Station Breaker

by Andrew Mayne

  Airborne systems offer you the advantage of letting you know if some sneaky bastard is trying to fly low enough to the terrain to avoid any ground based line-of-sight installations.

  Our biggest concentration of these planes is in Alaska, because it neighbors Russia. But we keep all our borders under surveillance.

  The simple truth is you can't sneak an airplane of this size in undetected. The upside is that thousands of airplanes cross our borders everyday and get ignored because they're routine flight traffic.

  My goal is to behave like one of those airplanes, following a flight path out of Mexico City, and only change my path at the last minute.

  The Pentagon has prepared for every possible trick our enemies could try. I'm not about to fool them. However, the one thing I have going for me is that I don't have the same objective as a hypothetical Russian strategic bomber trying to penetrate American airspace.

  I don't want to go near a heavily-populated city – and protecting those and military bases is the primary purpose of our defense.

  While there are hundreds of places I can land that are far enough away from civilization, I don't want to land somewhere too off the beaten path only to die of dehydration or get quickly spotted from the air.

  I considered a few decommissioned Air Force bases, but they're too far away from any kind of town. A small municipal airport is an option, but they'll undoubtedly have police – or will have by the time I hop to the ground.

  I need a third way; a place to land close enough to a city where I can hide, but not so populated that there's a squadron of fighter jets ready to take me down before I even lower my landing gear.

  In iCosmos astronaut training we spend weeks in seminars where they try to teach us unconventional problem solving. You never want to be in an Apollo 13 scenario where you have to improvise an air filtration system using spare parts found in a tiny capsule, but you need to be prepared for any contingency.

  My first thought was a water landing, but there aren't a whole lot of options near the US-Mexico border. The major bodies of water are right on the coast and have Border Patrol agents in boats waiting for someone to cross.

  Landing a 777 in the middle of one of those lakes might attract a little attention – unless it's spring break.

  I started by looking on the map for dry lake beds. The best ones are a little further inside the States. The Mojave would be awesome. That was even a backup landing site for the Space Shuttle and one of the places we're taught to bring down our spaceships in case of a mechanical problem and need a wide area to avoid crashing into people on the ground.

  The problem with the Mojave and the other good locations, besides being a little too far from civilization, is that they're all near Air Force bases. And those are the people I want to avoid.

  Landing on a highway is an option, but there's a very high chance I'll hit a car. Which would be really bad for us both.

  Scanning the charts inch by inch I came across a solution that's probably a horrible idea and made my stomach hurt thinking about how the airline would salvage the plane, but is way better than parking it in a lake.

  I'm going to try to land this in the Rio Grande river – which at this time of year near El Paso is a dried up riverbed.

  On the map I spotted a long straight path in a suburb just north of the city. The really good news is that it's less than two miles from a shopping mall.

  If I don't turn into a fireball on landing, I can pop the hatch, take a fun ride down the slide and be off and running before the cops are called to the scene.

  By the time they make it to the plane, I can be eating orange chicken in the mall food court and figuring out what the hell I'm going to do next.

  And there's probably free wifi in the mall, which means I can use my stolen Brazilian phone to see if CapricornZero has any helpful advice for me on Twitter. Maybe he can help me figure out how I'm going to pay for my orange chicken too? Ugh. Landing is just one of many problems I have to deal with.

  Focus, David. Don't start cracking open that fortune cookie just yet.

  It's time to try our last bit of deception. I put the plane on a course that roughly lines up with El Paso, Texas but doesn't look like I'm heading there.

  My plan is to go there way faster than I should and do a maneuver to kill my speed at the last moment and spiral down into a landing. It's something you'd never try with passengers, but should keep everyone guessing.

  The sun is just coming up over the horizon. Man, it's been that long already?

  BOOM!!! Suddenly the entire plane rattles and I almost jump out of my seat.

  At first I think I've been hit then I see two F-35 jets blow past my window on either side.

  That explosion was the sound of them breaking the sound barrier – meant to get my attention.

  Christ. I wasn't expecting to be intercepted this soon.

  The F-35s slow down and take a position on port and starboard less than a hundred feet away.

  One of them starts blinking a light at me.

  It's Morse code.

  -.. .. -..- --- -. --..-- / ... .-- .. - -.-. .... / - --- / -.-. .... .- -. -. . .-.. / ...-- ....- ....- / --- .-. / -... . / ... .... --- - / -.. --- .-- -. .-.-.-

  My brain translates it automatically for me:

  DIXON SWITCH TO CHANNEL 344 OR BE SHOT DOWN.

  Yeah, yeah. They're bluffing. I pretend to not be able to read what they said and make sure my balaclava is firmly around my head.

  .-- . / -.- -. --- .-- / -.-- --- ..- / -.-. .- -. / ..- -. -.. . .-. ... - .- -. -.. / - .... .. ...

  WE KNOW YOU CAN UNDERSTAND THIS.

  Damnit.

  38

  POINT OF ENTRY

  LET’S ASSUME for a moment that they’re bluffing. I still have the very real problem that I now have a fighter escort. While I’ve got more fuel left than they have range, there will be others to replace them. Plus the fact that this means I’m definitely being tracked from the air.

  Dang it. I’ll bet they’re using some DEA anti-drug AWACS plane to track me. It’s all part of the Department of Homeland Security. They were probably able to task one of those planes to look for me.

  Well, congratulations, guys, your inter-agency international collaboration worked.

  I’ll sleep well at night on my prison bunk, knowing that a terrorist will have a hard time pulling off this particular trick.

  The moment I open my radio channel and talk to them I’m going to confirm their suspicion. I’m also going to give them the opportunity to tell me where to land unless I want to be shot down.

  Let’s think this through. I’m still over Mexican airspace. While my escorts have permission to intercept me, I’m assuming their ground coordination isn’t exactly going to be topnotch. A lot of the desert I’m flying over is lawless territory controlled by the cartels.

  The pilots onboard the F-35s are telling their commander that they were able to flash me the Morse code signal.

  They have to decide if they follow through with their threat or just wait and see where I land. I’ve got less than two hours of fuel left.

  I reach down to check another chart and the cockpit is bathed with intense green light.

  Holy crap! They’re trying to blind me with a laser!

  If I hadn’t been looking down I’d be crashing!

  The light vanishes and I hear the roar of the two escorts as they pull away.

  What the hell was that about?

  The light bathes the cockpit again. I keep my eyes shut and fumble around for a visor.

  I find a folded up reflective sun shade and put it in the window. The green light goes away, but I leave the visor anyway.

  What was that? It didn’t appear to be coming from the F-35s. In fact, they left before the second burst.

  Was that from a satellite? Do the Russians have some kind of space laser they can blind pilots with?

  Hell…why not? The ones on the K1 almost poked a hole in my heat shield. It would be even less d
ifficult to have a space-based laser that could bathe a window in blinding light if you could track the object.

  Man, I’m learning all kinds of fascinating facts about Russian weaponry. I should write a book about it in my next life.

  Okay, so the Russians really, really don’t want me landing where the F-35s were about to tell me.

  The upside is the F-35 pilots had to have seen that laser light. So maybe they’re entertaining the idea that I’m not just one lone wacko who decided to go on the most epic joyride ever.

  That still doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got an AWACS tracking me and the American military ready to meet me on the ground.

  FLASH! There’s the green light again.

  Okay, I get it! The Russians really want to blind me and see me crash.

  Maybe that’s the solution…

  As much as I had my heart set on orange chicken, I don’t think I’m going to make it to El Paso.

  I wait for another flash of light then tilt the stick towards the ground, making it look like I totally lost control. Which I kind of sort of have.

  This is a very stupid dive. Right now my trackers have got to be wondering what the hell is going on. So do I.

  I’m counting on the notion that the Russians only knew where to look once they saw the fighters escorting the passenger jet. Until then they were afraid to use their laser, lest they blind the wrong plane.

  The ground is coming up fairly fast. I’m only a few miles from the border. What happens if I crash right on the middle?

  Let’s not crash. Instead, focus on that tiny patch of highway directly below me. I doubt there’s anybody there right now. Let’s land this thing and get as far away as possible before anyone shows up.

  I level out my descent just enough to make it possible for me to actually land the plane instead of use it to dig a bunker.

  I lower my landing gear and get ready for one bumpy ride.

  As I count off the seconds, I adjust my wing flaps and get ready for a reverse thrust to limit how much road I have to take up.

  5

  4

  3

  Is that a god damn bus!???

  What the hell, people!

  I pull up and to the left. My wing tip almost scrapes into the ground. Christ! Now I’m flying over open desert filled with shrubs.

  Damnit.

  I have to land this thing.

  BOOM!!! The back wheels hit the earth.

  Full reverse thrust!

  This thing is bucking like crazy.

  Keep it steady!

  BAM!!! My front wheels hit the ground and I see stars.

  Watch your rudder!

  BANG!!! My front gear hits something large and the nose bounces into the air.

  SLAM!!! I feel my harness yank into me as I’m pulled back into my seat.

  Don’t let this thing tip!

  I hold the stick steady and keep an eye on my rudder and flaps, mindful of overreacting and sending the plane into a death spiral.

  I’m decelerating…

  It’s shaking a little less…

  A cloud of dust passes the cockpit window as the wind overtakes me.

  And I’ve stopped.

  I wait a few tense seconds in case something is about to explode. Not that I can do anything about it.

  CRACK!!!

  The nose drops ten feet and I’m looking at the desert from a totally different angle.

  The front gear must have snapped right off. At least it waited until after I came to a stop.

  Wait? Is that a metal fence wrapped around the nose?

  Holy crap.

  I not only crossed the border, I took the fence with me.

  At least I’m on American soil.

  I undo the latch on the cockpit window and slide it to the side.

  The wind is cool on my face as I take in a breath of fresh air. The sun, climbing over the horizon, looks spectacular.

  You’re not dead yet, David.

  Look at that view…. If we find our way out of here, we’ll be home free…sort of.

  Wait, is that a siren?

  39

  BORDER PATROL

  SERIOUSLY? My moment of freedom is ruined before I even get one lungful of fresh desert air. In the distance, kicking up a dusty tornado as it races along the furrow I dug in the ground, is a sand-colored Humvee.

  It’s coming at me from the Mexican side of the border and the whoop-whoop sound of its siren is vaguely different than a US civilian or military one. I mean, it’s not blaring La Cucaracha, but I’m petty sure this is Mexican military or border police.

  Did they see me attempt to land and come to help? Or were they warned I’m coming? The former means I might have a chance to slip away. The latter means I’ll be slapped into handcuffs the moment they get inside.

  The truck comes to a halt by the tail of the plane and starts to slowly drive around the wing towards the front.

  I spot four men with rifles. Okay, not exactly a rescue team.

  Since I lost the front landing gear, the forward hatch is just a few feet above ground. All they have to do is back their Humvee up to the plane and they’ll be able to open the door and get to me.

  I pull my head in and slam the window shut. I’ve only got seconds before they figure out how to work the door from the outside.

  The mere fact that they’re not waiting for backup is all the evidence I need that their intentions don’t have my own best interests in mind.

  I’ve heard that some of these regions are controlled by the military who often have some shady dealings with the cartels. I guess it’s possible the Russians may have made them an offer. Also just as likely, these four bozos want to be the first to arrest the fugitive American astronaut.

  Only seconds to go, David. Think of something…

  There are several other doors I can escape from, but that won’t matter if they shoot me. I need to slow them down so I can get away.

  With what? Throw honey-roasted almonds in their faces?

  I can hear their voices from outside. They’re backing their truck up to the door.

  KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK It’s not a patient sound.

  I think about how I planned to leave the plane if I’d been able to land in some place a little more sane. What are all the things they tell you to never ever do?

  Well, I could…

  Oh, this is stupid.

  Just do it, David.

  I pop open the overhead luggage compartment door in the first class section and pull myself inside then try to keep it as close to looking shut as possible.

  This is idiocy, David.

  When it doesn’t work and they start laughing at you, maybe you can try to escape then…

  THUNK…goes the door.

  SSSSSSS…the almost properly pressurized cabin hisses.

  BANG! The door hits the exterior of the plane as they slide it open.

  STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP They all pile inside. First they run to the cockpit and find it empty – well, empty except for Cap’n Crunch.

  There’s a bunch of chatter in Spanish. I can barely make out any of it.

  CREAK They shout and yank open the forward bathroom doors.

  STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP

  Four pairs of boots run past me. As soon as they’re in the middle of the plane I swing my door open and drop down into the aisle.

  The man in the back, closest to me, stops and turns around.

  “Mira!” he shouts.

  All the others spin around and point their rifles at my head.

  My right hand is in the air and my left is still on the ledge of the overhead compartment.

  They start walking towards me.

  Wait for it…

  3…

  2…

  1…

  I pull the cord attached to the rolled up bundle in the compartment.

  And…nothing.

  They give me a confused look. I shrug.

  SSSSSSSSSSSSSSBOOM!

  The emergency exit slide
belatedly inflates and shoots down the aisle, knocking the men down, then pinning them to the ground as it keeps filling with compressed air.

  That will hold them until they try slicing it with a knife. I’ve got maybe a thirty second head start.

  That’s thirty seconds to figure out how to disable their Humvee and make a run for it before the helicopters show up.

  I jump through the door and land on top of their vehicle then leap onto the hood before hitting the ground.

  The driver left his door open. I peer inside for some way to disable their ride.

  Trying to pop those tires is impossible. I could mess with the engine…

  I look under the dashboard for a release, then remember that you get access through two latches on the hood.

  There’s a lot of screaming from inside the plane. Sooner than later one of them is going to crawl out and try another exit and come shoot me.

  I’m about to raise the hood when something occurs to me…

  They left the keys in the ignition. In fact, this thing is still running.

  You would think with as much recent experience as I’ve had stealing things lately, I’d be really keen to notice little details like that.

  I blame the jet lag.

  I run around the Humvee and climb inside, slam the door, pop the shifter out of park and send up a cloud of dirt as I press the accelerator into the floor.

  POP! POP! POP!

  And they’re shooting at me.

  Wonderful, David.

  You’ve been in Mexico all of two minutes and you’ve already got the Mexican army after you.

  Wait, I crashed through the border fence…this is US territory.

  The Mexicans invaded to get you. Well, that’s some kind of achievement.

  POP! POP! Crack! They just put a bullet hole in the passenger mirror.

  I keep my head low and my foot on the gas as I bounce over the desert, north, hopefully towards a highway and something resembling civilization where I can hide before all hell breaks loose around here.