Chapter 4: Let's Party Like it's 1961
In a grassy field next to a barn, a mechanical thrumming sound started off quietly, and gradually became louder as the TARDIS materialized nearby. A few steers inside the barn heard the sound and began to moo and shift around in their pens.
The Doctor, followed by Amy and Rory, stepped out and looked around. The Doctor turned around to examine the TARDIS.
The Doctor smiled as he admired the tall blue police call box. "Ah, I see the old girl is back to her usual tricks."
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Amy asked as she looked around. "That looks like a barn to me, not a house."
"A bit whiffy around here too," Rory commented as the wind changed direction.
"Sometimes parties are held in barns," said the Doctor as he walked up to a set of double sliding doors, each wide enough for the three of them to easily walk through side by side. "Shall we take a look inside?"
Without waiting for an answer, the Doctor slid the right-hand door open and walked in.
Just as Amy and Rory approached the opening, a steer chose that moment to let out a loud bellowing "MOOOO!"
Amy jumped back from the door.
"There are cows in there!" she said, taken aback.
The Doctor turned around, an amused expression on his face.
"Oh Amelia Pond! You can face down pirates, Daleks, and save a space whale, but a few boisterous bovines bother you?"
His eyes lost focus as he smiled in thought. "Oh, I like that. 'Boisterous bovines.' How about a, 'bevy of bothersome boisterous bovines?'"
"Are you finished?" Amy said, slightly embarrassed. "I just wasn't expecting it, okay? Come along Rory!"
Amy pushed ahead into the barn.
"Yes Mum," said Rory as he followed her in.
The barn was open in the middle, a central aisle as wide as the double doors leading to a matching set of doors at the far end of the barn. Fresh hay covered the entire floor. On either side of the aisle were a series of pens dividing up the space, some with two or three animals, and others that were empty. One of the pens held a cow with two young calves.
"Oh look! Baby cows!" said Amy as she walked over for a closer look. "Aren't they cute?" she said with a big grin on her face.
"We call those 'calves' ma'am," said a voice behind them.
The ranch foreman walked into the barn leading a full-grown steer. The steer had a wide set of horns, with an "LBJ" stamp clearly visible on the right horn.
"Oh, hello!" said the Doctor as he turned around. "Sorry, we were just looking for the party."
The ranch foreman looked the Doctor up and down.
"The party is down yonder by the live oaks near the river. Just look for the big tents – you can't miss it. This here barn isn't open to the public yet, but if you promise to leave the cows alone and don't open any pens, I reckon y'all can stay. We're still bringin' in a few prize Herefords to show, like this fellow." He indicated the steer he was leading.
"Actually, I was rather hoping to find the tents," said Rory, his stomach rumbling.
"Just go out through the doors down there," the ranch foreman said, waving to the far doors. "You'll see the tents straight ahead, across the drive towards the riverbank."
"Thanks," replied Rory. He looked at the others. "Shall we?" They turned to go.
"Oh, and Miss?" called the ranch foreman.
Amy turned back to look at him.
"Watch out for cow patties. Cows aren't particular where they do their business. I'd hate to see them pretty white shoes messed up." He gave her a nod and resumed leading the steer to an empty pen.
"Why address Amy alone and not us as a group?" Rory said as they made their way through the barn, treading carefully.
"It's the times," replied the Doctor. "Women are to be protected, and men are expected to be on their own lookout."
The ranch foreman watched the three visitors as they exited the barn.
"Everything ready in here, Dale?" asked a man as he walked into the barn. He was tall with thinning hair combed straight back, his face creased from exposure to the sun.
"Yes sir, Mr. Johnson, just about," replied Dale, the ranch foreman. "Just getting some stray visitors settled. English, I'd guess. Mr. All-hat-and-no-cattle wearing absurd poser boots, and two friends; a man and a lady."
Lyndon Johnson sighed. Lady Bird Johnson had been campaigning to relocate cattle operations to another part of the property away from the main house. She didn't like the smell, and she didn't like visitors wandering around unescorted and possibly getting themselves hurt. If she spotted visitors leaving the Martin barn before it was officially open, he wouldn't hear the end of it.
"Let's get this set up as soon as possible. Have the rent-a-toilets arrived yet?"
Both men could hear the sound of a truck pulling up at the back of the barn.
"I reckon that's them now," replied Dale.
As they walked outside, a driver jumped down from the cab of a large flatbed truck transporting six enclosed portable toilets. A second truck sat waiting a few yards away, engine idling.
"Afternoon, Mr. Vice President. Where would you like these set up?" the driver asked as he glanced around.
Lyndon waved to indicate Dale should take over. "I'll leave you fellows to it. It's time I went and served the people," he said with a smile.
Before walking off, he pointed to the TARDIS. "Just line them up with that one."
As Amy, Rory and the Doctor walked across a wide, open, grassy area towards the tents, they spotted a small, single-engine aircraft flying overhead. It turned, and appeared to be coming straight towards them as it lost altitude.
"Isn't that plane a little low?" Rory said as he pointed. "It's coming at us like that bi-plane in 'North by Northwest.'"
"It's good to be Vice President," remarked the Doctor as the aircraft continued to lose altitude and flew directly overhead, wheels touching down not far from where they stood. "This ranch has its own airstrip."
"Its own airstrip?" said Amy, surprised. "This place must be absolutely huge."
"Oh it is," replied the Doctor. "It's close to three thousand acres."
Both Amy and Rory were shocked speechless.
The plane came taxiing back down the runway and parked near a small hanger not far from the main house. Amy could see two men climb out. They were briefly greeted by someone who shook each man's hand. The two new arrivals walked in their direction.
As they got closer, Amy could see they were both wearing one-piece suits of some kind, and both had short crew-cuts.
"I wonder who they might be?" she said. "They look military, but I don't recognize their outfits."
"Flight suits, maybe?" replied Rory. "No, you don't need to wear a flight suit to fly a small plane. Wait, is that a NASA logo?"
"Let's talk to them!" the Doctor said enthusiastically. As the two men approached, the Doctor stepped forward.
"Hello, I'm the Doctor," he said as he reached out to shake hands.
The two men stopped and held back with slightly alarmed expressions.
"Not another doctor!" exclaimed one of the men. "I've been poked, prodded, measured, and evaluated enough as it is. This is supposed to be a break from routine!"
"Oh, a medical doctor you mean? No, no, I'm just here as a guest," replied the Doctor. "No poking or prodding—I promise."
The two men visibly relaxed. "Sorry about the misunderstanding," one of them said.
He stuck out his hand and flashed a big smile. "Gus Grissom," he said while shaking the Doctor's hand. "And my buddy here is Gordon Cooper. We've just flown in from Cape Canaveral, Florida."
The Doctor flashed a big smile in return and seemed ready to bounce up and down with excitement.
"Amy, Rory, I'd like you to meet two of the Mercury Seven astronauts!"
"Cool!" said Rory as they shook hands. "What's it like riding a rocket into space?"
Both astronauts laughed.
"We haven't been into space yet," said Gus Grissom with a grin. "But if all goes as scheduled, I'll be riding a Redstone later this month—the next 'spam in a can,' as we say." Gus paused as he glanced at Gordon Cooper, both keeping grins to a minimum. They were clearly waiting for someone to ask the next obvious question.
Rory filled in the pause. "Okay, I'll bite. Why spam in a can?"
"Because the capsule is so small," replied Gordon Cooper, smiling. "You don't so much ride it as wear it."
"Will you be able to go on a spacewalk?" Amy asked, thinking about the time when she first met the Doctor. He had held her by the ankle as she floated outside the TARDIS among the stars.
The two astronauts looked at each other. "What's a 'space' walk?"
Oops! Amy tried to rally. "Oh, I thought perhaps as long as you're up there wearing a spacesuit, you could open the hatch and float outside instead of being stuck inside the whole time."
The astronauts looked at each other again, excited.
"Out of the mouths of babes!" exclaimed Gus. "A 'space walk' can't be done from a Mercury capsule—once the hatch is sealed, the only way to open it again is to blow the bolts. But the next generation Gemini capsule will have a real hatch that can be opened and closed, so yeah—that becomes possible."
"Yeah," said Gordon. "But some of the engineers have been pushing back. They want to keep things simple. Exiting a spacecraft while in orbit complicates things. Hell—pardon my French—they were loathe to design a hatch to be opened from the inside—which is nuts. Before we were astronauts, we were test pilots! You always need a way to exit your vehicle. If the engineers had it their way, space capsules wouldn't have windows!"
He grinned at Gus. "Let's talk to Johnson. Maybe he can push the idea from the top down. A space walk! That at least is something the Russians haven't done. Thanks Amy!"
With a wave, the two astronauts walked off together, talking.
"Oh dear!" said Amy "Have I changed history?" She gave the Doctor a worried look.
"Not at all," replied the Doctor as they resumed their walk to the tents. "The Russians will be the first to spacewalk less than four years from now, although it was a rush job to beat the Americans. The cosmonaut who did it had so much trouble getting back inside his capsule he almost died."
When the Doctor first mentioned a barbecue party, Amy had assumed a gathering of people inside a house, perhaps as many as thirty or so people for a large gathering at a large house. Up ahead were three very large tents completely open on the sides. Their main purpose seemed to be to provide shade. There were many rows of long tables set up. The tantalizing smell of barbecue sauce and smoked meat overwhelmed any barnyard smells that might have still been around. Each tent could easily accommodate a hundred people or more. Small children were everywhere it seemed, running, shouting, and laughing. There were two lines for food, with people patiently waiting in each.
"Okay, this is a much grander scale than I was expecting," Amy commented to Rory.
A large woman who seemed ready to burst the seams of her dress overheard Amy.
She smiled and said, "Oh honey, didn't they tell you? Everything's bigger in Texas!"
"So it is…" Amy replied, keeping a straight face.
The woman became more business-like.
"Welcome, folks. The lines start at that end, and it doesn't matter which one you get in—it's all the same. Just grab a plate and utensils and work your way along. Take all you want, but we do ask you eat all you get. Starving children in China you know."
She waved them on.
"Starving children in China?" Amy commented to Rory as they waited their turn. He simply shrugged. At the start of the serving table, there were stacks of white paper plates and piles of stamped steel knives, forks and spoons.
They soon had plates piled high with potato salad, baked beans, coleslaw, a large thick slice of buttered and toasted bread called "Texas toast" and, of course, barbecue beef which was shredded and covered in a red sauce.
At the end of the food line, a tall man wearing a light-colored suit, narrow black tie and a narrow brimmed hat used a pair of tongs to lay three of the largest ribs Amy had ever seen across the whole plate, telling her, "Here you go little lady."
"How am I supposed to eat all this?" remarked Amy as they looked for a place to sit at one of the tables.
"Don't worry," Rory said with a grin. "I'm here to help."
They put their plates down at the unoccupied end of a table, and Rory took off looking for something to drink. He soon returned carefully holding three paper cups.
"Watch out," he said. "These 'Dixie' cups collapse easily. Two have lemonade, and this one has iced tea."
"Tea?" said Amy. "In a paper cup with ice? No thanks."
As Rory settled down, Amy said. "What's with calling me 'honey' and 'little lady' anyway?"
"Oh, they're just being friendly, Amy," said the Doctor. "And by the way, the man who gave you those ribs? That was Vice President Johnson himself."
"Really?" said Amy as she looked back at the serving table.
She grinned at the Doctor. "I can't help but notice he's not wearing a bolo tie," she smirked. "Nor is he wearing a Stetson – at least, I don't think it's a Stetson."
"Other people are, though," the Doctor replied as he picked up a rib. "Just look around."
As Amy ate, another thought occurred to her. "Say, you don't suppose what we're eating is related to the cows we saw in that barn do you?"
"They probably are. Why?" asked the Doctor while enthusiastically starting on a second rib.
After that, Amy mainly focused on her vegetables and bread, only picking at the barbecue.
Rory eyed her plate. "Are you going to eat that?" he asked.
"Here, you can have it," she said, and slid her plate over to Rory, who happily tucked in. She got up, walked to the tent edge and leaned against a tent pole.
Amy gazed out over the Pedernales river. She guessed it to be about half the width of the Thames back home, but still respectable for a dry place like Texas. Actually, everything around here was far greener than she had expected. Across the river were cultivated fields as far as she could see. Her image of Texas was cactus and tumbleweed, not fields that, except for scale, wouldn't be out of place in the English countryside.
The Doctor walked up and stood by Amy.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Do you think I can watch the news?" Amy suddenly asked while still looking ahead.
"Well, I imagine there's a radio or telly up at the house," he replied, a little thrown off by the interest. "You can always ask."
"Thanks, I'll do that." She turned and walked off.
The Doctor walked back to the table and sat down.
"What's Amy up to?" asked Rory.
"I've no idea," replied the Doctor. "For some reason she wants to watch the news."
They both returned to finishing their meals.
As Amy walked up to the house, a man in a dark business suit and dark glasses standing by the front door took a step towards her.
"Can I help you, miss?"
"Sorry, I was just wondering," replied Amy. "Would it be possible to watch a news broadcast?"
"Please wait here and I'll check."
He stepped inside and was back momentarily with a second man in a suit. The two conferred while occasionally glancing at Amy. She gave them what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
"You're good to go," said the man in the dark glasses. "There are two TV's set up so you have a choice. The rooms are pretty full already. Have fun."
Amy thanked him and walked into the foyer. From the closest room she could hear a television.
"…brought to you by Camel cigarettes. America's favorite cigarette…"
She looked in the door, but decided the room was too crowded.
As she walked on, she could hear another television up ahead. This room had less of a crowd, but all the seats were taken. Amy was the only woman present. She quietly stepped into the back of the room to watch.
"From NBC news, this is the Huntley-Brinkley Report. Good evening, I'm Chet Huntley in New York."
"I'm David Brinkley in Washington. Private funeral arrangements have been made for noted author Ernest Hemingway, who died two days ago of a gunshot wound at his home in Ketchum, Idaho. President Kennedy mourned the death of Hemingway, whom he called one of America's greatest authors and, 'one of the great citizens of the world.'"
"In Selma Alabama, freedom riders lead by the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. were arrested today as they stepped off their bus before gathering to march…."
The news continued with frequent commercial interruptions, which Amy found disconcerting. After twenty minutes, she gave up watching the broadcast and exited the house.
Rory and the Doctor were waiting just outside.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" asked the Doctor as they began to walk back to the TARDIS.
"No," replied Amy. "For some reason, I was expecting there to be news about that submarine, K-19."
"It's way too early for that," replied the Doctor. "The accident was kept secret for decades."
The barn was officially open now, with visitors coming and going. The Doctor, Rory and Amy cut through the barn, and Amy waved good-bye to the cows as they walked past.
"What?" said the Doctor as they came out the other side. "What!"
Amy and Rory burst out laughing.
Rent-a-toilets were lined up on either side of the TARDIS, which sat proudly in the center. A few people were lined up waiting their turns. A woman stood in front of the TARDIS, arms crossed, and legs slightly crossed too. The Doctor sputtered as he pulled out his key.
"Excuse me!" said the woman indignantly as the Doctor pushed his way in front of her. "I was here first!"
"Sorry love," replied the Doctor as he unlocked the TARDIS. "This is a garden shed. You'll have to queue up at one of the others. Come along Ponds!"
Amy and Rory fell into the TARDIS, still laughing.
The woman banged on the TARDIS door.
"Hey! Open up! It was my turn!" She was shocked speechless when the TARDIS began to make groaning noises and faded away.
"Well," Rory managed to say between giggles. "You did say the TARDIS is supposed to blend in with its surroundings. And so it did – without even trying!"
"Good girl! Don't you listen to them!" said the Doctor as he stroked the console.
K-19, In the North Atlantic southeast of Greenland near a NATO post on Jan Mayen Island, 4 July 1961 04:15 hours
The alarm klaxon sounded. A few crewmembers grumbled.
"Haven't we had enough drills already?" someone in a hammock complained.
"Alert the captain!" Lieutenant Boris Korchilov shouted from the reactor compartment. "We are losing coolant pressure in the starboard reactor!"
He pointed at the reactor technician on duty. "Get the emergency manual!"
As Korchilov watched, the coolant pressure gauge dropped rapidly.
"Have you recycled the pumps?" he shouted to the technician.
"Yes Comrade Lieutenant! Twice, already. It's no good."
The pressure gauge dropped to zero.
"Switch to auxiliary pumps!"
"Switching to auxiliaries!" the technician called out.
"Sir, the auxiliary pumps are running, but we're not getting pressure. There must be a leak!"
"This is the Captain," said Zateyev's voice over the intercom. "Report!"
"The starboard reactor pumps have failed. Coolant pressure is at zero and the core temperature is rising rapidly!"
"Scram the reactors! Both of them!" ordered Captain Zateyev.
"Scramming port and starboard reactors. But Comrade Captain, the scram rods alone will not be enough. It takes both the rods and coolant to stop the reactor!"
"I am aware," replied Captain Zateyev. "But it's better than nothing."
The lights dimmed as K-19 switched to emergency lighting.
"Comrade Captain, we are operating on batteries," reported Vasili Arkhipov. "But they won't last long – perhaps twelve hours before we have to surface."
"Then we will surface now. We must report our status to Moscow. Emergency surface."
"Blow all ballasts." ordered Vasili Arkhipov. "Bow planes up full."
"Blowing all ballasts! Bow planes up full."
"Surface! Surface! Surface!" announced the loudspeaker.
"Depth eighty meters! Sixty meters! Forty! Twenty!"
K-19 broke surface, its bow lifting out of the ocean like a leaping whale before crashing back down.
"Raise the radio mast and three sweeps on the radar. Let's see what's around us."
"Comrade Captain, we have a contact bearing one-zero-seven. Likely a destroyer – probably American."
"I wonder if they've seen us," Vasili Arkhipov said.
Captain Zateyev snorted. "They'd have to be blind not to."
"Comrade Captain! The long-range radio is not working! We cannot contact Moscow!"
"Try it again!"
"Trying again… I'm sorry Comrade Captain – it simply isn't working."
Captain Zateyev thought for a moment. "Is anyone within reach of our short-range radio?"
"Only the American destroyer and a NATO outpost, Comrade Captain."
The intercom buzzed.
"Comrade Captain!" reported Lieutenant Korchilov. "The core temperature has already passed four hundred degrees. At this rate, I estimate the core will reach eight hundred degrees in as little as twenty minutes, the point at which the control rods will melt."
"That's impossible!" exclaimed Captain Zateyev. "The temperature can't be climbing that fast! Have you visually checked the control rods?"
"Yes Comrade Captain, I have checked everything four times. The control rods are inserted. This should not be happening. According to everything I know and everything in the emergency manual, we should have hours, not minutes, even without the coolant circulating! It just doesn't make any sense!"
Captain Zateyev could hear the raw frustration in Korchilov's voice.
"Thank you for your report, Comrade. Keep me apprised." Zateyev switched off the intercom and looked grim-faced at Vasili Arkhipov.
"Even if we were to radio the Americans for help – and I'm not saying we should," said Vasili Arkhipov, "they could not arrive in time, and they are the closest ship. In fact, it might even be viewed as a trap if we called the Americans, and as they began rescue operations, this boat blew up in a thermal explosion."
Captain Zateyev sighed. "With our luck, it might not just be a thermal explosion. We could be talking a nuclear explosion."
As Vasili Arkhipov opened his mouth to object, the captain waved him down.
"I know, I know," said Captain Zateyev. "Reactors are not bombs. An explosion should be impossible, but you heard the Lieutenant. At this point, I'm ready to believe anything could happen."
"What about the missiles? Should we jettison the warheads?"
"Probably," replied Zateyev as he looked at his watch, calculating. "But we don't have time. There is really only one course of action."
The captain picked up the microphone and toggled it for a boat-wide announcement.
"Attention all comrades – this is the Captain. We face a dire situation. The starboard reactor has failed and is rapidly overheating. We have no time to conduct repairs, and no time to be rescued. At the rate the reactor is overheating, I fear we may be facing the worst possible disaster of all – a nuclear explosion. Should that happen, the explosion will not only kill us, but destroy nearby American and NATO forces. Given current world tensions, the Americans will doubtless see this as an act of war committed by the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, as indeed our leaders would see it if the situation were reversed."
Zateyev paused to clear his throat.
"We must not let that happen. We will not let that happen. It is in our power to protect our country and our loved ones, but we have only one option. We must dive and allow the freezing depths of the Atlantic to cool the reactor. You know what this means. All compartments – respond."
There was dead silence on the bridge for perhaps thirty seconds.
The intercom seemed loud as a voice suddenly cut in.
"Compartment One: manned and ready to do our duty to the motherland."
"Compartment Two: manned and ready."
"Compartment Three: manned and ready."
And so it went. All compartments reported in as ready.
Captain Zateyev nodded to his executive. "Rig for dive."
Vasili took the microphone. "All hands rig for dive."
"Topside cleared, masts down, all hatches closed. Pressure in the boat, green board."
"All compartments standing by, Comrade Captain," said Vasili.
"Take her down."
The dive alarm sounded loudly throughout K-19.
"Dive. Dive. Dive. Flood all ballasts. Bow planes down full."
The bridge crew braced themselves as K-19 went into a steep dive.
"Depth twenty meters! Forty meters! Sixty meters!"
Vasili Arkhipov saluted his captain. "Comrade Captain, it has been an honor and a privilege to serve as your executive officer."
Captain Zateyev saluted back, and then reached out to shake hands with Vasili. "The honor has been mine, Comrade."
"One hundred twenty meters! One hundred forty meters! One hundred sixty meters!"
One crewman began quietly singing the national anthem of the Soviet Union. Others quickly joined in, and within seconds most of the crew of K-19 sang together.
Be glorious, our free motherland,
Strong bastion of the peoples' glory!
Flag of the Soviets, Flag of the people,
May it from victory to victory lead!
Loud pops and groans could be heard throughout K-19 as it sank deeper. In response, the men sang louder.
"Two hundred sixty meters! Two hundred eighty meters! Approaching crush depth!"
On board USS Norfolk, the destroyer trailing K-19, the sonar operator listened intently. The captain stood nearby.
"What have we got?" asked the captain.
"I'm not sure, Skipper. She's either a Golf or one of the new Hotel-class boomers. She's making no attempt at stealth, and she's diving fast and deep. And sir? I think I'm hearing singing too."
Suddenly the sonar operator snatched off his headphones as they admitted an overloaded squeal everyone nearby could hear.
"Sweet Jesus Christ! I think that sub just imploded!"
The sound of K-19's demise could be heard by listening posts as far away as Bermuda.
History trivia
* Lyndon Johnson really had a ranch manager named Dale.
* The Huntley–Brinkley Report ran on NBC from 1956 to 1970.
* Ernest Hemingway committed suicide on 2 July 1961. It was not reported as a suicide at the time.
* Before they were banned in 1971, cigarette commercials were a major source of revenue for television in the US. Actors pretending to be doctors made "doctor recommended" endorsements of various brands.
* On 18 March 1965, cosmonaut Aleksey Leonov became the first person to spacewalk. His spacesuit puffed out like a balloon, enough to make it nearly impossible to reenter the Voskhod 2 capsule.