Morningstar/Alignment by Keith Trimm (people reading books txt) 📕

The police officer jumped into the ditch taking off after the boy. Striking the wet grass he fell and rolled to the bottom, splashing into the cold water collected there. The flashing of red and blue lights made it difficult to get his footing in the water, bouncing light in all directions. He reached under the water, unholstered his pistol, and brought it to head level looking for a target.

Tony fell through the barb wire fence, slicing his calf in the process. He felt the sting of the cut, but had little time for the pain. His only escape was to hide out in the tall corn in the dark. He ran to the edge of the field and sunk his foot up to his ankle in the mud. It was slow going from now on, but the small boy had the dark on his side. Rain poured and thunder cracked all around, but no one, not even the police officer could find the small ten year old Tony Rhine in this corn field.

Moments later the police lights were turned off and the car drove off down the highway leaving his dead father and the car behind. Tony watched it all from the rain soaked field and his tears added to the rain on the ground.

The face of the man was forever etched in Tony’s memory.

It was determined that the man responsible for the incident was posing as a police officer, because no officers were in the area at the time of the shooting. Tony’s description of the man was to vague to fit any of the local, county, or state patrol officers on duty that evening, and the case was set aside. Tony struggled to understand the reason for the brutal murder. The man took nothing from them, saying nothing that would give a clue. His father had no enemies, owing no one any favors. Tony spent many days and nights pondering the senselessness of the killing trying to remember if there was any reason why the man made such a waste of his father. Did his dad provoke him? What did he miss? It happened so fast that he wasn’t even sure he could remember exactly what took place or if his description of the imposter was accurate

Chapter 18

14 Months later

Tony sat silent, strapped tight into his web seat, across the isle from commander, Capt. John Ramsey. Feeling nauseous from the turbulent ride, he closed his eyes, and clenched his jaw tight, trying to keep his mind on his mission. To his right, lined on both sides of the C-130 Hercules, were rows of seats occupied by marine paratroopers in ready status. Sixty-four men sat ready like sardines in a can, waiting to be let out

The inside the massive transport plane was dark, except for the dim lights that dotted the long passageway back to the cargo hold. To his left, a radar center manned by two men kept track of data coming in over the monitors. They sat diligently staring and scanning the dials and readouts keeping in constant radio contact with the navigator and pilots.

"Radar contact," one of them said into his headset microphone. "Bearing two-niner, niner."

"I have confirmation," the other man said tapping on a button at his console.

Tony could feel the plane roll as it slowly banked into a turn. He looked to his watch to confirm the time. According to the information gathered at the excavation, the Trans Pacific Airliner they were following was to disappear in ten minutes.

"We are tracking," the radar operator stated. "Maintain present course," he added.

Capt. Ramsey unbuckled his seat belt and motioned Tony to do the same. The drone of the turboprops made speaking difficult, so the he used hand signals when possible when communicating with his men. With a motion of his hand, he signaled Tony to follow him to the control center of the plane, between the cockpit and the radar station.

Both men squeezed past the radar panel and the sound lessened, as the moved away from the massive engines located midway through the plane. The two men joined the mission specialists who were sitting at a television monitor, watching an unobstructed view of the outside. Cameras were placed in strategic locations on the inside, and outside of the plane, allowing the men to keep track of any strange phenomenon that may occur. The pictures on the screen changed every two seconds, sliding through all of the views every half minute.

"Bring up the cockpit," Ramsey said to the men.

With a touch of a button, the screen froze on a full color view from a camera mounted over the pilots’ shoulder pointing out the window. On the screen was the aft end of the Boeing 747 airliner surrounded by dark storm clouds and dark skies.

"How close can we get and still be safe?" Ramsey asked the specialist.

"In these conditions," he said pausing to think. "One mile minimum."

"Make it a quarter mile. We can’t afford to miss this chance."

The specialist, stone faced, called up to the pilot and co pilot to make the change. The four men watched on the monitor, as the plane they were following grew larger on the screen.

"Won’t they know they are being followed?" Tony asked.

"Normally yes," Ramsey replied. "But we have control of their communications. The tower only tells them what we want them to."

"The backwash from the 747 caused the C-130 to shake in its wake. Tony watched the monitor shake and shimmy as the plane rocked making him feel more nauseous.

"Do a scan," Ramsey said and the pictures on the monitor changed in a pattern. All outside mounted cameras showed dark skies and occasional lightning strikes. Above the monitor sat a recording device making a visual document of the mission.

"Time?’ Ramsey asked aloud.

"Coming up on three minutes sir," said the mission specialist pointing to a digital clock mounted in the console.

Ramsey turned to Tony and said, "Time to get strapped back in." The men squeezed through the narrow path and the noise became louder again. Ramsey yelled to Tony, "Once you sit down, plug the lead wire from your helmet into the jack on the armrest. Then pull down your blast shield and flick the switch on the right side of your visor. You will see a projection on your shield from their station."

Tony gave Ramsey the ok sign with his hand and shuffled back to his web seat along the side of the fuselage. Reaching the seat he sat and buckled in and put the plug into his armrest. He switched the button on his visor, pulled down his blast shield and a view of the 747 popped on his shield.

He shook in his seat, as the turbulence became worse. His stomach began to feel queasy and he swallowed hard. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He was going to witness time travel, a phenomenon he did not believe in three years ago.

The upper right corner of his view showed a digital clock counting backwards from forty-five seconds. He was feeling flush with anticipation and fear as the images of his remains from the excavation flashed in his mind.

Thirty seconds and counting. The lightning flashed more frequently and the thunder sounded in the plane.

Fifteen seconds. Ten seconds. Flashes of light, crashes of thunder. Five seconds, four, three, two then one.

His monitor went black as the plane bolted violently with a thunderous crash. He was tossed about, only held in by his seatbelt. The plane came to a rest and his monitor came on again. The next thing Tony saw on the screen was the aft end of the 747 surrounded by beautiful blue skies and wispy white clouds. The storm was gone. It was just like he was reliving the recording found at the excavation, only he was on a different plane.

Both men flipped up their visors and unbuckled their seatbelts. Down the line sat sixty men patiently awaiting orders from their commander.

Ramsey walked quickly back to the control center followed by Tony on his heels. Ramsey leaned over the shoulder of the mission specialist and looked into his monitor.

"Ok boys," he said calmly. "I think we’ve done it."

"What do we do now?" Tony asked.

"We have to contact the airliner," Ramsey said looking Tony in the eye.

"Can you do that from here?"

"Yes sir. This is the mission operation center. I supposed you weren’t briefed on this?"

"I’m just glad they let me come along," Tony said with a grin.

"You know this may be a one way trip?"

"I was made very aware of that," he replied.

Ramsey was a tall, broad shouldered man with a dark mustache and stubble. Tony felt inadequate being in the same room with this man.

Ramsey put a wireless head set microphone on his head and tapped a button on the control panel. Talking into his microphone he said, "Trans Pacific one two one come in."

The speakers in the cabin crackled and a voice answered, "Trans Pacific one two one here. Over."

"This is Capt. John Ramsey, U.S. Marines commander. We are currently one mile aft of your current position tracking. Over."

A moment passed with only the humming of the engines.

"We have no radar contact, no confirmation. Over."

"Affirmative Pacific. We are tracking you on radar at this time and have you on visual. Over," Ramsey said.

The room was silent as the pilots of the 747 strained to make sense of the situation. "We have lost contact with the tower," the pilot responded. "We have lost track of our current position. Can you assist?" he asked.

"Yes Trans Pacific," Ramsey said.

"What the hell is going on?" crackled the voice across the speakers.

"Captain, can you leave you cabin microphone on? I need to brief you on the situation."

"Affirmative," he replied. A moment later he said, "Cabin microphone on. What is the current situation Captain?"

"We need to get you on the ground as soon as possible Trans Pacific."

"That is not possible at this time."

"What is the problem?"

"We will have to locate a suitable landing area."

"Of course, we will guide you to Kansas City International."

"Kansas?" the 747 pilot asked. "Do you still have me on visual?"

"Yes Pacific."

"Then how do you expect me to land this bird?"

From the cockpit of the C-130, a voice broke over the speakers. "Capt. Ramsey, you may want to come into the cockpit and make hard visual."

Ramsey turned and pulled on the door to the cockpit and stepped inside. He looked out the front window and saw the 747 in clear view over an ocean of blue water below.

"Where did this water come from?" he asked out loud.

"We don’t know sir," was the reply from the pilot.

"Can we talk to them in here?" Ramsey asked the crew.

The pilot flicked a switch and said, "Go ahead sir."

"Trans Pacific do you read?" Ramsey asked on the open-air microphone.

"We haven’t gone anywhere Captain," the pilot said with a nervous chuckle.

"We need to assess the situation."

"I’ll say," was his reply, as the pilot became more nervous and less professional in his speech patterns.

On the speakers, shuffling sounds emitted from the 747. A clang, then a crash and some muffled voices popped and hissed in the air.

"Trans Pacific?" Ramsey asked out loud.

Over the speakers the faint voice of the co-pilot said, "Let me check." A moment later, in a much louder voice he was heard saying, "What are you doing in here?"

"Trans Pacific? Come in," Ramsey said trying to stay calm.

A loud crash shot out of the speakers and the sounds of men screaming followed. Silence.

"Trans Pacific!" Ramsey shouted looking out the windshield. "Trans Pacific, you are emitting a smoke trail!" he shouted as the dark streak past by his view.

The speaker again crackled and in the background the pilot could be heard yelling,