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Burial at Sea

I awake with a start. With the feeling that I have overslept and am late for something, my muddled dreams fade quickly. The late afternoon, westering sun is casting its glow through the cockpit windows, bathing the side instruments and panels in orange. The panic subsides to an extent but not the sense of urgency. We need to be off the ground soon. There is also the dawning feeling that I left us unguarded. I feel like a fool for not setting an alarm or having set a watch. Exhaustion has driven the basics from my mind. We could easily have slept on into the night and been entirely at the mercy of the night runners emerging. Completely in the open.

Lynn stirs beside me and snaps alert. She likely has the same sense; both the urgency and the fact that we were completely unguarded. I roll off the bunk and stretch my tired and sore muscles. This would be a lot easier if I were younger, I think bending backward to ease a kink from my back.

“This must never happen again. We have to keep a watch at all times,” I say looking down into her beautiful blue eyes.

“Yeah, no kidding! I can’t believe I allowed this to happen,” Lynn says sitting up.

“We allowed it. We can never relax our vigilance. But what’s done is done. Get everyone up and ready. Make sure all of our stuff is stowed and secured. I’ll get us ready up here,” I say looking at the instrument panels that have rested along with us.

I get one of those looks of ‘who the fuck are you’ which quickly fades. Our tiredness is making our tempers and therefore our communication short.

“Sorry, I should have asked ‘would you mind’,” I say as she rises.

“No worries. It’s just hard separating the relationship from the command aspect. You have a perfect right to tell me what to do with regards to the unit. Just don’t let it go to your head or I’ll flatten you,” Lynn says with a tired smile.

“I love you,” I say laughing for the first time in a while and leaning over to give her a kiss.

“I love you too, Jack,” she says after we separate.

I head down the stairs with the thought and wondering if we are just going through the motions. Is it really just a matter of time before we all come to an end? Wow! I sure can be a pessimist at times. No, if we can survive and get our sanctuary built, we’ll have a fighting chance. We just have to maintain our vigilance, be smart, and not make any more mistakes. We were lucky this time.

The metallic sound of boots ringing on steel lets me know that Lynn is coming down the stairs behind me as I head over to wake Robert and Michelle, stepping over soldiers scattered haphazardly on the deck. That is an easy process as they are both lying together on the top bunk by the window, the soft glow of the sun caressing their faces as they sleep peacefully. I am pierced by an intense feeling of love for my kids and feel a protective nature sweep through me. It is mingled with a feeling of sorrow for the situation we are in. They do not deserve to be thrust into this. I must continue to be strong for them. But I also realize there is a tremendous strength that lies within them.

“Robert, wake up,” I say gently nudging his shoulder. His eyes open with that tired sleepy aspect that only teens know. I see Michelle’s eyes open with the same sleepy look.

“We have to get ready. Go wake Bri and Nic and get strapped in. I’m going to do a walk around,” I say when I know he is awake enough to comprehend my words and will not just fall asleep again.

“Okay, Dad,” he says sitting up and jumping to the cargo floor.

Lynn has started waking the soldiers inside. I head outside to do a walk around of the aircraft. The breeze has died down and the shadows from the vehicles parked near stretch long as the day begins to come to a close. Some soldiers are lying on the ramp while others sleep in the seats of the vans. Some begin to sit up, perhaps feeling the energy of others waking. Or perhaps it’s Lynn’s yell of “everyone up” echoing across the pavement.

Her voice startles me and I turn to see her standing part way down the ramp with a look of determination. I certainly wouldn’t have liked to have been one of her troops when she was a drill sergeant, I think seeing her stand there with her hands on her hips. But I also know deep down she really cares for the people under her. Her yell causes a stir among the soldiers and they all begin to do the ‘just got up’ stretches and gather their stuff.

“We’ll need to move the vehicles away,” I call up to her.

She walks over to Drescoll as I begin to walk around the aircraft checking for any obvious damage. I have a touch of worry about the maintenance and our long journey over the water. Aircraft of this nature requires continual maintenance to maintain its ability to stay airborne. Luckily, the 130 is a tough old bird. One of the best around in that regard. I hear the vans start up as I walk around the wing and see the streaks of blood that once dominated the side by the props from our previous excursion to Brunswick have mostly vanished. Some small stains remain that blend in with the olive drab paint.

Walking around the nose, I see Robert’s face in the cockpit window, with his helmet on, sitting in my seat and looking over to his left. I round the rear and start up the other side and see Michelle and Nic by the ground power unit. They have taken their station without asking. We almost have this down to a routine, I think. I see Nic’s mouth move and she starts the cart up. She is obviously in contact with Robert. He has started the pre-start checks on his own. Pride swells up inside. They really seem to have adjusted to this new world. Perhaps it’s me who needs to adjust to their adjustment and that all is well with them. Wow! I’m losing it. I also see the vehicles have been moved off to the side. The sun is lowering to the horizon, turning the sky around it to deeper oranges and yellows. The color will soon change to reds giving the day its last glorious look before disappearing until another time. The next time it sets, we will hopefully have some answers or at least a bigger clue. But for now, it is time we leave.

Lynn is standing at the top of the ramp as I walk back in. The interior is filled with the noise and movement of shuffling soldiers. I quickly glance at the supplies stacked about with red cargo netting over them and lashed to the deck, making sure they will not shift in flight.

“Everything ready to go?” I ask Lynn.

“Yeah, we should be good to go,” she replies.

“Okay, can you make sure everyone gets strapped in and detail a couple to help Michelle and Bri with the cart when they come in?”

“Will do,” she says in return.

I notice her strict military demeanor is relaxing somewhat in the conversation between us as we both strive to find that balance between the necessary military bearing, which I never really had, and our relationship. She grabs the headset by the rear and plugs into the intercom system.

I head up the walkway to the cockpit. Robert’s head turns my way from the pilot’s seat, says something in the mic, and moves over to his seat making way for me. Bri is sitting in her engineer seat setting switches on the electrical panel. I move past her to strap and plug in.

“Where are we on the checklist?” I ask hearing the click of my coming on the intercom.

“We’re ready for startup,” Robert answers.

I do a quick check over the system panels and settings assuring myself we are indeed ready. It’s not that I don’t trust them, I just have to make sure myself. They have done a great job getting ready and all seems to be in order. The electrics, fuel system, and switches are set correctly. I keep thinking how far we have come in the past few days. In one way, it seems like it has been a long time since sitting in this seat, in another, it seems like I never left.

“Clear right?” I ask.

“Clear,” Robert responds.

We go through the startup with no problems, Michelle and Nic joining us in the cockpit after securing the start cart and closing the ramp door, effectively shutting us off from the outside. The aircraft settles into its usual vibration and roar with the large props spinning in synch outside, their blades blending in a circular blur. All of the instruments check out okay giving me a modicum of security for our hop across the rest of the pond.

I set the intercom selector over to the overhead intercom, “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying Apocalypse Air. Your Captain today is Captain Crash and we are delighted to have you aboard. We ask that you stay inside for the duration of the flight as it tends to get a bit breezy outside and walking on the wing disrupts our flight pattern. We are pleased to have the best flight attendants in the industry; however, none of them were able to make today’s flight. In the event of a water landing, paddle to shore and feel free to take the floatation devices with our compliments. Should we experience a loss of cabin pressure, please stop your screaming and put the mask over your face. Now buckle in as we found that saved over half of our passengers on our last take off attempt. Relax and be comfortable while I try to remember how to make this thing go forward.”

I push the throttles forward, feeling more than hearing the engines respond and we begin to move forward. The sun has descended half way below the horizon as our wheels roll across the ramp and toward the runway. The wind sock sits still by the runway as we taxi past, as if everything is holding its breath, waiting for the change from night to day, from the time of mankind to the time of the night runners. Hiding and waiting for the sun to rise majestically again signaling safety. I hear the steady and comforting roar of the engines faintly through my helmet; feel the throb and pulse of the engines through the throttles. I double check the fuel, cabin pressure, and electrical settings as we pull up to the runway checking for anything out on a possible final. Habit pattern I guess but also, well, the one time I don’t check, there will be something there. That is the way my karma works.

I pull out onto the runway and gently run the throttles forward feeling the aircraft leap to my command as if thankful to depart this island. I know I am. We are leaving two of us behind, lying on the pavement in an obscure parking lot. Will we all meet that same small fate, lying in some remote and soon to be forgotten place along with all of the other debris left over from mankind’s time as ruler? The horizon moves as the nose wheel lifts off followed shortly by the mains. We are airborne and each turn of the propellers brings us closer to home, well, what I think of as home. A destination if nothing else. First things first though.

Calling for gear and flaps, we claw for altitude. I split my concentration between the instruments, which seem to be behaving, and the land disappearing beneath us. The base and housing vanish behind our wings giving me a melancholy feeling. I look down thinking there are trials and hardships for those alive below us; that they have their own life going on without regard for those overhead. I used to get that feeling every once in a while during other flights. I would think about each light below me and that it signified a story; that each would have love and fears and joys and hardships attached to it. That people might be having dinner at that very moment or watching a movie with loved ones; wrapped in their own little bubble of their life and completely oblivious to the life passing by overhead.

Trees and hills now pass underneath, wrapped in the twilight shadow of the end of the day. We climb higher and out over the now darkened water, yet we are still bathed in the last of the sun’s rays. The dark blue sky overhead is clear and promises a beautiful starlit flight; for the next little while at least.

“Nic, warm up and turn on the weather radar if you would please,” I ask making sure the cabin pressure is working as our altimeter climbs through 12,000.

I check the flight plan in the nav computer to ensure I had input it in correctly and validate it with our charts. Heading over open water doesn’t allow for landmark updates and heading in some random direction for hours over the endless ocean does not make for the ‘white horse and sunset’ ending. If we were to make a mistake in our route and coding into the nav computer, we would just be slowly traveling to the scene of our own accident. We continue our uphill journey until leveling off at flight level 200 — 20,000 feet. Bri is switching our fuel tanks as I flip on the autopilot, unbuckle and wait for either the sound of sputtering and silence or the continued drone of a constant fuel supply to the engines. She has her stuff down cold and the engines continue their uninterrupted speech.

“You have it,” I tell Robert. “I’m going back to check on things and to the little boys room. We’re on auto pilot.” He merely nods. In the darkened cockpit, his face is lit by the glow of the instruments with the sun having already said its goodbye in its usual, splendid fashion ahead of us.

I step down into the cargo compartment feeling the vibration of the engines through the soles of my boots. The aircraft is lurching to the side slightly as we pass through some mild turbulence. One of the bonus features of the 130; it tends to shake a bit but there is not a more rugged aircraft built. The cargo area is lit by interior red lighting making it easier to see but giving it a cave-like aspect. Lynn is sitting on the lower bunk talking with Drescoll, Bannerman, and Wilson. The rest of the soldiers are sitting on the red nylon troop seats against the fuselage talking quietly in small groups. Well, talking quietly being relative above the constant roar of the engines. Another bonus feature of the aircraft.

“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.

“All bags are out,” Drescoll calls over the intercom after a moment.

“Brace yourself for a left hand turn,” I say back.

The aircraft banks into a gentle, shallow turn to the left as I move the control wheel. Slowly, a long line of gently descending flares enters into my line of sight out of the side window, drifting along our previous flight path, my hope going along with them that, if there are survivors, then they can find these and that it helps. Really not giving anyone out there a chance of living much longer given how far we are out at sea and with no rescue boats or helicopters available. If anyone is still out there, we may only have prolonged the inevitable.

“Close the ramp,” I say as we continue our wide circle around the red flares. “If anyone would like to say a silent prayer in whatever fashion is fitting for you, now would be the time.”

The ramp door light extinguishes and I move the throttles up to begin our climb back into the night. This little moment of our trek back home over. There’s really not much to say and the aircraft remains silent. Minds trying to wrap around all that has come about and does not ever seem to cease. There will be other tragedies like this one. Our job is to make sure we are not written into that same book. Survive. That is and should be our single focus.

The mental aspect of survival and comprehension will be our greatest difficulty. The ability to last in any survival situation depends primarily on the will to survive. Knowledge is important but the mental remains the single greatest contributing factor to surviving or not. A lot of people end up dying when faced with a survival situation because they simply give up. They reach the end of what they can mentally handle. We have to stick together and watch each other. Console at the right times and be harsh in others. It is just knowing which the more effective method is given the mindset of another.