Vocab:

IFF:Identification, friend or foe signal. Enables military interrogation systems to identify aircraft
Tackan:Tactical air navigation system; provides user with bearing and distance to a ground or ship-borne station
INS: Internal Navigation System
Squawk: A four digit number entered into the transponder by a pilot to identify his aircraft to the air traffic controllers OR a problem with an aircraft reported to maintenance for repairs
IDET: Integrated Digital Environment Transition (?)
DME: Distance measuring equipment; like GPS
YAW: "heading"; the yaw axis is the one that points straight down for a plane
Seahawk: type of helicopter
Viking: type of helicopter
knot: equivalent to 1.151 mph
FAA: Federal Aviation Administration
CIC: Combat Information Center

A/N: Since there were some technical difficulties, I couldn't update yesterday, but here it is now! Everyone please fasten your seatbelts and keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times. The ride of your life is about to begin.

(Just so you know, I may have missed a few vocab words in this chapter. I couldn't find the definitions for all of them, and some of them I found something, but wasn't quite sure if the definition I found was the correct one (hence the question marks). Sorry about that… Also, a lot of the dialogue used in the upcoming chapters I borrowed from JAG since I have no experience in this field whatsoever)

With a sudden jolt, both Lieutenants Friar and Minkus were catapulted off the carrier deck, towards the darkening sky to deliver the F-14 they were flying to Lakehurst, New Jersey. As the jet continued to ascend, Lucas looked at the sky far ahead of them. He could begin to see some dark clouds of the storm that was approaching, but they shouldn't run into any problems with it. If they did come across it, it would be for a brief time before they touched down in Lakehurst.

"So, looking forward to seeing Riley on this short trip?" Farkle asked.

Lucas smiled and nodded. "Yeah, we're actually meeting up with her family and Captain McCall to surprise Riley at dinner after we land."

His RIO raised an eyebrow. "We are? First I've heard of this."

"Sorry, buddy. I just recently made the plans with Riley's dad yesterday. When I heard we were going to be close to New York City, I had to jump at the opportunity."

"Ah. Jump at what opportunity?" Farkle asked. It seemed the more information Lucas was giving about their trip, the more confused he grew. "I kinda figured you'd be going to see Riley anyway since it has been, what, three months since you last saw her? And why did you have to contact Mr. Matthews? You know you're always welcome there."

A pleased smile spread on Lucas' face. "I'm planning on proposing to her at dinner."

Farkle's eyes widened and a huge grin spread across his lips. "Really? Congrats!"

"Thanks, buddy."

"Navy two five oh, I'm starting to lose you. Suggest you switch to Washington Center," one of the radio controllers spoke.

Farkle nodded. "Roger, thanks for the help," he responded as he adjusted the plane's radio frequency so they would be able to pick up Washington. "We have a low oxygen level light, we're going to have to take her down to ten thousand," he said to Lucas.

"Roger that."

As Lucas brought the fighter jet down to ten thousand feet, Farkle raised Washington Center on the radio.

"Washington Center, Navy two five oh on two two one point oh. How do you read?"

"Loud and clear, two five oh. State position and altitude," a voice crackled over the radio.

"Navy two five oh, approximately two hundred ten miles south east of Center at ten thousand. Be advised IFF and Tackan are intermittent. INS is in op. We intend to land at Lakehurst."

"Roger Navy two five oh. Squawk 3214 in IDET."

"Navy two five oh, squawking 3214 in IDET," Farkle repeated as he adjusted the controls on his panel.

"Say heading, two five oh. Advise when one hundred fifty DME from Lakehurst."

"Roger. Heading three three zero, will remain on this frequency."

Once Farkle finished his communique, he looked at the sky in front of him. It was unusually dark, even though they knew about the upcoming storm. Which can only mean one thing, he thought. "Cowboy," Farkle began, "it looks like that weather cell is approaching a lot sooner than the skipper thought."

After those words were out of his mouth, Farkle patched into Washington again. "Washington Center, this is Navy two five oh. Request deviation west for weather."

"Navy two five oh, deviation approved. Let us know when you can steer to three three zero."

"Roger," he replied. "Come left thirty degrees," he called up to Lucas.

"Come left thirty," he repeated as he shifted the fighter jet from its flight path.

"We have another cell in twenty miles. In one minute come back right ten degrees."

Lucas nodded. "Roger that. Griffin, recalculate fuel upon arrival of destination."

Farkle paused for a second to do the calculation quickly in his head. "Four thousand pounds."

"One hundred eighty miles… no problem," Lucas nodded.

The cockpit was silent for a couple of minutes as Lucas navigated around the storm cells. "Looks like we're going to have to run the gauntlet," he commented.

Before Farkle had any chance to respond, a loud explosion sounded throughout the plane, causing them to start to roll and jerk about. Both of the pilot's hearts started to pound rapidly in their chests as Lucas attempted to stable the F-14.

"What was that?!" Farkle asked, allowing the fear he was experiencing to be heard in his voice.

"I don't know…" Lucas replied, trying to keep his voice steady and his head clear as he gazed at his instrument panel. "I got a red light: flight system filter. Disengaging altitude hold."

Farkle's eyes widened involuntarily from shock. "Lucas, it's bumpy out here! Do you really want to fly her on your own?"

"No choice… Griffin, give me the most direct route to Lakehurst!"

Most direct? What is he crazy?! Farkle thought. "Lucas, that would mean going directly through it!"

"We can't hop it!" Lucas yelled. "We're low on oxygen!"

Farkle inhaled deeply to help calm himself. If they were going to make it through this situation, he had to be able to focus. "We're going to have to go around it before we can go back to three three one and Lakehurst."

"How long?"

Griffin looked at his instrument panel. "Ground speed is five hundred knots, estimate sixteen minutes on our present course."

Lucas nodded, but yet another flashing red light appeared on his panel. "We've lost PC1!"

"Turn off the roll pitching YAW stabilization systems!"

"Griffin, get us back on a direct path to Lakehurst," Lucas yelled as he executed his RIO's suggestion.

"Can't go straight through, change heading to three zero five, that way we can avoid the cell."

"Check with Washington Center," Lucas ordered.

"Washington Center, this is Navy two five oh. We're experiencing serous flight control problems!"

"Roger two five oh. Are you declaring an emergency?"

"Not at this time, Center," Lucas replied.

"Roger two five oh. Negative radar contact. State position and altitude."

"Position unknown," Farkle stated, while the words 'this is not good' floated about his mind. "Approximately one hundred twenty nautical south east of Andrews. Altitude one zero thousand."

"Roger, can you return to the carrier?"

"You're closer, Center," Farkle responded.

"What are your intentions, two five oh?"

"To continue inbound."

"Roger, two five oh. Out."

As Lucas brought the jet around to a new course, he said, "Better contact the carrier to advise them of the problems."

Farkle nodded as he began to raise the Enterprise on the radio. "Enterprise…"

"Enterprise, this is two five oh. We've lost PC1 and are experiencing flight control problems, over," the radio controller heard come in over the radio.

"Roger, what is your position?" he responded.

The radio controller heard, "Estimate on our position is three zero…" before the signal faded into static.

"Two five oh, do you copy?" he transmitted. No reply. "Two five oh, do you read?" he repeated. Again, there was no answer.

An officer approached him from behind. "Try the transponder again."

The radio controller shook his head as he watched their signal disappear off of the screen. "No IFF signal, sir. They're off the scope."

The combat officer picked up the phone and brought his CO up to speed on what had just occurred.

"Where are they?" the captain asked.

"Past two hundred fifty miles, sir. We've lost contact and the IFF signal."

"How did this happen?"

"Storm moved faster than predicted, sir."

The skipper nodded. "Thank you, Commander," he responded as he walked over to his station and radioed the air boss. "Boss, this is the captain. Assign crews for search and rescue. Prepare to launch a Seahawk and a Viking on my signal."

"Aye, sir."

"We have nothing but storm cells around us!" Farkle yelled as he looked down at his radar. Panic began to grip the young man's heart as the rain continued to pelt against the canopy.

Lucas looked down at his control panel and saw another flashing light. "We're losing PC2. Griffin, she's flying like a barrel. Recheck Oceania weather."

Farkle reached down and adjusted the radio's frequency to receive the weather report, hoping for any type of good news at this point.

"This is Oceania metro reporting ceiling and visibility zero."

He shook his head, "Closed."

"What about Center?"

"Already checking," Farkle replied as he began to adjust the radio once again.

"This is Center reporting ceiling and visibility zero."

"Nope!"

"Packs River is fifty miles closer than Andrews."

"Closed! Lakehurst is our best bet!"

Or so it was thought. Another explosion sounded, causing the fighter jet to sprawl across the skies even more.

"I don't have power!" Farkle shouted. "Generator's out!"

"Reset!"

Farkle flicked several switches to no avail. "Can't!"

"We've lost the electronics! Switching over to emergency IFF!"

"Squawking seven seven hundred! We've gone to four hundred knots!"

"We're going to have to fly her straight through!" Lucas announced.

"Cowboy, that'll put us in the center of the biggest thunderhead in the world!"

"I'm flying on grace right now!" Lucas replied. "I don't know how much longer I can keep us in the air!"

Farkle nodded as he collected himself again. He didn't want to have to eject, but that may be their only option soon. "Check the compass to get our heading."

Lucas turned on an emergency light and glanced at the bouncing compass. "Best bet… north, north west."

"Come left twenty degrees. Three hundred fifty knots, ten thousand feet."

"We have an emergency IFF signal, sir," the radio controller announced.

The commander walked over to the phone and raised the bridge. "Bridge, combat, we have an emergency signal three hundred miles north, north west, heading three four five."

"Roger that, Commander, keep me informed of any change in status."

"Aye, sir."

"Come to course three four five, all engines ahead two thirds," the captain notified the navigator. "Co-ops, notify the Coast Guard and the FAA that we're commencing search and rescue operations. And get the Air Boss to meet me in CIC."

"Griffin, what's the nearest point of land?" Lucas shouted.

"Estimate one hundred miles due east!"

Lucas shook his head. "She's not responding! We're going to have to punch out!"

"When do we go?"

"At five thousand."

Farkle nodded as he radioed, "Mayday, mayday! Navy two five oh one hundred miles east of Cape Fear." Once the distress call was sent, Farkle began preparations to eject. "Lock control of the harness!"

Lucas flicked a lever. "Lock!" he echoed

"Visor down!"

He brought the plastic visor down over his eyes. "Visor down!"

"Mask on!"

Lucas brought his oxygen mask over his nose and clicked it into place. "Mask on!"

"Lower seats!"

"Check!"

"Command ejection rear seat!"

Lucas shifted the lever back, giving ejection control to Farkle. Once the lever clicked into place, the jet began to jerk about even worse. "I've lost her! Eject us now!"

"Position yourself! See you down there, Friar!" Farkle said right before he pressed the ejection controls, forcing the canopy back and sending him into the air.

Lucas looked in front of him. His seat stayed right where it was, and the ocean was coming closer and closer to him as each second passed by. "Come on! Eject!" he shouted as he pulled the emergency ejection lever, sending him into the air a few seconds before the jet crashed into the sea.

Rain pelted up against him as his chute opened and Lucas began to descend towards the water. Once the cold water enveloped him, Lucas immediately became tangled in the cords of his parachute. With the combination of the choppy waters and the weight of the wet nylon, he felt his body being pulled underneath the waterline. He tried to unclip the chute from him as he tried to ignore the cold that began to seep into his bones, but the release refused to budge. Lucas struggled to get it free as he began to feel the pressure in his lungs build up; the need for air became stronger by the second. He quickly took off his helmet, allowing him a bit more room to maneuver. Lucas reached into one of his pockets, pulled out his switchblade, and cut the chute's cords. After the last cord was cut, Lucas inflated his life preserver, sending him to the surface. As soon as his face broke through the water, Lucas exhaled the breath he was holding, and quickly inhaled before another swell crashed down on top of him.

Lucas did his best to follow his training, but as he attempted to pull out the inflatable raft and his strobe, another swell rose and tried to take them away from him.

This is not good, he thought as he continued to fight with the violent waters.

A/N #2: La de de de daaa... well… how many of you guys hate me right now? Let me know what you thought!