"Think about it," he said, taxiing the Caravan into an open space of navigable water. "A single B-25 bomber, even two, can't hold enough conventional tonnage to drop a dam like the Glen Canyon."
He worked the water rudders to avoid a speeding cabin cruiser and a wallowing deck boat. "Using old-fashioned iron bombs, you'd have to drop a lot of tonnage to get the job done."
He donned his sunglasses and glanced at her. "Suitcase nuke, that's a different story."
It was difficult to compute the devastation that a nuclear bomb would cause at Lake Powell's Glen Canyon Dam. It had taken over seventeen years to fill the lake to the planned level or "full pool." Now it would be drained in a matter of hours. Even harder to assess would be the incomparable damage to the dams and towns downstream to San Luis Rio Colorado, Mexico.
Bobbing and rolling in the colliding wakes of several boats, Scott maneuvered around a large pontoon boat and then stowed the water rudders. "Here we go."
He simultaneously pulled the yoke into his lap and eased the engine thrust lever forward.
"You have traffic at ten o'clock — closing fast," Jackie cautioned.
He swore as he pulled the power back to avoid a collision. After the high-powered ski boat flashed past, Scott again shoved the thrust lever forward. As the Caravan climbed onto the step like a boat skimming across the surface of the water, he eased the yoke forward to accelerate before lifting off.
Jackie and Scott saw the problem at the same time.
"Hang on!" he said, as they rapidly approached a large swell. Appearing out of nowhere, it had been caused by the catastrophic force of thousands of tons of water pouring into the lake. Smooth and rounded, the long swell looked like a small tsunami approximately eight to ten feet in height. There was no way to avoid the growing wave.
Using both hands, Scott hauled back on the yoke before the airplane was ready to fly. "Gonna take a hit!"
Few people who had closely observed the two B-25S were still alive. The mental picture indelibly imprinted in the minds of the survivors was crystal clear. The vintage bombers, one low over Lake Powell and the other flying at about 500 feet, approached the dam from the north-northeast. Traveling at high speed, the lower bomber waited until the last second to drop a round object out of its belly.
Astonished by the dangerous stunt, the early morning anglers stared in disbelief as the object skipped across the water a couple of times and impacted the dam almost dead center. It immediately sank as the bomber sharply pulled up, missing the top of the dam by only a few feet. Both airplanes turned west-southwest and soon disappeared at low level.
After a few seconds of stunned silence, the fishermen began to speculate about the reason for a simulated bomb run. Most concluded that it must have been carried out by some group of eccentric environmentalists. The Glen Canyon Dam was a prime target of national environmental movements. They wanted to empty the 187-mile-long lake and restore the ecosystem.
Three minutes after the B-25 bomber cleared the dam, all the questions were answered. A colossal geyser of water and silt erupted near the middle of the dam. Like a super-powerful depth charge, it exploded outward and upward for thousands of feet. Water, mud, and fish remnants rained on everything within a half mile of the nuclear detonation. A misty mushroom cloud rose into the clear sky, climbing over 11,000 feet in the still morning air.
The nuclear bomb encased in the round steel jacket had indeed survived the severe impact with the concrete. The gigantic explosion had blown the Glen Canyon Dam completely apart, sending millions of tons of water cascading down the narrow Colorado River.
The boats near the dam were ripped to shreds, while those farther away were sucked through the jagged opening. Another minute and twenty seconds passed before the sandstone spillways began to give out. Soon after the spillways failed, two-thirds of the dam collapsed, opening a gaping hole.
Eight-point-five trillion gallons of water from the second largest man-made lake in the United States was headed for Lake Mead, the largest such US. lake. In a relatively short period of time, millions of tons of water would be descending over 2,475 ^eet during its deadly race through the Grand Canyon.
Since the dawn of man, no one on earth had ever seen water do what it was doing: rising to unbelievable heights, smashing into the sides of Glen Canyon, plunging backward and sideways and spinning into huge whirlpools before accelerating again.
The sheer volume and weight of the liquid, combined with the incredible drop in elevation, accelerated the raging water to a velocity that was heretofore unimaginable. The loud roar could be heard for more than a mile down Glen Canyon, sparing a few lives.
Thirty people beginning a rafting adventure at Lees Ferry, the official beginning of the Grand Canyon, were saved when word reached them just as they were shoving off. Panicked, they scrambled to higher ground seconds before the awesome fury viciously consumed their rafts, supplies, personal gear, the dock, the campground, and the ranger station, tearing everything into shredded pieces. It was almost like an explosion. Nothing was left but multitudes of particles, minuscule in size as they rushed down the turbulent river.
Alternate Highway 89 s Navajo Bridge spanning Marble Canyon collapsed in a twisted maze as the canyon walls gave way. A vacationing family in a new minivan was almost across the famous bridge when it dropped out from under them.
After cascading through Marble Canyon into the core of the Grand Canyon, a wall of water reaching 120 feet slammed into ridges of limestone, sandstone, and volcanic rock. The water ripped huge chunks of rock loose and cut furrows in the riverbed at each bend. Boulders were tossed around like Ping-Pong balls as the churning water scoured everything like a giant fire hose. The thunderous noise and complete destruction were incomprehensible.
Others farther south in the Grand Canyon, including scores of uninformed hikers, rafters, canyoneers, backpackers, a film crew completing a documentary about the canyon, and a team of three archaeologists, were not so lucky. Many of them were over 4,500 feet below the rim of the canyon. Even if they had received a warning, it would have been virtually impossible to escape the riverbed in the short period of time between the dam break and the arrival of the towering flood of water, bodies, animals, boats, and other debris.
To a person, they knew death was imminent when they heard the faint sound of distant thunder steadily and rapidly growing into a ferocious pounding and crashing sound, a chilling sound unlike anything they had ever experienced. It was not the sound of a flash flood, especially with clear blue skies overhead. It was the sound of death, sudden, ferocious death. Still, the utter shock was mind-boggling when the 120-foot wall of water and debris rounded the bend.
"Come on," Scott said through clenched teeth, as the Caravan staggered into the air in a nose-high attitude. Gripping the yoke tightly, he braced himself for the impact while Jackie ducked.
The bottom of the wide floats slammed into the top half of the huge swell, forcing the airplane to go almost straight up. Scott shoved the yoke forward to keep the Caravan from stalling, but he couldn't keep it from impacting the water.
"Made it," he sighed, as the airplane accelerated and rose gently from the lake. He allowed the Caravan to gain speed before raising the nose. "Close — very close."
"But we made it." Jackie slowly let out her breath and craned her head to the right. "Turn back toward the dam, keep it tight."
Scott banked steeply to the right.
Seeing the approaching B-25 bomber flying up the channel leading to Hoover Dam, an army sergeant major used his portable radio to send an urgent warning to his men and then paused. I can't let this happen again. They had been on edge since the news about the Glen Canyon Dam reached them.