Reach for the Skies--the disaster of '76

After contemplating "Reach for the Skies," I decided to restart it. I haven't done a timeline/story quite like this before, so it might work, it might not. I'm definately looking for suggestions, possible characters worth adding in. I might do it in detail for some years, or I might fast forwards some--not sure how it's going to work out.

I will be happy to answer almostany questions about the people, the scene--some stuff is rather nebulous as yet, and knowing what feels wrong, incomplete, or just is something people want to know, will help the story along. Likewise, ideas for additional characters are always welcome. Some will be cropping up soon, others down the road.

REACH FOR THE SKIES

June 6th dawned like almost any other early summer day in central New Hampshire. The mills and factories were thriving, producing cotton cloth, plows, Concord Coaches, and more. In Manchester, the big Manchester Locomotive Works was busy expanding into one of the Amoskeag Works’ buildings—demand for locomotives for the rapidly expanding American railroad system was growing by leaps and bounds. The early Manchester morning echoed to the sound of factory whistles, the clopping of horses’ hooves, the clanking of locomotives, and pervading everything, the rush of the Merrimack River over the dam. Unless you were toiling deep in the mills, it was a good day to live in the Granite State—and even then, it wasn’t bad. The previous few days had rained, so the usual smoke and grime was as close to non-existent, and a cool breeze swept through open windows, keeping even the mills cool and comfortable, while the bright sun gave plenty of light for working.

Even as nice as it was, Jason Niles was glad to be at the throttle, steaming northwards. His wife and three kids would be usually be enjoying the day at home—and because of his work, she didn’t need a job, but could keep the frame house near the railroad yard a fit home, and teach the children. Today was different, thought. Today, the family was back in one of the coaches, while he gave the big locomotive full throttle out of Concord Station—next stop, Profile Lake. He’d taken several extra runs—with the corresponding extra pay—and had pulled in a few connections. Someone else would be taking the express back south; he and his family were going to have several days to enjoy the wonders of the White Mountains—and have a respectable hotel room to enjoy them from.


Further west, in the college town of Dartmouth, Professor Houston scratched his balding head and glared at the slide rule. The device had borne out his calculations—he thought. But he wasn’t certain—three significant figures (more like 2 ½, he mentally added) simply weren’t precise enough. These asteroids were simply not as easy to track—hard to see and dim, and their orbits varied enormously.

“I wonder…” he said, as he looked at the numbers again, “that one comes pretty close to Mars—make one awful big crater…”

His thoughts trailed off, as he remembered the “Battle if the Crater.” Never had anyone blasted out such a big gaping hole in the ground; it looked almost like a smaller version of the lunar craters. He’d only seen it days after the battle, but what a chasm it had left!
He usually tried not to think of his days computing artillery trajectories, and doing all sorts of figuring for the war—but the army had needed scientists—the UNION had needed them—and so, he’d served. Besides, what sort of abolitionist would speak and vote—but not help the men actually carrying out the great crusade?

But putting that aside, the crater looked a LOT like the lunar craters—craters certainly too big for volcanoes. Could a big chunk of rock have been responsible?

That, there was no way to check on, so he put the idle speculation aside and returned to his calculations. This time, he wasn’t solving them, per se, but checking all the formulae, and once again reducing things to the simplest terms—but this time, no approximations, no estimations—everything needed to be exact.

The Arithometre could handle a lot of the calculations—but others would require computers. The fewer complex calculations they had to resolve, the faster the results—and he would have more reliable answers. (The Arithometre is a mechanical computational device first sold in 1851, and a “Computer” is a person who’s job is crunching numbers. Although Wiki is FAR from perfect, it does have a decent article on it. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arithmometer )

He was jerked from his musings by a soft female voice, “Dad, if you must be up so early, wake me up so I can make breakfast!”

He turned his head from his desk as the smell of freshly brewed coffee, blended with bacon and eggs, wafted into the room along with his daughter. “Thanks, Lynn—but I’m not up early, I’m up late. And I’m on the edge of getting these orbits figured out…a few more hours, and it’ll be ready for the arithometre.”

Lynn set the tray down, then put her hands on her hips, “Dad! You’ve been up over 24 hours. Isn’t that a bit much?”

“Now that you mention it, it IS a bit long…”

As he spoke, Lynn leaned over the desk, careful not to derange the loose papers in the least, and picked up the organized ones. She knew that he knew exactly which loose papers were which, and where they were—don’t touch. But the ones in a neat pile were safe—properly organized.

Brushing an errant lock of blonde hair aside, she said, “Dad, tell you what—get these so they’re safe to touch, and I’ll take a look at them, while you get some sleep. I might not know the astronomy as well as you, but I can double check the math, anyway.”

He laughed, saying, “No wonder you’re still single; even the smartest of men don’t care for a woman smarter than they are…and as for the astronomy, you’ll take that places I’ll never see…”

As he glanced upwards, seeing only ceiling, Lynn matched that glance—and had anyone been looking, the dreamy look would have matched, too—a dream of the heavens above—and a vision of flying up there. She laughed, adding a mock-exasperated, “DAD!” and added, “If a man doesn’t like what I am, too bad for him! Besides, I haven’t met anyone I’d be the least interested in…”

The ever changing sounds of the nearby downtown never penetrated their conciousness—from the joyful yells of students playing on the green, to the sounds of commerce or the melodious tones from the bell tower, it was all part of the background. But this time, it did…cries of surprise and wonder as the people reacted to something. From his study, father and daughter could see people pointing off in the distance—and some of the cries were turning into cries of fear.

Throwing on a pair of sandals, Lynn rushed outside—then stopped dead. “Dad—you’d better come and look at this…”

Ever used to his excitable daughter—and excitable college students—he hadn’t worried much, but something about Lynn’s tone told him something was very wrong. And it was—in the distance, a vast pillar reached for the sky, in eerie silence, its top starting to spread out, much in the manner of a truly huge explosion.

“That’s BEHIND the mountain, whatever it is,” whispered Lynn.

“Whatever it is, it’s huge; Lynn, go get Mr. Conroy—and tell him to bring his surveying tools outside-the transit and the like!”

That command snapped her out of her shock—whatever it was was clearly too far away to harm anyone here—but getting good measurements as it happened would be invaluable later on. If they could determine how far away it was, and get good angles, the height would be easy to determine—though later on, he would be questioning the measurements when the math determined that it was towering 16 miles over Laconia….
 
So a large-body impact with the Earth in one of the best areas in the world in regards to limiting body count and affording scientific study. And you've timed it far before the technology for space travel is available, but during one of the periods in which western society was the most self-confident in it's continuous technological progress.

I see what you're doing there. :)
 
And...

So a large-body impact with the Earth in one of the best areas in the world in regards to limiting body count and affording scientific study. And you've timed it far before the technology for space travel is available, but during one of the periods in which western society was the most self-confident in it's continuous technological progress.

I see what you're doing there. :)

I'm wondering what you think I'm doing...
 
Chapter Two

There doesn't seem to be a lot of interest so far, but I'll do a bit more, see if any crops up.


The cool breeze swept in through the open window as the express locomotive raced past the station. The big red ball was at the top of the mast—he could highball through to the next signal—everything was running perfectly. The steady chuffing as steam drove the locomotive forwards…the steady clank of the firebox door as Jim opened it, heaving more coal into the furnace—the rhythm of the rail—all just right. He gave the engineer on the stationary train a quick wave, and then the station was falling behind him.

Jason glanced back for a moment, checking the supply of coal in the tender, when the deep shadows shrouding the black coal vanished in an instant; the supply lit brighter than daytime. Snapping his head forwards, a column of smoke was rising somewhere ahead—but he couldn’t tell just where, or if the explosion might be fouling the tracks. Although three was no sound, he reacted—“Keep the passengers safe” was his first duty—and sounded the single short blast on the whistle-the signal that told the brakemen to set the brakes. At the same time, he yanked the Johnston Bar, throwing the big engine’s drivers from ahead to reverse, “Sand,” he snapped, as he worked the controls, and his fireman, despite seeing spots before his eyes, pulled on the sanding lever. Fine dry sand poured onto the rails, giving them better purchase, and the express slowed abruptly. The coaches tried to shove the locomotive forwards, the train bucked, nearly throwing him off his feet. Likewise, his foreman, unprepared for such a violent stop, almost lost his balance, only avoiding a fall because he was still holding onto the sand line, dispersing sand onto the tracks.

As he fought the train to a stop, he glanced forwards, trying to assess where the explosion might be. Still no rumble, yet the cloud was still reaching skywards; the explosion was massive—but far enough away that he needn’t have reacted as abruptly. Whatever had blown up, it was clearly not an immediate threat. He had just started to ease off on the throttle when the blast hit.

One moment he was fighting an express train to an emergency stop—a moment later, he was lying on the floor in the cab, as was his fireman. Glass was everywhere, and he could feel some nasty cuts from the cab windows. Fuzzy headed—but he could also feel the continued motion of the train, no moving with no one at the throttle. He couldn’t hear anything, but he didn’t need to hear just yet; he needed the train STOPPED.

Staggering to his feet, he grasped the controls, noting that the slight uphill should help slow the train down—and that he’d fought the train down to about 15 miles per hour before—whatever it was—happened. The track was mostly clear, a few branches and such on the line, but, hopefully, nothing the pilot (what non-railroaders know as a “cowcatcher”) couldn’t sweep aside.

When the train finally came to as stop, he could look further ahead—and in the distance, the cloud was still rising, and growing a top. He could only compare it to an evil, gray-black mushroom, one he had to lean way back to see the top of. Ahead, at the crest of the hill, trees were stripped of their leaves, and some were down. For the moment, all he could do was absorb the extent of the devastation—damage as far as he ould see, and a small trackside shack with its roof gone. How long he stood half paralyzed, none could ever say, but as he started recovering from the shock, he glanced down—then dropped to his knees next to his fireman. Jim was lying, unmoving, on the floor.

It only took a moment to tell that he’d never move again, apparently, he’d hit his head on something as he fell. He took just a moment to muter a brief prayer, untangle Jim’s limbs, and mutter, “Time to mourn later; I’ve got the living to worry about.”

The first thing he did was sound the whistle again; the standard one long blast, followed by three short, telling the brakemen to get someone walking back where they’d come, flag in hand, to signal any oncoming train to stop—the track was blocked. Another signal instructed someone to get out front; if everything was working according to routine, nothing could head sound until his train passed the next signal—but with the devastation, he was taking no chances.

(Even today, a lot of communication is done by whistle signals and flags. Every signal has a specific meaning. In this case, even though nothing is scheduled to be coming behind him any time soon, standard procedure is to get a signalman out.

It was the work of a moment to make sure the brakes were locked, there was enough water in the boiler, and damp down the fire; the locomotive would be fine on her own for a few minutes, able to get moving again—and if he couldn’t get back to her, she would gradually cool down without exploding.

Even though it only took a moment, people were already pouring out of the coaches—some staggering, bruised or bleeding, others merely with a stunned look. One passenger was already pointing north, at the towering mushroom; it had been hidden by the bulk of the train before.

As others turned as well, following the indicated finger, a stunned silence spread through the crowd, silencing the moans of what were, almost entirely, minor injuries. Jason looked about—the conductor was nowhere to be seen-probably taking care of someone still inside—and the crowd needed guidance, before panic could sink in. Adding to the confusion, people had scrambled out on both sides of the train; he needed them assembled.

First, he blew a short series of blasts, followed by one long—something that had no official meaning, and wouldn’t confuse the crew, but WOULD attract attention. Even as the last note was fading, he scrambled onto the tender, and from there, up the ladder onto the roof of the baggage car, and looked out over the crowd. Perhaps 200 to 300 people were present, coming from Boston, Lowell, Manchester, and Concord. This wasn’t a sleeper, it had left Boston some 4 hours ago, and was less than an hour from the last stop, and the six coaches were reasonably full, but not packed to the brim.

“Time to earn your princely pay,” he thought as he prepared to address the crowd...
 
No Peshwar

Hmm...any inspiration from Peshawar Lancers?

I haven't actually read the Peshwar Lancers. However, this is a MUCH smaller impact, somewhere in the 3-5 megaton range. Although the devastation is huge, and the crater's almost a mile wide, this is simply much too small to have any significant effects on climate or anything. Many volcanos were much bigger, even in historical times. This is not Krakatoa or Yellowstone, nor Peshwar Lancers, or any change the world disaster.

It's going to be an investigation of the effects of a small explosion, and how this blast changes the course of the world's history.

Wrath of God, act of nature, or whoi knows what else--that will be a concern, of course. Thoughts on how different people worldwide might take things would be appreciated, and likely incorporated into this yarn.
 
Standard railroad procedure...

This is sounding interesting. (I didn't even know about the trick with the sand.)

All locomotives from well before the Civil War to today have a sand dome/sand box. This helps with traction on hills, wet or icy rails, or even when just starting or stopping a heavy train. Sand wouldn't be used for a routine stop--but Jason wants the tain stopped NOW. This is before air brakes, so brakemen set hand brakes on the cars, and the locomotive is thrown into reverse. Emergenyc stops like this are rough!

Sand drying facilities are present on all railroads--the sand must be completely dry.

There are pipes just in front and behind the wheels, distributing it directly on the rails. If you look at a picture of a steam locomotove, you will see several domes on top of the boiler. At least one of them is a sand dome, containing the sand. Running out was a bad thing--the train might not get up some hills. In mountainous regions--like here--trains use a lot of sand. In very flat regions, they use little, and the sand might last for several trips before geting low.
 

Arrix85

Donor
Very interesting. I like your writing style, very good read. I'm eager to see where this is going...
 

Hyperion

Banned
So how many people at the time would have been living in the area that has just been hit?

Given something like this, even if it isn't an end of the world or end of the US scenario, I could see off the bat a lot of money and research eventually being put into astronomy years if not decades sooner.
 
Many people

I'm not sure how many dead, but thousands, at least--so far, they just know that something bad happened. But it's not just the number of dead--there's a disproportionate number of influential and wealthy people, since the White Mountains was a summer playground for the rich--not so much the Newport crowd, but the next tier down. They tend to get more ink than the ordinary people, for all that their lives are no more valuable than a teacher or a farmer or a shopkeeper.

Aditionally, a very well known natural wonder has been destroyed--the Old Man of the Mountain. And a great crater has been gouged out of the land--a constant, visible reminder of The Day.

I plan on astronomy becoming of great interest to the people of the United States--fast! For one thing, they'll realize how much worse it could have been...
 
At this time there was a lot of debate on the Idea of Meteors, or rocks from the sky.
In this Time line there will be a lot more investigations of the Arizona [and other] craters.
 

Arrix85

Donor
This TL seems quite promising, especially for its "possible" angle on scientific research (It would be nice to see a TL which doesn't devolve as soon as approach the present, especially in space-related technology there are many things that are possible, but there is not the political will to pursue, the set-up of this time line could change that). Obviously it will not be the only angle, but still... :)
 
At this time there was a lot of debate on the Idea of Meteors, or rocks from the sky.
In this Time line there will be a lot more investigations of the Arizona [and other] craters.
Yes around the 1890's a geologist with the USGS (United States Geological Survey) said Meteor Crater Arizona was caused by a steam explosion. I figure that will not be claimed this TL
 
Light from the sky

Since there will be witnesses that claim (correctly, as it turns out) to have seen a brilliant streak of light before the explosion, the meteorite angle will, naturally, be one hypothesis. But--in the hysteria that will ensue soon, many ideas will fill the papers, including wrath of god, volacano, and more.
 
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