B-17 Recon mission.

The old wooden planks burned under her feet as she flew down the length of the rickety old pier, the sun blazing down, her ponytail trailing straight out behind her in the heavy sultry air. Her one thought was to catch air in the leap from the end of the pier, throwing herself hell-bent into space, fighting gravity even though for only the briefest of moments – it all led up to this point. Her right foot slammed hard onto the third plank from the end, sending a jolt up her lithe body. The uncoiling of her leg muscle thrust her body up to the sky – she aimed high, for the sun, as she threw her arms above her head, her legs continuing to run on the air, digging for advantage – she was airborne.

Jenn rose into the air, her eyes ever on the prize, her body atop an Atlas booster lifting off the Cape. The roar of silence was deafening in her ears, the inner vibrations on the verge of pain shaking her down to her toes, the electric charge in the ether lifting and filling her heart. And in that moment suspended at the apex of the arc, space and time melded into one and time stood still – and she was free of the bonds of earth.

The roar of the engines was deafening, and the powerful throbbing washed over her body as a torrent. Jenn grabbed the open metal ribbing of the aircraft fuselage to steady herself, as freezing winds whipped through the open machine-gun ports. Jenn brushed her ponytail back over her shoulder, and looking to her side came face-to-face with a woman dressed in a dark lavender and blue cloak, her steel-grey eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness. Above the thunder of the engines, and the chill whipping of the winds around them, there was the faint crackling of static and a broken radio message, all but lost in the din. “…do…yo..iden…y..(crackle)…code…sig..(crackle)…l.de…ll.. …(crackle)….blu..(zzz)…denti..y..yo…air…” The radioman hunched over his console, his hand holding the ear-piece tightly to his ear, listening for anything coming over the airways, his fatigued mind hearing nothing. His eyelids drooped, his head nodded forward.

“What’s happening?” asked Jenn, shouting over the noise. “This is a single surviving patrol plane returning from a reconnaissance flight over enemy territory,” whispered the woman. Jenn was surprised that she could hear the woman clearly even though she whispered. “They develop the film in minutes, and squadrons of bombers take off within hours with photographs of strategic targets deep within the enemy’s captured territories. Then, the reconnaissance plane takes off again the next night for more of the same.” Silence.

Jenn stirred, disturbed by something in the background, something almost missed in the drone of the four powerful engines. “What’s that noise?” she asked. “His radio isn’t working, though he doesn’t know it,” whispered the woman, her eyes riveted on the radioman. “He doesn’t hear anything – atmospheric conditions are affecting his reception. The garbled message we hear is a challenge from a naval ship on the sea’s surface below,” she continued. “It is a challenge to the aircraft to identify itself.” “But if they don’t hear it…” – Jenn’s question trailed off, ending in silence – her eyes fixed on the man listening to static and hearing nothing.

The first explosion came without warning just to the left of the aircraft, a red and orange violent burst, the telltale black blossom illuminated for just a moment by the burst. The shock waves threw those near slumber onto the floor, tossing the plane about as though it were a rag doll. The plane’s wings shuddered and creaked, the fuselage groaning under the impact of the near-hit.

A second explosion followed immediately below them, pieces of metal tearing through the outer skin of the large plane. “Up and at’em, guys! We’ve got bogies planting roses out there and we don’t know where they are!” shouted the Captain over the intercom. The third explosion was deafening, the concussion violent and rending and throwing the men about, filling the aircraft with flames and acrid smoke and flying debris. Dense smoke filled the main cabin just aft the cockpit. Flames licked up the sidewalls as electrical wires flashed and sparks flew all about, filling the area with the smell of ozone.

“Anyone see who’s firing on us?” yelled the Captain into the intercom, his voice straining against the chaos and noise, and ironically adding to the din. “Anyone see where the bogies are?” “I don’t see a thing, sir,” yelled the copilot. “Shit – help me with this, Mac!” yelled the Captain, struggling with the controls. The airmen throughout the aircraft worked feverishly extinguishing flames, fighting against fires just beyond control everywhere, tending to those wounded and not yet dead.

“Goddammit, guys! Give me damage reports!” shouted the Captain over the intercom. “Tell me something!” The lights in the aft section blinked and sizzled, then failed, plunging everything into darkness, except for that illuminated by the fires. “Captain, engine three is on fire, and number one is trailing black smoke,” shouted the copilot, reaching to cut the fuel to the two engines and activate the internal extinguishers, feathering both props.

“Can’t we do anything?” whispered Jenn, tension gripping her body. “There’s nothing we can do,” replied the woman, “this happened a very long time ago, its course already once played out.” Jenn looked into her eyes, a puzzled look moving across her face. Her hold on the plane’s ribbing tightened, her knuckles turning white under the pressure, as she steadied herself.

A fourth explosion ripped through the tail section of the plane, and the aircraft lurched to the right, rolling over and descending a thousand feet before the Captain could right her and bring her course level again. “Murphy! Come to me – tell me what’s happening back there!” Shouted the Captain. (crackle, crackle) “Conley here, Captain – Murphy’s dead….so’s Shell…the fire’s pretty bad back here, sir….and – mmph, my goddam leg’s busted up pretty good – I don’t think I can get outta here.” “Hold on, Conley – I’ll get someone back there!” shouted the Captain. (crackle, sizzle) “Mansfield, sir – Thomas and Roberts are working on the hydraulic lines – they’re really smashed up, sir – there’s oil all over…” (crackle, crackle) “Have Roberts get back and help Conley,” shouted the Captain.

The wing struts creaked and groaned under the high stress maneuvering as the pilot and copilot struggled to keep the aircraft flying. The noise was deafening. “Baker here – we’ve got a shitload of trouble, sir – a whole chunk of the tail section is gone – I’m looking out into a black sky!” (static, and then the intercom went dead) “Shit! Wires! Get that radio working again – I have to know what’s happening!” “I’ll do my best, Captain!” yelled the radioman.

Smoke began to fill the cockpit, and the Captain threw open the side window to clear the air; the copilot followed suit. The wind whipped in through the open windows, blowing paper and everything not tied down into the air, but only clearing some of the smoke out of the flight deck. (crackle….Sizzzzle…crackle…. crackle) “I think I’ve got it, Captain!” shouted the radioman. “Renfrow here, sir (crackle) – Davenport and Terrell are dead, and Pendleton is hurt real bad – oh shit – goddammit, I can’t get the bleeding to stop – I can’t do it, sir! – Ohh, I’m sorry…! – Ogod, help me somebody!”

The flames in the cockpit rose higher, eating away at the insulation on the wires running along the ceiling and under the floorboards, searing the coating of paint on the metal surfaces, eating away at the hard rubber knobs on the instrument panel. The copilot directed the extinguisher at the base of the flames, but to no avail – the flames were everywhere and continued stubbornly to rage out of control. A fifth explosion ripped through the belly of the aircraft, sending a violent shudder through the length of the plane, but somehow she stayed in the air.

The Captain struggled with the controls, as the plane lurched to one side. The controls were frozen, and nothing responded to the Captain’s or the copilot’s efforts. The gauges flicked back and forth or were dead, giving no reading of the plane’s operations, and thus were of no help. Smoke now filled the cockpit, choking the Captain and his copilot, their eyes burning from the sting of smoke.

The fires burned everywhere – the Captain shouted into the intercom, “Oshit – okay, guys – time to hit the silk. I can’t keep her up any longer! – She’s going down!” The whine of the two remaining engines filled the air, the bellowing of a bull elephant in its death throes – the aircraft slid onto its side, slipping over into its final descent toward the seascape and darkness below.

“Why did you bring me here?” asked Jenn quietly as she watched the final seconds of the aircraft’s fall. “Why to this place, to these men?” The woman gave a sideways glance, her steel-grey eyes steady, deep, calm – “The navigator onboard this plane was your grandfather.” Silence. Jenn’s eyes closed slightly, as she turned to the woman in puzzlement. “My grandfather was reported missing in action,” whispered Jenn, half to herself, but said to the woman. “His plane was lost over North Africa,” she added. “Missing in action, yes, but whereabouts not unknown,” said the woman gently. The two stood in silence for a long while, their eyes holding each other’s gaze, as the scene before them grew dim in the twilight of early morning. “Who knew?” asked Jenn. Silence. “The men of the USS Carl Vinson,” came the reply.

The splash cleared her head, and Jenn relaxed as the buoyancy of the water slowed her descent below the surface. She reached up and cupping her hands pulled down with powerful strokes against the fluidity surrounding her, and she slid upward through the cool water, eyes wide open – she could see the surface approaching. As she burst through the membrane separating two worlds, into the realm of air, she drew in a deep breath filling her lungs – what a delicious feeling. She was alive. She was home.