As a first post, you get to see my psychopathic ramblings in literature form. Enjoy, or not. Descent Jens Kerman coughed. He knew when he enlisted as a pilot that he'd probably die doing it. He struggled to see under a thick haze of smoke, which stung his eyes, forcing him to rapidly blink. Kicking off the dented wall of the Mk1 Command Pod, he clicked on the intercom leading to the return module. His spacecraft consisted of a fairly dinky lander, latched onto a medium-sized rocket solely for the purpose of returning from Münar orbit. In a hoarse voice strained from smoke inhalation, he spoke into the microphone. "Wake up, Redris module. Status report." No response. He repeated the message several times, before the depth of their possible deaths set in. No doubt they've simply passed out, he thought solemnly to himself. His inability to open the airlock to the return module made him doubt his self-afflicted lies. His attempts to contact the equatorial space center were also futile - the antenna was unresponsive, and failed to contact any of the communications platforms. Practically nothing was working, everything from the cabin lights to the life support. Jens was rapidly forced to attach a gas mask to his face or risk asphyxiating. Despite the tendency for Kerbals to wear their undoubtedly comfortable spacesuits at every possible moment, Jens didn't feel the need. His was in a cabinet bracketed to the back wall of the pod, which had been warped out of recognition. Any moving parts within the command module had been completely sealed shut or remained inoperative. He could see Kerbin distantly approaching, with diffuse rays of sunlight refracting off the atmosphere. What had occurred to the spacecraft was bizarre by his standards - he was used to seeing the problem clearly. At least in those situations he had a view of the faulty section of the craft; this time he didn't. The Mk1 Command Pod was bracketed retrograde to the three-man capsule which contained both of his comrades, which obscured any view of the fuel containment sections. His only guarantee of getting home safely. What he did know, however, was that at about 300 kilometers above Kerbin's surface, the craft unexpectedly jolted with a deafening bang, knocking out power and thrust control. At that moment, the spacecraft began spinning uncontrollably and filling with smoke. Jens assumed it was a fuel issue, something he was used to on a much larger scale. About five seconds later, a second explosion sounded. Jens was unphased, but his glance towards the single window built into the capsule made his heart skip a beat. He saw the return stage slowly drifting away, its command pod torn in half with his comrades - and by extension, friends - drifting lifeless in space. The small fuel pod - mostly empty - had a large gash in the side of it, feebly connected to the broken capsule by some framework and wiring. The remaining contents were smattered in space here and there, risking spontaneous combustion. Jens sat in cold despair for a moment, as the pod slowly turned toward the rising Kerbin. His altitude was roughly 100km and plunging quickly. Below him were the faint trails of city lights. At a moment's notice, the interior of the capsule became warm. Jens backed himself against the distorted wall, and despite his assured death upon re-entry, braced for impact. /end. constructive criticism pl0x
