Peter Cawdron - Feedback

He unbuckled his three point harness seatbelt. He hadn’t even been aware he’d strapped it on inside the North Korean army camp, but he had out of habit. Now, he was focused on doing whatever he could to free himself from the helicopter once he’d ditched her. He’d been dragged beneath the waves once before and he didn’t want to go through that again. Holding the control stick between his legs, he pulled the headphones off and tossed them to one side.

The rowboat reached the fishing vessel. Jason climbed aboard. His small frame was easily distinguishable in the dark.

“It’s now or never,” Lee said to no one in particular. What he was about to do ran against everything he knew and counter to every safe choice he’d ever known about flying. Ditching in the ocean was dangerous at the best of times. There was no right way to conduct a controlled ditch. If there was, he’d never heard of it. He decided his best bet was to set down lightly, as though he were landing on the beach again.

Easing the helicopter down, Lee watched as the chopper skids dipped beneath the water. He lowered the chopper further until the water lapped at the door.

Lee kicked the door open, wedging it open with his boot as the cold water lapped in around the foot pedals. Breathing deeply, Lee powered down the chopper, cutting the power to the engine just as he would if he’d set down on land.

The chopper began to sink, gently slipping beneath the waves as the rotor blades still whizzed by above the cockpit.

Water poured in through the open door, chilling him.

Salt water soaked through the bandage on his hand, searing the wounded stubs where his fingers had once been.

Lee froze.

He couldn’t leave the cockpit until the rotor blades had stopped turning. The helicopter twisted as it sank, with the open cockpit door tilting down toward the bottom of the ocean. Water rose up around his neck and head, forcing him to take one last breath. The chopper shuddered under the torque as the rotor blades struck the water, and that was his cue. Lee pushed off, diving down and out of the cockpit.

Something caught around his boot. The cord from the headset had wrapped around his left foot. He struggled, shaking his foot as the helicopter plunged into the depths, dragging him deeper. Although the laces on his boots were undone, he couldn’t shake the boot loose. Using his other boot, he managed to pry his foot free, and kick toward the surface.

His lungs were burning as he burst up through the waves.

Lee’s clothes were soaked. The heavy overcoat he was wearing began dragging him back down into the murky sea. With only one good hand, Lee struggled to stay above the choppy waves. He choked on a mouthful of water.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed him by the collar. He twisted, turning, grabbing at the rowboat and kicking against the ocean. It took him almost a full minute before he managed to clamber into the boat, dripping with sea water. Lying on his back, gasping, Lee looked up into the grinning face of the old man he’d seen in the hut.

“Thank you,” Lee said, coughing and spluttering.

“It is we who should thank you,” the grandfather replied with a smile, resting his hand on Lee’s shoulder.

After a four hour drive, they pulled up next to a fire station in North Bend. A faded wooden sign outside announced the name of the suburb: Windsor Park .

Twilight cast a warm glow over the distant hills. A community baseball diamond across the street had its floodlights on. Parents sat on metal bleachers watching their children play on the grassy field overlooking the sprawling Coos river. The North Bend nuclear power plant sat on the edge of a wide s curve in the river.

“Stay here,” Lachlan said, getting out with Stegmeyer and Vacili.

Vacili was quiet. As a cameraman, being introverted probably came with the territory. Jason had seen him filming, running digital video backups and uploads from his laptop, but he had barely said two words to him in the last day. Vacili appeared to be content recording history rather than participating, but the fact that he was there spoke volumes. The very act of accompanying them was dangerous, and he could spend the rest of his life in a federal penitentiary just for being present. Jason preferred not to think about that too much.

Jason had no doubt Vacili knew precisely what he was involved with and was actively supporting them, and yet he left his camera in the RV at this critical moment, surprising Jason.

“Five minutes,” Lily said. She didn’t have to say any more. Jason knew why they were here. They were waiting for the explosion at North Bend. Lachlan had promised a spectacular fireworks display, lots of special effects without any real damage. Jason wasn’t so sure.

Stegmeyer and Vacili crossed the road and hooked up with a local news crew. Jason hadn’t noticed them when they had first arrived. A male reporter stood in front of a camera on a tripod with the baseball diamond directly behind him. Vacili spoke with the cameraman while Stegmeyer moved the reporter, positioning him slightly to one side. They were lining up for the shot, ensuring North Bend was visible in the distance. That explained why Vacili had left his camera in the RV, Jason thought. On this shoot, he was the director.

Lachlan jogged over, holding his phone up and calling out something, but Jason couldn’t make out what was being said. Lachlan pointed up to the sky, but neither Stegmeyer or Vacili turned to look. They kept their attention on the news crew. The cameraman disappeared behind the lens and the reporter began talking into a microphone held up to his chin. He gestured to the baseball diamond beside him as a Learjet roared overhead, screaming past barely a hundred feet above the bleachers.

The roar of the engine was deafening. The RV shook. The crowd in the stands was visibly shaken. Kids and adults alike screamed in fright. Some huddled together, holding loved ones. A few ran. Others stood, pulling out smartphones and taking pictures or recording video as the Learjet screamed down into the valley.

The jet banked sharply. Its distinct shape, with fuel pods at the end of its wings and high set tail were visible in profile for a few seconds as the craft turned, lining up for its approach to the nuclear power plant. The plane was terrifyingly low to the ground, looking as though its wings were about to clip the streetlights lining the distant avenue. Cars swerved. A bus rode up onto the pavement, crushing a small tree.

Jason couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t sit there in the RV. He had to see this out in the open.

“No,” Lily cried as he darted out the door of the RV. She ran hard on his heels.

Jason came around the side of the huge vehicle just as the jet leveled out, heading for the nuclear power plant. Lily came up beside him.

The cameraman across the street followed the path of the jet. Parents stood in the bleachers watching as the Learjet slammed into the side of the distant nuclear power plant.

A blinding flash of light cut through the deepening twilight.

There was no sound at first, which surprised Jason. He watched as a massive fireball enveloped the twenty story building.

Jason found himself wondering how anything could survive the fury of such a blast.

Silence fell as the fireball mushroomed into the sky.

Cars stopped on the road. Drivers stood beside the open doors of their cars, watching what looked like a nuclear explosion roiling into the heavens.

The billowing cloud seethed with anger. In the midst of the black smoke, reds and oranges glowed like the sun.

BOOM!

Jason felt the blast wave pass through him, rattling his bones. Window panes shattered in the fire station behind him. Still, the mushroom cloud rose higher. A long dark column formed a thin stem beneath the fireball. The head of the cloud enfolded upon itself, reaching thousands of feet into the air.