She did not have armrests to keep her from sliding off her seat into the water, and if that happened then there was nothing for her to use to climb up toward the emergency exit, so she grasped the PMs wrist with her left hand before releasing her seatbelt, and he pulled her up to the Chancellors seat. Senator Rickham had sat unmoving, with the look of shock on his face and it took the PMs shaking him violently before he stirred. It was very apparent that Rickham had soiled himself, and the PMs expression softened, he knew what it was like to be scared. “Senator, it’s time to go, yes?”
The emergency exit for the Presidential office was situated at one of the windows, and Nancy stretched up to release it, and then hesitated. “Oh crap, this section’s under water already.” The water inside the office had already engulfed the seat she had vacated, so time was of the essence.
“Okay Gentlemen… listen carefully now!”
The PM was struggling against the angle that they were canted over as he helped the senator climb onto the seat. “Do go on sergeant, we are not ignoring you.”
“Once I open this hatch the water is going to pour in, so we cannot get out until this part of the cabin is full of water… ok so far?”
If anything the senators expression became even more fearful, but he seemed incapable of saying anything. The PM nodded at her, so she continued. “Start taking deep breaths, really expand your lungs because you need to saturate your blood with oxygen… it will help you hold your breath much longer, ok?” The PM was already drawing in big gulps of oxygen, and the senator nodded back dumbly.
“But… I can’t tell how deep we are so once you get out, you cannot keep the air in your lungs, you must slowly breathe out or your lungs will explode as you get closer to the surface if we are too deep!”
Nancy took two deep breaths and activated the hatch release, but even though she had been bracing herself for it, the effect of the weight of water on the outside of the hatch came as a shock. The only way to release the hatch was from directly in front because it was a two handed operation; it wasn’t something that could be done from the side. Only her outstretched arms prevented the hatch from braining her as the ocean propelled it inside the fuselage. Hammered backwards into the water that was filling the lower end of the office, the breath was driven from her and she began to choke on seawater. Hands grasped her under her armpits and she was pulled toward the rapidly diminishing air pocket. The Prime Minister had jumped in after her and pulled her to safety, allowing her the time to take three precious breaths before the office was completely engulfed.
As the waters closed over Senator Rickham’s head, the panic that had lurked so close since the explosion first shook the aircraft, now took over. The opening in the fuselage represented life and he swam the two strokes that separated him from the opening and tried to pull himself through it. Had his wits been with him he would possibly have waited the few seconds remaining for the pressure to equalise. He managed to hook a hand through to the outside rim, but pull as he might he could not get out. Rickham’s free hand sought the toggle that would inflate the life vest, and to his mind lift him against the force of the incoming waters, and up to the surface. His chest was beginning to hurt when his fingers found what they sought, and pulled hard, opening the valve in the small compressed air cylinder that filled the life vest. The effect was immediate, Rickham shot upwards, and his head emerged through the exit but then stopped dead, the inflated vest jamming him in the narrow opening. The realisation that he was going to die struck home as he clawed at the fuselage with his only free arm, and Senator Rickham opened his mouth to scream.
Only a foot or so of space remained out of the waters grasp when the PM ducked below the surface, and Nancy took a last deep breath before kicking off and following him. On finding the senators body, still kicking feebly and blocking the way out she felt the first spike of panic, grabbing his legs and trying to drag him away. The Prime Minister fumbled into his trousers pocket and withdrew a pocket knife, the venerable MOD issue knife known as an ‘oil the joints’, after the only words to adorn its strictly functional body that had been issued to him as an officer cadet years before. He stabbed at the senators’ life vest, puncturing it and working the knife blade, enlarging the rent as the air boiled from it. The PM kicked the body away and reached down for the USAF sergeant, gripping her by the wrist and pulling her up to the exit. His chest was bursting and there were spots appearing at the edge of his vision as he thrust her through the opening. The fuselage started to move and the lamp on her life vest snagged the edge of the exit momentarily, and then it tore loose and she was free. The fuselage rolled as the last pockets of air in the tail section escaped and the fierce undertow played against the port wing, and the Boeing wearing the livery of the United States of America sank toward the ocean bed.
Galway’s number two lifeboat arrived on scene as the stump of the Boeings tail fin disappeared amidst the waves, the odd item of clothing; floating wreckage and stink of aviation fuel were all that remained. After sinking at a steady rate the big aircraft’s demise happened in a rush, as passengers were still emerging from emergency exits in the rear of the aircraft. There were three helicopters overhead illuminating the scene with 'nitesun' searchlights, their pilot earning their pay as they struggled with heavy gusts of wind in order to stay on station.
Liam throttled back and headed toward the other Galway boat that seemed full to overflowing with sodden, shivering humanity that glittered in the light reflecting off survival blankets. Its Cox’n waved and hailed the newcomer as it hove into view. “Would that be yourself, Liam McGonnigle?”
“Aye, and who else would it be on such a night as this Patrick Kilarey, when sensible men are tucked up warm and dry in their beds!”
“You have a point there Liam… no one ever accused you of having wits about you!”
Liam stuck two fingers up at the other Cox’n. “How many are out?”
“Just those that you see… no more than twenty… I’m heading for the Deirdre now, but I’ll return to help recover bodies!”
There was only one boat now still at the spot where the aircraft had gone down, and that held a pair of survivors besides its three crewmen. Liam gunned his own lifeboats engines to head over to where he could shout to its Cox’n.
“Take them on in before they catch their deaths… we’ll hold station here!”
The ocean was in a quarrelsome mood with the odd six-foot swell making the business of looking for anything in the water difficult, despite the light from overhead. The first person they saw in the water was that of a woman in uniform, Terry from Sligo saw her as a wave lifted her from a trough briefly and Liam went in the direction the compass said he had pointed. He had to jockey the engines to get close to her, as the wind was strong enough to have an effect on even their low profile. Adrian helped Terry pull her over the side and into the boat where they got to work on her, trying to get the seawater from her lungs and carrying out CPR. It was a hopeless task and she lay in the bottom of the boat staring through filmy eyes, the life having fled from them. Liam looked at the woman’s nametag and the gold oak leaf on the epaulettes of her uniform shirt from his seat behind the Lifeboats helm; it matched the colour of the wedding band on her ring finger. “It’s a sorry time coming in the Pebanet household today,” he muttered to the wind.