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A Thursday Prompt story
© 2025 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: pioneer
Giorgy’s breathing was loud in his helmet, but he ignored it, keeping his eyes on the instruments and his gloved paws on the controls of his craft. “Frog, this is Eagle,” Timofey called from the command module far above. “How are you doing?”
The corsac fox smirked. It had been Timofey’s little joke to name the lander that, and it did sort of resemble a frog - if you had downed at least two bottles of vodka before tipping your head and squinting. “Eagle, I am doing well,” Giorgy said, knowing that their conversation was being relayed to Center and recorded for posterity. “Frog is ready to hop.”
“Frog,” Center’s voice crackled over Giorgy’s earphones, “telemetry looks good. You are cleared for landing.”
“Understood. Starting descent engine now,” and the craft vibrated as its motor started. After a programmed interval, the engine stopped and the altimeter began to tick down.
Several minutes of status checks followed as Giorgy ensured that all the lander’s systems were operating normally. “Four minutes, altitude is twelve hundred meters.”
“You are cleared for landing,” Center said tersely.
“Understood.” The corsac settled his paws on the controls and took a deep breath. “One thousand meters, minus four meters per second.” His eyes ran over the gauges. “Fuel use looks good,” he said, settling into the procedure, reinforced by hours of training in the various simulators. He was fully qualified, and the craft was the best that the engineers could make it.
He was still nervous, though, and he could imagine what the flight surgeon would say to him when he got home.
The surface was coming up to him as he descended. “Three meters . . . two meters . . . one . . . Contact! Engine Off!” The sound and vibration of the engine was replaced by a bouncing sensation as the lander’s legs hit the surface and flexed, damping out the last of the craft’s momentum. “Center, this is Frog. I have landed.”
“We verify you have landed,” Center said. “Well done.”
“Thank you, Center. I am following the checklist now to secure the ship,” Giorgy said, flicking switches in a predetermined sequence. Once that was done, he relaxed and looked out the round front window.
A scene of brightly lit gray desolation stretched out before him, a landscape of dusty soil, rocks and craters. He reached for the camera packed with his gear, fumbled with it momentarily with his clumsy gloved fingers, and snapped several pictures. He’d take more when he was allowed to step outside.
The prospect filled him with elation. A safe journey to the Moon had resulted in a safe landing. His and Timofey’s names would be recited by generations of schoolchildren ever after for this feat.
A collapsible flagpole with the Red Banner affixed to it waited, like him, for its chance to go outside and stake the Soviet’s Union claim as the first to land people on the Moon. More would follow him, but he would be first.
Nineteen sixty-eight would be recalled ever after as a milestone year.
end
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2025 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: pioneer
Giorgy’s breathing was loud in his helmet, but he ignored it, keeping his eyes on the instruments and his gloved paws on the controls of his craft. “Frog, this is Eagle,” Timofey called from the command module far above. “How are you doing?”
The corsac fox smirked. It had been Timofey’s little joke to name the lander that, and it did sort of resemble a frog - if you had downed at least two bottles of vodka before tipping your head and squinting. “Eagle, I am doing well,” Giorgy said, knowing that their conversation was being relayed to Center and recorded for posterity. “Frog is ready to hop.”
“Frog,” Center’s voice crackled over Giorgy’s earphones, “telemetry looks good. You are cleared for landing.”
“Understood. Starting descent engine now,” and the craft vibrated as its motor started. After a programmed interval, the engine stopped and the altimeter began to tick down.
Several minutes of status checks followed as Giorgy ensured that all the lander’s systems were operating normally. “Four minutes, altitude is twelve hundred meters.”
“You are cleared for landing,” Center said tersely.
“Understood.” The corsac settled his paws on the controls and took a deep breath. “One thousand meters, minus four meters per second.” His eyes ran over the gauges. “Fuel use looks good,” he said, settling into the procedure, reinforced by hours of training in the various simulators. He was fully qualified, and the craft was the best that the engineers could make it.
He was still nervous, though, and he could imagine what the flight surgeon would say to him when he got home.
The surface was coming up to him as he descended. “Three meters . . . two meters . . . one . . . Contact! Engine Off!” The sound and vibration of the engine was replaced by a bouncing sensation as the lander’s legs hit the surface and flexed, damping out the last of the craft’s momentum. “Center, this is Frog. I have landed.”
“We verify you have landed,” Center said. “Well done.”
“Thank you, Center. I am following the checklist now to secure the ship,” Giorgy said, flicking switches in a predetermined sequence. Once that was done, he relaxed and looked out the round front window.
A scene of brightly lit gray desolation stretched out before him, a landscape of dusty soil, rocks and craters. He reached for the camera packed with his gear, fumbled with it momentarily with his clumsy gloved fingers, and snapped several pictures. He’d take more when he was allowed to step outside.
The prospect filled him with elation. A safe journey to the Moon had resulted in a safe landing. His and Timofey’s names would be recited by generations of schoolchildren ever after for this feat.
A collapsible flagpole with the Red Banner affixed to it waited, like him, for its chance to go outside and stake the Soviet’s Union claim as the first to land people on the Moon. More would follow him, but he would be first.
Nineteen sixty-eight would be recalled ever after as a milestone year.
end
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Fox (Other)
Size 120 x 92px
File Size 53.8 kB
Listed in Folders
Indeed, a milestone year! Georgy's entire film reel would become the official record of the Soviet triumph.
Although, decades later, three stills--blurry, a little underexposed, and of questionable authenticity--would surface from classified vaults and make the rounds of auction houses: scribbled graffiti upon a moon rock, a man with a large nose peering over what might've been a wall.
"KILROY WAS HERE"
Although, decades later, three stills--blurry, a little underexposed, and of questionable authenticity--would surface from classified vaults and make the rounds of auction houses: scribbled graffiti upon a moon rock, a man with a large nose peering over what might've been a wall.
"KILROY WAS HERE"
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