locker doors.
Tyler didn’t have time to ask what she was doing. With the APU at full power, he started the number one engine. The engines had to be started in sequence from port to starboard, approximately ninety seconds for each one as the rotors reached the minimum RPM needed.
Jess returned carrying two parachutes. “Found them,” she said, dumping them onto the floor. “Even if you jump out safely, you’ll be miles from shore. You can’t swim that far.”
“There are life rafts embedded in the fuselage. I’ll deploy them before I jump.”
“Where are they?”
Tyler felt the color drain from his face when he realized that wasn’t going to work. He’d been part of the team investigating the crash of a C-17 in Alaska a couple of years before, so he was familiar with the aircraft. The plane’s Floating Equipment Deployment System, or FEDS, consists of three rafts ejected from the top of the aircraft.
Jess must have noticed his ashen pallor. “What’s the matter?”
“The life rafts are tethered to the aircraft. If I eject them in mid-air, they’ll just flutter behind the plane like kites.”
“Are there any inside the plane?”
“No.”
“Then we need to bring one of the other ones on board.”
She was right. He had to deploy them now. He ran to the loadmaster’s station, armed the deployment mechanism, and pulled the T-handle.
Three bangs jolted the aircraft. Two rafts sailed into the air on either side of the cockpit, trailing nylon ropes behind them. The protective clamshell coverings clattered apart on the ground, and the rafts began to inflate automatically. A third raft would be behind the starboard engines. The blown hatches would have a negligible effect on the plane’s aerodynamics.
He took the Leatherman from his pocket and pressed it into Jess’s hand. “Take this. There’s a knife on it. Cut the ropes loose on all of them, starting with the port raft, but be careful of the engines. Drag the forward rafts behind the engines. Then drag the other raft in through the rear cargo door and get out. I’ll close it when you’re clear.”
“No way. I need you alive if we’re going to save Nana. That’s why I’m coming with you.”
“Oh, no, you’re not.”
“Tyler, I’ve done more than forty jumps. Discussion over.”
Tyler could see she was going to be just as stubborn as Fay was. And she was right. He didn’t have time. Only ten minutes left to detonation.
“All right,” he said. “You win. Pull the raft in and close the crew door. There should be a button next to it. It’ll show green when the door is secure.”
She left and Tyler opened the massive rear cargo door. He saw Jess dash out and cut the cord on the port raft, using the line to drag it backward as she strained at the weight of the enormous raft. When she was clear, he started number two engine.
Jess repeated the process with the starboard raft. Tyler wanted to go help her, but doing so would have wasted time they didn’t have.
As soon as she was out of sight, Tyler started engine three.
He put the pilot’s headset on. It was already on the tower frequency.
“Tower, this is Air Force flight … uh, this is the Air Force C-17. Permission to taxi for takeoff.”
An accented voice answered after a pause. “I don’t have your flight plan, C-17.”
“This is an emergency takeoff. We’ll file the plan en route.”
“Negative, C-17,” came the shocked response. “Not without your paperwork. There could be traffic in your proposed flight path.”
“Tower, traffic won’t be an issue unless they’re on final approach. This was just a courtesy call to tell you to keep the runway clear. I don’t see anyone out there, so I’m taking off. Out.”
Engine three was still warming up, but he could use the first two engines to taxi.
A minute later, Jess returned and climbed into the right-hand seat, sweat pouring from her brow. “Those bastards are heavy,” she said between breaths, “but I got one aboard. The side door’s closed.”
Tyler closed the cargo door, pushed the throttles forward, and released the brakes. The C-17 rolled across the tarmac at a stately pace.
“Wait a minute,” Jess said. “You’ve only started three engines.”
“The plane is designed to take off with an engine out. We can’t wait to start the fourth. Put your seat belt on.”
He swung the big beast around and headed for the two-mile-long runway, lowering the flaps and making sure he didn’t miss anything critical on the checklist. Taking off wouldn’t do much good if he crashed at the end of the runway.
As soon as he had the nose lined up on the centerline, Tyler pushed the throttles until the fan speed reached ninety percent.
The engines howled in response. The plane surged forward, pressing Tyler against his seat.
He couldn’t help thinking,
“If we’re going to die,” Jess said, “I need to tell you something.”
“We’re not going to die.”
“The reason I didn’t come into your room with you last night is because I’m seeing someone.”
“You really think this is the best time for this?”
“I wanted you to know that it was a tough decision. Even after all these years, I still love you.”
Tyler was so shocked by her profession that if his hands hadn’t been glued to the yoke, he would have keeled over. He could have chosen from a thousand possible responses, but he had to keep his attention focused on the task at hand. Now he had a real reason not to die just yet.
His eyes met Jess’s for just a moment. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk in the raft.”
The C-17 hit takeoff velocity with a half-mile of runway to spare. Tyler pulled back on the yoke, and the massive plane rose smartly into the air. Easter Island receded behind them.
“I’ll get us up to three thousand feet,” he said. “I’ll keep us at a hundred and sixty knots for the jump and hope that’s slow enough, but I’m going to set the autopilot to speed up just before I leave the flight deck. That way we’ll get the maximum distance between us and the plane by the time it blows.”
“What should I do?”
“Go down to the cargo deck and keep hold of the life raft. I’ll open the cargo door, but don’t launch the raft until we’re ready to drop. At this speed we’re going a mile every twenty seconds. I’ll give you a minute to get down there and open the door, then I’ll join you and we’ll jump.”
Jess nodded and got out of her seat, taking one of the parachutes with her. “I’m not jumping without you.”
“I know. Go!”
She sprinted away. Tyler eased the jet to a heading of 180 and kept it steady at an altitude of 3,000 feet at 160 knots. He changed the transponder code to squawk 7700 and adjusted the radio to 243 megahertz, the guard emergency frequency.
“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Air Force C-17 from Easter Island. We are ditching six miles due south of the island. Request rescue boat. Repeat we are ditching on heading one eight zero from Easter Island VOR. Request rescue boat.”
He glanced at his watch. Six minutes to detonation.
A nervous reply bleated from his headset. “Air Force C-17, this is Easter Island control. We read that you are ditching six miles due south—”
That was enough for Tyler, who just wanted to make sure he’d been heard. He tore off the headset, opened the cargo door, and dialed up the autopilot for maximum cruising altitude and speed. Then he stood and put on the parachute. When the harness was buckled, he initiated the autopilot command.
