MET5 - First follow-up visit to Wiley's Well and the Tunnel system: Joe Cooper's Log

Have I ever told you why I packed up and shipped to Mars? No? It was the perceived glamour of space travel - going where no man has gone before. A better job and the probable resultant increase in prestige and pay. Doing something that fewer than 1000 humans have ever done.

Okay. I admit it! My primary reason was a woman. She said she'd go with me to Mars. Said we'd always be together on the Red Planet. Changed her mind after I sold all possessions and spent my life savings for two one-way tickets.
I couldn't find anybody stupid enough to buy the tickets off me for one-quarter the price I paid.

And now I'm a Martian. I can never go back to Earth. I live on a planet that has a surface pressure that averages 7 millibars: less than 1% of Earth's. What air exists is 95% carbon dioxide and only 0.13% oxygen; on Earth the atmosphere is 21% oxygen. Notice the disparity? And it's dreadfully dry: there is only one-quarter as much water vapor in Martian air. And then there's the temperature. On average it's about -80 F (or -63 C). When the weather is REALLY nice you can look up into the sky and see wisps of yellow carbon-dioxide clouds. They tell me it's because of the low gravity and distance from the sun. I think it's because we're really in hell.

09 Sep 1967
    [Time not recorded] The weather is permitting us ("Us" in the sense that we are all Martians) to venture back to Wiley's Well, in force. Our team consists of the original discovery team - except, of course, for Dr. Chapman - plus 32 Marines, an exobiologist, three archeologists, a linguist, two engineers, two medical doctors and four medics. A Psi Force BlackShirt (Rennie) was added to the team at the last moment; nobody knows what his function is and he isn't telling. Director Jimmy Hunt again leads the party. Me? I'm Joe Cooper. My specialty is journalism; I write a daily human-interest column for the Burrough's Station Tribune - but because I have some inconsequential experience in graphics design I have been assigned to this jaunt as "Mapmaker".     [Time not recorded] Our team designation is Martian Expeditionary Team Five (MET 5). We are carrying enough supplies to last one Martian season (168 days) - even though our plan is to stay no longer than 84 days. Nobody wants to be stuck in the boonies with a limited supply of food and water when and if a long-duration storm hits.

    [Time not recorded] I've included a simple organizational tree of MET 5, as I see it, with this report.
10 Sep 1967
    [Time not recorded] I have to admit that this Martian pressure suit I'm wearing is not the epitome of discomfort and misery I figured it would be. From the neck down it's as thin and pliable as a good cotton running suit. The material is laced with a network of fine tubules that circulate a heated fluid. From the neck up things are not quite as comfy - but still endurable. Of course I'm talking about the pressure helmet. Of course if you don't mind breathing canned air and looking at the world through distorted plastic - perhaps it wouldn't be so bad... Regulations allowed the removal of the helmets while inside a Crawler. I took religious advantage of this.

    [Time not recorded] We were ½ of the distance to the Well when a short-duration Rock-Toss hit us during a pit stop. There are few amenities in a G.I. Crawler; a chem-toilet is not one of them. (If you are not familiar with the typical Martian storm - let me tell you that visibility can drop from perfect to zero in five seconds flat...with NO warning. Many storms have the strength to pick up fair-sized rocks and hurl them like a bullet. This scale of storm is lovingly called a Rock-Toss.) Although we were in open land (a bad thing!) we were able to protect ourselves to some extent by scrunching down low behind our four Crawlers.

    [Time not recorded] Later MET 5 ground to a halt upon the demand of the Marines in the trailing Crawler. They had been collectively observing the area to the north of us after one of them stated he had seen movement on the ground. Three of them - heavily armed - set off to the north at a trot. We all saw them disappear behind a low hill. Twenty minutes later they returned; one carried three rifles, and two carried a stone urn etched with what I have to call hieroglyphics. It was old and heavily pocked and cratered from the weather. My personal disposition would have been to take a few snapshots and leave it lay for some future team - but when the three archeologists got wind of the find they went absolutely nuts; literally wetting themselves in joy and happiness. They began to request - then demand - that we postpone our trip to the Well for a day or two so that they could explore the area. It took the intervention of Jimmy Hunt to calm them down and shut them up. Over a period of forty-five minutes he diplomatically talked them into boxing up the urn to take with and planting a beacon in the immediate area of the find.

    [Time not recorded] God! I could never be a diplomat. Personally I think the damned urn would have made a fine spittoon.

    11 Sep 1967
    12:30 hours - We reached the Well with no further incident. Our first job, like it or not, was to secure the area and erect a Type 2 weather station (heavily armored against rock strikes; the only part of it that sticks above the surface is the top of a three foot diameter dome that is two inches of solid steel. A laser beam peeks from a pinprick size hole at the crown to read atmospheric data). This chore took the sweat and labor of virtually every member of MET 5 save for the "professionals" who were permitted to descend into the Well with a security team of fifteen lucky Marines. You could hear the three bone-hunters arguing about who got to go down the Well first.

    When the station is online and verified by Burrough's Station it is underground for everybody. There's never any second-guessing when the next Rock-Toss will hit. The only items we'll leave topside are the four Crawlers and an open pit latrine the Marines have dug.

    16:30 hours - Oh what a weird place this is! What in the hell am I doing here?

    17:45 hours - One of the medics gave me a hypo. Said I was having a claustrophobic reaction and had to be sedated. I've been assigned to a cot next to an area the Marines are turning in to a command post. There is much activity and shouting. Lots of people milling about. One Marine yelled at me that "...if you ever try to grab my weapon again I will personally take you topside and weld you to one of the Crawlers...". After that I slept - but not well. I had this dream of floating peacefully above the Martian landscape - no worries or concerns - until the atmosphere suddenly thins and I fall to the ground. Helpless.

12 Sep 1967
    I am assuming that it is the wee hours of the 12th. Can't be sure. My watch seems to have been damaged and the crystal is missing altogether. The skin under the watch (and for about six inches up my arm) is quite sore. I suspect it is bruised. I also suspect that I have bruises over my shins, on the top of my head, and on my left butt cheek. There is pain in all aforementioned areas. This leads me to wondering just how berserk I went yesterday. Aside from a faint light way off to the right, everything is dark. Back to sleep.

    07:30 hours - After a rude wake-up by a couple of Marines I was led to Jimmy Hunt's "office". We made some polite conversation, had a cup of coffee, and then he sort of chewed me out for going Postal like I did. I explained to him that (a) I had a history of claustrophobia, (b) I had pills I could take for those rare instances where there was danger of an "attack", and (c) I was coerced to participate on this trip - not given any information about where we we're going until we were half way there - and not given any time to go to my apartment and gather up belongings ... such as the aforementioned pills.

    [ Hunt told me what had happened yesterday. Apparently - and without warning - I tried to run headlong into a solid tunnel wall. I bounced off and fell to the ground, motionless. When three or four Marines rushed to my assistance I went berserk and started grabbing at their weapons. I actually disarmed one of them but, lucky for me, I dropped the weapon before he could spit. I then began a round of even more violent struggling wherein I began kicking at the Marines and yelling phrases to the effect that "They're all around us! They're going to get us!". The Marine's only recourse was to gently "beat" me into submission - or unconsciousness - whatever came first. I think my submission was achieved through loss of conciousness. My bruises now have parents! ]

    Hunt agreed that these were valid extenuating circumstances and promptly summoned one of the medical doctors. He actually apologized to me! I was issued the required pills within five minutes. I wish Hunt was in control of my regular pharmacy.

    09:00 hours - Well I've had some pills and I'm no longer bashing my body against solid rock walls. It doesn't get any better than this!

    10:45 hours - All hell has broken loose! There are Marines yelling and cursing and running full-tilt in every direction imaginable. Way down one of the tunnels I can see Hunt and Capt. Madure. Hunt is frantically gesturing - his arms wheeling about like a compass needle in a magnetic storm.

    11:00 hours - It's not certain yet, but it looks like - somehow - the crate containing all personnel Trans-Com Units (TCU) is missing. A TCU is a miniature transmitter/receiver - the size of a button - that is worn on a lapel. These devices were an integral part of the "efficient plan" to safely explore the tunnel system. As stated, though, the loss is not certain. There's a possibility the crate was left topside - however any ventures "up-above" will have to wait for a Dirt Blow to cease.

    14:00 hours - Several Marines, including Capt. Madure, have gone topside. The wind is still blowing hard up there but visibility has increased to several hundred feet.

    16:00 hours - This is where we finally got down to business. The Marines have completed the organization of their command post (CP) in sector F3: the base of WIley's Well. This was accomplished by the eleven-man team under Cpl. DeLapp. This same area also contains the offices of the "professionals": a clinic for the medical folk to hang out in, and some collapsible tables, chairs and desks for the scientists, engineers and linguist. Hunt and Kumar (along with his Blackshirt buddy) have been afforded an actual canvas tent for privacy in sector D3.

    16:30 hours - Looks like they've abandoned the search for the TCUs. I'm not sure how this is going to affect the mission. I was there when the Marines re-entered the tunnel from topside. Every move they made ejected clouds of Martian dust into the air. In no time flat the entire area of CP seemed to be engulfed in a New London fog.

    16:35 hours - The Marines, including Madure, Levy and Malloy, have fanned out into the east (Team A), north (Team B), and west (Team C) tunnels. As they make their way through the system they are bolting heavy insulated cables along the ceiling. These cables are attached to a Tesla generator in CP. Although their primary mission is to secure the tunnel system, they are sending back tons of data, including measurements, bearings, etc. CP is recording this information and feeding me certain relevant bits with which to construct a map.

    16:45 hours - Another hell storm has broken loose. Marines are bouncing off the walls and off each other. Our three archeologists, Drs. Riley, Merriweather and Fagerstrom, are now missing. It seems that the last person to see them was Pvt. Mike Tyser - a Marine assigned solely to CP. He reports that they were heading into the north tunnel at about 0900 - almost seven hours ago! Almost immediately a team of two Marines were on their way up the tunnel to find the missing bone-hunters.


To be continued...