“Oh wait… Langley, we got a lock,” Trondheim said triumphantly.
“You sure it’s the
“Positive. Los Angeles Class.”
“Well, the AutoCaptain system should do the rest.”
“Right… and it just positioned itself right above our pod…”
“Trondheim… lets rock ‘n roll.”
“Copy that, Langley.”
Jim Borland heaved a sigh of relief.
The bottom of the Havana Bay was quickly turning into a mosh pit. A few subs had stuck to pinging, as they were there ‘just for the experience’. But then as usual there were these other subs who took things too far. Things went sour when an Ohio had gotten up in the hull of young Yuan. There was even an instance of the notorious tail swatting between an Akula and some German U-boat. Within minutes the binge-pinging had descended into full scale pushing and shoving.
The
Trondheim’s balloon pod was also having a hard time trying to stay locked to the
But at the last moment Trondheim’s pod got a solid lock and it was time for action.
The Big Boeing was gliding in at 100 Knots.
“Cidudad Retarded, speed is 100 Knots,” reported Captain Willy.
“Big Boeing, for the last time… its
“Haha… sorry… gets me every time…”
“Big Boeing, whats your altitude?”
“Ciudad Libertad, can’t you just see and tell?”
“Big Boeing, repeat altitude?”
“200 feet … Cidudad Retarded … hahaha.”
“That’s it. That does it. We are revoking your permission to land. No landing for you,” thundered Espinoza the 18 year vet.
“Uh oh… hahaha… hahaha… oh no… no Toyota for you… no Coke for you… and definitely no Chipotle for you… hahaha…”
“… and no Xbox…” added the copilot.
“Big Boeing, I repeat, no landing for you.”
Hearing the Chipotle exchange, elite members of the Cuban Republican Guard burst into the Air Traffic Control Tower and proceeded to beat the lights out of Espinoza.
The Big Boeing’s pilots heard some cracking… perhaps wood… then some shouting… lots of shuffling… One moment, Espinoza had been verbally affronting the Americans, and the next he had only 18 teeth. And his pants were missing.
“American plane, you are cleared to land. Land wherever you want. Park wherever you want,” announced the thundering yet pleading Commander of the Cuban Republican Guard.
A stunned Captain Willy finally said, “Hey, what happened to your other guy?”
“Every revolution needs some blood.”
“Damn… you sons of bitches must really want that Chipotle burrito…”
“You have no idea, Senor.”
The big Boeing descended over Havana Bay as it approached the runway. Its big nose was pointing slightly upward. From their vantage point on the upper deck, the Big Boeing’s pilots saw tons and tons of sweet cloud free sky.
“Jet seconds from landing #Cuba #retrorevolution #chipotlediplomacy,” live tweeted Jizzer.
The hot tamales paused or at least slowed their sashaying in anticipation. The Cuban receiving party stood up, warming their palms to clap.
Inside the Big Boeing’s big cockpit, there was pandemonium. Red flashy lights, klaxon noises, bleeped out four letter words, etc. Seconds ago the aircraft’s proximity alert system had gone bonkers.
“
“I checked every bleeping thing…” said Captain Willy as his men checked out the dials and their digits.
“
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Means we are very close to the ground… but the altimeter says…”
“Captain maybe the system is broke.”
“
“Captain should we abort and pull up?”
Unbeknownst to the human beings, something broke the surface of Havana Bay.
Initially it rose slowly. But then exponentially faster with every passing millisecond.
To the viewers catching
The fully loaded Big Boeing, clocked in at 300 tons which was about 1/30th of the tonnage of the Russian sub. International laws governing the conservation of momentum waited in anticipation.
Unlike the submarine’s reinforced 30-inch steel hull, the Big Boeing was made out of light weight aluminum’s rich cousin duralumin. The front section of the aircraft crumbled like a coke can, resulting in the loss of nose, cockpit and the front wheel.
