Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1) (11 page)

"Ok,
Bri... full flaps on my command, got it?" Brian nodded, still
uncertain
of what Jack was planning. Shrouds of clouds came and went between
the planes and Jack could see the other pilot watching, even
attempting sign language. Flying without a physical horizon to see,
was extremely disorienting. It was difficult, to say the least, to
tell if one was flying level or not. He was relieved to see, out of
all the gauges not working, the artificial horizon was still
operating, perhaps because it was the original and not electric.

He
eased the throttles back, a little at a time, knowing the Sweet
Susie could fly slower than the Hornets... They watched
and waited, their hearts pounding... suddenly the whole
left
wing of the B25 disappeared in murky veils, obscuring the Navy jets
from view. Jack snatched the throttles back, cutting the power to
almost one-third. "Full flaps...
now
!"
Brian flipped the switches and the pumps whirred, hydraulically
extending the control surfaces. In the span of only a couple of
seconds, they reduced their airspeed by almost a hundred miles per
hour, maybe more, without gauges it was all guesswork. But... it
worked. Jack saw a quick glimpse of a tail pass by in the murk.
Hopefully, they would continue on for a while, at present course and
speed, without noticing the absence of the B25 in the foul weather.
"Retract
flaps, we're coming ten degrees to starboard."

Brian
shook his head, smiling as he followed the pilot's
instructions,
"That was really slick, really, but now what?"

"We
climb," said Jack, as he pushed the throttles gently forward
and
nosed the B25 upward. "Anything on the radar?"

Maria
left then returned quickly. "Not only is it blank, but dark
too, same with the nav system."

The
sky started to lighten and Jack leveled off the plane, not
wanting
to leave the protection of the clouds. "This is gonna be real
seat-of-the-pants flying without gauges or compass. We should be, on
a heading of..." His voice stopped abruptly when both engines
started to sputter. He shot a look at Brian. "Touch anything?"

Brian
raised his hands, "No, not a thing, swear to God."

"Shit,
now
what?! This can't be happening! This is all part of
someone
else's nightmare, they'll wake up and I'll get to go home..."
Working while he ranted, nothing seemed to help, fuel mixture,
throttle, switching fuel tanks, nothing. If anything, it got worse.
With a shudder, the port engine wheezed as the prop windmilled
slowly to a stop. He feathered the prop on the stricken engine and
added power to the other. Steele ran his hand through his hair and
keyed the mike on his headset, "Pan, Pan, Pan... this is the
Sweet Susie, we have engine failure, losing altitude..." He
broadcast their last known coordinates. "Brian, keep calling,"
Jack busied himself with trying to restart the stalled engine, he
was not willing to give up on it.

Steele
became aware again of the tingling sensation creeping
across
his body, it was quite annoying, like pins and needles. Fritz
fidgeted incessantly and Jack had to refrain from scolding him.
Everyone seemed to be experiencing the same feeling. Jack refused to
quit on the port engine, working feverishly to restart the stubborn
power plant. He stared at it, out over the left wing, as if by
sheer desire or virtue of his will, he could get it to run.

When
the sky lightened and the B25 broke through the clouds, the
starboard
engine began to vibrate wildly.

"Fuck,"
said Jack. He triggered the mic, "
Mayday,
Mayday, Mayday,
this
is
the
Sweet Susie. We have total engine failure, we're losing altitude,
we're going down."

"Sweet
Jesus..." the copilot's voice was low, almost hushed.

"Madre
mia, save us..." Maria's voice quivered.

"I
know, I know..." growled Jack, "I'm tryin'..." Maria
grabbed
his
arm. "
NOT
NOW
!"
exclaimed Jack, shaking his arm free. She grabbed his arm again,
this time with the strength of a vice. “I'm kinda busy
here...”
Jack looked away from the port engine controls and up into Maria's
face
with surprise. Her face was pale and her eyes wide with fear. He
turned and followed her gaze. Letting go of the controls and running
his hands through his hair, Jack slid back in his seat.

Speechless,
he covered his mouth with both hands, unable to voice his thoughts.
He blinked, wide-eyed and inhaled deeply. When the starboard engine
chugged to a stop, the prop windmilling slowly, no one moved or
spoke, transfixed by the vision they saw before them.
Suddenly
everything became clear but more complex at the same time, the radar
and electronics, the
gauges,
the engines, even that queer tingling sensation. “What the
hell am I looking at...?” he breathed. “Someone please
tell me what the fuck that is...”

The
sky above them, glowed brilliant blue, crisp and clear. Below
them,
stretching as far as the eye could see, was a deep valley of clouds.
Canyon walls made of moisture reached up from the bottom, so thick,
they looked solid. Suspended motionless in the center, fifteen
thousand feet off the surface of the ocean, was a true marvel. Dark,
silent and almost too incredible to comprehend... a ship of
gargantuan proportions. At least two miles long and half a mile
wide, it lay in hiding, creating its own camouflage.

Jack
realized no Earth technology had created this monster. Christ,
the
largest aircraft carrier he'd ever seen, looked like a tinker toy
compared to this behemoth.

Bleary-eyed
and drowsy, he tried to absorb and comprehend all he was
seeing
but found it hard to believe something that size could fly, let
alone sit suspended in mid-air. Although the ship was long and
generally rectangular in shape, it was by no means smooth or even
remotely streamlined. The alien ship looked more like a floating
city than anything he would have expected. Staggered rows of low
profile domes covered almost a quarter of the top of the hull.
Farther forward, past the center, was a large dome, glittering in
the sun... glass? He couldn't be sure. The gray-black hull made it
difficult to see details clearly... or was it his eyes? He sat back
and rubbed his eyes.

The
B25, silent and without power, was no longer flying, but yet
still
continued to move forward. She floated through the air, drawn to the
great behemoth from deep space, like a moth to a flame. Jack felt at
ease now, calm and relaxed. Organized thought was somewhat
difficult, it seemed to come in disjointed segments. He looked to
the others and found both Maria and Fritz lumped together, asleep on
the floor. Brian, like Jack, was having great difficulty keeping his
eyes open. Though he felt some distress at being unable to react,
there seemed to be no point in resisting the great waves of warm
sleepiness that washed over him, urging him to close his eyes.

US
AIRCRAFT CARRIER, SHENANDOAH: BERMUDA TRIANGLE

CIA
Director of South American Operations, Stephen Miles, stood
on
the bridge of the U.S. aircraft carrier, Shenandoah. How he got
there was unimportant and to the dismay of the ship's skipper,
details of why, was classified well beyond top-secret. The fact
was, that Stephen had gotten wind of the drama unfolding and
finagled a ride in a US. military chopper, from San Juan to the
carrier Shenandoah.

Steve
Richards was the Skipper of the Shenandoah. A lifer, he'd
climbed
steadily through the ranks since he joined the Navy at age
seventeen. Now fifty-four and as protective as a mother hen, the
former pilot had a love and an affinity for the aviators he called
his
Little
Birds
.
Today had not been one of his better days, but he could ill afford
to demonstrate his foul mood to the distinguished visitors, even if
they were from the intelligence community. It wasn't that he hated
intelligence people, it's just that his experience illustrated, that
in many cases, the terms military and intelligence were highly
contradictory. He also observed that this was not isolated to the
military only.

"Captain
Steve Richards, skipper of this boat." The tall, silver-
haired
man, seemed at ease despite all the activity surrounding them. He
extended his hand in greeting. "I hope you don't mind meeting
up here, but as you can see, we're quite busy today."

"Yes,
thank you for seeing us. I'm Stephen Miles, CIA. Director of
South
American operations, and this is Special Agent Cummins."
Everyone shook hands as proper manners dictated.

"So,
what can I do for you gentlemen?" The Captain was eager
to
get these men on their way, so he could get back to the urgent
matters at hand.

Stephen
spoke calmly and matter-of-factly. "We understand you have a
World
War II, B25 Bomber, under surveillance in this area, is this true?"

Captain
Richards raised one eyebrow. This happened to be a sore
subject.
"Had."

"Had?
What do you mean had?!" Stephen snapped.

"Had,
as in no longer have," said the Captain with some irritation.

"Had,
have, whatever! What happened to it?" Stephen growled,
fighting
to keep his composure.

The
Skipper of the Shenandoah was beginning to get suspicious. "We're
not sure... look Mr. Miles, what's
really
going on
here?
We get a direct request from the DEA office in Washington, for
assistance in locating and escorting this aircraft back to Puerto
Rico. Something about drugs, gun play, dead police officers... and
that's fine, we're happy to help. But now, not only is the B25
missing, but two of my birds as well.
SO
,
exactly what is
your
involvement?" he quickly added... "and I don't want to
hear, need to know either."

"I'm
here because that plane is ours."

"Oh
really..."

"It
was on a classified assignment. What happened in San Juan and why,
is
unclear. It'll take some time before we sort that out. But the
aircraft definitely needs to be recovered. Bring me up to speed.
What kind of progress have you made?"

Captain
Richards led the two CIA men to a plotting table which
showed
flight and search patterns. "We're here," said the Skipper
pointing to an icon on the table.

Using
the plotting table, he illustrated the chain of events. "Two
F18's,
Blue Flight, had a visual on the B25 about here. It was on a direct
heading with this weather system here..." he said, tapping his
fingertips on the table. "The F18's approached and contacted
your plane, staying with it. We were monitoring the bird to bird
communications and found the closer to the storm they got, the worse
their signals got. I've seen a lot of strange weather out here in my
time, but nothing like this."