Headless, the rest of the aircraft, powered by the meandering engines, bobbed over the sub’s smooth surface and continued the final approach to Ciudad Libertad Airport.
Deprived of its avionic integrity, the faceless smoking jet violently plopped down onto the tarmac in several pieces.
The turn of events obviously paused the hope and change mood among the Cubans. The hot tamales escaped in a loud gaggle.
“Blow me… did I just see that…?” exclaimed Blow Jobbs.
“Oh boy… it’s real…” cried Jizzer.
“What the fuck just happened out there Jizzer?”
“Blow, these are some unbelievable scenes… the jet crashed into something black and… sort of bounced onto the tarmac… it’s… it’s just sitting there… simmering… like a, like a… Blow…”
The Boeing also happened be to carry some 60,000 gallons of refined in the good ol’ USA jet fuel. Back in Miami the copilot had asked, “O Captain O Captain… but why o why do we need so much fuel? Havana is barely a hop away.” The good Captain had replied, “Their fuel is probably all mucky. Just fill er up, boy.”
Jet fuel gushed out of the broken fuselage and formed a dark pool around the aircraft.
“Blow… Blow… we gotta evacuate… me and Lenny… the Cubans are escaping as we speak…”
“Jizzer, don’t you dare move… I … I mean our viewers really want to see how this plays out… btw where are the fire trucks? I hear no sirens.”
The ratings chugged past MNF territory.
A floundering Jizzer replied, “Blow, this is Cuba. This is one of the illest *bleep*holes on the planet…”
“Ah, I see. Good reporting, Jizzer. Real good. Hmmm… what else we got… let’s see… ok focus on something else… ok… oh yeah… Whats that big black thing in the background? Lenny can you focus on that… what is that?”
Jizzer slowly turned around. For the first time he noticed the long, black and massive object slowly sinking back into the Havana Bay.
“*Bleep* me Blow. Is that a submarine?”
“If it looks like one and sinks like one it probably is… Jizzer can you confirm it?”
“Hey *bleep*hole, how am I supposed to confirm that. I am a yapping head and so are you. Look around *bleep*er, there is nobody.”
“Cool… cool, cool. Jizzer just tell us what you can ok… you are doing wonderful job… Lenny you too…”
Jizzer waved off the apology as the cameraman bobbed the feed in appreciation.
“Blow… the thing sure does look like a sub. It even has a bridge…”
“Yeah… you are right Jizzer… the thing even seems to have some of the Big Boeing’s paint on its hull…”
Jizzer squinted hard while the camera altered focal lengths.
“Of all the things that you can smash into… a submarine? … Oh wait, I see three fellas…”
“I will be damned…” echoed Blow Jobbs.
Three men, one portly and two younger seemed to be climbing out of the submarine’s bridge.
“Oh god… Blow, it’s them sailor boys… the sailors are escaping the submarine. You think it’s nuclear powered?”
“Wait, wait… Lenny can you zoom in on that fatty… really?” Blow gave a finger to his producer in the studio, “fine… portly gentleman… the one who is slipping… right there… right there…”
“He is even wearing a tie. In fact all three are wearing a tie… its blue… white… and red…”
“It’s even got stars… fuck… that tie… its American… they are American sailors… shit… which means the sub is American… to our viewers tuning in, an American jet has just rammed into an American submarine…”
“Blow, Blow… hold your horses… that’s no sailor boy. That’s a friggin pilot. A captain perhaps… his copilot and first officer… and that’s definitely airplane dress not submarine dress. Big Boeings require three guys in the cockpit…”
“The pilots? Wow… I just can’t believe this… oh Jizzer, I just got confirmation from my producer…”
“About what?”
“Liberty Air… the tie patterns, the shirt color, the lapels — they are all Liberty Air, a Baltimore based chartered carrier.”
“Sons of bitches survived THAT?”
“See, that’s why you gotta wear seatbelts.”
The three pilots slid off the smooth sub into the Havana Bay like tourists at a wave pool.
Meanwhile the Big Boeing’s jet fuel continued to gush, which the Havana heat transformed into a combustible vapor cloud. All it needed was a sweet spark.
“Blow, I think it’s time to address the 600 pound burrito…”
“You mean the delegates… the occupants of the jet?”
“Yes, Blow. It’s been about five minutes since the jet stopped moving, and so far there has been no signs of life.”
“*Bleep* the Cuban EMTs, but what about their Republican Guard. Why aren’t they attempting a rescue?”
“No sign of them either, Blow.”
Suddenly there was movement within the jet.
“Jizzer look… a survivor.”
Jizzer asked, “What, where?”
The camera panned wildly searching for some action.
“Lenny you are already there man. Focus on the back door.”
A guy in an expensive suit appeared at the aircraft’s rear door. After scanning the deserted tarmac, he retreated back into the cabin.
“Did we get a look?” asked Jizzer.
“Grainy but my producer says it’s enough to get a match.”
A few seconds later, the aircraft’s evacuation slide unfurled like a nasty tongue.
