Alex dragged him out of the left seat and took his place. He struggled fiercely against the control column.
"Can you fly it?" Lydia shouted.
"It's a glider now! All I can do is try to crash it well!" Alex looked over his shoulder. "Get up here, Lydia."
She scrambled forward. The ocean grew larger in the windscreen.
"Strap into that seat," Alex ordered. "We're going to hit hard."
There were no other seats, and Lydia said, "What about Michael?"
Alex looked back. "Go stand by the door, Thatcher! I'll get her as slow as I can, and right before she hits, jump!"
"Jump? He can't do that!" Lydia argued.
"No," Thatcher said, "he's right." He pried himself up and moved to the door.
Lydia put on her seatbelt.
Alex fought with the controls. "It's really heavy," he said, "mushy. I don't know if I can control it."
He looked her over. "Shoulder straps!"
Lydia wasn't sure what he meant. Alex reached across with one hand and pulled two straps from behind her seat. He secured it all and pulled everything tight. The two locked eyes for just a moment, then Lydia looked out the side window. It seemed like they were skimming across the waves.
"Get ready, Thatcher!" Alex shouted. "Now!"
Lydia saw Thatcher disappear out the door. When she turned back around, the right wing clipped a wave, and a curtain of white enveloped everything. The airplane cartwheeled a half turn before the windscreen imploded in a wall of water. Everything disappeared.
Braun was stunned. He felt a cool wetness enveloping his body — strangley calm and serene. Then he realized he was face down in the water.
Braun snapped his head up and shook it violently, taking the water from his eyes and the fog from his brain. When he tried to move, everything seemed surprisingly intact. He began to remember. Looking around, he saw the Ilyushin, or what was left of it. Only the tail and the spine of the fuselage were still visible, wallowing atop the ocean swells a hundred yards away. He had somehow been thrown clear. Yet again, Braun had survived.
The thought nearly brought a smile until he remembered — Lydia. Had she been thrown clear as well? Braun quickly scanned the ocean around him. He saw a wing and a few bits of debris. But no Lydia. The Ilyushin already appeared to be lower in the water — she was sinking fast.
"Lydia!" he shouted, hoping for some weak response. He heard nothing. Braun began to swim. He tore through the waves as the big airplanes fuselage began to disappear. When he reached it, the cockpit was already under, but Braun found a gaping hole midway back along the fuselage. He pulled himself though, flowing easily inside with the torrent of water. Getting back out might not be as simple, he realized.
The water inside the barrel of the airplane was up to his shoulders. He scrambled forward, a mix of running and swimming, until he heard a sound that gave him an incredible lift — a soft, unintelligible moan.
"Lydia!" Braun found her semiconscious, still strapped into her seat. She was battered and incoherent, but alive. Water rushed in from the other side of the cockpit. There, the sidewall, windows, and captains seat were simply gone.
"Come on! Weve got to get you out!"
The water was nearly up to Lydia s neck. She moaned again as Braun worked his hands blindly in the water to release her straps. He found the latch and pulled, but just at that moment the airplane lurched. There was a terrible noise, a groan, as if the big ship was expelling its last painful breath, and then the fuselage buckled behind them. The aft section seemed to fall, and everything rotated. What was left of the cockpit now pointed straight up. For a moment, Braun saw blue sky through the window, but then it disappeared in a swirl of foam and slapping waves. They were headed down.
"Come on, Lydia!" With the cockpit elevated, the remaining air now surrounded them. Braun saw that Lydia's right arm was badly broken. The water rose even more quickly now, and as he tried to lift her from the seat, he looked up through what had been the front window. Braun saw the ocean s surface clearly — it was definitely receding. They were already ten or twenty feet down, sinking like a stone.
It was a death trap that would only stop falling when it hit the bottom. Braun knew he could make it to the surface if he went now. But not with Lydia in tow. And he knew she'd never make it alone. Lydia, the ocean, his own well being — it all triangulated in his mind. Then he remembered the life vests.
Still cradling Lydia, Braun reached behind her seat and groped in the stowage pocket with his hand. He found what he wanted — the emergency life vest. He worked it around her neck and secured the strap, then positioned Lydia carefully near the breach in the sidewall, where the remaining air was fighting a tumultuous, losing battle with the sea.
"Lydia!" he screamed, shaking her shoulders.
Her eyes opened, but the gaze was lazy, unfocused.
"Listen to me, dammit!"
There was a glimmer of comprehension as her soft green eyes locked to his. The water was back up to chest level. "Take a deep breath! I'm going to send you up!"
Lydia looked around briefly, registering their predicament, seeing the vest strapped around her. Braun might have expected panic, or at least fear. Instead he saw only one thing etched into her face — determination. She nodded. "All right."
Braun made sure she was clear of any obstructions, and Lydia drew in a full breath. He reached for the inflation lanyard on her vest and they locked eyes once more. Braun felt like he was taking a snapshot of her face. The battered cheek, wet hair plastered across her forehead. All so incredibly— Braun cursed himself for the hesitation. He pulled the lanyard and guided her clear. In a rush of air and water, Lydia was gone.
He watched her rise in a maelstrom of bubbles as the water level reached his own chin. He had considered going up with her, but his added weight would have slowed the ascent. With only a small pocket of air remaining, Braun took his last breath. As he did, he was suddenly beset by a sickening realization. There had been a second vest — but it was gone, lost with the pilots seat. How had he not realized it? What had he been thinking?
He scrambled out, trying to clear the wreckage. His shirt caught on something, and Braun tried to wrestle free. As the airplane pulled him farther into the abyss, he looked up, his vision blurred by the stinging salt water. The surface was less distinguishable now, simply a lighter shade against the darkness surrounding him. How deep could he be? Fifty feet? A hundred? There was an urge to close his eyes, to take his minute of calm. But in a minute his body would be crushed by the depth.
Braun finally ripped free, his lungs demanding air after the exertion. He again looked up to find the surface. He saw the sun, a faded orb, obscure and distant. It reminded him of the sky on a snowy Russian morning. Then Braun s eyes captured something else — a tiny dot dancing near the surface, a lone figure awash in muted sunlight. Lydia.
The vision above him faltered. And soon it faded to nothing.
Lydia burst to the surface gasping for air. The brightness was incredible. She slapped frantically against the waves, as if trying to keep afloat. Her right arm blazed in pain, every movement a torture as she gasped for breath. She then heard a distant voice.
Lydia… Lydia.
A shudder coursed briefly through her nervous system. But then she saw the source — it was Thatcher, clinging to a piece of wreckage thirty yards away. Lydia gave him an awkward wave with her good arm.
"Are you all right?" he shouted across the divide.
The question was a simple one, yet a thousand thoughts spun in her mind. She tried to wave again, then saw Thatcher pointing toward the sky. Lydia looked up and saw an airplane overhead flying low, lazy circles.