Stranded (A Samantha Starr Thriller, Book 4)

by S. L. Menear

  “Uh, Captain, you can land us safely with no engines, right?” Barbi asked, clutching my seatback in the bumpy air.

  I scanned the standby instruments and struggled to hold my glide angle in the unstable air currents.

  “Absolutely. Now prepare whatever you can in the next five minutes, do a final check, strap in, and brace for impact. With so many thunderstorms nearby, expect rough air all the way to touchdown. I’ll see you on the ground.”

  After Tiesha and Barbi left, I turned to Lance. “Get the weapons duffel out of the secret locker and hand me a Glock with a thigh holster.”

  He unscrewed a floor panel and pulled out a canvas duffel bag. Seconds later, I strapped on a thigh holster and shoved a pistol into it.

  Time was short. I barked orders in rapid fire.

  “Grab our bags, strap in near the passengers, and secure the duffel in the seat next to you. I can’t risk the passengers and cabin crew losing both of us.”

  “Dang it, Sam, I should be up here helping you.”

  “Pilots in the cockpit have the greatest odds of being injured in a crash. I need you back there with our people. Now go!” I turned my attention to the mesa looming ahead.

  Another squall buffeted the airplane and hammered the windshield.

  I heard the cockpit door close and glanced back. Lance had gone into the cabin.

  Good. He’d try to keep everyone back there safe.

  With no operating engines, I was saddled with what was known as a dead-stick landing. Energy management was key. If I put the jet in a steeper nose-down attitude, the airspeed would increase, but so would the rate of descent. I needed enough airspeed to control the airliner in the bad weather and enough altitude to reach the mesa.

  Wind shear was treacherous during my landing approach. I gripped the yoke, making constant corrections in the updrafts and downdrafts, struggling to maintain a constant airspeed and rate of descent. I didn’t want to fly too fast, but I needed a little extra speed to compensate for the crazy winds.

  I adjusted my flightpath to keep the touchdown zone in the center of my windshield. Any other sight picture would mean I was too high or too low. I had to land on the centerline of the mesa and keep the rollout straight. If we slid off the side, we’d be toast.

  I wiped my sweaty hands on my uniform slacks and gripped the control yoke.

  Fear was an emotion I wouldn’t allow myself during an emergency. Long ago, I’d trained myself to ignore fear and bury it somewhere deep in my subconscious. I’d let myself feel something after the danger had been dealt with and everyone was safe.

  As I neared the granite runway, the turbulence intensified. Would all the violent jostling set off the bombs?

  I bit my lip and dropped the flaps into the landing configuration but kept the landing gear up. I didn’t want to risk catching a wheel on a big rock and flipping the airplane or spinning it off the cliff.

  Dear God, please make that hunk of rock higher than 2,000 feet.

  We passed through 2,500 feet. The landing elevation was going to be damn close to the detonation point.

  Nothing I could do if it was lower.

  I was out of options.

  My heart raced as the big jet bobbed up and down passing through 2,400 feet. I made continual adjustments to the flightpath to keep us centered on the landing zone. The plateau was long enough that I planned a touchdown about a thousand feet past the approach end.

  I glanced left and spotted another wall of rain approaching. Nasty wind gusts slammed into the jet as I scanned the standby instruments. The 767 was descending through 2,300 feet, and my rock-hewn airport was dead ahead.

  Lightning flashed so close it temporarily distorted my vision. A loud thunder clap jolted me into thinking a bomb had exploded.

  Nope, the airplane feels normal. No explosion. Not yet anyway.

  I dried my sweaty hands on my pants again and gripped the control yoke.

  Would the landing site be high enough to avoid detonation?

  I grabbed the PA mike and announced, “Brace for impact!”

  We cleared the approach edge of the cliff, but just as I flared for landing, a strong gust from the left blew us sideways and lifted the left wing. I instantly corrected with the ailerons and rudder, leveling the wings.

  A quick glance at the standby altimeter told me the elevation was close to 2,000 feet.

  The next moment, we were bounding along the uneven ground. It wasn’t as flat as it had appeared from altitude. Lightning flashes, booming thunder, and screeching metal assaulted my senses. I wrestled with the controls as the five-point harness kept me firmly in my seat while the big jet bucked and swerved.

  I fought to keep us in a straight path, but the thunderstorm had intensified the left crosswind. The rudder and ailerons were barely effective enough to counteract the powerful gusts as the right cliff threatened to pull us over the edge.

  As we continued our shuddering deceleration, the rudder lost effectiveness, and I prayed full ailerons would keep the left wing down. Another massive gust pushed us even closer to the right edge.

  The standby altimeter read a hair above 2,000 feet.

  We were still bumping and sliding forward. If the ground slanted downward ever so slightly before we stopped…

  USS LEVIATHAN

  Rowlin handed the SATCOM to the ensign. “Contact the Scorpions.”

  The ensign made the call and handed Rowlin the microphone.

  “Scorpions One and Two, SECNAV has ordered us not to fire unless they fire first. Acknowledge.”

  “Aye, Captain, no preemptive strikes,” Fred said.

  Jane gave the same response.

  “And Scorpions, if you engage the enemy, SECNAV wants their total destruction with no survivors. Acknowledge,” Rowlin said, his tone tense.

  “Aye, Captain, total destruction, no survivors,” the Scorpion pilots replied in unison.

  “Good, now go radio silent and switch to digital messaging,” Rowlin instructed.

  Two minutes later, Jane’s silent text message was received in CIC: 4 NK subs on bottom with torpedo doors open, tubes flooded, ready to fire.

  Rowlin responded: Understood, Scorpion One. Send coordinates to Texas and Wolverine. Follow rules of engagement.

  Rowlin prayed Texas would survive as he stood beside his communications officer.

  He sucked in his breath. “Connect me with Wolverine’s captain.”

  The ensign handed Rowlin a microphone. “Captain Benvenuto for you, sir.”

  “Captain, did you receive the enemy subs’ coordinates from my Scorpions?”

  “Affirmative, Captain Rowlin. I’d like to maneuver to your port side.”

  “Negative,” Rowlin said. “I can’t have you dropping depth charges over my Scorpions, but if an enemy sub makes it past my starboard side, blast them to hell.”

  “Understood. Increase to flank speed and we’ll hang back with Texas.”

  LIA Flight 515

  Just when I thought we were doomed, the nose slammed into a small rise, and we lurched to a stop. Our right wing hung over the side of the western cliff.

  I grabbed the PA mike. “Evacuate on the left side only!”

  I unbuckled my harness and rushed to the cockpit door. It was jammed shut. The frame had buckled—no way to open it.

  The lower door panel was meant to be knocked out in an emergency. I tried kicking it hard. It wouldn’t budge—no time to mess with it.

  I pulled on my uniform jacket and slid open the left cockpit side window. It was a long way to the ground, even with the gear up. I stuck my head out and saw my crew unloading survival gear. I was amazed by how fast they’d accumulated a large pile of supplies. They’d even managed to drag out two ocean rafts.

  Lance spotted me at the window. “Sam, get the hell out! Hurry!” He waved at a wall of rain roaring toward us.

  The left wing suddenly surged up about thirty degrees. I popped open the panel holding my evacuation rope and climbed out the window. Whe
n I started down the escape rope, the airliner rolled right. A big gust had forced the left wing up to a vertical position. I stood outside the left side of the cockpit, which was now horizontal, so the ground wasn’t any closer.

  Wind whipped my hair as the big jet shuddered and the ground rumbled. Even with empty tanks and no cargo, the airplane’s massive 200,000-pound weight crushed the cliff. The bombs were already almost level with the ground. Just a short fall would set them off.

  With the ground about to fall away, there was no time to climb down a rope. I ran three steps across the cockpit’s left side and jumped off a second before the big jet slid over the cliff. I hit the ground, rolled, leaped to my feet, and sprinted over tumbling rocks into the blinding rain.

  I thought I’d covered enough distance, but the ground crumbled beneath me. Frantic, I clawed the earth above me, trying to stop my downward slide.

  Three massive explosions within a nanosecond produced a concussion wave that tossed me up into the raging thunderstorm.

  I gulped air as I wondered how high I’d been thrown.

  Would I land on the mesa?

  Fear and anger surged through me.

  I’d damn well better land safely after all I’ve been through!

  Sixteen

  The Scorpions

  Jane maneuvered her two-man submarine between reefs as bright-colored fish scattered in all directions. The clear canopy allowed her a panoramic view of the underwater environment as a big sea turtle glided overhead. Four long, dark-grey submarines loomed ahead.

  She checked her comm screen and read a text from Fred: How can we save Texas if we have to wait until a torpedo is fired? Not a lot of maneuvering room. Enemy subs are resting on reefs at 100 feet.

  Jane responded: I have an idea, but timing must be perfect, and it won’t work if they fire simultaneously.

  Fred texted: What’s your plan?

  Jane replied: Get in position. When first torpedo is fired, start taking them out. We’ll capture their torpedo in our ballistic netting and drag it away from Texas.

  “Will that work?” Scooter, the weapons specialist seated behind her, had kept up with the messages to and from their wingman. “I’ll have to snag it when it zooms by.”

  “The water’s crystal-clear. The closer we are to where it’s fired, the better our chances. The torpedo will take a second to accelerate,” Jane said, thinking it through.

  “That means we’ll have to be in the center of the line of fire for all four submarines,” Scooter said.

  “I never said it’d be easy.” Jane eased her little attack sub into a central position over the coral reef.

  She texted: Ready, Scorpion Two?

  Fred replied: Ready. Don’t miss with that netting.

  Jane replied: We’ll save Texas.

  “Shit! Torpedo away going high!” Scooter said. “Too late. It’s headed for Wolverine!”

  The torpedo had fired in a sharp upward angle from the northernmost sub.

  “I thought for sure they’d fire at Texas first,” Jane said as she glanced over her shoulder at Scooter. “It’s the closest target they know about.”

  A powerful explosion near the surface rocked their little Scorpion. Jane righted their sub after the shock wave passed.

  “Incoming!” he said. “Texas just fired.”

  Jane banked left to dodge the friendly fire and stopped in front of the southernmost enemy submarine.

  “Here comes one aimed at Texas!” Scooter said as he fired the ballistic netting.

  The Mesa

  I landed in a shallow pool of water and half-swam, half-crawled out. I collapsed on the ground facedown and waited for the storm to pass.

  Heavy rain and fierce winds assaulted me as lightning struck so close it felt like a flash-bang grenade. My hearing had already been stunned by the explosions, and everything sounded far away.

  At 2,000 feet above sea level, the downpour was much colder than it would’ve been in the jungle. I shivered as the chilly pellets stabbed me and soaked me to the skin. Then the shower ended as suddenly as it had begun.

  I wiped water from my eyes and raised my head, searching for my crew and passengers as thunder boomed nearby.

  Lance ran to me, yelling, “Sam! Are you all right?” He helped me up and wrapped me in a blanket he’d brought with him.

  “How’d you get a dry blanket?” I asked as he hugged me against his warm body.

  “We spread some space blankets over us as we hunkered down on our luggage and supplies.” He checked me over as he said, “We managed to keep everything fairly dry.”

  “Is everyone okay? Any injuries?” I scanned the group.

  “They’re fine, but Lisa’s upset we weren’t able to save her special guitar. Her Walther PPK was hidden inside.” Lance shook his head. “Funny what people focus on in a life-threatening situation.”

  “Speaking of that, did you bring the duffel with the weapons?” I asked, still shivering.

  “Hell yeah, we’re equipped to fight off a small army.” Lance pointed at the canvas duffel.

  “Thank God for Jeff’s secret weapons compartment. I hope we won’t need the fire power, but I’m sure glad we have it.”

  “You’re shakin’ like a vibrator, Sam.” Lance rubbed my back.

  I snuggled my face into his broad shoulder. “If you’ll hold me tight for a few more minutes, your body heat will warm me up.”

  He planted a kiss on the nape of my neck. “I’ll hold you as long as you want, but I know a faster way to stoke your feminine fireplace,” he joked.

  The old Lance was back, at least for a moment.

  Then we were surrounded by the passengers and crew.

  Perfect timing.

  “Is Sam okay?” Tiesha asked.

  “She’s good, just real cold from the heavy rain.” Lance kept me pressed against him.

  Loud whirring accompanied warm air blasting my wet head, and a hairbrush tugged on my long, tangled hair.

  “Hold still, Sam, and I’ll have your hair dry in a jiffy. I’ve got this handy battery-powered hairdryer,” Carlene said. “It’d be easier if you bent down a little.”

  Between Lance’s body and Carlene’s hairdryer, I warmed up in no time.

  A lightning bolt flashed on the eastern cliff, followed almost instantly by a deafening crack of thunder. I ducked involuntarily and noticed my hands were shaking. My nerves were shot, so I’d have to fake it.

  I stepped over puddles and paused on some flat rocks. “If Barbi and Tiesha will hold this blanket in front of me, I can change into dry clothes.”

  I found my aluminum suitcase and pulled out warm clothing and leather boots. Good thing I’d packed for cool nights in Rio. Their fall weather in the southern hemisphere was the opposite of our spring.

  With dry hair and fresh clothes, I was ready to take command again. A brisk breeze swirled my hair around my head as the sun descended toward the western cliff.

  “Everyone did a fabulous job gathering survival supplies from the aircraft.” I looked over the pile of luggage, bedding, seat cushions, food, beverages, and ocean rafts.

  Renaldo nudged an orange uninflated ocean raft with his foot. “Why do we need rafts? I don’t see any lakes nearby.”

  “This will provide a comfortable, round shelter for us. We need to find a low spot on the mesa so it won’t blow away in a storm,” I said.

  “Round? But it’s rectangular.” Renaldo looked confused.

  “It’s rectangular so it’ll take up less space in storage. When the inflation handle is pulled, it’ll open into a round raft big enough to hold thirty people comfortably. And it has a roof and sides like a tent. You’ll see. Let’s scout around for a depression.”

  Lance was the tallest member of our group. “There’s a low area over there. See the crystals in the rock?” He strode to a place where large embedded crystals sparkled in the intermittent late afternoon sun.

  We walked around it. The stone floor was smooth, circular, and about fo
ur feet lower than the surrounding ground—the perfect size and shape.

  “Huh, it kinda looks like this spot was manmade,” I said, surveying the area. “The crystals are evenly spaced around it, and the floor seems unnaturally smooth.”

  “Well, if it was manmade, there’s no sign of them. It looks like it could be hundreds of years old. Maybe it was used for some kind of weird religious ceremony.”

  “Let’s not speculate about creepy stuff like that in front of the flight attendants and passengers.” I glanced back at them. “They’ve had enough stress for one day.”

  More lightning flashed, and the ground shook with thunder.

  “I know one thing.” He stood, hands on hips, staring at a crystal. “Based on past experiences, it might be best if you don’t touch the crystals.”

  I half-smiled. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  As we headed back to the group to retrieve the rafts and our stash of supplies, a deep growl reverberated across the plateau.

  “Jaguar!” Lance said, glancing around.

  I heaved a big sigh.

  Haven’t we had enough trouble for one day?

  The Scorpions

  “Firing ballistic netting now!” Scooter called out as an enemy torpedo streaked toward them in the clear ocean water.

  Their netting closed tightly around it, but the powerful torpedo’s protected metal-encircled propeller yanked their small sub all the way around, towing them toward Texas.

  Jane selected full reverse thrust as her boat bucked like a bronco, struggling to overcome the weapon’s forward momentum.

  “Woo hoo! Ride ’em cowboy,” Scooter exclaimed.

  Jane texted Fred: Netted enemy torpedo. Blast commie subs.

  The captured torpedo dragged them toward the nuclear-powered American submarine, which looked like a behemoth hovering over the colorful coral reef.