“Oxygen levels?” Billy Bob said.
“Check,” Cletus said.
“Rocket boosters?”
“Check.”
“Thrust and ignition?”
“Check.”
“Sandwiches secure?”
Cletus peaked over his shoulder at the wooden milk crate. “Check,” he said.
“Steering and wings aligned?”
“Check.”
“Fuel tanks?”
“Full.”
“Parachutes?”
“What’s the parachutes for?” Cletus asked.
“For the splashdown,” Billy Bob said. “We’ll be hurling through the atmosphere real fast. We need to jump out of this here rocket before it hits the ocean water. Check in that cupboard nailed to the wall on the left.”
Cletus reached back and unhooked the latch on the metal cupboard. Hanging on three hooks inside were three parachutes shaped into three compact rectangles. A collection of pockets covered the pack. Loose fabric strands hung from the sides next to the shoulder straps sewed on like a backpack.
“Parachutes, check,” Cletus said. “Where'd you get these, Billy Bob?”
“Snagged’em from when I used’ta give skydiving lessons,” Billy Bob said
“How come ya stop?” Jimmy John asked.
“Got fired,” Billy Bob said.
“For what?” Cletus asked.
“For stealing parachutes,” Billy Bob said. “Alright, what else we got on the checklist? Here we go… communications system?”
“Uhh… Check.”
“Radar navigation system?”
“Check.”
“Ships hull intact?”
“Check.”
“What's that beeping?”
“I don't know,” Cletus said. “Never heard it before.”
“Everyone strapped in?”
“Yup,” Jimmy John said.
“Cletus, you buckled in?”
“Huh? Oh sorry,” Cletus said. He reached around and grabbed hold of the harness, pulling it across his torso and snapping it into the lower division bumper car racing chair.
“Check,” Cletus said.
“Hot diggity!” Billy Bob screamed, his voice slightly muffled beneath the motocross helmet. “Sounds to me like we'a couple'a corn-filled astronauts ready for take off. What you fellers think? Ready to fly by the Moon?”
“Let's get to rocketing. I'm hungry for some sandwiches,” Cletus said, rubbing his belly in slow circles.
“Fire up this old American beauty and let's go catch us a glimpse'a the Moon,” Jimmy John said.
“Alright, that's what I like to hear,” Billy Bob said. “Here we go.” He flicked a switch on the dashboard. “Engines... on!”
Twenty-two engines revved up creating a single, uniform sound. A raucous, mechanical purr rumbled across the farm, stirring up birds from their nests. They scattered across the skies like a swarm of locusts over an arid desert.
Billy Bob pressed several buttons. They blinked a few times before turning to solid red.
“Boosters... on!” A long yellow-orange stream of fire shot from the back of the rocket. Shooting over the gravel strewn across ground.
“Here we go.” Billy Bob pushed a dark gray lever forward until it clicked a few times. “Ignition... on! And... 3... 2... 1... fire!” Billy Bob shouted, shoving the lever forward.
Rocket boosters burned fiery red as the rocket jolted forward. Skipping overtop of the hay bales. Rolling over the gravel scattered across the ground. Engines burned brighter, hotter. Spewing fierce gusts of flames and smoke over the cornfields. Stalks flapped back and forth, caught in the blistering gusts from the hot engines. Daring the vast field of corn stalks to pop like one big movie theatre corn popping machine. The nose of the ship inched higher, higher, pointing towards the bright blues skies above. Heading straight for the hazy white, pockmarked cheese orb hanging high overhead. Their bodies rattled in the lower division bumper car racing chairs. Jumping up, fighting back against the restraints strapped around their torsos. Their loose jaws wiggled, teeth clattered against each other.
“Fellers!” Cletus shouted, his voice shaky beneath the force of the rocket boosters. “It feels like…” he said, pausing to catch his breath, ”a leaf blower… is shooting straight through… muh face.... like one'a them tractors… is ramming straight into… my big gut.”
“That's the… G-force!” Jimmy John said.
“Lotsa... G-force,” Billy Bob said. “Wave goodbye to... Mother Earth…” his muffled voice bounced around. Fluctuating up and down with each fresh jolt of the ship. “Next time we come back… we’ll be full-fledged… astronauts... true American heroes.”
Far below, buildings turned into tiny stationary ants surrounded by plots of land turned into geometric patterns of squares and rectangles of varying shades of green and brown. Vast patches of blue lake waters spread across the landscape below. Reflecting back the bright yellow Sun resting high overhead. Spreading its rays down upon their chrome paneled rocket ship as it blazed its way straight towards the cheese ball directly in line with the nose of the ship. Bobbing up and down with each dip and dive of the rocket slicing through the turbulent air. On and up the PATRIOT-17 climbed. Stretching forth, away from the Earth’s rocky terrain. Closer to the gray moon, twinkling stars, and blackness of outer space high above.