The aircraft commander of SAM Flight 719, Air Force Major Tom Spears, looked outside and frowned. They had been in thick weather since beginning their descent. It was a murky night, and the forecast at the airfield gave little hope for improvement.
Captain Evan Goldman, his right-seater, said, “Remember, if we don’t make it in, our alternate is Mykonos.”
Spears grinned. The idea of diverting to an island playground on the Aegean Sea was a pleasant mental image. But nothing more. The cloud bases at Bodrum were three hundred feet, the visibility half a mile. Tackling weather like that at their home drome, Andrews Air Force Base, would be a cakewalk. Here, on a dark night at an unfamiliar foreign airport, it would be…a challenge. But Spears never really doubted they would get in.
“There’s an updated weather observation,” Goldman announced. “Still showing the ceiling at three hundred feet with half a mile visibility…right at approach minimums.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” replied Spears. “Landing checklist.”
The challenge-response began.
“Flaps,” Goldman read from the checklist card.
“Thirty set.”
“Speedbrakes.”
“Armed.”
“Autobrakes.”
“Three set.”
“Landing gear.”
“Down, three green lights.”
“Landing checklist complete,” Goldman announced.
The tower controller’s voice crackled over the radio in thickly accented English. “SAM 719, you are cleared to land Runway 28 Left. Wind three-five-zero at six knots.”
Goldman read back the landing clearance.
Spears was the pilot flying, but for now the autopilot was doing all the work. The big jet nosed over and captured the programmed descent path that would guide them to the runway. In spite of the poor visibility, the air was smooth, and the hum of the big Pratt & Whitney engines remained steady.
Goldman made a standard callout one thousand feet above touchdown. An instant later, he said, “Boss, I’ve got an amber NAV flag.”
Spears was so engrossed in monitoring the instruments, it took a moment for his copilot’s words to register. “A NAV flag? But I show us tracking fine on the—”
His words cut off when the cloud cover broke. It was as if blinders had been suddenly pulled away. Through the forward windscreen the jet’s brilliant LED landing lights illuminated the ground. Only, to both men’s horror, they didn’t see a runway.
Directly in front of them was the side of a mountain.
The pilots of the 89th were among the best in the Air Force, yet no amount of training or discipline could save the situation. Spears’s brain sent an instinctive command to his hands to wrench back on the controls.
It never arrived.
For a plain-text version of this image, go to this page.
2
The Ryan Home
Chesapeake Bay, Maryland
1705 Local Time
The low sun was muted by distant clouds, and wind swept in off the bay with its customary autumn chill. From the broad front porch of his home, Jack Ryan embraced it all with a profound sense of calm.
