Roger Ellis - AK-239

Considering this is night and there are no proper instruments aboard this piece of junk, this is beyond stupid. We were also unaware that a nuclear device just went off just a few miles behind us.

“Let’s take a look at those boats at the dock,” I said.

The pilot, Jimmy Thomas, “All right, we’re goin’ in!”

As the plane dives, I look at Jimmy who looks to be the “Red Baron” on a low level strafing mission from World War I,

I’d laugh if I weren’t probably gonna die! I think to myself.

At the last minute, just before we fly over, I now clearly see the two trawlers. The Iranian sub must’ve been sitting silently in front of them but, in the dark, its black hull was impossible to see.

Automatic gunfire erupts from the bridge of King of the Crabs and hits our prop and windshield.

Jimmy accelerates to pull up and fly ‘Kitty Hawk’ over the gunfire saying,

“Aw hell!”

As the plane flies over the trawler, I open my door and with my trusty old Colt .45 revolver I empty my six-shooter in their direction.

Shit, piss, cock suck… mother fuck! Call the Eskimo!”

“I’m the Eskimo.”

The other Eskimo, your big dummy brother!”

“Oh.”

I get on the two-way radio to Yura saying, “I’ve got unidentifieds firing full autos at us,”

“Dad! Calm down!”

I now quiet down and think before saying, “Everybody okay?”

Jimmy and Tony, both in shock, nod in the affirmative, a little.

I’m on the two-way again with the wife,

“Get everyone with everything we got over here right now! Did you get SERT on the phone?”

Yura says, “They’re all in Anchorage. It would take them six hours to get here. They said Seattle SWAT is closer. They asked if I wanted them to call the FBI!”

“Damn! Damn!”

“Double damn, damn!”

“How ‘bout the FBI? Where the hell are they?”

I’m hitting my phone on the dashboard while suddenly realizing,

“Is this dash from our ‘57 Chevy?”

Yura says, “What?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Is the Eskimo and our other lame-brained deputy on the way?”

Yura, disgustedly says, “Yes!”

Red lights go off on the instrument panel.

Jimmy says,

“The fuel tank was hit. Losing fuel. I have to put her down.”

I then sarcastically say to Yura, “I’ve gotta go now Yura, we’re about to die.”

I drop the mic, looking for a place to land. I then point to an area out of firing range.

“How ‘bout somewhere in there?” I ask.

“If she’ll make it,” says Jimmy.

The plane jerks and shakes as it tries to finish its 180-degree turn. We are dangerously close to the tree line.

“I can’t get altitude. It’s gonna be close.”

Kitty Hawk 2.0 buckles and chugs and then the engine dies. We glide for a bit heading right for nothing but black.

Jimmy says, “I can’t see the tree line.”

Just then we hit the top of several trees.

Fortunately, we slid right past them.

Unfortunately, our plane now has a very bad angle on the water.

“Brace for impact. This will not be pretty!” Says Jimmy.

I’m too afraid to cuss, swear or even move.

I grab anything I can find as a wing hits the water first and flips the plane clean onto its back.

We slide across the black water as if the wings are the pontoons.

The hunk of junk stops fairly quickly as we sink silently into the bay.

I try to push my door open but the weight of the water makes it impossible.

As the freezing water fills the cabin and we’re about to die, all I can think about is:

I really, really want to move to someplace warmer!

Cessna 185

Ketchikan Airport

Nine miles south

Altitude: 1,000 feet

MMA is piloting the Cessna with his new beautiful, Russian “wife.” She sits in the other front seat. The pilot is mysteriously missing. MMA’s cell phone goes off and he answers.

He just listens and finds out his friends have just died in a nuke explosion set off by the Russians.

His Russian “wife” is suspicious knowing what probably is happening.

MMA gets off the phone and puts a gun to his wife’s head.

She says,

“You want to see peace on earth don’t you? Then we must work together.” MMA says, “Your people just detonated one of those suitcases and killed my friend. Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet in your pretty little head?”

She says, “My friend was then killed too.”

This does nothing to change MMA’s mind.

She then desperately says,

“I can show you how to get around the timer.”

MMA uncocks the Glock on her head but keeps it there.

“You better, otherwise we both blow up.”

She nervously reaches around behind her and grabs the suitcase, which is where a dead pilot with a bullet in his head is slouched. She opens the suitcase and says,

“Give me your phone.”

MMA doesn’t really trust her but decides to play along for now. He hands his phone to her.

She gets into a program on her cell phone and types a bunch of numbers.

“There. It’s disarmed and there is no way anybody can rearm it.”

MMA suspicious, “How do we detonate it?”

“I can show you but we need some very specialized software and hardware tools.”

MMA stares at her and decides to let her live.

“Dump him while we’re still over water,” MMA says looking at the dead pilot.

Kendrick Bay Shoreline

Robert Stone’s Diary

Christmas Day

My deputy son, Tony, pulls me out of the water.

Tony, “Did you see Jimmy?”

I say shivering and panicked,

“It was so dark. I felt him next to me. I couldn’t get his belt off. I tried.”

Tony says, “Dad, it’s not your fault. We had no idea all this …”

Tony stopped talking as he realized I wasn’t listening. I am just staring at the upside down plane in the water and taking this really hard realizing our pilot is likely still in the plane, underwater.

After eternity passes I come to my senses and pull out my satellite phone.

I look at it to see if I have a signal and start to shake it when there is nothing.

I then throw it onto the sandy beach right where we stand.

Damn! Damn! Double damn!

Bokan Mountain Mine

A conveyor belt is taking uranium rock uphill inside a small vein and making a considerable amount of noise.

Also making noise are huge pumps sucking massive amounts of water from the bottom of this pit.

Raw uranium is dumped into a crusher that grinds the rock into a powder.

Several workers are busy and don’t see me as I sneak past them to the top of the vein.

I notice workers at the top of this mining operation are all wearing masks as the powder is pushed into a covered large vat. This vat feeds into three smaller vats with horrible smelling chemicals that make the uranium now look like molasses. This is called a liquor.

The liquor is processed again and slowly poured onto a large covered table to be dried. It’s now much, much lighter in color.

What used to take months with heat lamps or centrifuges are blasted with lasers in a matter of seconds.

The finished product is this yellow cakey-like substance (Yellowcake).

I’m shocked as to how all of this sophisticated and heavy equipment could be smuggled into the Unites States of America.

As I continue on, the finished uranium looks bright yellowish and powdery in texture and is 75% pure uranium. Jennifer explained to me later that this uranium 235 is now used in the nuclear reactor power plant deep in the mountain.

I felt like I was in a dream.