The Flyover

I sat upright in my seat, gazing out the small eight-inch circular window. Clouds wisped past my vision, like grains of sand across a windy desert. The sun was out, and we were cruising 280 miles per hour above the Pacific Ocean in an old 1942 B-24. I was mesmerized by the serenity of the view, only to be constantly drawn back by the roar of the aircraft. Getting restless, I hollered up to the pilot.

"Hey Georgy, how much longer before we fly over?"

"Oh, about ten minutes. Fifteen tops," he replied.

I eased back into my seat and looked back out the window. Only I didn't see the beautiful sight of clouds floating above a glittering ocean. I was seeing flashes of red and orange fiery explosions throw good soldiers—my friends—into heaps of broken limbs and bloody body parts. I could see the light in their eyes—a light that I had seen throughout the glorious days of our past—slowing fade to empty lifelessness.

I was remembering flying rubble and collapsing buildings, as deafening bombs detonated from all around. Men being thrown in every direction by the hailstorm of explosions. My comrades and I scrambling to set up our defenses. I could hear the boom of the explosions, and smell the putrid mixture of smoke and sweat. I cringed my leg as I remembered the collapsing metal beam penetrate my thigh. The helplessness I felt as I watched my friends suffer and even die trying to protect me. All around, I could see flying shrapnel and falling concrete impale fighting soldiers—staining the ground crimson red. And my friends, lying on the ground in their own blood, gasping painfully as they slowly bled to death.

Their eyes. The lifelessness.

The bombing of 1994 remained engraved into my memory, always invading every happy thought and feeling, reminding me of the cruelty of the world. I had survived that terrible day. While my good friends had been slaughtered trying to set up their defenses, I had been pinned down by a fallen metal beam. I may have been left with partial paralysis in my leg, but my friends had paid a much greater price. The only thing that hurt more than losing everyone I cared about, was knowing that I should have been in their place. I should have been out there fighting for the lives of everyone instead of being shot down like a wounded dog. I blame myself for their deaths.

A sudden shake in the plane snapped me back to my senses. Turbulence. Out the window, I could see something showing up on on the horizon. An Island.

The island.

I could tell it would still be another five minutes before we would be overhead, so I decided to stretch my legs a bit. I climbed out of my seat and tried to walk up to the front. It was an old plane—over fifty-three years—and the toil of time had taken its toll. The floor vibrated abrasively, nearly knocking me over. The metal walls were coated with patches of rust. And the bolts—at least what was left of them—were barely holding the strain of the plane. I'm sure the engine was loud back when it was first built, but now it snarled and roared like the cries of hell were being released from it.

An old plane.

Up front I plopped myself into the spare seat behind the copilot. There were three of us total, Georgy—the pilot, Tom as copilot, and myself as the engineer.

"Ready for this?" Tom asked.

I gave a slow but determined nod. Nothing at this point could change my mind. The weeks following the attack, I tried to heal, tried to forget, but what happened happened. They say time heals. I used to believe that, until I had to experience it for myself. I eventually left the armed forces, along with Georgy and Tom. We tried to move on but could not. We wanted salvation. We wanted justice. We wanted redemption for the thousands of men and women that died in the fiery inferno. Our emotions caused us to make a decision; one that led us westbound toward the island in a stolen B-24, fifty-six weeks and two days after the day of devastation.

We were now about two minutes from our mark. Out of the front window of the plane, I now had a good view of the island. What was at first a distant speck on the horizon was now a thriving tropical island. A lone peak sat in the center of the landmass, with cirrus clouds shrouding the top. These clouds were to our advantage. They would allow us to pass over without a hint of detection. At the base of the island along the southern shore, skyscrapers poked out from the ground, dotting the tropical landscape. Mixed in were luxurious hotels, local businesses, and condos. Along the beach, I could see waves crashing against pearly-white beaches, and boats touring the waters. Such a gorgeous and breathtaking sight, especially from a view like mine. The sun was shining with birds flying. Many would give anything to see this paradisiacal view.

I loathed every bit of it.

This island nation was responsible for the deaths of my friends. They deserved what was coming.

No regrets. No second thoughts. No resistance.

We were now 30,000 feet above the city; white clouds enveloping us—camouflaging us. Still, I could see the metropolis below me. There were no alerts. No radio messages asking for our business. All was quiet except for the monstrous roar of the plane. We had entered undetected.

It was time.

Georgy, Tom, and I gazed up at each other. Their eyes. I could see the pain of that day reflecting in their eyes. It was a look of pure anguish. Pure sorrow. I recognized that look. It was the same one I saw when I looked in the mirror. There was something else as well. Determination. They were as determined as I was to go through with this.

"We are ready for deployment," Georgy said. "Counting down in three..."

I gazed down at the city with an icy, burning stare. My thoughts and feelings remaining steadfast.

"Two..."

Absolutely no going back.

"One..."

I could hear the loud clatter as the ancient bomb bay doors rattled open. I could feel the plane shake and slightly lift as the twenty-four hundred pound payload was released. Below me I could see a solid white projectile, bullet toward the center of downtown. It will take forty-two point two seconds for it to hit the ground. Forty-two point two seconds to get as far away as possible. The falling payload got smaller and smaller as we flew farther and farther away. Within seconds it was out of sight.

For forty-two point two seconds, I stared intently at the island. Gazed upon it, as its grand enormity diminished as our plane flew farther away. Finally, when we were roughly three point three miles away, the payload hit.

There are not enough words to describe what I witnessed. The island abruptly disappeared as an overwhelmingly bright flash illuminated my vision. It was beyond intense. It was like a thousand summer suns suddenly lit up where the island once rested. I was wearing protective glasses, but even still I could feel the fiery rays burn away at my retinas. I instantly had a sunburn, as the heat from the flash scorched my skin. But the burning light was nothing compared to the explosive sound that blasted across my eardrums just milliseconds later. It was like hearing all the thunder strikes in my life condensed into a single explosion. Even though I was expecting it, I staggered back. Time slowed down. Even though only seconds were passing by, I felt like I was in slow motion as I watched the initial blinding flash dissipate. Above the dying glare, two enormous cloud-like rings expanded from the light source. As the light slowly dimmed, I could make out a fiery black mushroom cloud grow higher and higher where the island once stood. The colors were astonishing—an array of orange, black and pale white. The plane suddenly shook violently—causing an abrupt drop in altitude—as the shock wave from the blast finally reached us. The fiery mushroom continued to blossom. Few in the history of the world had seen a hydrogen bomb in person. Even fewer had lived to tell it. It was a sight never to forget.

I turned my head away from the blast and stared out upon the open ocean as we cruised away. A mixture of emotions stirred inside of me, fighting for dominance. But then as I leaned my head against the rusty wall, the corner of my mouth twitched up, as the smallest hint of a smile crossed my face.