Chapter I- From the Sky to the Sea

A/N: This is my 4th LOTF fanfiction; all have been based off the 1990 film. This one, like all the rest, focuses on Jack and Roger, but gives some definite attention to the others. This story covers the events of the 1990 movie itself, giving more details on what happened and why.

No one would ever know what brought the plane down; the sky above them and the ocean below had been almost an identical shade of blue, and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. Perfect weather for flying, as Captain Benson, the pilot, had noted as they taxied out for takeoff at the airport in Honolulu.

It couldn't have been the weather, but why had the plane flown for well over two hours without so much as a hiccup if mechanical failure was the problem? All Jack knew- all any of the boys knew- was that one minute they'd been napping, talking, or in Sam and Eric's case throwing paper cups at Tony from three seats back in the plane, and then the next, everything changed. Jack would describe it later- much later- as "it felt like God drop-kicked our tail". That was as well as anyone could put it.

All Jack knew was that he'd been leaned back in his seat, Roger also attempting a nap beside him, when the plane went into a screaming dive and the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling. Captain Benson was shouting something over the intercom, but with the noise from the diving aircraft and the panicked screaming of the majority of the cadets, there wasn't a hope in the world of hearing it.

They'd been leveling out- or starting to- when the Learjet had struck the surface of the Pacific, cracking up the fuselage as it roughly skipped the surface before stopping. The heavy damage to the plane's fuselage was obvious; sunlight shone through gaps as the plane broke apart, and in seconds water rushed in and covered the floor. The rush of water soon became a flood, and Jack realised that if something wasn't done quick, every cadet onboard was going to a watery grave.

Most of the boys were panicking- it was about all they knew how to do in such moments. Some, hearing this about boys at a military academy, would have been surprised, even disappointed. But Jack, in one of his more insightful moments at the moment the plane hit the water, could have easily told such people they were badly mistaken. The cadets of Davidson were on the whole a cut above the average, but they were not trained soldiers. They were going to need real leadership to get out of this one. Standing up in water now rising to his knees, Jack forced his way into the aisle and screamed, "Up! Get up! Get the hell out of here, let's go!" Seated further back, Ralph had unbuckled himself and joined in, saying, "We've gotta get out of the plane! Find and exit and swim!"

Roger simply grabbed boys and shoved them towards an exit point, whether it was one of the actual emergency exits or one of the widening holes in the rapidly-sinking plane. Jack bolted out across a submerged wing and swam just as fast as he could; it wasn't easy to do when everybody was wearing their cadet dress uniforms, the most constrictive of all the uniforms Davidson Military School issued. Jack kicked off his black dress shoes, briefly picturing them fall into the black-blue abyss far beneath him.

Better you than me, Jack thought. Better you than me.

Some part of Jack and Ralph's quick thinking worked, because in just a minute's time the ocean around the sinking airliner was frothing with the kicking legs and flailing arms of panicking boys. Many were shouting others' names, trying to see who'd made it out and who hadn't. Guessing that somebody- possibly more than one somebody- might still be inside the plane, Jack swam back towards it. He had to swim to get inside now, and his head was bumping the overhead lights as he looked for survivors.

Suddenly, an arm broke the surface of the water, down the aisle towards the cockpit. A moment later, Jack spotted a white uniform, and the face of the tall, dark-haired man that was their pilot. He was clearly disoriented, and struggling to stay above water- it occurred to Jack that he must have had quite a battle just getting out of the cockpit. There wasn't any time to waste; Jack swiftly swam over to Captain Benson and stuck out an arm. He yelled, "Grab on! We gotta go!"

But the pilot wasn't in any condition to hear him; he went right on thrashing around in the rising water. Jack knew he had just seconds to get the man out of the aircraft or they'd both go down with it. Grabbing hold of the pilot's shoulder, Jack wrapped one arm around him and pulled. To say it wasn't easy was a laughable exaggeration; the plane went under moments after Jack began pulling Benson out, and the strain of merely swimming at all became unbearable within seconds. Jack's heart started beating like a hummingbird's; if he didn't find an exit and get to the surface soon, he'd be a dead man. Or boy; dead was dead.

Forcing his eyes open under the water, Jack felt a surge of relief; the plane's nose section was pointing downwards, leaving the opening about twenty feet aft pointing upwards as it sank. Jack pushed and pulled, gradually getting closer to the surface; as he was close to exiting the sinking aircraft, he suddenly felt hands grabbing him, clinging to one of his arms and one of his legs. Panic shot through him; what was this? What was going on?

Jack's lungs were already screaming for air. He had never worried about dying before, not even when he'd crashed that car he'd stolen and nearly killed himself. This was worse- Jack loved taunting death but didn't want to be taken, not like this. The images he could see underwater were blurred, but Jack noticed the panicking, terrified young faces clinging to him were identical. It was those two, then- Sam and Eric.

The surface was just six feet away now. The swim Jack would make for that beautiful thing, that divide between air and water, was so close yet so far… that six feet might as well have been six miles. Keeping his arm locked with Captain Benson's, pulling his weight, was tough; now Jack was hauling the better part of four hundred pounds towards the surface of the Pacific Ocean. His lungs pounded; raw agony surged through Jack and in a panic he opened his mouth, sucking in water. Three feet. He had three feet to go now. Or was it four? Jack couldn't tell. He just kept going, struggling for the surface with the fading strength he had left. His legs were on fire, his lungs burned. Jack knew he wouldn't be doing any hard running tomorrow.

One foot. One damn foot! Jack kicked, or tried to, but he had no strength left. The twins clung to him frantically, so frozen in their terror they were ready to drown like rats rather than leave Jack, who each of them had decided was his only hope of survival. Captain Benson- well, oddly enough, he regained his senses for just one moment now, at a time when the boy who'd saved him was running out of options. Benson shook his head, looking around, and with one good, strong kick carried the lot of them to the surface.

Two emergency rafts had deployed from the sinking Learjet and shot to the surface, auto-inflating as they went. Now the cadets were in them, or swimming towards them and gradually being plucked from the water by their own comrades in the gray dress uniforms. The boys might have actually found it quite funny, had they not been so afraid of drowning and dying- riding the swells of the sea clustered in the rafts in their cadet grays, they looked for all the world like a group of rats clinging to a sinking ship.

Jack was disoriented, almost unconscious, when Captain Benson pulled him and the twins to the surface. The twins didn't change their approach at all then- they simply popped off Jack's legs and now clung to his shoulders, their jaws held tightly shut and their eyes wide open by raw terror. Jack's desperate quest for air now exploded; he opened his mouth and gasped, inhaling every bit of air that he could.

Then he coughed violently; water was in his lungs too, and it wasn't agreeing too well with the air that was supposed to be there. Jack's strength was gone now, for all it mattered; only Captain Benson was keeping any of them afloat now.

He looked towards the first raft, where he could see Ralph standing awkwardly on his feet and shouting for order. "Ralph," Jack tried to say, but he barely could talk above a whisper. A low wave slapped his head; Jack realised that soon, he'd go back under again and his whole fight for survival would mean nothing. He wasn't gonna die like that.

"Ralph!"

The Davidson Military School's battalion exec looked sharply off to his right, where he saw Jack, grimacing in pain, swimming towards the raft like a bullfrog. Not all of the water on his face was seawater; even at this distance, fifty feet away, Ralph could see sweat was literally raining off Jack's face. Ralph's eyes widened when he saw who Jack had with him; he'd somehow gotten both of the twins and their pilot, Captain Benson, out of the plane before it went under. Or maybe after. Ralph hadn't seen any of them after the crash, not after he'd gotten out of the plane. But regardless of how he'd gotten the others with him or why, it was obvious Jack was losing the battle. His head kept dipping low in the water, and his eyes rolled desperately in his head as he struggled to keep above the surface.

Ralph wasn't quite as skilled an athlete as the tall and lean Jack, but he was more than a match for most boys his age. And most importantly at the moment, he had used far less of his strength and energy in escaping from the sinking Learjet.

Ralph stumbled to the edge of the raft, shouting for the frightened cadets to get out of his way. Then he steadied himself, cast one more look at Jack and the others in the water, then leapt off the raft.

The ocean was for the most part calm; that alone saved many of the cadets' lives that day. Had the Pacific been rougher, had it been as merciless and stormy as it could be when a typhoon struck, not only Jack and everyone he was trying to rescue, but Ralph and perhaps all the cadets would have died in the water. It was a possibility Ralph tried hard to force out of his mind as he swam over to Jack and grabbed hold of him.

"Get the damn raft over here!" Ralph yelled, turning back towards the cadets he'd left behind him. Coming to their senses enough to respond, a few of them grabbed the attached oars and paddled over. Hands reached out, and one by one each of the four in the water was pulled aboard. Jack retched and vomited water; then he flipped over on his back and lay there, gasping like a beached fish.

The twins finally said something, wailing an utterly incoherent "Eeeee!" while Captain Benson simply passed out. Ralph steadied himself in the raft, and not just against the rocking of the waves; he had two oceans around him now, one of salt water and the other of panic. If he let either get him now more people than just Ralph Meyer would die. Unacceptable.

"Shut up, goddamnit! Shut up!" Ralph bellowed.

Everybody shut up.

Ralph stared around him, looking at the frightened faces of the boys and trying to make sense of the situation. But it was Jack, clapping a hand on Ralph's shoulder and sitting up, who actually asked one of the most pressing questions there was. Taking in air to speak, Jack's eyes darted about as he hung on to Ralph, not quite sure if he could sit up on his own yet. He spotted an island off to their left, and miles of ocean all around in every other direction. Even the island was at least a thousand yards off.

Jack spoke quietly, trying not to give away the deep, unmanning fear he now felt. "Where are we?"