AK 239: The Enemy Is Already Here

Ketchikan Police Plane

Kendrick Bay

Diary of Robert Stone

^{Christmas Day}

We’re looking for a place in Kendrick Bay to set this “miracle of aviation” down. At this time, I was completely unaware of what we’re flying into.

Considering this is night and there are no proper instruments aboard this piece of junk, this is beyond stupid. We were also unaware that a nuclear device just went off just a few miles behind us.

“Let’s take a look at those boats at the dock,” I said.

The pilot, Jimmy Thomas, “All right, we’re goin’ in!”

As the plane dives, I look at Jimmy who looks to be the “Red Baron” on a low level strafing mission from World War I,

I’d laugh if I weren’t probably gonna die! I think to myself.

At the last minute, just before we fly over, I now clearly see the two trawlers. The Iranian sub must’ve been sitting silently in front of them but, in the dark, its black hull was impossible to see.

Automatic gunfire erupts from the bridge of King of the Crabs and hits our prop and windshield.

Jimmy accelerates to pull up and fly ‘Kitty Hawk’ over the gunfire saying,

“Aw hell!”

As the plane flies over the trawler, I open my door and with my trusty old Colt .45 revolver I empty my six-shooter in their direction.

Shit, piss, cock suck… mother fuck! Call the Eskimo!”

“I’m the Eskimo.”

The other Eskimo, your big dummy brother!”

“Oh.”

I get on the two-way radio to Yura saying, “I’ve got unidentifieds firing full autos at us,”

“Dad! Calm down!”

I now quiet down and think before saying, “Everybody okay?”

Jimmy and Tony, both in shock, nod in the affirmative, a little.

I’m on the two-way again with the wife,

“Get everyone with everything we got over here right now! Did you get SERT on the phone?”

Yura says, “They’re all in Anchorage. It would take them six hours to get here. They said Seattle SWAT is closer. They asked if I wanted them to call the FBI!”

“Damn! Damn!”

“Double damn, damn!”

“How ’bout the FBI? Where the hell are they?”

I’m hitting my phone on the dashboard while suddenly realizing,

“Is this dash from our ’57 Chevy?”

Yura says, “What?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Is the Eskimo and our other lame-brained deputy on the way?”

Yura, disgustedly says, “Yes!”

Red lights go off on the instrument panel.

Jimmy says,

“The fuel tank was hit. Losing fuel. I have to put her down.”

I then sarcastically say to Yura, “I’ve gotta go now Yura, we’re about to die.”

I drop the mic, looking for a place to land. I then point to an area out of firing range.

“How ’bout somewhere in there?” I ask.

“If she’ll make it,” says Jimmy.

The plane jerks and shakes as it tries to finish its 180-degree turn. We are dangerously close to the tree line.

“I can’t get altitude. It’s gonna be close.”

Kitty Hawk 2.0 buckles and chugs and then the engine dies. We glide for a bit heading right for nothing but black.

Jimmy says, “I can’t see the tree line.”

Just then we hit the top of several trees.

Fortunately, we slid right past them.

Unfortunately, our plane now has a very bad angle on the water.

“Brace for impact. This will not be pretty!” Says Jimmy.

I’m too afraid to cuss, swear or even move.

I grab anything I can find as a wing hits the water first and flips the plane clean onto its back.

We slide across the black water as if the wings are the pontoons.

The hunk of junk stops fairly quickly as we sink silently into the bay.

I try to push my door open but the weight of the water makes it impossible.

As the freezing water fills the cabin and we’re about to die, all I can think about is:

I really, really want to move to someplace warmer!