It was a staredown between me and Shaw, apparently, and I wasn’t about to lose, so I didn’t turn my head when I responded. “Tell
him
that, Tom. He’s following
orders
.”
Shaw sighed. “Yes, I am. You think I like it? You think I
want
to abandon my friends, the people I’ve spent years getting to know?” He sat back and rubbed his eyes, the strain evident on his face. “Of course not. But he’s
right.
Don’t you see that?” He looked at Reynolds, almost pleading with him to understand. “Don’t you?”
Of all people, Tom Reynolds was probably the only one here besides myself that had been in a situation even close to this, and I could see Shaw had reached him. He turned away, slamming a fist into the bulkhead. “He’s right, David. As much as I hate to admit it.”
I shook my head again, standing and throwing my headset onto the seat as I moved aft. “Fine. Let them go off and die on some forgotten fucking island in the middle of fucking nowhere. That’s what we do to our friends now, I guess.”
I stormed back toward the passenger compartment, already regretting my hasty words, but the pain was still too much for me to take them back. As I passed the first window, I saw a glint out the port side, and could just make out the dull-grey tail of the other plane as it finished its banking turn and headed west-northwest for the tiny island of American Samoa.
I collapsed into the bunk assigned to me, and stared at the wall until I finally fell asleep.
Godspeed, my friends. May we meet again, someday
.
Chapter Eighteen
Tutuila Island
American Samoa
The late afternoon sun slanted down on the peaceful island as the crippled and dying C-5 flew over it in circles. Or what would’ve been circles, if they’d been able to maintain any sort of steady heading without fully-functioning hydraulics. Williams—command pilot of the flight—and Archer were working hard, but there was no landing until the terrain had been surveyed, as best as they could from this high up, anyway.
Anderson looked down at the airport as
Rescue One
circled yet again, trying to hold the binoculars—and himself—steady as the plane bounced up and down, shifting from side to side. He didn’t bother to ask the pilots to smooth out the ride, since he knew they were already doing everything they could. Suddenly, as though Fate was leaning his way for a moment, he had a few scant seconds of relative calm.
He didn’t waste it, sighting in the airport quickly—and realizing that Fate was still the same fickle bitch she’d always been. “So I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said.
Gaines looked up from where he was strapped in, trying not to puke his guts up. Again. “I could use some good news, boss.”
Anderson grinned. “There’s not a single walker on the runway that I can see, and there’s several planes parked at the gates.”
Gaines sighed with relief. “Well, that’s a welcome change. What’s the bad news?”
“There’s a 747 wrecked about two-thirds of the way down the only runway long enough for us to land on.”
Gaines just closed his eyes, and the two pilots looked at each other briefly before turning back to their duties.
“Don’t fret, Gunny. It’s just another glorious day in the Corps!” Anderson said, laughing, though he wanted to punch something, or someone, in frustration. Gaines just groaned again, and Anderson shook his head. “All right, fellas, let’s take a turn around the other side of the island. Maybe there’s a flat place we can set down.”
The pilots adjusted course to the southwest, and it quickly became clear that something bad had happened on the island. Most of the whole southwestern side was blackened and burnt, indicating some massive firestorm had swept across the populated area. New greenery had sprouted in the years since.
Looks like Mother Nature is reclaiming her territory
, Anderson thought.
Too bad we’re about to mow it down
.
Gaines took a moment to look out the window as the rough ride stabilized for a few minutes, and whistled softly. “Looks like Tacoma. Something caught fire, and there wasn’t anyone to put it out.”
Anderson was too busy looking for a landing place to appreciate the sights, though. “Williams, Archer, take a look, about three o’clock. Does that look like a runway to you?”
Williams looked over and snorted. “Are you serious, sir?”
“I don’t mean an
actual
runway, just something clear enough to land on.”
The strip of land in question was nearly a mile long, well within the length necessary for landing the C-5. The only problem was—
“There’s
buildings
there, Captain. Or at least, what’s left of them. And trees, and who knows what else…”
Anderson turned to Mahoney, who had only just arrived on the flight deck, having been busy trying to keep the plane in the air. “Tell me the truth, Chief,” Anderson said. “This plane is never going up again once it comes down, is it?”
Mahoney shook his head. “No way in Hell, Captain. We’re barely keeping her in the air, and that’s sheer luck at this point. That’s what I came up to tell you. We’ve got about five, maybe ten minutes before we can’t hold her together anymore and those boys lose all flight control.” He nodded to Williams and Archer, who were looking back at him with very justifiable concern. The news he’d brought them ended the discussion.
“Preparing for emergency landing,” said Williams as he turned back to his controls.
Anderson motioned to Gaines. “Get everyone you can up here in the passenger compartment. Stack ‘em up, sit ‘em on each other’s laps if you have to. I want them in here as tight as we can get it, and everyone we can get off the lower deck up top. Make ‘em sardines, Gunny.”
Gaines nodded and moved off to the rear compartment, bellowing orders.
Anderson went on, “Chief, get your boys up here on the double. There’s nothing more you can do for us now.”
The chief nodded and fairly flew down the forward ladder.
Anderson followed closely and stood looking at nearly three hundred people crammed into the space. He could just hear Gaines yelling at the rear of the plane, so he knew the word was going to get to everyone.
“All right, folks, we’ve got something of a problem,” Gaines announced. “We’re going to have to make an emergency landing, and it’s going to be rough.
Really
rough. Unfortunately, we don’t have much down here in the way of safety equipment or harnesses, so what we need you to do is get upstairs as quickly as you can.” People started moving up the stairs as he motioned the closest ones to go. “This is no time to be shy, folks. We need as many people on the upper deck as we can get, so it’s going to be crowded.”
It didn’t take long for the upper compartment to get full, and Gaines leaned down out of the hatch. “That’s it, sir, there’s no more room.”
Anderson looked around, seeing, at a guess, more than a hundred scared scientists on the deck. He had a sudden flash of inspiration. “Gunny, ask Mahoney if they kept the cargo nets and things.”
The sergeant was back in moments. “He says, yeah, they didn’t think about them. They’re stowed in the containers on either side of the bay. I’ll help, sir.” Gaines came stomping down the ladder and moved to the first container, bolted to the side of the plane’s decking. He began yanking out restraint straps, and Anderson nodded.
This just might work
.
Or, it might kill them all
. “All right, folks, I need you to grab a restraint from one of the containers to either side of the cargo bay. If you can’t find one of your own, share it with someone else. The sergeant and I will show you how to secure your restraint to the floor.” They moved down the bay, quickly figuring out how the restraint straps fitted into the locking mechanisms of the deck. It only took a few moments for everyone to have something to grab onto. Anderson motioned to Gaines as the plane took a particularly large dip, and they ran for the forward ladder, Anderson the first up to the flight deck. When he glanced aft toward the passenger compartment, all he saw were worried faces.
Sardines have it easy compared to these folks
, he thought.
“Better buckle in, sir,” said Archer. “This is going to be pretty rough.”
“How rough?”
“Well, how does landing with no landing gear sound to you?”
“What?”
“No hydraulics means no landing gear.”
“So, pretty rough, then.”
“Now would be a good time to find God, sir.”
The landing gear of the C-5M Galaxy aircraft are marvels of modern engineering. Not only can they withstand the weight of the better part of a million pounds of airplane and cargo, but their ‘tricycle-type’ configuration gives them extraordinary stability and maneuverability. Each tire, of which there are twenty-eight, weighs over four thousand pounds. During takeoff, the rear landing gear actually turn ninety degrees before ascending into the belly of the plane. They’re also ‘kneeling,’ meaning they can lower to near-ground level—like a commuter bus—to make for easier cargo loading.
None of this, of course, mattered to the passengers and crew on
AEGIS Rescue One
.
Without useful landing gear, the half-a-million ton plane was essentially a flying brick, and when it touched down, it reacted the same way. Though Williams and Archer were able to bring the nose up, the failing hydraulics left them without the ability to steer, brake, or control the aircraft in any way. They, and everyone else, were already in crash positions when the plane hit.
For some, this would make no difference. The impact jarred everyone to the bone, shattering every window. Anderson heard a few short screams from below, abruptly cut off. The ladder in front of him buckled and twisted, finally snapping off to fall below. The plane bounced twice before beginning its long slide through the jungle. The forty-thousand-pound wings were made to be tough, and the continual impact of those wings chopping decade-old trees apart like matchsticks sounded like popcorn. Anderson risked a glance out the forward… well, holes, now… and saw the remnants of a large wooden building coming towards them. “Brace! Brace! Brace!” he yelled, as loud as he could, and curled up in his crash position once more.
The building proved no match for the momentum and strength of the plane, and the C-5 tore through it like tissue paper. The passage through the building did have an unfortunate side-effect, though, and the plane began a slow left turn as it continued its slide. Anderson felt the plane begin to tilt to the right as the popcorn sounds of the trees snapping changed rhythm. Suddenly, there was a tearing sound, like the world’s largest can opener had come to claim the dying aircraft, and Anderson couldn’t help but look back in horror as the entire right wing began to come off the plane—taking more than a few of the people crowded into the upper compartment with it.
They were sucked out by the air pressure, the velocity of the passage causing a differential strong enough to rip them and whatever—or whoever—they were holding onto out the new hole that had been torn in the plane’s roof. Anderson closed his eyes, trying to block out the screams from behind him. There was nothing he could do now but wait for it to be over.
There was nothing any of them could do now.
An eternity later, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Archer crouching over him. Blood trickled down the side of the pilot’s face from a cut on his forehead, and his uniform was covered with shards of glass and plastic and splinters of wood. He wiped the blood from his eye and shook Anderson again. “We’ve landed, Captain.”
“I noticed that, Colonel. I’m alive. Go help someone else.”
“Yes, sir,” said Archer, moving off.
Anderson closed his eyes once more, taking stock of himself. He ached everywhere, but pain wasn’t screaming at him from any broken bones or deep wounds. The screaming, it seemed, was reserved for the passengers in the rear. He shook his head to clear it, and tried to focus on the next minute, the next action.
One foot in front of the other
, he thought.
Of course, to do that, I have to stand up first. Let’s go, Anderson! No lollygagging!
Cursing his inner voice, he grasped a bent and twisted bulkhead nearby and levered himself up. He twisted and turned, trying to discover any internal injuries, but it seemed he’d survived relatively unscathed. As he began looking around, it was clear that he was one of the lucky ones.
Williams was dead, a three-foot spear of wood—likely from the building they’d plowed under—having gone straight through his chest and buried itself in the bank of electronics behind his chair. As he turned to face aft, he noticed Gaines cradling one wrist as he helped some of the passengers.
Seeing the captain up and around, Gaines came forward. “It’s pretty bad, sir,” he said without preamble. “We lost quite a few out the roof when the wing tore off. The rest are banged up bad, some broken bones and lots of sprains,” he said, nodding at his own wrist. He looked down for a second, then back up, and Anderson had never seen that look on Gaines’s face before. “It’s just… I don’t… the people in the cargo bay…”
Anderson closed his eyes, but it didn’t stop the flood of horrific images that his brain conjured up for him. “Don’t. Just… don’t.” He took a deep breath. “OK, first things first, we need to get everyone off this plane. How’s the aft ladder?” he asked, glancing down at the twisted wreckage he could see from the flight deck, ignoring the spatters of red.
“I dunno, Captain. We haven’t been able to make it back there. I think Archer’s trying it now.”
“Good. Let’s see what he has to say.” He moved aft, trying to gingerly press his way through the crowd of people, all of whom seemed to claw at him for attention, for help, for easing of their pain, none of which he could give. Finally, he lost his temper, and shouted, using the full volume and projection he’d learned training SEALs, “Make a hole, people!” There were a few startled cries, but
everyone
moved out of the way, squeezing against each other to let the old bastard through.