Author's Note:
This is a Pre-credits sequence for a film. I wrote this story in 1999 (prior to TWINE). It was a pre-credits sequence for a story about the Y2K bug. I'd seen footage of the Forrestal landings and thought 'This has got to be in a James Bond movie.' While researching C-130's I discovered that as part of the original script of TLD, the Russian plane that Dalton flies at the end of the movie (actually a C-130) was supposed to attempt a landing on a ship and misses leaving Bond and Kara dangling over the side. ( Does that sound too much like Octopussy? ) I'm assuming that EON won't try again. So here it is.
Caribbean Holiday
Dateline: San Monique
The CNN reporter clung to his microphone on the small picture. Sergeant Porter adjusted the reception. As the picture cleared, he could see the reporter, who'd chosen a backdrop of Palm trees near the tall chain link fence. The reporter was speaking,
"Prime Minister Solitaire has asked the British Ambassador for assistance. We are in the third day of the standoff between San Monique Police and the Samedian Independence Army. A group of psuedo-terrorists that have captured the only nuclear power station, Kanaga Electric on this small island."
"The leader of this mostly local group of militants, who according to Police, have allegedly murdered the two plant guards two days ago, is Sambo Cuevera, a former Cuban national. In his many speeches given on local television regarding the thefts from the tourist hotels, he claims to work only on the direct orders from Baron Samedi, the mythological Lord of the Dead in Voodoo tradition."
"Prime Minister Solitaire has responded with tongue firmly in cheek when asked about Sambo's statements, saying that she was the former High Priestess and knows Baron Samedi personally and he doesn't wish this reign of violence to persist."
"The Kanaga plant was of course developed with money approved in large part by President Bush in his visit here in 1991. This power station has allowed this small country to maintain its independence from Haiti and the Dominican Republic; it's much higher populated neighbors. While contracting with MGM and the Princess Cruise lines to develop this island into one of the Caribbean's hottest resort spots."
"The fear is that Sambo will carry out his threat to murder the daughter of the Nigerian Ambassador, who'd happened to be touring the plant as a special guest of MGM at the time of the assault. The Nigerian heiress Andera is an international model for DeBeers and has many fashion designer's clamoring for her presence, but proclaims 'I only wear diamonds!'"
"Now with the admittance by Sambo of having a suitcase atomic device, the tension here has escalated. Inside the electrified fence an unknown number of militants patrol in armed jeeps. Setting off the device would kill most of the island's inhabitants and poison this area of the Caribbean for years to come."
"The British Ambassador Nigel Smallfaucit has recently told the press that the Foreign Office has sent for its special negotiator, currently at his summer home in Jamaica. We are told that he'll arrive tomorrow morning."
Sergeant Porter smiled to himself and thought to himself, "That's what you're supposed to think Martin." He was sitting in the side seats near the flight deck of the huge AC130H known as "Spectre". Sergeant Porter was a 12-year veteran of the United States Air Force's A1 Intelligence Department. He was part of the 16th Special Operations Squadron stationed at Hurlburt Field, FL. He was in command of a small 10 member Assault Squad used by the air force for counter-terrorist missions. He was a 6'3" 235 lb. highly decorated African American Airman.
This particular aircraft was most recently used over Afghanistan as a gunship during Operation Enduring Freedom. It was built by Lockheed Martin in the 1970's. Its current configuration of 39-meter wingspan, 29-meter length, and 11-meter height allowed its four Allison T56-A-15 4600 horsepower turboprops to speed through the Caribbean sky at 360 mph. Unique equipment on this highly modified C-130 enabled the crew to provide surgically accurate firepower in support of both conventional and unconventional forces, day or night. It was painted the traditional black with very few identifying marks readable from below. It was a covert aircraft for a covert role.
It was mid morning in the Caribbean, the heavy plane edged closer to the small island. The pilot Captain Williams began to change the pitch of the wing surfaces and propellers to enable the plane to descend. A small green light blinked on and Sergeant Porter signaled his men. They were on a tight timetable.
Andera was hot. Way too hot for this time of morning. She was a native of Nigeria, but had spent most of the last few years in Johannesburg and Amsterdam. Very few places in Africa were this moist. The air was cloying already and her tee shirt that those bastards had let her keep was pasted to her skin with two days of sweat. Beneath her tattered shirt, she wore only a pink bikini. She moved like a caged animal upon the small cot. She was tossing and turning, to try to find comfort.
She was 22 years old, about 5'9" in height and weighed at her last commercial, a paltry 104 pounds. Her measurements were 42, 23, and 30. Besides modeling she reveled in running and wanted to be in the 2004 Olympics but really doubted her ability to out speed her country's Olympic hopeful. Still she might go as the alternate. Of course that all depended on whether that nut case killed her or not. She pushed the fear away again. She'd been very courageous so far but as her captivity grew longer, it was becoming more difficult to be defiant.
That Sambo, she'd met his type before, one of her old boyfriends was just like him, an asshole that couldn't put three thoughts together without coming up with a conspiracy to define them. For instance her old boyfriend, a history major, had believed that Jewish history of Moses was a complete theft or retelling of a West African folk tale about a priest leading several hundred children out of slavery. The myth had come from a time in history before the Egyptians had begun current civilization. Sambo was the same way; he thought that sacrificing her would bring the blessings of the Lord of the Dead upon himself. As far as she remembered, the Lord of the Dead just wanted someone to die; it didn't have to be her.
She was in a side room off the main corridor, it had been an infirmary, but now served as her cell. The men with Sambo had removed and probably taken the medications that had been stored there. There was a knock at the door. She hurriedly pulled down her tee shirt proclaiming 'A diamond is forever.' "What is it?" She answered in Dutch to the knock.
"Cover your face." A voice said. The voice was different than any of the men that helped Sambo. It was English and sounded like a Scotsman. "I'm blowing the door." it barked at her. She quickly turned away from the door and covered her head with her arms. Three small cracks sounded and then a resounding bang as the shaped charges blew the door off its hinges and several feet across the room. Andera lunged up from the cot as a man stepped into the room swinging a large pistol to the left and right in front of him. The man was about 6' tall. He had dark hair that wouldn't stay in place creating a comma over his right eye. He seemed fit, and he shouted in Dutch so that she could hear him over the echoing blast from the door, "Let's go, we haven't much time!"
Andera said, "Okay! But who are you and what about Sambo?" She noticed that he was wearing a dark blue formal navy uniform. He was a sailor. There were also three rather large splashes of what could only be described as blood on his chest and arms. "Are you hurt?" She asked.
"Bond, James Bond, I'm the new negotiator. Mr. Sambo has gone to see Baron Samedi. I'm not injured, but there are still some people around that would like to change that. Especially since I've confiscated the bomb," he answered her. He needed to get the bomb out of here as quickly as possible before someone retrieved it. He hefted the suitcase in his left hand and pointed the Walther P99 out the door to the left. That was the way to the front entrance, but they weren't going that way.
He jumped out into the hallway and headed right. He remembered the left and right turn that would lead him to the utility garage. Suddenly a sharp klaxon rang out, since this was a public facility and he was already here, it wasn't a warning to the terrorists, there was something else wrong. He'd had to fire a few shots to stay ahead of the SLA thugs; otherwise they had met no one. They came to a door, and when he opened it, he almost shot a tall black man in U.S. Air force combat gear.
The man, whose nametag, proclaimed him to be Porter, collapsed with a sigh. His clothing was soaked with water and his skin was very red. Through the partially open door Bond saw more men dressed the same. An earpiece dangled from his ear, and a yellow tag with the symbol of radiation showed red. These men had been irradiated with steam from the nuclear reactor coolant as well as burned by it. That's what the klaxon had been. Fortunately, Kanaga power was on the eastern end of San Monique, and any released steam wafted out over the Caribbean Sea.
That wasn't going to help these men however. A voice spoke over the earpiece and Bond placed it in his ear. "A6 acknowledge, Sergeant Porter, come in!"
Bond grabbed the small radio from the sergeant's belt and pressed the talk button. "This is Royal Navy Commander James Bond, Sergeant Porter and his squad are down they've been exposed to radioactive steam. How can I help?"
"Captain Williams, here Commander, we're here to help with your egress. About 140 yards southwest on the rear road, is an AC130, Try to get them up and back to the plane. We're also taking small arms fire from the west, so we'll need to move pretty quickly." the captain responded.
Bond looked across the room where the door to the utility garage was open. If that door had been closed the men would have most certainly drowned and been scalded in the superheated steam. He wished that he knew more about radioactivity. He knew enough that they were all in trouble. But, if they didn't get out of here it wouldn't matter. He turned to Andera and said in Dutch, "I'm going out there and see if we've a lorry."
He lunged out the door with his pistol leading the way. He scanned the garage for something to transport the men. Then he spotted it. A flat bed Mitsubishi Fuso FE-SP medium-duty truck that was used by Kanaga power for grounds maintenance. It sat in the second parking space next to the night guards Minicooper.
This truck boasted a roomy 7-man cab, the latest safety features and an automatic transmission. It had four doors, and fuel-injected diesel engine. The cab was spacious, with well-positioned controls, instrumentation, and a tilting steering wheel. The trucks visibility was excellent, 40 greater than conventional trucks. Its 18 foot rugged flat bed would easily hold the eleven men, and he knew the Fuso would easily have the power to speed to the waiting plane, Fuso's are known for their dependability. It occurred to Bond that the truck would also fit inside the AC130, if it didn't already have a load. He quickly helped the men; some of whom were unconscious to the truck and had Andera chain them together. He thought to himself, 'this process was taking to long.'
When they opened the garage door, the early Caribbean morning sun showed brightly on the lawn outside. As Bond punched the accelerator and the Fuso leapt out the door, he saw that a jeep was moving westward along the southern road. The driver spotted them and abandoned his race for the plane. Two men with AK47 assault rifles began shooting at them. Had the jeep driver stopped and allowed the men to take aim, Bond would have been dead. As it was, the windshield of the truck is what picked up the occasional bullet.
The Fuso rounded the side of the brick garage extension to the back of the plant. Bond could see the large AC130H, its propellers turning in a way that made a large enough blast of turbulence to prevent the one remaining SLA member from approaching closer than the limited cover next to the road allowed him. His compatriot lay nearby, apparently wounded.
As Bond drove closer, he realized that an airman was shooting at the SLA gunman, with what appeared to be an automatic pistol, perhaps an H&K VP-70, the three round bursts were keeping the gunman at bay. Bond accelerated and quickly turned the Fuso behind the huge plane.
The Jeep carrying the gunmen that had been following Bond now turned their attention on the Spectre itself. The gunner inside the plane leveled the gattling guns mounted on the portside at the jeep. As the 105mm bullets traced across the lawn, a lucky shot from one of the SLA men punchered through the skin of the plane and destroyed the low-level light television viewer that the gunner was using. The gunner was injured, but the fellow that had been firing the VP-70, the loadmaster, couldn't help him, he waved Bond inside.
Bond stood on the accelerator, and told Andera to hang on. A slight bump occurred when the Fuso hit the loading ramp, and another when the nearly too big truck locked into the wheel locks. The loadmaster pressed the ramp controls and the doors began to close. He confirmed to Captain Williams that the truck was aboard and then went to aid Bond and the others.
Bond jumped down as bullets started to pass through the large plane, he screamed at the loadmaster, "I'm going to take the Bofurs, go help them." Bond raced to the middle gun console, a 40 mm Bofurs quad; he sighted at the low level light television and targeted the jeep.
Unfortunately, Captain Williams chose that moment to release the AC130H's brakes, so Bond's first volley went wide. Another jeep appeared behind the first, and Bond targeted that Jeep first because the rear deck appeared to have a mounted fifty-caliber machine gun.
The 40 mm shells tracked across the lawn and one man jumped out of the Jeep and into the path if the shells. Bond saw his body shred and a smoke grenade blasted what was left of his body to the lawn. The fifty caliber opened up as the plane rose above the tree line. In a matter of minutes they would be out of range. The second jeep was hit by a fusillade of the 40 mm bullets and was riddled as well as the men shooting at the plane.
The first Jeep was now moving again and Bond swung the sight for the Bofurs and targeted it as the plane climbed into the sky. The next volley struck the Jeep's motor and petrol tank and the Jeep disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame.
Bond relaxed at the gunnery station, until he heard Captain Williams over the radio whispering 'Help!'
He turned and the loadmaster hadn't heard he was down with a bullet in his leg, nearly torn in half. Bond yelled in Dutch for Andera, who appeared from the other side of the Fuso. She looked extremely scared, but otherwise all right. Andera followed him to the flight deck. Bond cursed as he tripped over something under foot. He recognized it immediately as Sambo's bomb. He gently picked it up and placed it on the seat of the Fuso. Then, turned again towards the front of the plane.
The sight in the flight deck brought him up short. Captain Ingram the copilot was missing most of his head. Captain Williams was bleeding from a shoulder wound and unconscious. He had been able to set the aircrafts autopilot, and everything appeared normal at first. Bond and Andera pulled Captain Ingram from the right seat and Bond took the copilots chair. The Fire warning light shone bright red and the computer identified the location as the spare fuel tank located under the left wing. Bond looked over Captain Williams and saw the fire spreading toward the wing itself. He flipped the switch to drop the tank. It fell about 200 feet before erupting in a fireball that shook the plane. Andera began swabbing Captain William's blood from the flight deck. She screamed when she found part of Captain Ingram's scalp.
"There, there, everything's over. Just take a deep breath and calm down." Bond instructed.
"Calm down! Are you crazy? That man is dead. How can I be calm?" Andera sobbed tearfully. She began to shake with the shock of seeing this man who'd only come to San Monique to help rescue her, lying lifeless on the floor. She would never have wanted anyone to die instead of her. A shudder of self-loathing passed through her as she realized that she was glad to be alive.
"You can't help these men, if you don't relax. That's what we must do. They came to help us and we must help them," he stated as calmly as he could muster. He felt her guilt, as well as his own; he was appreciative of the sacrifice these men were facing in his aid. His peculiar guilt disappeared the moment that the Fuel Emergency Warning began ringing. A lucky shot from the 50-caliber gun had punctured the main fuel line and every other drop of fuel pumped into the line was falling toward the ocean below.
"What's that?" Andera asked.
"We're about out of petrol. I've got to find someplace to land." Bond stated loudly. Out over the nose of the Spectre, he thought he recognized something. He picked up the radio microphone and spoke hurriedly.
Aboard the Nuclear Powered Aircraft Carrier CV-65 U.S.S. Enterprise, Captain Dalton adjusted his cap. The XO approached him with a missive that the communications officer had handed him. The XO spoke when the Captain looked him in the eye. "We've a Mayday, from a aircraft, for an fuel emergency. It's apparently a medical emergency as well. The pilot claims to be a Royal Navy Pilot, and he has given the correct recognition signal. He's requested the decon procedure for his passengers. He gave us a special rescue procedure code, but it's not in the Standard Ops library, if you could use your override password to access DOD…"
"Thank you XO, I'm already on it. Mmm. That's forty years old. The Forrestal? Well would you look at that? XO what kind of aircraft is he flying?" Captain Dalton asked.
"The overhead shows a small aircraft 23 miles, 270 degrees at about 360 knotts, sir, but his id comes in as a Spectre. I don't think I know that one sir. It's definitely Air force and not Royal Navy." The XO stated flatly. He was of the opinion that this was some kind of drill to catch him off guard. "Intel?" asked the XO.
"Spectre is the designation for an AC130H Hercules Gunship out of Hurlburt Florida, Sir." Said the Intelligence Officer. "Joint Ops had a briefing about San Monique this morning concerning one." He stated. "San Monique is about forty miles west, Sir".
The Captain ordered, "Right! XO cancel the Flight briefing; Clear those cats off the deck. Raise the burn shields. Turn out the crash carts. Fire control to deck two. Alert the Decon Team. Drop the power on the reactors to 20. Complete your turn. Sound the emergency signal."
One hundred and Forty men looked up as one as the emergency warning signal got their immediate attention. The two F14 Tomcats were rolled back onto their elevators and dropped below the landing deck. Massive concrete walls where the catapults are were raised into position. Very quickly the deep resounding sound of the Hercules became noticeable to the few remaining men on deck.
Andera looked out over the wide console, and asked Bond "What the hell are you doing?"
"Fasten your lap strap, we're going to the hospital. Is everyone okay back there?" he asked.
"Better than me right now. You can't land on a boat. It will sink." She tried to remain calm but her voice cracked.
"Your right! We should just fly around until we run out of petrol in fourteen minutes, then we'll crash into the ocean and the men in the truck will all float to shore and everything will be fine! This is our only chance." He said.
As the Hercules flew over the edge of the landing deck, Bond rotated the propeller blade surfaces so that the motors of the plane were now braking instead of propelling. This is the feature of all the C-130 aircraft that make them so adept at short landings and takeoffs. Bond hoped that it would be enough.
As soon as the plane set down on the deck, he pressed the brake petals, and flaps. The Hercules began to slow and Bond's shoulders began to ache from the straps holding him into the seat. The Command Island of the Enterprise loomed to his right, and he missed a railing by eight feet. The concrete walls were just a few dozen feet ahead and he applied more pressure to the brakes.
The plane finally stopped its forward momentum about 2 meters before the concrete barriers and then the plane began to back up. Bond quickly shut down the motors and turned off the electronics before anything could ignite the leaking aviation fuel.
Two crews of firefighters approached the plane and began hosing it down with fire retardant chemicals. The Loadmaster pressed the button to lower the rear ramp and it began to lower. A slew of Seaman rushed the plane in protective suits. They began carrying the dazed Airmen to the flight deck for triage. Bond stayed with Captain Williams until the medics carried him out. Then stopped by the Fuso to retrieve the silver suitcase. He walked toward the front of the plane and stepped down the flight deck stairs.
Outside, he could feel the deck under his feet and the reassuring thrum of the propeller's. He reminded himself that the last time he'd been in a C-130, it had crashed and he'd barely got out in time. Andera rushed up and gave him a wet passionate kiss, and then Captain Dalton interrupted them. He said, "Congratulations Commander, that hasn't been done in forty years".
Bond looked at him and returned the smile and grabbed the outstretched hand, without the protective glove, and gripped the hand firmly, then snapped a salute. "Permission to Come Aboard Sir?"
Captain Dalton smiled and ordered, "You two should get to Decon. Your boss wants you to call her as soon as you are cleared by the Medics."
Bond looked at the sky and then spoke to the Captain "You'd better take this suitcase; it's apparently an atom bomb. I'm sure you have people that can figure out what to do with it." He hugged Andera and walked toward the team of medics awaiting them. "I should have stayed at Shamelady, I was on holiday."