Tomb of Atlantis

by Petersen, Christopher David

  Jack twisted the bezel on his watch, lining up on the current time, allowing him to mark off elapsed time with a quick glance. As he flew, his GPS's receivers displayed his track over water and counted down the miles to his next destination. From time to time, he cross-checked the time on the receivers with his watch, crudely insuring that the GPS's were functioning properly.

  Nearly an hour ticked by and still there was no sign of land. Jack brought out his binoculars and scanned through the windshield in front of him. At first he thought it was a dirt speck on the windscreen, but as he shifted the nose of the plane from right to left, he realized that the dirt speck wasn't moving with the plane—it was land. He laid the binoculars down and squinted hard. Sure enough, the big island of the Bahamas appeared as a speck on the horizon. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. The worst was nearly behind him.

  An hour later, he crossed over the island from west to east and headed back out to sea on the eastern side of Bahamas Island, as he prepared to land. Two miles off the eastern coastline, he made a one hundred eighty degree turn and lined up on the single runway of South Andros Airport. With gusty winds, he struggled to keep his ground track aligned with the runway. His straight-in approach was not the customary landing procedure for that airport, but due to the heavy crosswinds, it was the safest. Jack welcomed the less complex approach as he worked the power and pitch of the tiny plane.

  With the help of a momentary break in the gusts, he cut the power over the runway and quickly settled into the pavement. He loaded up the brakes and hauled back on the control stick to assist in aerodynamic breaking, slowing the tiny plane quickly.

  Jack let out a sigh of relief. The landing had been somewhat stressful and now that he was down, he could relax for a moment. He noted that the winds along his route had been stronger than expected and decided to check the weather once more after he refueled.

  After paying for fuel, he made his way to the pilot’s lounge to check the weather. The computer in the lounge was old and slow, taking some time to pull up the data for his next leg of the trip.

  “Hmm, not good… those clouds are getting denser and the winds are picking up,” he said to himself.

  Jack looked at his watch: ten a.m.

  “Hmm, definitely not good. That’ll put me in Turks and Caicos around four…just in time for a thunderstorm,” he theorized. “Well, I guess I could always stay overnight in Crooked Island if things get bad. It might set me back a day, but it sure beats crashing.”

  Deciding not to waste any more time and risk potential delays, he headed out to his plane and readied for departure.

  Jack's next destination was Spring Point Airport on Crooked Island, about three hundred miles east of Bahamas Islands. Sitting patiently on the runway, he received his clearance to depart. Like so many times before, he once again advanced the throttle and taxied to the runway. Lining up on the long single strip of pavement, he moved the throttle to maximum power.

  He climbed to his assigned altitude and leveled off. Settling into his long flight, it became routine and uneventful and three hours seem to disappear before he realized.

  With thirty minutes left to the flight, he watched Crooked Island grow larger and more distinct in his windscreen. Checking his gas gauges, the read nearly empty. With nearly forty miles to go, it was going to be close.

  As the minutes ticked by, Jack began to wonder if he was going to need to make a water landing. His fuel gauges were now reading zero. He looked off his wingtip and was now following the coastline of Crooked Island. There seemed to be nice sandy beaches and inviting turquoise colored water, but none of that interested him at the moment. He kept his eyes focused on the far side of the island, hoping to catch an early glimpse of the airport.

  Like a weight lifted from his shoulders, he spotted his destination airport, Spring Point, a couple of miles out in front of him. With virtually no air traffic being broadcast over the airport’s radio frequency, he dispensed with the protocol of flying a standard rectangular landing pattern and decided to fly straight in as he descended. There simply was no time to waste.

  With airspeed and altitude bleeding off quickly, he scanned the area for other traffic as he fought the bouts of moderate turbulence that continued to rock the plane. Half a mile from the end of the runway, he wiped his hands on his shorts, but the act was futile. With his shorts drenched in sweat, he only picked up more moisture on his hands. In resignation, he re-gripped the stick and concentrated on the landing.

  Moments later, breathing a great sigh of relief, he crossed from grass to tarmac, touching down on the single runway that stretched out nearly four thousand feet in front of him. He made it.

  “Man, that was just too close,” he whispered under his breath.

  ----- ----- ----- -----

  Except for a lone person manning the fuel truck, the airport was eerily deserted. This far out from civilization, the only sound he heard was the sound of the wind whistling through his ears. He felt at peace with the silence and solitude and wanted to stay longer, but with one hundred five miles left to travel and late-day clouds threatening on the horizon, he knew any time wasted would be foolish. Minutes later, he paid for his fuel and was off again—his final destination: Providenciales International Airport on Turks Islands.

  Jack departed the airport and headed on his south-easterly course. Climbing out, he immediately began to see ominous dark cumulous clouds loitering menacingly around Crooked Island.

  “Hmm, if they’re here, they’re there,” he theorized about his weather conditions at his final destination.

  Prior to departing, he had checked the weather for his last leg. The National Weather Service was now reporting deteriorating conditions. Scattered and broken clouds that had appeared harmless before, had now formed into an overcast that was producing strong winds and moderate gusts, threatening to make the landing at his destination a difficult and nerve wracking experience.

  Jack leveled off at eight thousand feet. Flying over open ocean, now nearly thirty minutes from shore, the clouds disappeared and the turbulent air smoothed out considerably. With the horizon devoid of clouds and only an hour left of flying, he began to feel relaxed, letting his guard down a bit to take in the beauty of his surroundings.

  He looked off to his left. Far in the distance, he noticed two small islands marked on his flight sectional as Plana Cays. From what he could make of them, they were completely uninhabited. Surrounded by tranquil turquoise water, he made a mental note to stop there on his way back home and enjoy the quite beautiful beaches.

  Up ahead, Jack could see the next island along his route of flight: Mayaguana Island. From his vantage point twenty miles away, he noticed that half the island was covered in clouds. Although they looked delicate and unassuming, he knew their appearance signaled unfavorable wind conditions below them. Checking his watch, he noted the time: three forty p.m.

  “Forty minutes to go,” Jack said to himself. “Hope the clouds on Turks don’t get any worse than those.”

  Staring out through the windscreen, he scanned for the first signs of land. He squinted hard as the sun’s rays penetrated his sunglasses and noticed a discoloration that lay just above the horizon. Slightly bluer than the surrounding skyline, at first it was difficult to differentiate. Within minutes, the landmass seemed to turn a deeper blue and now became clearly visible.

  “Ah ha, Turks,” Jack announced to himself, excitedly, then added, “Huh, a lot more mountainous than I thought.”

  Something didn’t seem right.

  Mountains, he thought to himself.

  Jack reached into his flight bag and pulled out a folder. He then pulled out a picture of Turks and Caicos Islands. The photo was obviously taken from out at sea and clearly showed the profile of the island.

  “Those islands are flat,” Jack said to himself, still a bit puzzled.

  He looked again at the land on the horizon. There was no mistaking the mountainous shapes that rose up from the land.

 
; “That can’t be Turks. Am I lost?” he said, now worried. “What island is that?”

  He opened his flight sectional fully and scanned the area as he tried to match up the landmasses outside the plane to the map in his hand.

  “That’s gotta be Turks,” he said to himself, with ever increasing confusion.

  Moments later, as he flew nearer to the large landmass, Jack heart dropped to his stomach.

  “Holy shit! Those aren’t mountains. Those are storm clouds!” he blurted out in horror.

  The closer he flew, the more distinct the shape of the clouds became. At first, their bluish hue made them appear as mountains far in the distance. With each passing mile, their blue color became darker and more defined. Jack could now see the land that stretched across the horizon, but more importantly, he could see the thunderstorms that towered above it. A sick feeling came over him. This was far worse than he envisioned.

  Suddenly, he felt a jarring blow of turbulence. Quickly he reacted and leveled the wings.

  “Whoa, I didn’t see that coming,” he blurted loudly.

  He checked the mileage on his GPS’s. The readout displayed twenty-seven miles to his destination.

  “Wow, it’s spitting out turbulence thirty miles away,” he said to himself, anxiously.

  Within seconds, he began to feel a slight buffeting on the plane. With each passing minute, the buffeting increased and became more intense.

  He looked down at the ocean below. The seas had turned a deeper blue and he could now see tiny whitecaps on the tops of waves.

  “Whitecaps. That’s not a good sign,” Jack said dryly. “That can’t be good for an emergency landing.”

  Nervously, he watched as a layer of broken clouds passed above him. He was entering the outer bands of a thunderstorm.

  Again, more turbulence rocked the tiny plane and he reacted quickly, instinctively adding opposite control inputs to level the wings. Within a short time, the occasional gusts of wind that jarred the plane became a continuous barrage that required his complete attention. Working the controls quickly and deliberately, he was able to stay ahead of the worsening conditions.

  Only ten miles from shore, the broken clouds transformed into a dark and scary overcast. Jack sweated profusely as he continued to fight the turbulence. As his hands slipped off the controls, he wiped the sweat on his shorts, then quickly grabbed the controls once more.

  Suddenly, he felt his body being compressed into his seat. Hit by a large column of rising air, he watched the altimeter begin to climb rapidly. Instantly, he reacted, lowering the nose of the plane, and adding power, trying to fly back down to his original altitude.

  Without notice, his lap belt tightened and now he felt the plane free falling out of the sky. Hit with a column of descending air, he fought to keep the wings level. Immediately, he pulled the power and raised the nose of the plane to slow his descent. The force of the downdraft was violent. Jack watched in horror as the altimeter unwound as he lost thousands of feet.

  With his heart in his throat, he cried, “Oh my God, I’m gonna hit the water!”

  Struggling to hang onto the controls, he pushed the power setting to full and pulled back on the stick aggressively to raise the nose of the unresponsive plane. He watched the seas quickly rising up toward him as he fell out of the sky.

  Suddenly, another violent blast of wind jolted the side of his plane and rocked the wings nearly vertical. Falling sideways down toward the water, Jack threw full opposite controls into the plane. In the fight between nature and man, nature was winning the battle.

  With only four hundred feet of altitude left before impacting the ocean, Jack threw in his wing flaps and cut his power to idle. Still holding his opposite control inputs, his heart pounded wildly as he waited for a miracle.

  “Come on!” he yelled at his plane over the deafening sound of rushing air. “Do something.”

  Ever so slowly, the wings started to level out. As water rushed up at him, the nose of the plane began to rise. With the wings now leveling, Jack continued to hold the stick back in full climb configuration. He watched the altimeter begin to slow its downward momentum. Looking down through his windscreen, he could clearly see the whitecaps breaking off the tops of waves. Fear and panic ripped through his body as he fought the forces of nature.

  “This can’t be happening,” he cried out in disbelief.

  Still falling, Jack was less than two hundred feet above the water. Quickly, he opened his door and prepared for impact. A gust of wind rocked the plane and forced the door to its full open position. Suddenly, the plane slowed and veered to the left toward the open door. It was now an anchor in the sky. He reacted quickly and brought the nose of the plane back around to the right.

  Less than fifty feet above the water, the descent slowed dramatically. Jack held on in desperation. He had never crashed before and the fear he felt was paralyzing. All he could do was hang on and wait for impact.

  Forty feet…

  Thirty feet…

  Twenty feet…

  The water rushed up to meet the plane.

  Jack heard a loud siren that signaled the wings were about to stall. His eyes darted to the airspeed, then over to the power. Quickly, instinctively, he thrust in the power control, silencing the sickening siren and all but reversing his descent… but it was too late.

  Although his descent had nearly stopped, he still wasn’t climbing. The floats contacted the waves. Fearing the sudden water strike would cause the plane to somersault end over nose, he instantly pulled the power. The plane hit another wave and launched it skyward. Suddenly, the stall warning blared due to lack of speed and he thrust his hand forward against the power. The plane instantly lurched forward, as it picked up speed and settled back into the waves.

  Jack held the stick back to keep the nose from digging into the waves as the plane plowed through the water.

  Like a great anchor, the drag from the plane’s weight in the water dramatically reduced its speed. As the plane continued to crash through the rough seas, he needed to make a decision: land and ride out the storm on top of the water or take off and try to survive in the air.

  Jack immediately cut the power. The floats grabbed the water and slowed the plane to a near stop. Suddenly, a large wave broadsided the fuselage, nearly capsizing the small plane. Before Jack could think, another violent wave slammed into the side once more.

  “The hell with this!” he yelled.

  He slammed the power full forward and immediately the plane sped up along the wave tops. He held back on the stick as the nose of the plane fought to break free of the ocean’s grasp.

  Like a violent beast, the ocean punished the plane with large waves and spray that threatened to swallow it whole. Determined and focused, Jack held his control inputs and waited for results.

  Seconds later, the violent shaking ceased and the little plane began to climb. Jack lowered the nose slightly to gain some much needed speed while maintaining his height above the raging waters.

  With his minimum climb speed reached, he pulled back on the stick and began to gain altitude. Higher and higher, he climbed and with each passing foot of altitude, turbulence increased.

  Without warning, a flash of lightning streaked across the sky. Instantly, a deafening crack of thunder followed. Within seconds, Jack was sideswiped by a savage gust of wind that rocked the wings to vertical. Before he realized, he had already taken corrective action. The wings leveled and the plane continued to climb into the thunderstorm.

  Moments later, Jack heard a loud pop… then another. Suddenly, the sky above him opened up with torrential rains nearly obscuring his vision.

  “What the hell! How much more do I have to take?” Jack cried out in frustration and fear.

  Holding his wings level and continuing to climb, he began to feel water pouring in on his arm and shoulder.

  “Shit! The friggin’ door’s still open,” he called out loudly.

  He grabbed the handle and pulled it shut,
closing off the water. Returning his attention to his instruments, he continued to monitor his altitude: thirteen hundred feet.

  Jack tightened his lap belt as the winds and rain shook the plane. Mentally and physically exhausted, he was now breathing heavily. Again, a large bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. His hands shook with fear and he struggled to maintain his grasp on the controls.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted some movement. Quickly, he darted his head to the left and looked out the window: Land. With the reduced visibility, he had missed the approaching landmass. Checking his GPS’s, he turned to a new heading as he fought the winds and turbulence.

  Jack depressed the button for the microphone.

  “Providenciales tower, Zenair 8362 Lima is five miles west, inbound for landing,” he announced to the control tower at Providenciales International airport.

  “Zenair 8362 Lima, land one zero, straight in approach approved,” the tower controller announced immediately, then added, “Please be advised… thunderstorm in the vicinity with a large cell in your region.”

  “Found it,” Jack replied simply, as he struggle to maintain control.

  “Do you want to declare an emergency?” the tower controller asked.

  Fighting to keep the wings level and struggling to see through the torrent of rain, Jack ignored the last response.

  “Zenair 8362 Lima, do you need to declare an emergency?” the tower controller repeated once more.

  “I have an extra pair of underwear in my baggage. I think I’ll be OK,” Jack shot back in serious tone.

  “Understood,” the controller replied simply.

  Jack looked out his windscreen in front of him and watched for the lighted runway. With visibility greatly reduced, he figured he could see no more than a quarter mile.

  Suddenly, he heard: “Zenair 8362 Lima, steer heading one five for vectors to the airport.”

  “Vectors? Thank God for that,” he said to himself. “They must know I’m in trouble.”

  Without having to concentrate on navigation, it freed him up to focus on just flying the plane. Jack steered the heading the tower controller specified. As the winds and rain continued their violent assault, he battled back and kept his wings and altitude stable.