Author's Note- I have been reading Dirk Pitt and NUMA Files novels recently. After seeing all these great stories, I've wanted to write something similar. Right now, I am on the Oregon Coast on vacation. I have decided to write a story similar to one of Clive Cussler's novels. I hope to do fairly well and at least get two chapters before my vacations over. Rate how you wish to.
A 2010 Obscurum/6th Beatle Production
Red Bird
Prologue- Oregon Coast, June 1965
With the roar of a jet engine, the nighttime air was filled with the sounds of aircraft in Everett, Washington. Suddenly, a loud metallic bang was heard, and the jet died away. A window was shattered in the number two testing building. The shouts of the workers inside then took the place of the sound that was the engine.
"NUMBER SEVEN THREW A BLADE!"
A few workers cowered behind metal barriers and other objects. Luckily, nobody had been in the path of the flying projectile. Eventually, someone would search to find it embedded in the side of a neighboring building. The workers rose from their hiding spots, and advanced to the engine in the center of the room, a Pratt & Whitney JT9D. One of the workers, the foreman, advanced to the front of the small congregation.
"Damn it all, it looks like we'll have to tell the folks back in management that the airline wasn't lying about this one."
Suddenly, there was a roar of fire, and a rumbling blast that rocked the building. The people scattered once more, but then stopped. They realized it wasn't the engine. The foreman stood up, and looked around yelling.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? IT SOUNDS LIKE A ROCKET!"
He felt warm air blowing past his face, and turned toward an open door in the corner of the hangar. He advanced toward it, a couple of other workers following after him. When he reached the door, he flung it open, and stuck his head outside.
"What in god's name?!"
He looked down the taxiway that traveled past his building. In front of him, a very large, and very active missile was slowly beginning its ascent into the nighttime air.
"Where the hell is an ICBM doing on the taxiway?!"
The handful of startled workers watched in awe as the very large and very hot Atlas ICBM made its way up. They then braced themselves against the heat that came in their direction. As the missile continued to ascend, padding tiles fell to the ground around the unknown launch tower only to be incinerated instantly. The rocket continued to accelerate into the sky.
"Since when did they have this test planned?!"
More and more workers made their way out of the building. The foreman's eyes were still burning from the heat and intense light produced by the rockets engines. Unseen between two hangars however, was a command truck packed with scientists.
"Hellfire 1 has begun its ascent sir. There are currently no problems to report."
The others continued to stare at their consoles intently.
"When is it estimated that the missile will dispense the payload?"
One man looked away from his console.
"In approximately thirty minutes."
They then sat silently for ten minutes, watching the displays. It seemed like an eternity, everyone sitting in the tense quiet of the event.
"So commander, will this really work?"
A man in uniform stepped up to the lead scientist.
"This launch wouldn't be happening if it wouldn't work. We really do not want to piss off our money currently, especially since the Russians are watching."
They all continued to sit quietly. They then reached the fifteen minute mark.
"Sir, we are at midpoint. The current location is off the Oregon coastline. It will be awhile before that Russian satellite swings around again."
Suddenly, one of the engine management display lights began to blink.
"Sir?"
"Yes?"
"Engine number one is overheating, over, over, it's gone!"
The others stared at the man, who let out the short outburst.
"Damn it, we lost another engine! They're all going out!"
The commander jumped to the console.
"What's happening?! Get the technicians on the line!"
"Our systems all went offline, and the engines burned off! She's slowing in ascent."
The small screen in front of the man showed on a grid of lights the missile's course. The lights slowed their blinking in an upward direction, and finally stopped. All of a sudden, the lights began to descend, only colored red instead of white. They blinked on one by one, more quickly with the passing seconds.
"Sir, she's descending at a fast rate!"
"What's the current attitude of the rocket?"
"She's going nose-down sir. She's cooled off."
"So where's the damned thing going to land?!"
There was a brief silence before the man spoke again.
"The missile will land off of the Oregon coast. We estimate however, that all components will remain intact."
There was a hesitant sigh of relief; however tenseness combined with the relief.
"So what do we do? We can't touch the damned payload on that missile. The Russians have that area right on a corner of one of their search grids."
The commander sat down heavily on a metal chair. Some assumed it almost broke.
"We bury the shit deep, and very deep. As well as that, we have to get rid of the damn scorch mark on the tarmac out there."
"What course of action do you suppose we take?"
"Crash a plane there. This is Boeing. You can say you were testing remote flying components on a 707."
There was a heavy silence as the men continued to sit silently.
"C'mon folks, lets pack up. I have to write a report in the morning."
The commander picked up a phone that was linked to the truck that pulled the command trailer.
"Pull out. The mission was a damned failure."
The engine started, and the men felt the trailer lurch forward. Within a few minutes, the truck and trailer disappeared from Boeing Field, and into the night.
Chapter 1- Prayer
The lulled whoosh of the engines had a calming effect as the Boeing 747 continued its cruise. The plane, American Pacific 1123, was a flight bound from the Japanese islands to the city of Seattle, Washington. The flight had gone routinely, and with an uncommon tail wind, much more quickly than originally anticipated. The passengers were a combination of Japanese tourists, American tourists returning from Japan, scholars, and archaeologists. There was a hushed chatter between the educational group, a combination of Japanese and English.
A man wearing a green t-shirt, jeans, and glasses motioned to one of the professors among the group. The man came and sat in an empty seat across from him.
"Professor Seta, what are we doing here anyway? Why bring such a large group of people?"
The professor readjusted his glasses and straightened his lab coat.
"Well Keitaro, we weren't able to replace last month's crew on that excavation along the coast. We have to replace the ENTIRE team now. Even though this may seem more costly, it was actually more costly assembling accommodations for the stranded crew."
They sat silently once more, listening to the engines. Keitaro turned his head, and looked out the window nearest to him. To his right, he could see two of the four Pratt & Whitney JT9Ds pulling the aircraft through the air. It was the oldest 747 in the American Pacific fleet. As he continued to watch, he noticed small pulses of light begin to trace their way past the window.
"What the hell is that?"
He leaned into the window, and watched as the stream of pulsing green lights drew nearer. Suddenly, it touched the farthest engine out. To his alarm, the cowling shredded, and the engine caught fire. The lights continued to stitch their way through the engine, and the aircraft shook violently. Finally the lights met where the engine was attached to the wing, severing the rear bolt assembly. The engine freed itself, pulled forward, and hinged on the forward bolt. It slammed up and over the wing, and finally parted to leave a large, disfiguring dent on the wings surface. A dark pall of oil could be seen drizzling over the surface and off the trailing edge.
"We just lost an engine! I think it was shot off!"
The passengers began screaming, and the plane suddenly dipped to the left. Seta, who was not buckled in, was thrown to the right side of the plane. He then clung to a seat arm rest, and held for dear life.
"Keitaro, those looked like flak shells! They come from an anti-aircraft gun!"
The plane righted itself, and the wing began to shake violently.
"Seta, how the hell do you know that?!"
"When we were being pursued by the Molmol Airforce! Their blimps just about sawed the wings off the Cessna!"
The plane continued to shudder violently, and the pained voice of the captain came over the loudspeaker.
"Atten… oh shit!"
The plane dipped once more, and the yells of the men in the cockpit were heard.
"Johnson, you handle the damned comm!"
The communication was silenced, and then came on once more.
"Sorry about that ladies and gentlemen. This is your copilot speaking. It seems that we have had an unknown loss of the number four engine, and loss of control to part of the ailerons on the right wing. The aircraft is still flyable, but just barely. We are planning on making an emergency landing soon."
The plane shuddered again.
"Please batten yourselves down as best you can. The turbulence will get pretty bad soon enough. We'll do our best up here, and can assure you that we will make it, even if we have to ditch in the ocean."
The speakers silenced.
"Seta, what should we do?"
Seta looked at Keitaro.
"Right now, we pray."