Ten minutes into the flight, and all seemed well aboard the Constellation. They still had a long way to climb, but Mark and Storm Chaser had the plane flying smoothly and steadily by this time, so the passengers and flight attendants could now get up and go about their business. Many were looking forward to what they would see and do when they arrived in Abu Dhonki; but all that Flash Sentry in particular could think about was how incredibly lucky he was to be flying all the way across the Titanic Ocean in this veritable Goliath among passenger aircraft.
In the cockpit, the flight crew were cheerfully discussing what they would be doing in Abu Dhonki after they booked off when a call came through from another airliner;
“Equine Apple Pommel calling Equine Zebra Trigger.”
“Zebra Trigger receiving,” acknowledged Mark.
“We've just been in contact with Lemberg VOR regarding the weather schedule.” The two pilots recognised the voice over the radio as that of fellow REA pilot Captain Jetstream, who was flying the A340 that had taken off more than ten minutes ahead of them. “They say that a cloud layer of three tenths is to be laid at Flight Level Two Eight Five, about three miles from Bermuleda on heading Zero Niner Two, between 1045 and 1100 hours.”
“Understood, Apple Pommel. Thanks for the update.”
“What's your current position and flight level?” asked Jetstream.
Mark paused for a moment while he checked the instruments. “Well, we're currently at Flight Level Two Zero Zero,” he replied, making a mental note to inform the passengers of a temporary diversion if need be. “We should be approaching the cloud-laying team in fifteen minutes. I'll give them a heads-up as soon as we approach.”
“Roger. Out.”
A further ten minutes elapsed as the plane came closer and closer to the Bermuleda Islands. By now, Sandhi and Yehuda had gone to socialise with other high-profile passengers in the cocktail lounge; but even though they had invited Flash to join them, the young guardspony had politely declined. He was far more content to just sit and watch the clouds crawl slowly along beneath them...and maybe – just maybe...
With a decisive nod, Flash stood up and pressed a button above his head. Shortly after, a flight attendant came over to his seat. “You rang, sir?”
“Yes,” affirmed Flash, “I just wanted to ask if it would be okay to come and see inside this plane's cockpit?”
“I'll have a word with the captain,” replied the attendant. “If you'd just like to follow me this way.”
“Sure.” Flash followed the flight attendant to the vestibule in the front of the cabin, where she paused to speak to the captain over the intercom;
“There's a passenger in the first class lounge wanting to come into the cockpit, sir...Lieutenant Flash Sentry, sir – Equestrian Royal Guard......certainly, sir.” She turned her attention back to Flash with a smile; “He says he's more than happy for you to come and see inside the cockpit.”
“Ah, good. Thanks very much, miss,” said Flash. The attendant nodded politely in reply and headed back down the gangway, leaving the orange-coated guardspony to make his own way to the cockpit.
But he never reached it...
Up ahead, Captain Jetstream was keeping a careful eye out for any Pegasi still in the process of laying clouds as he resumed his original course. The amount of activity at this altitude meant he had had to deviate by a few degrees; but now all seemed clear for him to resume his designated flight path.
“On course now, sir,” reported his co-pilot at last.
“Good,” answered Jetstream. “Switch on autopilot.”
The co-pilot acknowledged, and flicked a switch that would allow the plane to carry on flying along its selected route without any input from the crew. At that moment, they heard Mark's voice over the radio; “Equine Zebra Trigger to Equine Apple Pommel.”
“Equine Zebra Trigger to Equine Apple Pommel,” replied Jetstream, “receiving you five by five. Go ahead.”
“Equine Apple Pommel, we're just approaching the...” but Mark never finished. Much to the crew's confusion and concern, the radio link suddenly cut out in mid-sentence, and all they could hear was an endless stream of static.
“That doesn't sound right,” exclaimed Jetstream, anxiously fine-tuning the frequency on his radio transmitter. “Zebra Trigger, are you receiving me? Come in, Zebra Trigger.”
There was no reply.
“Equine Apple Pommel to Equine Zebra Trigger, do you read me?”
Still nothing.
“Radio must be dead,” muttered Jetstream anxiously. “I'd better try Starswirl, see if they can raise them. Starswirl Control from Equestria Three Seven Eight...”
Back in Manehattan, Speedbird was understandably perturbed when he heard Jetstream trying to contact him. His plane should have passed the Bermuleda Islands by now, so why was he calling Starswirl Airport of all places? Something, he realised, must be terribly wrong.
“Control here,” he responded tersely, “receiving you strength three. Go ahead.”
“We've lost contact with Equestria Seven Five Niner, Starswirl,” Jetstream informed him over the radio. “They seem to have just...disappeared. Can you reach them?”
This confused Speedbird still further. Surely the Constellation couldn't be in trouble already...could it? No, he must have misheard the flight number – or maybe it was Jetstream who had got it wrong. All the same, it was probably best to make absolutely sure that Flight 759 was still flying. “We'll do our best,” he replied, and nodded to one of the other controllers, who immediately attempted to regain contact with the Constellation.
But no matter how hard they tried on what frequency, the same thing happened. All they could hear over the radio was ceaseless static, occasionally interrupted by transmissions between ground crew and other planes. Just as they were about to try again, however, another message, much more urgent, came in from the very islands over which the two airliners were headed;
“Lemberg VOR to Starswirl Control, urgent! Equestria Seven Five Niner has just disappeared from radar screen. Last known return was: West 64.55, North 32.19.”
As the transmission ended, a deafening silence fell over all fourteen ponies in the control tower, none of whom could believe what they had just heard. Surely Lemberg must have got the wrong plane too...any other plane, they could understand, but a Constellation? This couldn't be possible!
Speedbird stared out across the airport, trying to size up the situation. He and his colleagues hadn't had any luck trying to contact the Constellation either – maybe there was a chance that it had crashed. “Call the air-sea rescue teams together,” he ordered at last. “Constellation or no Constellation, there are lives at stake right now.”
“Very well, sir,” said one of his colleagues, and turned to his telephone...
While all this was going on, a group of Bermuleda fisherponies were busy landing their early morning catch. They had been working long and hard since well before sunrise, and were now looking forward to a rest – but their hopes for a quiet day of relaxation were soon to be dashed.
The youngest of the fisherponies, a teenaged Pegasus stallion named Cod Catcher, had just finished helping his father and uncle unload their boat and was now about to make a start on repairing their nets. Barely had he begun to inspect them, however, when his attention was suddenly interrupted by what sounded like a roll of thunder. Puzzled, he gazed up at the sky – but he was by no means prepared for what he saw.
“What in the hay is that?!” he exclaimed.
“What's what, Cod Catcher?” asked the slow, lax, laid-back drawl of his uncle Salmon Trout.
“That great fireball up in the sky,” replied Cod Catcher, pointing out to sea. Salmon Trout and the other fisherponies looked, and sure enough, they could see a cluster of wreckage plummeting towards the water, some of it burning brightly. “Was there supposed to be some sort of naval exercise or something, Pop?”
His father, Gadus, raised an eyebrow. “I don't think so, Cod,” he said doubtfully. “If there was, we'd have known about it a good few days in advance.”
“Then why the burning debris? That's what I wanna know,” put in Shark Bait, the toughest of the lot.
“Dunno – but I don't like the look of it,” said Cod Catcher gravely.
“If Ah might say so,” decided Salmon Trout, “we might wanna go out there an' investigate. Could be that there's a passenger airliner in trouble.”
“I think you're right, Sam.” Gadus leaped back into his boat and started the engine. “Come on, guys – let's go see if we can help!”
“Right with you, Pop!” Cod Catcher and Salmon Trout quickly boarded, and the three stallions led the other fisherponies and their boats out to where they believed the plane would crash.
The flotilla hadn't gone very far when Cod Catcher noticed something else. “Hey, Pop, Uncle Sam, there's a Pegasus pony a few miles off our starboard bow!”
“Good grief, so there is!” exclaimed Gadus, looking to his right and glimpsing an orange-coated stallion with sapphire-blue mane and tail plunging towards the water. “Shucks, he looks in bad shape.”
“Yeah, an' he's gonna be in even worse shape if we don' get to 'im quick enough,” murmured Salmon Trout anxiously.
“Don't worry, Uncle Sam, I'm on it!” and before either Gadus or Salmon Trout could reply, Cod Catcher shot into the air like a jack rabbit, rapidly gaining altitude as he made to intercept the unknown stallion in mid-air.
He was only just in time, for the stallion was almost about to hit the water as he closed in. Swooping down as low as he dared, Cod Catcher reached out and just managed to grab him a few hooves above the surface, causing the older pony to emit a weak groan as he did so. The teenaged Pegasus breathed a sigh of relief – at least the wounded stallion was still alive.
But for how much longer, he wondered? There was still a pulse, that much was obvious; but his every breath seemed worryingly shallow and strained at the same time, and both his wings appeared to have been broken too. All told, this pony was clearly in a very precarious state, so unless he received medical attention...
Cod Catcher made up his mind. If there was anypony else still alive after the crash, his father and uncle and the other fisherponies would be more than enough to bring them back to the island; but if this particular pony was to survive, he couldn't afford to hang around any longer. With this in mind, he headed back towards the island, shouting out a brief message to Salmon Trout as he went;
“Take care of the others! This guy needs help!”
Salmon Trout waved his acknowledgement and turned to his brother. “Hear that, Gadus? We're gonna have ta count Cod out, or that guy's as dead as a dodo.”
“Yeah, I got it,” replied Gadus, still looking ahead as he ploughed on towards the crash site.
When at last they reached the battered remains of the stricken aircraft, they could only look on in dismay as they realised the scale of the disaster. Everywhere they looked, they could see hundreds of lifeless bodies floating limply on the surface of the ocean, including a dromedary camel, a rose-coloured mare with the emblem of the Royal Canterlot Sisters as her Cutie Mark, and a silver-white Arabian pony wearing a diplomatic saddlebag. Various items of luggage and other commodities were strewn among the crash victims, ranging from food and drink to toys and clothes, the most noticeable item being a golden silk sari. In the midst of this literal sea of carnage, they could just about make out part of the wrecked airliner drifting forlornly in between its former occupants, which bore the legend; “R. E. A., E–BAZT”.
Gadus shut off his engines and turned to Shark Bait, who had just heaved to alongside him. “Search for survivors,” he advised. “We'll pick up bodies later.”
“Will do.” But even rough and ready Shark Bait knew that there was little chance of anypony surviving so horrific a disaster as this...
Cod Catcher paced anxiously back and forth outside the operating room. It had been nearly half an hour since he had reached the local hospital, and even now, their finest surgeons were trying their best to bring the mystery stallion back from the brink of death; but still he hadn't heard back from them.
“Gees, would I give anything to know what's going on with this guy right now,” he muttered to himself in an edgy tone. It had been bad enough to discover a half-dead Pegasus pony in the middle of the Titanic Ocean, all breathless and unable to fly himself to safety, but for his attempt to save the stricken stallion to have been in vain......the mere notion shook the teenaged fisherpony to the core of his existence.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, one of the surgeons emerged from the operating room with a serious look on his face.
“How is he, Doc?” asked Cod Catcher anxiously.
“Still not in a good state, I'm afraid,” replied the surgeon gravely. “We've fixed him up as much as we can, but he's in a pretty deep coma right now. Best we can do now is put him in intensive care and see where he goes from there; but chances are he's not going to make it.”
Cod Catcher's heart sank. “Well...thanks,” he mumbled, gazing at his front hooves in sullen guilt. If only he had been that little bit quicker in getting that stallion to hospital, he thought ashamedly, he might yet have been able to save his life – but as it was, there was little chance he would ever see the light of day again. Unable to think of anything that would take the sting out of his verdict, the surgeon solemnly headed off to the staff room to make his report.
But if Cod Catcher was disappointed at having potentially failed to save the stricken Pegasus stallion, his father and uncle and their comrades were even more dismayed by the number of casualties at the crash scene. Though many of the nearly six-hundred bodies they discovered still had their eyes open, giving the impression that they were still alive, none actually were. Even the air-sea rescue units couldn't identify any survivors when they arrived. With heavy hearts, the fisherponies hoisted as many corpses into their boats as they could hold and mournfully made their way back to their home harbour.