A New World: Return (15 page)

“How are the supplies?”
 
I ask walking over to Lynn and the small group around her.

“We have enough water for several days and food to last us a couple of weeks.
 
Plenty of ammo even considering the expenditure today.
 
Water’s going to be our most critical but we have enough with our current consumption to get back and last for a bit,” Bannerman responds.

“Good.
 
We’ll be in Brunswick in a few hours.
 
Again, it’s just for a quick refueling stop and then to Atlanta, hopefully getting there in the afternoon sometime.
 
That should give us enough time to get into the facility and find some information.
 
We’ll have to assume that the building will be occupied in some capacity and take it slow.
 
My guess is that the best place to find something will be in the director’s office.
 
No clue where that will be but I’m hoping it’s on the main level and not on one of the upper floors or down below,” I say remembering the lovely time I had in a much smaller medical facility at McChord.

“According to the charts, there’s a small airport just to the northwest of the CDC so we’ll have to find ground transportation in order to get to the facility.
 
We’ll do a flyby along the route to give us an indication where we need to go and what we’re looking at,” I continue.

“You’ve never been there before?”
 
Bannerman chimes in shaking his head slightly.

“No, there’s never been a reason for me to visit there,” I respond back furrowing my brows and tilting my head slightly to give a hint of confusion with his question.

“Oh, I guess I was just assuming you’ve been there given that we’re going there,” he says back.

“No, I just figure that’s where any hard evidence will be, especially considering how quick everything came down.
 
The government would’ve quickly passed this off to them.
 
It would’ve also been passed on to the Army’s medical research facility but I would think they would have been working alongside the CDC.
 
I also figure it would be easier to get into the CDC.
 
I wouldn’t bother with the risk if we didn’t need to know what we’re up against and perhaps find some strategy to use against it,” I say. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see Michelle standing behind me.

“Jack, Robert asked me to come get you.
 
He says there’s something coming over the radios,” she says.

I am incredulous and hope for some additional contact.
 
I quickly climb back up the stairs to the cockpit with Lynn and the group right behind.
 
I settle into my seat, plug back in and hear a faint but perpetual beeping coming through the radios.

“That’s not good,” I say listening to the high-pitched beeping.

“What is it?”
 
Robert asks.

“It’s an ELT.
 
An emergency location transmitter.
 
And it wasn’t there when we crossed before,” I answer.

“What do you think it’s coming from?”
 
He asks turning his head towards me.

“I don’t know but it can’t be a good thing being this far out in the ocean,” I answer.
 
Looking back at him, I also see Lynn standing by my shoulder looking on quizzically.

I reach over and turn the radio and intercom over to the cockpit speakers.
 
The faint beeping is now echoing it distress signal throughout the darkened cockpit, growing louder and more intense as we progress further to the west.
 
Lynn shrugs her shoulders indicating she doesn’t know what she is listening to.

“That’s an emergency beacon transmission.
 
The kind of signal from a downed aircraft or survival radio.
 
It’s being transmitted over the emergency channel,” I shout to make myself heard over the droning of the engines and the beeping.

“Oh,” I see her mouth move but cannot hear the word.

“Well, let’s see where it’s coming from,” I mutter but my voice comes over the intercom and cockpit speakers as well.

Reaching down, I dial in the emergency frequency to the NDB – a non-directional navigation instrument that can locate radio signals.
 
The needle points almost straight ahead.
 
I then couple the autopilot to the NDB and feel the nose swing a couple of degrees to the right.
 
The aircraft will now fly to the source of the transmitter.
 
We’ll only have to wait until the needle swings around 180 degrees, pointing behind us, to get an exact fix.
 
There is not really much we can do for anyone in trouble at this point as we are out over the ocean.
 
Wave perhaps but that is really about it.
 
We might have some emergency drop equipment complete with small rafts and supplies provided it was loaded onboard.

“Will you have someone go back and find red bags with numbers on them?
 
They should say “life raft”, “ASRK”, or “air sea rescue kit” on them.
 
We may need them if we find someone out here in trouble.
 
They should be in the rear of the aircraft.
 
Just set them by the ramp door if they find them,” I shout back to Lynn.
 
She nods and I see her speaking with Drescoll, who then heads back into the cargo area.

The cockpit lights are turned down low and the visibility is phenomenal outside.
 
I look out of the cockpit window to see the stars shining brightly in the sky above.
 
An almost full moon is out casting its brilliant, silver light on the ocean below, lighting the wave crests in a fluorescent glow.
 
The waves far beneath us look like silver veins stretching in lines across a blue, velvet background.
 
Anyone that has ever been out over the deep ocean at night with a cloudless sky knows of the sky’s intensity and brilliance.
 
Living out in the country has almost the same effect.
 
We’ll be able to see pretty well if we descend
, I think putting my mindset into an air-sea rescue mode.
 
Drescoll returns after a bit to verify we do have the red air-sea rescue bags on board.

“This is Otter 39 on guard.
 
Anyone copy?”
 
I call over the radio periodically as we drone ever westward.
 
No response.
 
Our progress is marked only by the increasing volume and intensity of the emergency signal.

The visibility increases as the moon reaches its zenith on its own trek across the sky; its brilliance turning the night almost into day.
 
Everything is bathed in a silver glow.
 
I can sense tedium within the small group as we continue on our flight path but with a certain underlying tension due to the signal.
 
That tension increases the louder the signal becomes and therefore the closer we get.
 
I cross check with the navigation equipment still set to our original flight plan programmed into the nav computer to ensure we don’t stray too far off of our intended path.
 
Whatever is emitting the signal seems to be along our original course.
 
We can’t be too far from it but the signal can carry farther over the ocean because there is a direct, and thus farther, line of sight; meaning there is nothing out here over the ocean to interfere with the signal.

Time passes.
 
The waves below us have calmed and there is no longer the white-lined veins streaking along the ocean surface.
 
Ahead, I see a different kind of sheen on the surface spreading out in all directions over a large area.
 
It shines back to us in rainbow-like colors.
 
Reaching over, I pull the throttles back and begin a shallow descent.
 
The change in the pitch and droning of the engines brings everyone out of whatever reverie they were in.

“What are we doing?”
 
Robert asks and I sense Lynn behind my right shoulder.
 
I merely point to the sheen on the water ahead.

“What is that?”
 
Both Lynn and Robert ask at the same time.
 
Lynn shouting and Robert through the intercom.

“My initial guess is fuel on the surface,” I answer through the intercom first and then shout to Lynn covering the mic.
 
I wouldn’t want to blast Robert and the rest who are on the intercom out of their seats by my yelling.

I turn and get Frank’s attention, motioning him up and pointing ahead.
 
We continue our descent down to 10,000 feet.
 
I want to make a pass over the area at altitude to get an idea of what it may be and the extent of it.
 
I have an idea of what it could be but don’t want to say anything until I’m sure.

“Do you think that’s them?”
 
Frank asks leaning over and yelling by the side of my helmet.
 
Well, there goes not saying anything
, I think.

“Don’t know,” I answer, shrugging my shoulders.
 
“Could be I guess.”

“Would you post people at the windows in back?”
 
I yell to Lynn.
 
“Be on the lookout for life rafts or debris.”
 
She disappears from my side to pass the word.

The edge of the slick begins to pass under the nose but I cannot see anything within it.
 
I continue radio calls but am only met by silence on the other end.
 
The sheen from the slick stretches for several miles in all directions but does not appear to be a solid mass indicating it may have happened a little while ago.
 
As in the last few days.
 
Close to the middle, the navigation needle on the NDB sways from side to side and then slides around to the other side of the dial; pointing behind us.
 
We have just passed over the source of the signal.

I make a note of the GPS coordinates, once again thankful the satellites are still functioning.
 
Passing the opposite end of the slick, I uncouple the autopilot and bring us around for another pass, this time descending to 1,500 feet.
 
I’ll program a search pattern in the nav computer and we will conduct an ever-widening search if we don’t find anything on this pass.
 
We have enough fuel on board to spend two hours here with plenty remaining in case we run into weather or have to divert.
 
Passing over at this lower altitude, some debris can be seen scattered throughout the area.
 
The moon is allowing for great visibility, though, of course, not as good as it would be during the day.
 
Some can only be identified as something floating in the water and unidentifiable but others can be readily seen.
 
They are definitely fuselage parts.
 
I descend over some of the unidentifiable ones until we begin to pick up empty life jackets and other miscellaneous items.

A search of the entire area yields nothing living that we can see but the debris and slick definitely points to an aircraft meeting the ocean.
 
I am not a specialist in determining causes but that really does not matter in this case.
 
If anyone was alive and had access to survival gear, we would have seen a flare or some other indication.
 
The silent ocean and wreckage below is all we see and it looks like it will keep the secret of what happened here for all of eternity.

After getting Lynn’s attention from the side window, I tell her, “There should be some parachute flares in the back.
 
Tie them to the rescue kits it you will.”

I climb the aircraft back up to 5,000 feet.
 
I want to give anyone we may have missed the best shot at seeing the packages drift downward.
 
It is all I can think to do.
 
I look to see Frank mesmerized by the scenes floating below.

“It may not be them,” I say to him.

“True, but you and I know it most likely is,” he responds.
 
I nod agreeing with him.

I set the autopilot once again and head into the back where I find Drescoll tying off the last of the flares.
 
The bags themselves have parachutes so I make sure the flares aren’t too high up.
 
Not that it will harm anything but it will definitely limit the bags’ time in the air if the parachute catches on fire.
 
Although, it will attract more attention to anyone seeing it.
 
I show him how to use the vest that crew chiefs used for drops with the back ramp open in flight.
 
This allows one to be tied off and prevents them falling out and coming to an unfortunate impact with the ground.
 
Or ocean in this case.
 
Apparently, being smacked repeatedly into the aircraft is a better option.
 
Okay, kidding, the line should not be long enough for anyone to actually fall outside.
 
With that done, showing him the ramp operation and to watch for the green light, I walk back up into the cockpit and strap in.

Adjusting the aircraft pressurization down to our present altitude and setting up for a run, I call back for Drescoll to open the ramp door.
 
The aircraft shakes and generally lets us know up front it is not happy.
 
The night sky opens up behind us.
 
The night outside is brighter than the inside with the moon lighting the night time air.
 
Drescoll is partially silhouetted by the open ramp.
 
When the needle once again flips to the rear, I have Robert throw the switch for the green jump light to come on.