Weapon of Atlantis (8 page)

Lt. Samuelson studied his monitor, then nodded.

“Got it,” he responded simply.

As Jack and Javi both moved in for a closer look, Col. Slatz questioned the find.

“What do you make of it?”

“I’m guessing more ore deposits, Sir. I’m picking up multiple locations of activity,” Lt. Jarvis responded.

“Ok, mark it for now. We’re almost out of the grid zone. We can get a better look on the next couple of passes,” the colonel
replied.

As the plane crossed over
the sea cliffs and headed out over the ocean, they banked sharply south, coming back around and lining up on the next grid line heading west. Looking down as they crossed back over into land, Jack’s eyes searched outside for the mysterious object. He scanned the cliff along the coast, then moved inland, searching the flat plateau for any irregularities in the terrain.

His eyes picked out movement two miles away. Squinting hard, he studied the black mass silhouetted against the snow, moving slowly toward the sea cliffs. For a brief moment, he envisioned a disk-shaped spacecraft. He grinned at his hopeful fantasy, then realized the object’s identity: a flock of birds.

“What are the chances we see a spacecraft sitting on top of the ice?” he joked.

“None,” Lt. Jarvis responded
dryly.

Jack elbowed him lightly. “Kill joy,” he
said humorously.

For the next half hour, the plane completed two more grid lines. Flying east toward the coast, both lieutenants continued their surveillance, readjusting the frequencies of their antennae to fine tune their computer readouts. Like their previous sightings before, Col. Slatz lowered his altitude with each pass as they neared the area of interest. Flying now at five hundred feet above the snowy surface, he called out to his crew:

“We’re at five hundred A.G.L. and two hundred knots. Is that adequate or do you need a closer look,” he asked in accommodating tone.

“How low c
an you go?” Lt. Samuelson asked half joking.

“Low enough to peel the snow
off the deck if you need it,” Slatz responded humorously.

“That’d be perfect,” Lt. Jarvis
shot back.

“One close
shave, coming up,” he announced confidently.

Col. Slatz reduced the power and dropped the nose of the plane slightly. A minute later, he leveled
out at just two hundred feet above the ground.

“Ok boys, two hundred A.G.L. You should be able to get a good read on the targets with this next pass,” he said.

“Yes Sir. We’re picking up the targets now,” Lt. Jarvis replied.

Suddenly, a confused looked crossed Capt.
Jørgensen’s face. He tapped on the magnetic compassed that seemed to be spinning erratically.

“What the hell?” he said aloud, calling attention to the problem.

Col. Slatz studied the compass, then watched his instruments. Only the compass seemed to be acting strangely.

“Really odd,” he said to Capt.
Jørgensen.

As he stared at his co-pilot, Col. Slatz watched
his face fill with fear.

“
BIRDS!
” Capt. Jørgensen shouted frantically. Instantly, he hauled back on the control column.

Even before he turned to investigate, Col. Slatz instinctively thrust his hands into the power controls, moving the throttles full forward. As the engines roared, he glanced out his windscreen at the dark wall of birds. Too late to react, the plane ran directly through them.

The impact was loud and catastrophic. As dozens of birds smashed into the windscreen, the reinforced glass shattered but held, barely clinging to its metal frame. Hundreds pelted the fuselage, tearing off wind instruments and antennae. Many more flew headlong into the propellers, their sheer quantity bending the blades, causing them to instantly become unbalanced and break off, rendering the engines useless. In seconds, the once powerful plane was reduced to an unwieldy glider.

Col. Slatz quickly scanned from left to right, surveying the damage.

“Feather the props!” he shouted to Capt. Jørgensen.

As his co-pilot worked the levers to the engines, he hauled even further back on the control column, trading off his excess airspeed for altitude. Having crossed over the sea cliffs, he now stared out over open ocean, still raging from the previous day’s storm. Looking down, he mentally prepared his mind for the near-impossible task of ditching into the high waves.

“Sir, are we ditching?” Capt. Jørgensen asked, his tone controlled, but panicked.

Col. Slatz surveyed the sea cliffs behind them. He looked back down at the frothing water below. Instantly, he stomped on the rudders and banked hard with the control
column, bringing the plane back around toward land.

Capt.
Jørgensen scanned the narrow beach below the sea cliffs. He felt overwhelming dread at the sight of the winding rocky shoreline that seemed to stretch on for miles.

“Sir, there’s no way we can land on that beach. We’re better off ditching,”
he shouted, now growing increasingly frightened.

“We’re not. The seas are too rough and the beach is impossible. We’re going for the plateau above the cliffs,” he responded, concentrating on his airspeed.

“Land? Sir, I don’t think we have the altitude for it!” Capt. Jørgensen exclaimed.

“We’ll know shortly,” the colonel respon
ded coolly.

Col. Slatz held the high bank firmly as he watched the plane slowly come about. His eyes shifted from sea cliff to the instruments and back, monitoring his airspeed at all times. As the altimeter unwound and the heavy plane descended rapidly, he recalculated the probability of landing with each second that passed.

“Prepare for emergency landing,” Capt. Jørgensen shouted into his mic to those at the rear of the plane.

As Col. Slatz flew, Capt.
Jørgensen hurried through his emergency landing checklist, rapidly shutting down and securing the plane’s systems. At the rear of the plane, the two lieutenants did the same. Few words were spoken as the trained men quickly prepared themselves and the plane for the inevitable crash.

Col. Slatz held his bank. He estimated his height above the cliffs at only five hundred feet. Still a half mile from land, he knew he wasn’t going to make it.

“Dump the fuel,
NOW!
” he shouted.

Capt.
Jørgensen reached for the emergency release and pulled hard. Instantly, thousands of pounds of fuel emptied from the plane’s tanks. In seconds, Col. Slatz watched his altimeter slow, as the planes rate of descent tapered off slightly from the lighter weight.

Still turning, his eyes were glued the cliff face. With each yard they flew, he searched for alternative landing sights. There were none to be found.

“Check list complete,” Capt. Jørgensen shouted.

He watched Col. Slatz momentary, then glanced to the scene outside the plane. He struggled to control his panic as he stared at the cliff face now less than a quarter mile in front of them. Fear overwhelmed him as he estimated their altitude at only
two hundred feet above the rocky face.

“Sir, I don’t think we’re going to make it?” he said, in fearful tone.

Col. Slatz didn’t answer. He stared at the cliff’s edge rushing up toward him. As he watched the plane line up perpendicular to the land, he stomped on the opposite controls. Instantly, the plane snapped to level flight.

“
BIRDS!
” Capt. Jørgensen cried out again.

“Hang on. It’s going to get rough,” Col. Slatz shouted back.

The plane slammed into the wall of birds once more, the impact severely denting and contorting the control surfaces. Col. Slatz struggled with the rudders and control column, fighting to keep the plane level. With his eyes darting from land to instruments and back again, he watched in horror as the plane’s altitude now slipped below the top of the cliff.

“Sir, we’re going to hit the rocks!” Capt.
Jørgensen shouted.

Col. Slatz glanced at his airspeed. Critically low, he knew any further decline would cause the wings to lose lift and stall. He hauled back on the control yoke, momentarily r
aising the nose. As the edge of the cliff rushed toward them, the plane climbed slightly. Instantly, the airspeed fell. Mere yards from impact, the wings stalled. With several feet to spare, they crossed over into land as the nose dropped and impacted the ground.

Loud and jarring, the plane bounced and pounded the snowy surface as it thundered across the flat plateau. The inhabitants clung to their restraints, their bodies violently shaking inside their seats. Sheets of metal cracked and tore from the belly of the plane, creating cavernous holes for snow and ice to enter. The wings flexed and bent, nearly detaching as their tips caught on variations in the landscape. Frightening and chaotic, the destruction continued unabated.

Col. Slatz gripped the now useless control column and worked the rudders in a last desperate act to save them all. As the plane rushed along the icy surface, he watched the airspeed quickly slow. A hundred feet ahead, an abrupt six-foot ridge stood across their path. He pulled the control yoke far back against his chest and held on. The nose rose slightly. Seconds later, the fuselage slammed into the wall of ice, tearing off the wings and splitting the plane in two.

As the nose section continued on, the rear of the plane imbedded in the ice and snow and abruptly stopped. Seconds later, the nose lost all its forward momentum and c
ame to rest fifty feet away.

In the moments after the crash, only the sound of the lonely winds broke the eerie silence inside the plane.

Jack sat dazed and stared out the open view of the missing cockpit. He felt the cold winds nip at his face, snapping him back to reality. Slowly, he looked to the men beside him. All three were shaken, but alive. He peered through the wires and debris that hung from the outer frame of the fuselage and watched in shock and horror as Col. Slatz carefully pulled Capt. Jørgensen’s body from the crumpled nose section, far out in front of him. He breathed a sigh of relief to see the captain’s arms move voluntarily.

“Jack, you alright,” came a familiar voice.

Jack turned to his right. Bleeding but conscious, Javi stared back at him with great concern.

“I think I’m all right. No broken bones,” he said simply. “How about you? You’re bleeding.”

Javi wiped his hand across the side of his head and felt the cut that oozed a small amount of blood. He brought his hand to his eyes and stared a moment, then turned to Jack.

“If this is the extent of my injuries, I
’ll consider myself very lucky,” he responded, greatly relieved.

Jack heard the metallic sound of a safety restrained being unfastened. Turning, he watched Lt. Jarvis slowly work his way out of his seat. On the opposite side of the plane, Lt. Samuelson did the same. Even before the four could stand, they heard footsteps rushing toward the fractured fuselage.

“Is everyone ok? Is anyone hurt?” Col. Slatz shouted as he neared, Capt. Jørgensen limping, not far behind.

“I think we’re all fine,” Jack shouted back.

Col. Slatz peered in through the hanging debris and studied the men’s conditions. He breathed a sigh of relief that everyone appeared ok.

“I think we’re not in any immediate danger, so everyone find a comfy seat and try to relax. I just called Nord Station. They’ll be sending a rescue team here shortly. With any luck, they’ll have us out of here in less than an hour.”

“I can’t believe we’re still alive,” Capt. Jørgensen stated in bewildered tone.

“That was one hell of a piece of flying,” Jack added.

“I thought for sure we were going to hit that cliff face,” Capt. Jørgensen said.

“I knew it was going to be close, but I felt fairly certain we were going to
make it,” Col. Slatz responded confidently. He looked back at the nose section laying a hundred feet away. “Too bad I had to bend the plane a little,” he added in sarcastic tone.