Chapter 8- FDR

Chapter 8

FDR

Crash Site Designate “Clemens”, Venezuela

Training is supposed to just kick in.  You do something once before and you hopefully retain a memory of it, a knowledge that there is a correct way to respond, a correct way to act.  Training is often a case of doing something over and over again until it becomes second nature.

            In fact it’s possible to train the very muscle that’s makes a person up into responding.  They call that “muscle memory” and it comes after repeating an action hundreds, thousands of times.  At that point, the training will take over and become an automatic response.  It’s like when you tie your shoelaces, do you really think about what your doing?

            Major Peter Dalton had clocked up thousands and thousands of hours of training, along with field experience of the strangest and most bleak kind.  He had sorted through more than a dozen crashed planes and helicopters, sifting through rubble and debris, labeling body parts and coming to a calm and emotionally detached conclusion.

            He’d also listened to dozens of black box recordings, where stricken pilots prayed the rosary as they went down, where two men would argue even as the plane crashed, where some would be able to stay calm and emotionally detached, even as they went down in flames.  That was the training, the experience kicking in.

            But no amount of training could have prepared Dalton for the recording they were just about to play.

Newman had plugged the data recorder into the tech suite aboard the helicopter.  The team had gathered around, all but Jones who was lying on his back on a litter.  They huddled around, Dalton stood up, Newman sat in the chair nearest the machine.

            A voice appeared into the air, calm with a slight southern twang.

“This is X-Ray Two, on approach for Valhalla Vector over.”

“Roger that X-Ray Two, take up your approach vector.  Maintain current altitude.” Came the reply, slightly muted but still audible.

“Ok, let’s come about now.” Said the Southern voice.

“Roger.” Said another voice, his co-pilot. He had a mild non descript American accent.

“This is too early,” Said Dalton.  “Take us forward to the last five minutes.”

Newman fiddled with the controls and then they were assaulted by a sudden noise from the recorder.  It sounded like a huge crashing sound, something colliding with metal.

There was the unmistakable pop of a firearm, it sounded like an M16 rifle.

“Mayday, mayday, this is X-Ray Two!  We need help here Arctic control.” Came the southern voice.  He was panicking but still sounded like he had control of his faculties.

Behind him came the sound of more gunshots, another crashing sound and then an unmistakable sound of a man screaming.  It was a brief shriek and then ended suddenly. There was incoherent yelling, more gunshots.

“Mayday, this is X-Ray Two.  Urgent!  We require assistance.” Said the southern voice.  Dalton looked over his men and saw the disquiet spread across them.  Dietz looked back over at him.

“Where’s traffic control gone?” asked Storm.

“Quiet,” Said Dalton.  But he’d been wondering the same thing.

Another scream, this one longer and higher.  Someone was screaming at the top of their lungs, the screams took on a strange undulating quality.  There was another series of gunshots and then a deafening bang.  There was a whine of feedback and then the scream dropped off, sounding oddly like it was coming from under water.

“Oh Jesus.” Said the pilot.

There was a clang, another clang.

“Someone is trying to break through the door.” Said the pilot.

“Poor bastard.  He’s the last one left.” Said Wooderson.

“This is Captain Marshall Vostovich.  My cargo is about to be hijacked.  Someone in the crew wasn’t what they appeared to be.  Something has gone wrong.”
Another clang, louder this time.  A strange noise from outside the cockpit.

“What the fuck was that?” asked Storm.

“I’ve been told our cargo is very important, that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.  I’m going to deny it to the hijackers.” Said Vostovich over the recording.

“Brave man.” Said Charlie Ostrow.

“This is X-Ray two signing off.” There was another clang and then another.

The metal shriek of a plane diving could be heard now, along with the groans of the metal as the plane was clearly going into a dive.

            Another clang and then a deafening roar.  Then silence.

The team sat in silence for a while.  Dalton sat there, hands steepled in front of his face.  Ostrow stood up and looked at the team.

“He dived into the mountain.  Brave man.” He said.

“What the hell happened in there?” asked Wooderson.

“I think we heard well enough.” Said Wharton.  “Sounds like Lt McPherson was right about the hijack.”

She said nothing to this.  She simply sat there.

“Let’s listen to it again.” Said Storm.

“Oh God no.” Said Jones.  “Once was plenty.”

“Yeah, he’s right.  That shit was creepy.” Said Hunter.

“Ok, everyone get some fresh air.  Smoke em if you got em.” Said Dietz.  The team broke up and moved away.  McPherson sat in her chair still.  Wharton sat near her.

“What do you think Major?” asked Dietz, sat closer to his old friend.

Dalton said nothing for a while.  Dietz went to repeat the question before Dalton switched back on.   It was a familiar pattern to Dietz, at least familiar recently.

“It doesn’t quite add up does it?” he said.

“No, it doesn’t.  That pilot was something though, wasn’t he?” said Dietz, the admiration clear in his voice.

“Yes he was.” Said Dalton.  “All alone as he was.”

“He wasn’t completely alone.” Said Dietz, a hand unconsciously going to his cross around his neck.

“No he wasn’t.” Said Dalton.  “Mores the pity.”
“Sounded like someone was trying to break down the door something fierce.” Said Dietz.

Dalton shifted to look over at McPherson and Wharton.

“What’s bothering you Hannah?” he asked.

She turned around slightly to look back at him, her eyes clear, her brow furrowed.

“Something he said was strange.”
“It was all strange.” Said Wharton.

“Which part?” asked Dalton.  He guessed she’d come to the same conclusion.

“He said someone in this crew isn’t what they appeared to be.” She said flatly.

“Yes.” Said Dalton.  “Yes that’s exactly what I picked up on.”

“Yeah, one of them was a hijacker.” Said Wharton.  “Except….”

“Except how the hell does one guy do all of that?” Said McPherson.

“Yes. Yes that’s the problem. “Said Dalton.  “Now it’s possible to take out a number of people, close quarters if they aren’t expecting it.  But it sounded to me like a firefight and a fierce one at that.”

“And yet one guy was getting the best of all of them?” Said Wharton.  “He must have been James Bond or some shit.”

“We don’t know what was going on really.” Said Dietz.  “We gotta focus on the facts. We now know that it was some kind of internal attempt to take the cargo.  We also know what crashed the plane, the pilot did.”
“Brave man.” Repeated Wharton.

“Maybe.  Maybe he had no other option left. “Said Dalton.

            Dalton sat outside for a moment.  He wasn’t a smoker but he needed the air.  He took out the radio mic and held it in one hand.  But he didn’t press the button.  He needed exactly the right tone for this.

“This is Dalton.” He said into the mic.

“Ops.  What’s the situation?”

“I need to speak to Briar, secure.” He said firmly.  More than fifteen years as an air force officer had taught him how to speak with authority.  The voice on the other end confirmed.

“This is Briar.  You’re secure.  What do you want Peter?”

“Codenames now is it?” he said, the frustration in his voice clear.

“We’re secure here but I don’t know how secure that is.  What do you need Peter?”

“We just listened to the flight data recorder.  It’s an interesting tale.” Said Dalton.

“Yes?  We could do with a copy of that here, along with the telemetry.”
“You won’t need the telemetry.  The pilot crashed the plane on purpose.”
“Good God, why?” asked General Pierce.

“Someone aboard his flight was hijacking the plane and it sounded like they had managed it quite well.”

“Good God.  It’s worse than we feared.”

“I’ve got a missing man out there, along with a potential hijacker.  I need some questions answered here.” Said Dalton.

“I understand Peter.  Can anyone hear you where you are?” Replied Pierce.

“No sir.” Said Dalton, his spare hand now on his temples.

“What do you need to know?”

“Who was X-Ray Two?  What did they want?  Why did no one help them when they were in distress?” asked Dalton, trying to breathe slowly.

“You already know some of this Peter.  X-Ray Two was an off the books mission, ordered by a Major General.  They were to recover a secret US cargo from a storage facility.  They weren’t helped because they were off the books.”

“What did they, what did they recover?” Said Dalton.

“Repeat your last.” Said General Pierce.

“What was it they were bringing back here?” asked Dalton, more clearly

“I don’t know what it was.  It was called Arctic Blue, a code-word cleared project.  Beyond even my clearance.  Only Sat-Com know what it is.” Replied Pierce.

“But it was a biological weapon of some kind?”  Said Dalton.

“Yes we think so.” Said Pierce.  “It would explain why it was being kept so secure, in a sub-zero location.”
“And now it’s loose.  And potentially in the hands of a hostile element?” Said Dalton.

“Yes.” Came the blunt reply.

“And you want me to recover it?” Said Dalton.

“If you can.  I don’t want to put more men in there, I don’t know who to trust right now.”
“What do you mean?” Asked Dalton, deathly afraid of the answer.

“The Major General who ordered the operation is still a serving officer.  Whatever is going on, it isn’t over .  Not even close.” Said General Pierce.

Dalton felt his vision swim briefly but held it together.

“Ok, I may need some reinforcements.  I’ll be back on the line.  Dalton out.”