My
Journal
By
Harriman Nelson
~In
God We Trust~
32
I’d
retreated to my cabin with Jiggs while Chip escorted the sympatric Prime
Minister to the gangplank.
“If
he had to bring her down,” Jiggs tried to calm me, “he’d have found a way to do
it...I know he would.”
“I
know you’re trying to make me feel better, but....”
“Admiral
Nelson?” Sparks said over the PA, “Admiral Gerber ready to speak with you. On
the videophone....secure.”
Jiggs
and I were going through the retina scans when Chip arrived and did the same.
“Why
the hell did you let him take up a defective aircraft?” Chip yelled.
“The
plane was repaired to stats.”
“Four
times?”
“I
was all for sending it to the scrap yard after it failed after the second
repair, but was ordered to let the techs repair it again.”
“And
again!”
“You
forget yourself, Captain. It was not my call, nor was it my call to refuse the
president’s request to let her fly again now.”
“Did
he know its history?” Jiggs asked.
“I
gave him a detailed report.”
“About
those repairs,” Jiggs said. “Your techs or the manufacturer’s IT’s. And who
knew about Nelson-Crane getting the plane?”
“Both
IT teams. As for knowing about Nelson-Crane, our entire administration staff
and maintenance teams, why?”
“I’m
beginning to wonder if the plane was sabotaged. Perhaps all of the times it was
repaired. Or just bad luck until it was learned Lee would be piloting...I think
you’d better contact the CIA about the possibility.”
“Right
away, but I’d swear on my mother’s life than none of my men are responsible.”
“Are
any of the company’s techs still at the base?”
“No,
left as soon as Mosquito Buzz Saw took off....damn! I’ll call the police as
well as the CIA.”
“There’s
another possibility,” Chip said. “What if Lee used his laser beams and they de
pressurized the cockpit. He and Joe could have passed out and the instruments
exploded....”
“Possibility,”
the general said, “The SOD suggested I give you access to the wing and squadron
commanders cockpit audio visual. Five squadrons. Mosquito Buzz Saw was flying
with them all...but none have anything on what happened to you your boys. I’ll
send the frequencies...”
“Admiral
Nelson?” a voice preceded the image, “This is Squadron Commander Colonel
O’Hara, Flight 445.”
“This
is Nelson,” I said placing myself in front of the monitor.
“General
Gerber said you wanted to speak with all our squadrons? I’m sure you realize there’s not really
anything I can add about the missing men.”
“Did
they report anything unusual before they disappeared and fell off your radar?”
“Well,
they did report a few minor glitches with the avionics, that
he and Cdr. Jackson were able to over-ride manually, a backup system all modern
fighters have...though very seldom has to be used. Well, after a few more run
in’s with the enemy they reported additional mechanical failures then they
reported a blip they wanted to go after, so we didn’t think the failures were
much to worry about. Then they high tailed it west and then we lost contact.
All our squadrons were too busy to go into a search pattern. Personally we’d
all wanted to search for them. Nelson-Crane was not only a fine aviator, but
we’d all been looking forward to him resuming the presidency.”
“Let’s
not give up hope yet, Colonel.”
“Yes sir. Have to go, we have another batch of
bogeys to take care of.”
“Good
luck.”
“Roger
that.”
“I’m trying to contact the skipper’s
frequency,” Sparks called out as we saw the last audio visual feed that the
squadron’s had received from him.
“SSRN
Seaview to Mosquito Buzz Saw. Come in Skipper, come in!”
No
response.
“Keep
trying, Sparks,” Chip ordered, as had another vision of Lee’s coffin, his rings
glinting on top of it.
Two
coffees and one sedative administered by Doc later, Sparks urgently called out,
“Got him! Apparently he can’t receive, but we can hear and see him!”
Applause.
“Pipe
down!” Chip ordered as the monitor showed a very fuzzy image of Lee in the
front seat and a partial image of Joe in the back. “I’ve already sent this to
Base Ops and the DOD. The skip’s over Kansas.”
“Kansas?”
Riley asked, confused.
“...Damn
piece of junk!” we heard Joe saying though there was a lot of static
interference, “I told you we should have taken the Cessna instead. And we
should have ditched like I told you! And now we’re lost!”
“...Keep
trying to reach the DOD, somebody, anybody, even Elmendorf where this bird was
originally based.”
“...Why
bother? The radio’s busted like everything else in this rust bucket.”
“...We
still have wings.”
“...So
does a Dodo bird. Doesn’t mean they can fly very well.”
“...Would
you rather take the stick?” Lee said far calmer than I felt.
“...Hell
no! She feels like a lead balloon.”
“...Uh
oh.”
“...Uh
oh?” Joe asked.
“...Remember
that dial I told you was still working? Well,
either it’s given up the
ghost or we’re about to run on fumes.”
“...Damn
it, not again, Lee!”
“...Not
my fault we have a leak. But that’s not the worst of our problems. I’m picking
up a bogey.”
“...Not
on my screen. Besides, I thought our radar’s busted.”
“...X-Ray
vision working fine...it’s showing the inside of PRA fighter.”
“...Well,
that’s just great!” Joe shouted sarcastically, “We ran out of weapons the last
bogey we fire one...what are you doing?”
“...Going
to jettison the canopy to depressurize so I can use my lasers.”
“...We’ll
black out and explode into a thousand pieces!”
“...Only
if we crash before we come to. I figure a few seconds to fire before we’re
unconscious.”
“...Let
the damn missile hit, there’s nothing out here but corn fields.”
“...It
has to have something more substantial targeted. Kansas...Kansas...isn’t there a
small nuclear power plant near Burlington? Unmanned beta system if I recall.”
“...So
let it hit! The C-130’s can clean up the radiation.”
“...What
about the loss of power to nearby cities, hospitals, nursing homes...we have to
stop that missile from impacting it!”
There
was squealing sound.
“...What
now?” Joe whined.
“...I
was trying to lower the landing gear for better drag to help our descent and
slow us down before we blow our lid...if my X-rays keep the bogey in sight, maybe
we won’t depressurize if we get down to 100 Ft. before we blow the canopy.”
“...100
Ft.? Are you insane? Too close to the ground. Too close.... Oh God oh God....”
“...You
can address the Almighty on your own time....our transponder might not be
working but you can bet we’re on somebody’s visual by now....hold on...just
about at 150 Ft. Just enough speed to keep us airborne...now...if I can only
eject the canopy manually.”
“...If?
If?” Joe yelled.
“...Hell,
most of our instruments aren’t working! What do you expect?”
We
heard a metallic sound and whoosh of air amid the engine’s whrrr
and the canopy detach and fall to earth.
“...Now,
we have to get back into position to point my laser beams. Hang on, we need to
do an emergency blow....”
“....Remind
me never to fly withy you again! Damn, we’re almost vertical!”
“...Seaview
managed a vertical torpedo launch.”
“...This
bird ain’t Seaview!”
“...You
complain too much...target in sight...”
“...I
can’t even see the damn thing! Can’t you just aim your lasers without pulling
your damn eyeball out?”
“...This
will be the only chance we have. Better control if I aim it by hand and not
think the code to activate it. Steady... steady...steady...here goes nothing!”
Suddenly
we saw Lee aim the eyeball at the now visible missile. the
missile.
“...What’s
wrong?” Joe yelled, “Why didn’t it hit?”
“...I
don’t know...”
Suddenly
we saw an explosion and the signal failed.
“Sparks!”
I screamed.
“Sorry,
sir...I’ve lost contact. Incoming call from the DOD...”
“Seaview?
We’ve been monitoring Seaview’s reception, trying to make contact with Mosquito
Buzz Saw ourselves without any luck. We have a tactical Hercules Wing based at
Forbes on the line....”
The
image of their Air Force base control center came into view, their wall and
computer screens tuned to various cam views, exterior and interior of squadrons
of C-130 Hercules airplanes.
“Colonel
Fitzwilliam here, Seaview. We understand Mosquito Buzz Saw may be down near
Burlington, Kansas. I’ve sent out a squadron not currently engaged with the
enemy on a search and rescue.
“...Our
problem is lack of radar or satellite contact. She might have been too close to the missile
or received a lightning strike from nearby storms.”
“This is Blackbird Niner
Forty Seven,” a voice interrupted. “We have an orphan bird in our telephoto
lens. Looks like an F-22.”
Then
we saw the Blackbird Niner Forty Seven’s cam shot of
Lee’s plane.
“My
God, Harriman,” Jiggs muttered.
The
boys were missing their helmets, wind blowing in their hair while we saw gaping
holes in the plane, a nearly sheered off tail, and
half a portside wing.
“Alongside,”
Blackbird reported as we had a ringside seat. “No radio response. Nelson-Crane’s
aiming his eyeball at us... God I hope he doesn’t think we’re the enemy...wait, it’s
Morse Code he’s flashing. Says their running on fumes...wants us to confirm if
they have any tires left... and that’s a great big negative. They have wheels
but the tires are burnt off. We’ve given them thumbs down. He says they’re
going to try to ditch in a cornfield...and he says thanks. ”
“We’ll
stay alongside as long as we can without stalling out...easy Mr.
President...easy...” the pilot muttered to himself.
He
wasn’t the only one praying.
As
it touched down, it rolled over a few times as if it were making a furrow in
the field, coming to rest upside down, plumes of smoke starting to swirl, some
of the corn starting on fire.
“Get
out! Get out!” I screamed. “Get out before you explode!”
“Oh
gawd, oh gawd,” Riley wailed.
Just
then a cloudburst extinguished the fires and apparently combustion from the gas
tank’s fumes.
The
C-130 was joined by others to circle, Shawnee County’s Fire trucks arrived and
bounced over the field with several tractors.
“Seaview,”
the first C-130’s pilot reported, “we’re connecting you to the country emergency
services...they should be transmitting
audio visual to you as well now....’
It
was a torrential rain that greeted Lee and Joe as they squirmed their way out
from under the upside down cockpit, tossing mud and cornstalks out of their
escape route.
Lee
leaned his head against the fuselage, patting it while Joe shouted at him, and
waved his arms about yelling.
Then
Lee started to walk around the plane but suddenly doubled over and began to
puke. Joe was at his side immediately soon followed by the firemen, paramedics,
and a couple of farmers.
Neither
man was too happy to be poked and prodded. Lee managed a look upward and waved
to the C-130’s, signaling them with his eyeball.
“Sparks?” Jiggs asked.
“The skipper’s thanking them for the assist
and telling them beers and steak dinners are on him.”
“He
doesn’t have one nickel to rub against another!” Jiggs said.
“I
do,” I said, “Base Ops, this is Admiral Nelson. That steak dinner for your
entire wing is on me.”
“Thank
you. The squadron is returning to base...turning you back over to Fire Truck
7’s conn.”
“Fire
Truck 7 report!” I ordered. “This is Admiral Nelson. Are they okay?”
Chip
repeated my words. Again. And again as we watched Lee and Joe being poked and
prodded.
It
took a moment for the fire chief to respond as he took his fire engine’s mike
and turned on his cam.
“Fire
Engine 7 reporting. I’m speaking to the Seaview?”
“Yes,
yes...how are they?”
“The
paramedics report a few nicks and burns...shrapnel from the exploding missile
that put holes in the plane. Neither man wants to go to the hospital but....”
“You
tell them that while they’re in the Navy they follow orders...yours and mine. And
if they don’t we’re going to have a little talk as soon as I get clearance to
take the Flying Sub through hostile forces....”
“Er...the pres...Nelson-Crane really has to listen to you?”
“If
he wants Seaview to return to being a scarlet lady when this war is over, he
does,” Chip said.
“I’ll
tell him, but...”
The
chief got out of the truck’s cab and approached the group with Lee and Joe, and
gave the boys my and Chip’s message.
Lee
looked over toward the fire truck, and pursed his lips, while one of the
paramedics pulled away some burnt curls from the top of his head and began to
slather first aid cream on the area while it looked as if Lee was trying to
apologize to the farmers for destroying some of the crop.
Then
allowing the paramedics to grab their arms, and walk them to the now arrived
ambulance, Lee said something to one of them who hurried to the fire chief who
hurried into the truck’s cab.
“He
said he’d hold you to that paint job, Captain, Admiral.”
“You
know, we still don’t know where you are...”
With
our boys now in the ambulance the audio visual cam turned off.
“He’s
alive! He’s alive!” Riley was jumping up and down, tears of joy rolling down
his face. He wasn’t the only one.
“I
feel a bit like dancing myself,” Chip sighed... “About that downpour dowsing
the fire... I mean...it came when it came...”
“Yes,
Lad. Our Lee’s guardian angels are still working overtime. “Now, I don’t know
about you but I think I’m in the mood for a fish supper while you set course
and speed us along the east coast toward Norfolk.
“Cookie?”
Chip spoke into the intercom. “Been listening in? The skipper’s safe, so let’s have
our own lobster bake, without the lobster.
~***~