Gunner Lofthouse operating the surface-to-air Sea Sparrow anti-aircraft missile trembled and shook his head. “I can’t do it, Sir, that’s an American civilian airplane, I will not murder Americans in cold blood!”
“I’m coming down there and if you haven’t blasted that aircraft to kingdom come I will shoot you, then I’ll shoot it down myself. Is that clear?”
The young gunner visibly paled. His colleague said. “You should do it. We’ve been given an order.”
“Then the order is wrong. Maybe it’s a trick?” squeaked Gunner Lofthouse, as his mouth dried up, knowing he’d ruined his career and would spend many years in a brig, but still he could not bring himself to fire on fellow Americans.
“They are no longer American they are a cargo of death, carrying the Bubonic Plague. Our task is to remove them from American soil. You should follow your orders,” urged his colleague as other sailors crammed into the small metal room. They could not believe their ears, firstly to hear that they were firing on a civilian American aircraft and secondly that gunner Lofthouse had disobeyed a direct order.
Commander Roscoe’s ramrod straight figure filled the doorway, there was an audible intake of breath as the men shrank away from him. “Bring that plane down, now! You shoot down that goddamn aircraft before it reaches land, I command you!”
The gunner turned puce but shook his head, defiantly. “Negative Commander.”
“You follow my order, or suffer the consequences.” He unclipped his firearm to emphasize the point and glared at him menacingly.
“Then, you’re gonna have to shoot me, bec—”
The gunshot echoed around the small chamber. Gunner Lofthouse slumped over dead, blood arcing from the small hole in his temple.
The commander turned to the others. “Move this piece of shit — quick!” the sailors stood frozen in shock for a long moment, then jolted into action and swiftly pulled gunner Lofthouse’s corpse clear. Commander Roscoe jumped into the vacant seat and noted perversely that it was still warm. He spun around, locked onto flight 416 and took aim….
CHAPTER 12
23:15 PM
“Flight 416, please respond.” The air traffic controller kept up his monotonous appeal.
“We’re still too high, you’re going to kill us all,” said the Asian man, in a state of panic, as he broke into a sweat.
Luke ignored the comment and tried to concentrate, feeling the stiffness in the steering column. “If I go much lower we won’t see the runway.”
“You need to lose height, look at the monitor.”
Luke threw a quick glance at the screen and saw that they were indeed too high. “Sheila would you read off the dial to me?” Luke asked.
“Airspeed, one hundred and ninety knots,” she said.
Too fast, he cursed to himself, pulling back on the yoke to correct the path of descent dropping the nose of the Boeing 777 significantly losing height rapidly, the four enormous engines screamed in protest, but they were descending much too quickly. A warning buzzer filled the cockpit alarming him greatly, putting fraught nerves even further on edge. “Airspeed. Airspeed. Airspeed,” it repeated continually. He grimaced and fought with the controls to level out the giant beast.
“We are all going to die!” screamed the Asian.
“We ain’t gonna die,” said Luke calmly, but silently cursing the idiot. He smiled confidently at Sheila to reassure her of their safety, when another looped taped message kicked in, continually informing them that they were going to stall.
23:20 PM
“Shit,” said Commander Roscoe removing his finger from the trigger. “We’re too late. That airplane would explode over the city now.” He leaped from his seat went outside and kicked the corpse of gunner Lofthouse. “Look, what you’ve done, you piece of shit. You’ve only gone and lost me my promotion, entirely right too, in my opinion. What sort of commander am I, if I can’t get my subordinates to follow simple instructions. Maybe I’ve been too soft.” He saw a look pass between the men as if this was anything but the truth. Most were staring in disbelief at the corpse of their comrade and friend. “Well,” he said, pointing at the carcass of the gunner. “You can see what I think of sailors disobeying my commands. Am I clear on this?” he snarled at the assembled men. They muttered quietly. “I said, ‘do I make myself clear?’”
“Crystal, sir,” they said loudly in unison.
“We’ve got a few minutes before the next airplane is over land. We’re going to shoot this bastard down and this time they’ll be no mistakes.”
23:25 PM
“Full flaps,” Luke said more to himself and he carried out the action. Almost immediately, a synthesized voice filled the cockpit, “Airspeed! Airspeed!” Luke took evasive action, corrected the speed, making the electronic voice stop.
He took a deep breath, as he averted another disaster. He pulled back calmly on the yoke until the noise stopped and then continued a gently, controlled descent.
Sheila said, “I’ve done this flight hundreds, if not, thousands of times. I know where the runway is, you’ll see it any moment.”
“You get us to the runway, baby, and I’ll land it.”
The Asian man spoke urgently. “Lose more speed! Lose more speed!” He tapped the monitor plotting their course. “Otherwise you are going to overshoot the runway and kill us!”
Luke rolled his eyes, took a swift glance at the monitor to confirm what the man had said and gently pulled back on the yoke having a feel for the controls, he made small adjustments and the airplane responded smoothly.
The skyscrapers of lower Miami loomed closer into view and Luke thought they were far too close to the airport. What had the city planners been thinking? Had they not anticipated such a drama as they were experiencing? Why take the risk? Then it came to him, of course, the all-powerful dollar, pack more buildings in, meaning millions of dollars passing through greasy palms, all for profit. Still, no point worrying about it now, he thought. He corrected the angle of attack to miss the tall skyscrapers as they looked for visual contact of the runway and the craft lowered farther still.
“Flight 416, do not attempt to land.” Cut in the air traffic controller. “I repeat, do not attempt to land.”
“What the fuck does he want us to do, stay up here all night?!”
“There!” pointed Sheila excitedly, she spotted the runway lit up and lined with fire trucks and other emergency vehicles. Luke let out a huge sigh of relief at the welcoming sight and knew he could get the beast down on the ground, when the lights went out on the runway leaving him literally flying blind.
CHAPTER 13
23:30 PM
In the Oval Office at the White House in Washington, Vice President Hamilton Parker slumped wearily into the most powerful seat in the world. “Now, this is more like it.” He rubbed his hands together in glee. He’d only been the acting President for less than half a day and already he had made decisions that would change history, and goddamn, it felt good!
Hamilton had never doubted that he would one day sit in the Oval Office, as if pre-ordained. His family money, or more precisely his father, had oiled the wheels of the colossal machinery, which led the way to his rise to the top, making sure he was at the right events, dated the right sort of celebrity, and got his name in the papers as much as possible. All he had to do was keep his nose clean, not such an easy task considering he had such a wayward streak. Although, it was mostly misdemeanors that had in fact boosted his appeal with some of the voters. No one wanted a squeaky-clean candidate, as long as it was the ‘right’ sort of trouble. A night in the tank through too much booze and not drugs was fine. A brawl with immigrants was also fine, but nothing untoward involving the gentler sex. Although there had even been one or two occasions of that, and, once again his father had stepped in and made the right donations to the right sort of police benevolent fund and the trouble went away.