impossibly serene, but the color was all wrong. Instead of an intense translucent blue, it was a kind of opaque green. He glanced around, and saw that the other planes were still in formation. According to the compass, they were heading west.
“What the —” one of the pilots shouted in dismay “—Commander, can you hear me?”
“Roger that, ” the commander responded.
“What’s going on, it should be darker, shouldn’t it? —” a pilot spat into the radio “—commander, the sun!”
The leader didn’t answer; he had noticed the same thing. The sun was too high in the sky as if it were early afternoon. Several moments of silence followed while he took in their strange surroundings. There was nothing familiar about the land either. The flight commander strained his mind to wrap it around what he was seeing. It should be Florida, but it looked nothing like it. It might as well be the moon. It didn’t appear to be anywhere along the coast of the United States
Where are we? It can’t be the Bahamas or the Keys, it’s too large — Cuba? Haiti? It can’t be Haiti.
He snapped to attention. No time to worry about that now —he had to pull himself together, and face the crisis at hand. He couldn’t worry about their location until after he solved their primary problem, landing. He glanced at his fuel gauge. The lack of it had seemed almost insignificant only a few moments before. He whistled in surprise when he realized how little he had left, and prayed the other planes had more.
Below them, the Earth was coming up fast, but there was no airstrip —nothing. It appeared almost uninhabited, except for what may have been a tiny village to the north along the coastline. At least the ground seemed smooth enough to land. Although their flight had been a training exercise, it had been their last one before going into combat. He felt certain that the other pilots would also be able to make the approach.
Over the radio, he gave quick instructions that the others were eager to obey. They quickly descended and headed for what could have been a dirt road, or at least a trail of some kind, on an otherwise dry, barren plain with mountains in the distance. The ground appeared sandy and extremely hazardous for landing, but it would have to do.
The first four planes came in too fast, but managed to land successfully in spite of stirring up a massive dust cloud. The fifth airplane wasn’t so lucky and clipped one of the other plane’s wings. The aircraft on the ground was barely scraped, but the landing craft spun around three times and rolled over onto its side. Its wing snapped off as it hit the ground. Gratefully, other than the pilot’s broken arm, the occupants were all uninjured.
The commander radioed the other planes to assess their status, and then in vain he tried to reach flight control. He instructed each team to gather any emergency supplies they could carry. They would have to walk until they found some way to reach help.
It seemed unseasonably hot and dry— I hope we have enough water —he thought and prayed that what he had seen from the sky was, in fact, a village.
After walking a few mil es, they ran across a fisherman.
“Excuse me —” the flight commander asked “—could you tell me where we are?”
Startled, the man answered, “ No hablo ingles .”
The commander furrowed his brow— Spanish , maybe this is Cuba —he turned to one of the pilots who spoke Spanish and gave him a nod.
“ ¿Dónde estámos?—” the pilot asked fluently as he shook his head “—estámos perdidos .”
The man eyed them strangely, scanning their flight uniforms before responding, “ Estámos en San Felipe, Señor .”
“ Gracias, pero —” the pilot scratched his head, and then glanced sideways at his commander before asking “— ¿ Qué país por favor ? ”
Looking nervous and suspicious now, the fisherman answered with a shrug, “ México, por supuesto .”
The rest of the pilots and
“What the —” one of the pilots shouted in dismay “—Commander, can you hear me?”
“Roger that, ” the commander responded.
“What’s going on, it should be darker, shouldn’t it? —” a pilot spat into the radio “—commander, the sun!”
The leader didn’t answer; he had noticed the same thing. The sun was too high in the sky as if it were early afternoon. Several moments of silence followed while he took in their strange surroundings. There was nothing familiar about the land either. The flight commander strained his mind to wrap it around what he was seeing. It should be Florida, but it looked nothing like it. It might as well be the moon. It didn’t appear to be anywhere along the coast of the United States
Where are we? It can’t be the Bahamas or the Keys, it’s too large — Cuba? Haiti? It can’t be Haiti.
He snapped to attention. No time to worry about that now —he had to pull himself together, and face the crisis at hand. He couldn’t worry about their location until after he solved their primary problem, landing. He glanced at his fuel gauge. The lack of it had seemed almost insignificant only a few moments before. He whistled in surprise when he realized how little he had left, and prayed the other planes had more.
Below them, the Earth was coming up fast, but there was no airstrip —nothing. It appeared almost uninhabited, except for what may have been a tiny village to the north along the coastline. At least the ground seemed smooth enough to land. Although their flight had been a training exercise, it had been their last one before going into combat. He felt certain that the other pilots would also be able to make the approach.
Over the radio, he gave quick instructions that the others were eager to obey. They quickly descended and headed for what could have been a dirt road, or at least a trail of some kind, on an otherwise dry, barren plain with mountains in the distance. The ground appeared sandy and extremely hazardous for landing, but it would have to do.
The first four planes came in too fast, but managed to land successfully in spite of stirring up a massive dust cloud. The fifth airplane wasn’t so lucky and clipped one of the other plane’s wings. The aircraft on the ground was barely scraped, but the landing craft spun around three times and rolled over onto its side. Its wing snapped off as it hit the ground. Gratefully, other than the pilot’s broken arm, the occupants were all uninjured.
The commander radioed the other planes to assess their status, and then in vain he tried to reach flight control. He instructed each team to gather any emergency supplies they could carry. They would have to walk until they found some way to reach help.
It seemed unseasonably hot and dry— I hope we have enough water —he thought and prayed that what he had seen from the sky was, in fact, a village.
After walking a few mil es, they ran across a fisherman.
“Excuse me —” the flight commander asked “—could you tell me where we are?”
Startled, the man answered, “ No hablo ingles .”
The commander furrowed his brow— Spanish , maybe this is Cuba —he turned to one of the pilots who spoke Spanish and gave him a nod.
“ ¿Dónde estámos?—” the pilot asked fluently as he shook his head “—estámos perdidos .”
The man eyed them strangely, scanning their flight uniforms before responding, “ Estámos en San Felipe, Señor .”
“ Gracias, pero —” the pilot scratched his head, and then glanced sideways at his commander before asking “— ¿ Qué país por favor ? ”
Looking nervous and suspicious now, the fisherman answered with a shrug, “ México, por supuesto .”
The rest of the pilots and
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