complete the moonwalk?” She beckoned with her free hand, pointing for Chad to hand her the bolt cutters.
Kaz turned to talk directly to Gene Kranz. “FLIGHT, I don’t know if Chad disabled Lunokhod or not, and I’m still not sure how much English the cosmonaut understands.”
Gene rubbed his hand over the back of his head, feeling the brush cut. “He should have had enough time while she was inside, and we need to keep deniability.” He rubbed harder, then said, “He knows the priorities. Let’s let him choose his moment.”
Kaz nodded, and pushed his mic button. “Major Gromova, Houston, we copy, and will have tasks for you shortly.” He held up a finger so the interpreter wouldn’t translate what he said next. “Chad, just a reminder to complete mission priorities, and we’re standing by with cleanup items when you’re ready.” Innocuous enough.
“Copy,” Chad responded, watching the cosmonaut intently, trying to guess her mental state. She still had her gold visor down, which made the steady, aimed pistol seem more menacing. She gestured with her free hand again, more insistently.
Fine. There’s still time.
He threw the cutters at her feet, warily, and walked past her. She bent awkwardly to pick them up, still aiming the pistol. As soon as she had them securely in hand, she reached down and slid the gun into her leg pocket.
Chad climbed the ladder to push the TV circuit breaker back in. “Houston, all priorities are complete, and I’m ready to start final cleanup.”
She’ll have to set those cutters down at some point. And she can’t watch me the whole time.
Svolich! She shook her head, watching him climb the ladder. You bastard! Giving her a menial task while he went outside to damage Lunokhod—the arrogance!