One Thousand Years Read Free Page B

gone.”
    “Better
one too many dodges than one too few,” he replied dryly. He counted
fifteen planes above him. They didn't lose anyone. Only then did he
check his gauges and decide to switch fuel tanks again.
    “We were afraid
you...” Parker started.
    Twack! McHenry's plane shuddered hard when a bird struck his nose. The
impact rattled the cockpit, loosening a battered wiring harness. His
engine lost power. His prop was windmilling.
    “My
engine's out,” he said, dropping away. He understood that his
radio must also be out, but followed up as a matter of procedure.
“Anyone read me?”
    No
one replied. He could see Parker breaking off, and the other men
reforming. He took a deep breath and saw this for another point
where he would have to define himself. He'd either make it or die
right here and — either way — he was going to do it like
a man. He played with the yoke to test the controls, and scanned the
horizon for land. At well under four hundred feet, there weren't
many options other than to glide back toward land. He began
turning in that direction as smoothly as his damaged rudder could
handle.
    “I've
got control,” he said, lowering his flaps. He turned off his
useless gun switches, and tried restarting the engine. When that failed,
as he knew it would, he recycled the battery and generator switches, and
then the circuit breakers. He was
indeed going down. Every retry of the engine was simply going
through the motions. He slid
open the canopy and felt the sharp breeze on his face. This was real
to him now.
    Parker
pulled up, engine cut and flaps down, to pace him on his descent,
sliding open his own canopy. He made a follow-me motion with
his arm, and then turned right — away from land.
    McHenry
followed without questioning, and saw. There was a Navy warship only
a few miles away. He gave his friend a thumbs-up gesture. He knew
that one of the men would be on the radio, telling them to prepare to
retrieve him. Indeed, as they passed
under 200 feet, the ship was already beginning its turn. They would
be coming for him. The other men in the squadron circled above,
marking the spot.
    He could taste the salt spray in the air,
and knew that Parker should have leveled off long before now.
The end was coming.
He wanted so much to say what a pleasure it was flying with them all.
But there was no time left. He saluted crisply.
    Parker
returned the salute, clearly saying words that McHenry could read on
his lips, “Godspeed, Anthem.”
    Already
dangerously low, Parker powered up to begin leveling off, watching
him continue his descent. The end was coming. McHenry pulled back
and flared in the last seconds.
    The
plane touched the water and skipped nimbly once, allowing McHenry one
final moment of free flight, then slammed hard into a cresting wave.
He was struck unconscious immediately, still strapped to his seat.
Parker was calling to his dead radio, pleading for him to awake and
get out of the sinking plane.
    He
couldn't hear the calls; he couldn't even hear the planes flying
overhead or the sound of the waves splashing against the broken
canopy. The blood dripped from his ears as the cockpit filled with
cold seawater, the engine's weight pulling it down. His fellow
airmen would still be circling when the ship arrived. But the spot
they marked was just an oil slick on the water now. His plane was on
its final approach to the bottom of the Tyrrhenian Sea.
    To a man, each whispered a tearful prayer for
Sam “Anthem” McHenry, Lieutenant, United States Army Air Force.
    *
    Dale looked on as Vinson maneuvered them beside the sinking warplane.
Submerged, they moved slowly under the water.
Although passive sensors were limited here, the system gave the illusion of clarity up to the distant shore.
    “Watch
out for that approaching ship,” she warned. “It will be
overhead in five minutes.”
    “Not
a problem,” he answered, grinning confidently. “We will
get this one.” He slowed their pace again as