“Ford! Ford! What do you want to do?” she yelled.
The altitude to lose would have been a lot longer time wise if they had to glide from altitude to, for example, the low terrain of Kansas, Texas, or the Atlantic Ocean shoreline. In northern India, though, it would just take a matter of a few short minutes before they hit terrain.
“Hey, hey, Pinky! Lock your harness, Pinky!” Ford yelled again, tapping her on the shoulder, then pointing to the lever. “We’re going down! Lock your harness!”
Ford ensured his was locked, wishing they had ejection seats now, reflecting on how ironic it was that the only piece of equipment they needed was the only one they were missing. They both sat patiently and waited for what would be the shock of their young lives.
Oh my God. My parents. My brother and sister. I’m not ready. He closed his eyes. Emily… we never got engaged. Why did I wait? And all my stupid-ass drinking. God, I am so sorry for everything I did. Forgive me.
“Pinky, we are doing down! Brace for impact!” Ford yelled with his mask off now, pointing. He placed his hands on the dashboard and looked ahead as they penetrated in and out through the sky of snow. The jet rocked back and forth in the wind, most likely from the gusts the mature mountains produced. He looked to his left and could barely see the mountains passing by the jet’s left side in the steep and fast descent. Ford then looked ahead, and his previously snowy view disappeared. As in a dark gloomy bedroom after the lights were out, they could now see nothing out the front windows: no mountains, no snow, no moon or stars as they glided down to earth like a heavy brick.
Heading north into the Indian Himalayas at night, without a mayday call, in a jet without a flight plan, on no one’s radar, their dreadful fate was sealed.
BBBOOOOOMMMM. BBBOOOOOMMMM.
The impact of both wings being ripped off by tough granite was the most ferocious jolt Ford and Pinky had ever felt. The wings ripped off at their root where they connected to the fuselage, along with the rear stabilizer and elevator. The wings, tail, and elevators immediately fell a short distance and sat visible on top of the snow but were soon to be covered in the storm. Because of the ice in their tanks and the frigid weather, there was no flash, no fire, and the small sparks were short lived.
Holy shit, holy shit… save me. I don’t want to die, Ford kept thinking as they scraped the jagged mountains.
Ford had never been so scared in his life, taking short breaths and holding on to the dashboard for dear life. Pinky’s teeth were chattering, and her arms were shaking, as the cockpit and fuselage spun around 360 degrees like a helicopter’s rotor blades.
Both pilots yelled as they were jerked into their harnesses with a purpose, as the front portion of the jet slammed down hard onto a small but firm angled plateau of snow, ice, and rock. The fuselage continued to slide downward for hundreds of feet at a high rate of speed, like a dragster at a race. The jet was at a steep descent rate, not to a flat runway, but a sloping piece of terrain.
The cockpit and fuselage began a violent roll, right over left eight different times, top to bottom, top to bottom, unforgiving to both the components and people inside. The aircraft composites were no match for the toughness of Mother Nature, and the barren mountain crushed the cockpit on the copilot’s side directly into Pinky’s body. The beautiful glass screens that just moments ago displayed maps and flight instruments all the home way to America were heard cracking and breaking. Finally landing upright and at a downward forty-five-degree angle, the carcass came to an intense halt. The brutally damaged aircraft stopped hard in a cavernous crack angled downward in the ice — a crevasse — and in complete darkness.
Ford’s legs were nearly crushed by the dashboard, getting him stuck between the temporary seat and the front console. The impact had crumpled the space between the pilots’ seats like an accordion. Cold now had just about covered his back from behind, flowing into the cockpit from the open gash where the ceiling and fuselage used to be. Despite wearing a helmet, Ford slammed the front of his head on the front console in such a way that his brain bounced in its cerebrospinal fluid, causing a concussion. He sat forward, hanging in his harness, completely unconscious.
Pinky’s severe head injury was as a result of the side of the aircraft caving in on her from the right side during the fuselage rolls. Her traumatic brain injury had rattled her brain so badly that her body shut down completely. The awful blow to her skull, even though she was wearing her helmet, was just too violent and forceful for any human. The gray brain matter was external to her skull now, hidden on the right side of her flight helmet. Her blood splatter had sprayed along the frame where the window used to be. Even though it was pitch black, she sat with her eyes wide open, motionless and at peace. Pinky did not make it.
The door opened to the C-20, and the team of Mark, Robert, and Emily climbed out from their long flight to the United States. They walked toward the Base Operations Building smiling and laughing, looking forward to getting into the hangar to see Ford and Pinky.
Calvin Burns stood at the edge of the flight line, stern faced, wearing a black trench coat; he did not look happy.
“Hi, sir. What’s going on? How’d they make out, good?” Mark asked.
“I don’t know. Been here for hours waiting. Was hoping you would tell me,” Calvin replied sternly, looking at the three of them.
“They’re not here?” Emily asked, turning her head and pointing toward the large hangar. “Bloody hell. Where did they land?”
“All I know is that they were supposed to be here hours ago, and there is no sign of them. Been chatting with your Department of Energy truck crew over there,” Calvin said, pointing with his thumb. “Talked to the Air National Guard guys, telling them what I am doing visiting their base, and… certainly that’s throwing off the base commander. Let’s go inside.”
Robert, the stoic, was already running though the what-ifs. His eyes moved up and left, brain going through the motions of what could have happened, from mishap to additional fuel to sabotage and maintenance issues.
They got into the Base Operations meeting room and closed the door to be alone. Robert spoke up first. “Sir, we had an issue with Chinese intelligence before we left. Two agents saw the jets land, or were dispatched to Bangalore, and had a shootout with Indian security forces. Indian forces killed both.”
“OK, that’s pretty significant,” Calvin replied.
“Robert, you think Chinese intelligence affected their flight somehow? Sabotage?” Mark asked.
“No. No. Not necessarily, but just a fact to put on the table,” Robert answered.
Emily walked over to the enormous world map and looked at the route of flight. She picked up a black grease pencil and drew out their waypoints on the plexiglass. “This was where they were planning on flying.”
“Well, we’d be hearing some pretty strange calls by now if they landed for an emergency or fuel, right? They’d call our Operations and get a hold of one of us,” Calvin said. “I hope that’s what they did and that jet is parked for the daylight hours.” Calvin was still cool as a cucumber, but his tone was different, a touch of tension not seen before. “I want to know where those pilots are.”
Robert nodded at Calvin with a grim face. “Sir, we’ll get a plan together right away and see what we can come up with. I’ll get the base directories out and make calls to see if they landed anywhere close to their route. Some airfield has to have them.”