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« on: May 27, 2013, 08:31:04 PM »
New chapter! Yay! Yes, it did take me more than two years.
Actually, the chapter isn't even finished, but I feel like that you guys deserve to read what I've written so far. F-22 "Raptor" Ace has kindly allowed be to use Frank Anderson in the story. (Thanks, and tell me if there are any inconsistencies between my description and your characterization).
Enjoy! This chapter features actual dialogue between Flight 19 and NAS Fort Lauderdale as well as quotations from a famous American novel. Be the first to name the book and win an e-cookie!
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Chapter 3: The Firsts
“The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” ~Marcel Proust
Fort Lauderdale, Florida, December 5, 1945 A.D.
Naval Air Station Fort Lauderdale
“Cleve, you’d better come up to the control tower!” a loud voice shouted, “Flight 19 is in trouble.”
Cleve turned away from the coffee machine and slowly walked up the stairs leading to the control tower, careful not to spill his coffee on his new tie. After the war ended, Cleve found a job as a radioman at Fort Lauderdale. It was his job to guide TBF Avengers flying training missions into and out of the airbase. It was a boring task involving hours of sitting in front of a radar and microphone, and it did not provide the adrenaline rush of dodging shells from Japanese destroyers. But at least he only had to worry about getting fired, not fired upon.
“What is it this time, Alford?” Cleve asked plainly, leaning over the controls to get a better look at the radar, “Engine trouble or radio failure?” By coincidence, his long-time companion on the PT-148, Alford, also took a job as radioman at the airbase. This did not come as a complete surprise to Cleve. The two had both moved to southern Florida, and both had plenty of experience with radio equipment. The two became good friends and co-workers.
“No, they’re lost,” Alford responded with calmly, “I don’t understand how they’re lost in such fine weather.”
Cleve looked outside the window of the control tower and raised an eyebrow. The weather looked perfectly normal. Hurricanes weren’t common in December. There were a few cumulus clouds, but the majority of the sky was clear. The weather report said that the weather was favorable. Everything was normal except that one of the planes carried only two men instead of its usual three. He hadn’t been replaced, but the Avenger was fully capable of flying with two men. Each of the planes carried enough fuel to fly for 1000 miles. The planes had started taking off at 2:00 p.m. and were flying in perfect formation across the Atlantic just a few minutes later.
“Pilots these days,” Cleve mumbled, “They can’t even find their way back to base on a fine day like this.” Cleve put on the pair of headsets in front of him. Immediately, a loud voice filled his ears.
“Fort Lauderdale, this is an emergency. We seem to be off course. We seem to be lost. We can't make out where we are.” Cleve flinched at the loud voice and quickly lowered the volume. The voice was of none other than Charles Taylor. Cleve saw him at base before. He was a flying instructor who had just arrived two weeks earlier. They drank together once, on the trivial account that both of them were lieutenants and Avenger pilots. I heard that he was a good pilot, Cleve thought, I heard that he has 2500 hours. How did he get lost on such a fine day like this?
“Head due west,” Cleve replied emphatically. It seemed rather obvious. Flight 19, a training flight off of the east coast of Florida, could simply reach land by flying west. Still, it was the best information that Cleve could offer.
“Both my compasses out,” Taylor said, “and I’m trying to find Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I’m over land, but it’s broken. I’m sure I’m over the Keys, but I don’t know how far down, and I don’t know how to get back to Fort Lauderdale.”
Cleve started to worry. It was almost unheard of for both compasses to go out. The magnetic compass went out whenever there is a storm. The gyrocompass was more reliable, but it still malfunctioned every now and then. But both compasses to go out simultaneously? That was unusual.
“Put the sun on your port wing if you’re in the Keys and fly up the coast until you get to Miami. Fort Lauderdale is 20 miles further, your first port after Miami,” Cleve responded with confusion. Cleve turned to Alford with a look of concern. “What are they doing in the Florida Keys?” Cleve turned to Alford and said, “I thought they were supposed to be near the Bahamas.”
“They are,” Alford replied, pointing to a map of Florida and the surrounding ocean, “They were suppose to fly 56 miles east to Hens and Chicken Shoals in the Bahamas and conduct bombing practice.” Alford used his finger to draw an invisible line on the training map.
“Just barely north of the place where we conducted the experiment,” Cleve whispered. No one else was in the control tower, but speaking in a lower voice didn’t hurt.
“Yes,” Alford responded, not wishing to get off topic, “After that, they were supposed to fly north for 73 miles and fly back.”
“How’d they end up in the Florida Keys then?” Cleve asked, “The Florida Keys is nowhere near their planned course.”
“I was wondering the same thing. The wind isn’t blowing in that direction either. It's blowing east at 30 knots. Taylor must have messed up somewhere.”
Cleve rolled his eyes. Then, suddenly, Taylor’s voice came blasting out of the headset.
“We can't find the sun. Everything is wrong,” Taylor replied, “We can't be sure of any direction. Everything looks strange, even the ocean.” Cleve could detect the fear and uncertainty in Taylor’s voice, but he could not comprehend it. The weather outside was perfectly fine. There was nothing strange. It was a typical sunny Florida Day.
“Turn on your IFF,” Cleve demanded, “and switch to the emergency radio frequency on 3000 kilocycles.” Cleve knew the standard procedures for pilots caught in such a position; he himself became a certified pilot. After the whole deal with Project Rainbow, Cleve chose to become a naval aviator and flew TBF Avengers onboard the USS Monterey during the closing months of the war. Taylor was ignoring all of the standard procedures that were drummed into students during classroom lectures throughout the course. In case of disorientation, a pilot was supposed to turn on the IFF, climb for altitude, and try to pick up the homing transmitter from the air station. IFF stood for "Identification Friend or Foe". If the IFF was on, Cleve would be able to identify Flight 19's location. He would also tune to 3,000 kilocycles emergency frequency for clearer transmissions. If he was over water he was supposed to fly toward the west; if he was over land, he was to fly east. It seemed simple enough.
After a brief moment of silence, Cleve heard Taylor’s muffled reply, “I cannot switch frequencies. I have to keep my planes intact.”
This was an illogical excuse. Each of the TBMs could have switched to the emergency frequency, which was free of static and other interference. Communications on 3,000 kilocycles were clear and static-free, while signals on 4,805 kilocycles, Taylor's current frequency, were weak and garbled.
By six in the afternoon, Taylor and his five Avengers were completely disorientated and confused, flying and changing course arbitrarily. The communications equipment onboard the Avengers began to fail, unable to receive any of Cleve’s messages. However, the control tower could still receive transmissions between the five planes. Their crews seemed on the verge of panic. They talked about malfunctioning compasses, hundred-mile-an-hour winds, and procedures for ditching the aircraft. They seemed to be under some mysterious cloak of confusion; no one knew what to do.
Meanwhile, in the Fort Lauderdale control tower, the mood was one of icy foreboding. More workers and officers have arrived on the scene, but even the most experienced officers did not know what to do. Some were trying to trace Flight 19’s path on a nearby map. Others were calling for help from nearby ships and airbases. Someone, using data from other control towers, managed to triangulate the position of Flight 19 and calculated it to be 20 minutes east of New Smyrna Beach, Florida. By then communications were so poor that this information could not be passed to the lost planes.
The last transmission from Flight 19 was received at around seven. The voice was desperate but still barely distinguishable. “We are completely lost,” said Taylor. “It looks like we are entering white…”
Eventually, the voices of Taylor and his crew became undistinguishable amongst buzzing static and the sound of faint brassy jazz from Cuban radio stations. By 7:04 p.m., all contact had been lost. An eerie static covered the radio frequency.
Cleve looked at the pale, nervous faces in the room. For a moment, the tower was as silent as a church. Commander Kingston, Cleve’s boss, eventually broke the silence. "Alford, Cleve," Kingston ordered, "get on the other telephone and call the nearest airfields. Contact all the rescue teams. Let’s find those men."
Grabbing the telephone with one hand and dialing the number with the other. Cleve rapidly dialed the number of Air Sea Rescue Task Unit 4 at Port Everglades.
"Air Sea Rescue Task Unit 4?" Cleve asked, "This is Naval Air Station Fort Lauderdale. We have a flight of five TBF Avengers missing. They're on 4805 kilocycles. They're Flight 19; Fox . How much fuel do they have left? Let's see..." Cleve took a look at his watch. It was almost 5 p.m. "They have enough fuel to last until 8 p.m.. We only have three hours left."
Satellite Beach, Florida, December 5, 1945 A.D.
Naval Air Station Banana River
Meanwhile, more than 150 miles north of Naval Air Station Fort Lauderdale, Fred Ruffy and his colleges were enjoying their coffee break. At the time, the base was just a small, tranquil base used largely for search-and-rescue missions, and discipline was slack. Perhaps ironically, this small base would eventually become one of the most important military bases in the free world‚Ä”Patrick Air Force Base. It was here where the United States tested its first satellite launch rocket, and it was here where the astronauts of Apollo 11 blasted off and landed on the moon. The base, even today, is still the forefront of space exploration.
However, space flight, in 1945, was still a distant dream; most Americans were still busy celebrating the end of World War II. Loud music was playing in the control tower. There was a slight drizzle outside, but the sound of the raindrops was crushed by the sound of the music. Life after the war has been a blast for Ruffy. He has been reunited with his family and is living a peaceful life in Central Florida. He still had to go to work, of course, but it was sure better than getting strafed by A6M Zeros.
The ringing of the phone in the tower suddenly pierced the sound of the jazz music. Ruffy quickly stopped the record player and reached to answer the phone.
“This is Naval Air Station Banana River. Is there…”
“This is Naval Air Station Fort Lauderdale,” a familiar voice disrupted, “We have five TBF Avengers missing over the Atlantic. Scramble a search plane. We’ve triangulated their position to be within a one hundred mile radius of 29 degrees, 15 minutes north, 79 degrees, 1 minute west. Scramble something immediately.”
“Is this a drill?” Ruffy asked, jotting down the coordinates on a piece of paper, “And did you cause this, Cleve?” He said that last part with a smirk.
“Ruffy?” Cleve asked with surprise. “It’s you? I’m sorry that we have to meet over a crisis like this one. And no, this is not a drill.”
“Alright then,” Ruffy replied. He looked around his desk and grabbed a nearby chart. “We have one Catalina and two Mariners on training missions in the area. I’ll divert them immediately and send up a few more birds. We’ll call back if the pilots report anything.”
“We need to act fast. They only have fuel for three more hours. Avengers don’t ditch well in water.” Cleve recalled his experience with the Avenger. The top canopy of the plane had a big metal bar running along it. It was a terrible design flaw. It hampered visibility and made it very difficult to bail out. When exiting or ditching the aircraft, it was very easy for loose clothing or parachute wires to get caught on the bar. In training operations, it was merely an annoyance, but in emergencies, it could mean the difference between life and death.
“I’ll relay the information to the pilots,” Ruffy replied, “Please tell us if you get any new information.”
“Thank you so much, Ruffy,” Cleve replied, with a hint of relief in his voice, “You’ve never let me down.”
“And I won’t start now. Good luck!” Ruffy hung up the phone.
Ruffy was confident about keeping his promise. The base had seen stuff like this before; novice pilots getting lost in fog was nothing uncommon. The Navy had foreseen such situations and equipped the airbase with many veteran squadrons of PBY Catalinas and PBM Mariners. Both types of aircraft were flying boats that have proved their worth during the war, and all the aircraft were manned by experienced crews. Cleve’s pilots were in good hands.
Five minutes later, at 7:27 p.m., PBM-5 BuNo 59225, a Martin PBM Mariner flying boat, took off into the dusk sky. Its last radio transmission was received at 7:30 p.m.. All radar contact with the plane was lost shortly after. It was never heard from ever again…
Vernal, Utah, April 3, 65,900,501,944 B.C.
The Great Valley
It was almost midnight in the Great Valley. Arcs of lightning flashed across the dark might sky as rain started to pour down. The residents of the Great Valley were all at their nesting place. Some ran to the caves for cover in the caves, but others, including all the longnecks, chose to stand their ground. The big trees above them offered great protection from the pouring rain. The days of rising waters has hit its climax. Littlefoot was the first one to be woken by the sound of the lightning. He was followed by his grandpa and grandma.
“That skywater is coming down hard. When will it to stop?” asked Littlefoot, who turned to his grandparents for an answer.
“I don’t know, Littlefoot,” Grandpa Longneck replied in his usual voice. “It has been a long time since we had skywater like this.”
“And I hope your friends are okay,” Grandma Longneck added. “You know what happened the last few times.”
Littlefoot gulped as he remembered the last few times the Great Valley encountered heavy skywater. One time, it caused severe flooding in the Valley and led to his encounter with his mud brother Mo. It was an exciting adventure, but many other floods didn’t turn out so well. Not long ago, the cave that Ruby and Chomper inhabited flooded, and they had to find a new cave. Even more recently, when skywater led to running mud that destroyed Petrie’s nest, Petrie almost had to move away. For Littlefoot, heavy skywater was a bad omen, and it was only made worse by the continuous flashes of sky fire.
“I hope so too,” replied Littlefoot, before going back to sleep. He really hoped that the skywater won’t bring bad luck with it this time, but new, friendly visitors, like Mo, were always welcome.
Fort Lauderdale, Florida, December 5, 1945 A.D.
Naval Air Station Fort Lauderdale
"Six airplanes lost! Twenty-seven men missing! How does this happen? We’re all going to get court marshaled for this…”
Cleve was walking in circles and going on a paranoid rant about the missing airplanes. It was already dark, and a new group of officers had taken over the control tower. Cleve and Alford, though officially off-duty, chose to stay near the runway and wait for news about the missing airmen. There were 14 men onboard the five TBF Avengers and 13 on the PBM Mariner. Within just a few hours, they all disappeared without a trace. Dozens of ships and search and rescue planes were already probing the region, but there were no signs of any aircraft‚Ä”no floating survivors, no oil slicks, no wreckage, nothing. It seems as if the planes simply vanished into thin air.
“We’ve already contacted the Air Force and the Coast Guard,” Alford said grimly, without even lifting his head, “But it’s already night. I know that the planes are equipped with signal flares, but it’s still gonna be tough.”
Cleve nodded his head in agreement. “Taylor has ditched his plane before, but ditching in the water is never safe. If they got lucky, they might have managed to crash-land on some deserted island, but we’ve already searched most of the islands.”
“Our prayers are with them.” Alford replied. Alford’s calm demeanor was often a perpetual mystery to Cleve. The two men were exact opposites when it came to neuroticism. As Cleve found out during the war, Alford was often times the better leader during times of crisis, with an unparalleled ability to keep composed under fire. It was a mystery to Cleve why Alford failed to outrank him.
Suddenly, the two men were blinded by a bright light coming from the end of the airfield. Both men turned around and squinted, but neither could make out the outline of the distant object in the darkness. As the light got closer, Cleve recognized the distinctive headlights and grille of a Willys MB jeep. The jeep still had the white army star painted on its hood. It screeched to a halt next to the two men, and a familiar officer stepped out.
“Cleve! Alford! How are you doin’?” Ruffy said with great enthusiasm. “I haven’t see you since you in ages.” Ruffy gave Cleve a bright smile and a bone-crushing handshake.
“You’re a lieutenant now?” Ruffy patted Cleve on the shoulder, “Good for you. I knew the Navy lost a number of good men in the war, but I didn’t know that they were this desperate.” The joke lightened up the mood and solicited a chuckle from both Alford and Cleve.”
“You’re not doing badly yourself,” Cleve responded, noting the Lieutenant Commander insignia on Ruffy’s uniform, “Alford and I were just discussing the missing planes. Isn’t that missing PBM Mariner from your airbase?”
Ruffy nodded and then shook his head “Yeah. Thirteen of my good friends. All missing. It’s just terrible. We’ve called every major airbase in the region. Even the British are sending planes from Bermuda.”
“We’ve sent up some of our birds too, but they’ve had no luck so far. The weather is getting better, and we’re hoping that we can find them before midnight. The ocean temperature is in the upper 70s, so hypothermia isn’t a big concern. The current, though, is. The Gulf Stream current is very strong. The survivors will have drifted miles apart by dawn.”
“But not all of your planes are up, are they?” Ruffy asked in a funny voice. Cleve was puzzled by the question, unsure of Ruffy’s intent, but he decided to answer truthfully.
“Not all of them. No. If you want us to send up a few more, I’ll gladly ask the Commander Kingston. I’m sure that there are still some pilots on-duty…”
“No need.” Ruffy dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand, “What do you say if you fly us up there and start our own search?”
There was a moment of silence. At first, Cleve was a little surprised by the sudden request, but he understood his duty to his friends and comrades.
Alford was the first one to break the silence. “I’m in,” he said, in his usual terse manner. He nodded and straightened out his jacket.”
“That’s the spirit,” Ruffy complimented, “But we can’t do this without you, Naval Aviator Robert H. Cleve. Are you in?”
Cleve smiled and nodded. “Come on, let’s see the base commander. We have 27 men to find.”
Jensen, Utah, April 3, 65,900,501,944 B.C.
The Great Valley
Here, in the eastern regions of the Valley, the thunderstorm was gaining even more strength. Continuous streaks of lightning struck the head of Saurus Rock, enveloping the entire monolith in a bright glow. The relentless rainfall has caused Green River to rise more than 5 feet, but fortunately, the levees were doing their job and holding the water in place.
Still, two pairs of eyes watched the deteriorating situation with grave concern. From their cave, high up in the mountains, the two dinosaurs were busy observing the rainfall and rising waters.
“That’s not what I’m afraid of, Chomper” the pink fast-runner said, “What I’m afraid of is that the rain will cause a mudslide and block the entrance to the cave.”
“You’ve got a point, Ruby,” the purple sharptooth replied, “And the rain might also wash away the path we use to get up here.”
Ruby nodded, “Getting stuck in a cave is not entirely pleasant,” Ruby recalled the incident on her Star Day, “And we can’t just fly or glide down like Petrie and Guido.”
“What do you suggest then, Ruby?” Chomper inquired. Even though Ruby was one of Chomper’s newer friends, she was also Chomper’s closest friend. She was a caretaker, an older sister, someone to look up to for advice and wisdom. He had great faith in her judgment.
“We have to get down into the valley before the rain destroys the path. Otherwise, the rain will destroy the path and leave us stranded.”
“Maybe we can have a sleepover at Littlefoot’s tonight. I’m sure that he’ll be more than happy to see us.”
“Brilliant idea, Chomper,” Ruby patted Chomper on the snout, “But we’ve got to leave right now. The rain is getting worse.”
Chomper nodded. Without saying another word, Chomper followed Ruby out the opening of the cave and down the muddy path leading down into the valley.
West Palm Beach, Florida, December 5, 1945 A.D.
Morrison Army Airfield
Under the darkness of night, a silver P-51D Mustang taxied onto the airstrip at Morrison Army Airfield. Sitting at the controls was Captain Frank Anderson, a dashing young pilot and a proud member of the 361st Fighter Group. While in service over Europe with the Eight Air Force, he shot down 17 enemy airplanes and acquired more than 20,000 hours under his belt. He once, under the orders of the Office of Strategic Services, stole a German Messerschmitt Me-262 fighter jet and flew it all the way back to England. His accomplishments made him a hero among his colleagues, but he harbored one big secret… He was German.
No, he wasn’t a Nazi sympathizer, and he hated Hitler as much as any American. But there was no escaping his past. He was originally born in Dresden, Germany, as Hans Richthofen, but he changed his name to Frank Anderson after moving to America. It turned out to be a great decision, as the war generated hostility towards all persons of German lineage, regardless of their political ideology.
“Good evening, men. This is Colonel Cathcart, your flight operations officer, welcoming you to today’s mission,” a happy voice called over the radio, “You’ve all been briefed on the evening’s run. There’s no sense naming names, since the enemy is probably listening to this transmission.”
There is no enemy, Anderson thought, mentally condemning the corpulent and deluded colonel. Colonel Cathcart deemed Anderson a subversive because he wore scarfs and used words like panacea and utopia, and because he disapproved of Adolf Hitler, who had done such a great job of combating un-American activities in Germany.
“The weather has improved tremendously over the Gulf. You will have no trouble at all seeing your target. But you mustn’t forget, that means that they will have no trouble at all seeing you.”
Anderson grunted. As if our own men are gonna shoot me down with a flare gun, he thought.
“I want to wish you good luck on today’s mission. To those of you who won’t be coming back, I’d like to say that we will do our best to take care of your wives or sweethearts. And don’t forget: General Dreedle wants to a nice, tight search pattern on those aerial photographs. Everyone reach to go?”
The standard procedure for signaling “yes” was a thumbs-up gesture at the control tower. But instead, Anderson gave the Colonel the middle finger. It was too dark to tell the difference anyway.
Anderson set the flaps and pushed forward the throttle lever. The Packard V-1650 Merlin engine roared into life. Soon, the P-51 was off the ground and climbing into the starry skies above.
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Warning: spoilers
I've completely abandoned the previous antagonists (North Koreans). It just seems too impractical and unrealistic. Besides, I feel that it's too political sensitive. I haven't completely made up my mind about the antagonists. One idea I have is to give Frank Anderson a Nazi brother (if it's okay with you, F-22) who commands a German Type XIV U-boat for ODESSA and gets sucked into the dinosaur world. Another idea I'm considering is to simply not include any human antagonists and just have the characters battle against the elements and other dinosaurs.
However, either way, I'm gonna need to develop a feasible plot. I really don't know how to end this story. I was too caught-up in the detail and kinda ignored the big picture. Initially, I wanted to write a "colonization" story, kinda like Pocahontas or Avatar, but that just seems too long and complicated. So, I'm really open to suggestions right now. Please, if you have any idea, even if it sounds impractical, tell me. I need all the inspiration I can get.
It has been four years since I started this story. Four years! Almost a quarter of my life! Since then, I've started writing numerous other stories, but by far, I've spent the most time and effort on this one. However, I'm not completely pleased with the results. This story is one of my least successful, in terms of viewership and reviews. The newest chapter has only about 200 views, and this story, in total, has only a meager 3 reviews. Some of my others stories--stories that I slapped together in an hours or two--have done way better. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not going to keep writing this story if so few people are going to read it.
TL;DR. I'm really in hot water. What do I need to make this story more worthwhile, and what plot suggestions do you have in mind?