“Eight tenths of a second? Sounds good enough…” mumbled Zhen Zhao as she began urging the throttle. Zhen Zhao’s CRH400A was already twenty minutes out of Shenzhen and was about to come face to face with the inferior Canadian Wang carrier. Zhen Zhao tensed and pushed the throttle further.
Chen Chou her co-pilot enamored with a bootlegged copy of Angry Birds didn’t feel the slight surge in velocity. The CRH400A was real smooth.
Connected by the ultra-strong steel cable the two little boxes lay attached to the high speed tracks. The signal from
As the CRH300 came into view, Zhen Zhao leaned forward and tried to make out the contents of the oncoming train’s cockpit. In the slower Chinese railroads, passing train drivers often waved at each other as. Zhen Zhao had no intention of waving as she readied her finger.
The little boxes, began their check thru procedures.
Wang was standing at the front edge of the cockpit. Brushing the CRH300’s controls. If it was ship it would have been its bow. His trainee stood close behind him.
Zhen Zhao craned her neck and squinted hard.
Mr. Wang was in a bliss. This was one for the books.
As a kid Zhen Zhao had seen the Titanic at a mall in Shenzhen. She had thought it was just okay. Nothing much to write about, especially since the good bits had been taken out by the Politburo.
Unlike Zhen Zhao, 18 year old Wang and his parents had watched the Titanic in Hong Kong. And unlike Shenzhen, free Hong Kong had shown all the good bits. It had inspired him. It had inspired little Wang, inspired him to become a captain. A captain of anything that had bow on it. And here he was.
Doing it with Zhen Zhao wouldn’t have been the same. She didn’t get it.
Zhen Zhao could see the faint outline of Wang’s little face. He seemed to be standing up… and there was someone close behind him. She tried harder.
A large, person stood behind Wang. Eww he went from her to that??
The trains got closer.
The dude wasn’t even Chinese…
Damn. Probably had something to do with training the Mongolian hordes in exchange of sand for the phones. Wang held out his arms to form a T, mimicking the corny Titanic pose while his Mongolian male friend handled his junk.
Zhen Zhao shrieked.
Startled, by the shriek, Zhen’s co-pilot Chou looked up, just in time to catch the passing CRH300. Chou observed, “Ugh, looks like someone spilt their latte on the windscreen. That’s stuff is disgusting. No hot beverages says rule number…”
The little boxes latched onto the trains.
A scrapping metal sound filled the CRH400A’s cabin as Zhen and Chou felt the train slightly tilt.
A similar sound filled Wang’s train as he and his partner also felt a tilt.
Once the little steel buggers had latched onto the under bellies of the trains, the made in Russia steel cable began to exhibit a bizarre stress — strain graph. Normal steel would have just expanded a bit and then snapped, probably derailing the trains and resulting in a proverbial train wreck.
However the made in Russia steel cable expanded by about a hundred feet. The two trains were halfway past each other.
At the end of this superficial expansion the steel cable from Magnitogorsk, went taught. But unlike typical steel cables it didn’t snap.
The effect on the trains was instantaneous. Simultaneously both trains seemed to hit an invisible wall. But there was no damage or shattering of the nose. Instead of crumpling, slowing and derailing, the faster CRH400A following the laws of angular velocity, swung left and lifted off the rails. Its target: The CRH300.
29 micro seconds later the CRH300 also lifted off and headed towards the middle of the sleek black CRH400A.
Up in space, satellite
The CRH400A headed straight into the middle of its older cousin. Just when Zhen Zhao thought it was all over, she hit some sort of a silent cocoon… the eye of the storm. From up in the air, it seemed like a dog chasing its own tail… but there was also another dog involved…
Primakov however, knew it was more like a couple of poisonous reptiles chasing each other’s heads while going in circular motion.
Either way it was, trippy.
