Myths and Legends - Amazons

Secret Aviation Testing Facility

Five hundred miles off the coast of Savannah, GA

Colonel Jacob Blackburn sat in the cockpit of the SR-80, meticulously going through pre-flight checklists. This was the maiden voyage for the experimental aircraft, and he wanted to ensure everything worked perfectly before taking off. Jake allowed for no margin of error on any of the instrument panels. If even the most harmless of instrument clusters was off by a hair, he'd shut the engine down and cancel the flight. As it was, everything was working like clockwork, despite his going through the checklist half a dozen times.

The SR-80 was a state-of-the-art reconnaissance plane that replaced its predecessor, the SR-71 Blackbird. Initially called the SR-72, AKA Son of Blackbird, the SR-80 got its name because of some hotshot designer's love for the M-80 firecracker. Supposedly, the dumbass kept referring to the plane as an M-80, so some bigwig in Washington decided to just skip MDS protocol and change the aircraft's name to the SR-80.

Everything about this plane was experimental, from its state-of-the-art cockpit to its ridiculously fuel-efficient engine. Even the outside panels were made from a composite material designed to withstand the temperatures necessary to achieve Mach 12 air speeds, or speeds twelve times the speed of sound.

The cockpit was uncomfortably spacious, in Jake's opinion. There was too much room between the side instrument panels and the seat. He didn't understand why there had to be so much room when he was strapped in from his ankles to his neck and couldn't move a muscle below his waist.

[Another experimental gadget I'll have to get used to,] he thought.

Each of his legs was wrapped in what could only be described as one big blood pressure cuff. He had sensors attached to almost every inch of his body that continually monitored his vitals. It took nearly an hour and a half to get strapped in the seat. The short explanation was that if the plane pulled too many G's that he couldn't physically accommodate for, the instruments would take over and regulate the blood in his body to keep him from passing out. Hence the pressure cuffs on his legs.

The seat itself had compartments for weapons, ammunition, and survival gear necessary for the pilot to survive for a week in any climate until they could be rescued in the event they had to eject. The seat was also one big homing beacon so they could be found relatively quickly.

The engine was another thing that baffled Jake's mind. The SR-71 had a flight range of roughly three thousand miles before needing to refuel or land. This fucking thing could go halfway around the world before needing to refuel, which was one of the major items on the test flight today.

The day started at 0500 with the pre-flight briefing and route planning. Essentially, the plan was to head north fifteen degrees off true north and circumnavigate the globe, arriving back at the original starting location. The reason being, to test the plane's ability to adapt to different climates during flight, as well as measure the inconsistencies the instrument clusters read.

The last test, and one that had Jake the most anxious, was flying over the Bermuda Triangle just before returning to base. Jake had never been superstitious, but he'd lost friends attempting to test their instruments in that electrical trap. The plan was to fly high enough over the triangle so that if the instruments did go haywire, they'd reset themselves after clearing the area, allowing him to safely land back at base and measure the data gathered while in the electrical conundrum.

He'd take off with minimal fuel and catch up with a KC-10 refueling aircraft somewhere over the Hudson Bay. From there, he'd increase speed to Mach 10, cruising at seventy thousand feet until he was somewhere west of Australia before slowing down to refuel again. From there, a straight shot Mach 12 to off the coast of Natal, Brazil, before slowing down to cruise on home. The trip from takeoff to landing was supposed to take just a hair over four hours.

"Ground is a go for launch, Colonel," the voice came through his headset.

"Copy," he replied. "Tower, clear for takeoff?"

"Nothing but blue skies and white clouds, Colonel," the sexy voice returned from the tower. He'd been meaning to ask Jessie out on a date for a while. Now seemed like the perfect opportunity.

"I'm sure Louis Armstrong would be proud," he replied. "See you in time for dinner?"

"Bout time you quit beating around the bush, Colonel," Jessie replied with her trademark nine-hundred-number voice, and Jake could hear that she was pleased he'd finally asked. "I look forward to it."

"It's a date, then," he replied. "SR-80 is on radio silence until Hudson."

He switched off the comms and accelerated at a rapid rate, so quickly that before he was even halfway down the tarmac, the wheels of the plane left the ground. As soon as he lifted off, he switched the landing gear to the stow position knowing the sensors would read his altitude and wait until he was at fifty meters before raising and locking the landing gear inside the aircraft.

The flight to the Hudson bay was smooth and uneventful. Truth be told, Jake was antsy to get the refueling over with so he could open the throttle and see what this plane could do. He loved being a test pilot. Something about being the first to fly a plane filled him with a happiness few other things could. He was ecstatic when he got the call that he would be taking the SR-80 for her first test flight. At thirty-nine, he was among the youngest full bird Colonels ever promoted to the rank. Good thing, too, because without his current rank, he'd never be able to fly the SR-80 today.

No short flights or puddle jumping for this baby. No, the minds behind the science were confident in their numbers and insisted that anything less than a recreation of Phileas Fogg's journey would be an insult to the plane's credibility.

So, here he was, homing in on the KC-10 and coming in hot. He'd already shifted the plane to auto-refuel, so really all he had to do was sit back and monitor the controls, making sure the process went smoothly. He'd go manual if something happened and report it on his debrief, but he doubted he'd have to interfere.

"KC-10, this SR-80 requesting some push water," Jake said after switching the comms back on.

"We read you loud and clear, SR-80," the controller returned. "Coming in a little hot, aren't you, Colonel?"

"That's all the plane, boss. Not me," Jake replied. "Something about quick decel in a hairy situation."

"Roger," the man replied. "Line's out and waiting on you."

"I've got visual. Standby."

The refuel port was directly center of the top of the craft. All the plane had to do was line up under the hose, and a green light would flash when it was linked up and ready to receive fuel. Sure enough, the light blinked green a moment later.

"Ready to receive," Jake announced.

"Copy," came the reply.

Ten minutes later, the boom detached and Jake was topped off. He adjusted course slightly, waited for the KC-10 to be out of his wake, then hit the thrusters and climbed. Within a matter of seconds, he leveled out at 70K with a shit-eating grin on his face that nobody could see, and was shooting past Mach 5 like a greyhound after a rabbit. Fifteen minutes later, seeing tunnel vision, he hit Mach 10. It took his body a few minutes to recover.

"Damn, this plane is quick!!" he whooped as he hit his cruising speed.

Within minutes he'd passed from the Western to the Eastern Hemisphere. Another uneventful leg later, and soon he was descending and slowing down to get ready to refuel again. He didn't really need to, as he had just under half a tank available, unless the gauge was malfunctioning, but it still wouldn't be enough to get him back to base, so he went ahead with the plan. After fifteen minutes of fueling and quick banter back and forth with these guys, Jake was off again. This time, after ascending to his cruising altitude, the plan was to accelerate to Mach 12, keep speed for ten minutes, then back it off to Mach 5 and take it easy on the way back.

The plane performed beautifully for the entire trip. No warning lights blipped; no instruments failed; no issues at all. He sent regular reports to the crash box, which the tech-heads would download and analyze with a fine-tooth comb when he landed, but he didn't let the smooth flight lull him into a false sense of security.

When he was an hour away from the Bermuda Triangle, Jake pulled back the throttle to just below the speed of sound. He reduced his altitude to ten thousand feet, pointed the nose of the craft toward the centermost area of the triangle, and waited. When he was six hundred miles away from the center of the triangle, he estimated right at the edge, his altimeter blipped off once, then resumed normally.

"Weird," he commented out loud.

He adjusted the mask on his helmet and got ready for something, anything, to happen. Five minutes later, something did happen. All the blood drained from Jake's face as the plane went from the usual loud noises a jet engine makes to nothing. No sound but the wind screaming past the wings of the craft; no instrument lights, no warning lights, no engine noise; nothing. Jake was pitched into total blackness.

That was the thing about this experimental plane. The one thing Jake didn't like. The canopy was solid. You couldn't look out the window of the canopy to see where you were or to see the sights. It was all computerized, with cameras around the craft projecting onto three view-screens in front of the pilot.

"FUCK!" he exclaimed. "MAYDAY-MAYDAY-MAYDAY!! THIS IS SR-80 EN ROUTE TO BERMUDA! I JUST HIT THE EDGE OF THE TRIANGLE AND I'VE LOST ALL POWER! I SAY AGAIN, I'VE LOST ALL POWER!"

He could feel the craft descending. There was a contingency plan for this. Call mayday, wait thirty seconds to see if the power would come back on, then eject.

Thirty seconds passed.

"DAMMIT" he exclaimed.

Forty seconds.

"FUCKING HELL!" he screamed into his mask. He grabbed the D-ring in front of his seat. "I'M EJECTING!"

Forty-five seconds after total blackout, Jake pulled the D-ring. The canopy blew apart above him and light suddenly slammed into the cockpit like a ninety-four-mile-an-hour fastball hitting a catcher's mitt, blinding him. A split second later, his seat shot out of the airplane. He tensed his leg muscles to keep all the blood from flowing from his upper body to his feet, but he was a split second too late. He relied too much on technological advances, hoping the blood pressure cuff things around his legs would kick in. The last thing Jake remembered before his world turned black was seeing his plane through tunnel vision slam into an invisible barrier and explode. [What?] he thought. Pinkish-orange light cascaded outward from the impact sight as he went limp in his seat, heading straight for the anomaly.

~ ~ ~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~ ~ ~

Jake's eyes fluttered open. Light winked through a canopy of leaves overhead. His mind was in a daze from the previous events, trying to piece together what had happened. Flashes of memory clouded his vision. His world going dark. Sudden light. Screaming. Explosions. Strange lights. It all came crashing back, and Jake gasped as he came entirely awake. Panting, he pulled the mask away from his face, letting it dangle off the side of his helmet. He was on his back, still in his seat, looking up at...trees. [Trees!?] He thought. [I was out over the water. Why are there trees??]

The tops of the trees were only about thirty feet above him, so he mistakenly thought he was close to the ground. As he fidgeted to try and unstrap himself, his seat shifted and fell another ten feet through branches. This time he was face down, dangling by the cables attached to his chute. He looked down, wide-eyed, at the ground forty feet below.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed.

He looked around for a way out of his predicament. Seeing a branch about five feet below him that might support his weight, he gingerly started to extricate himself from his seat. It took nearly half an hour and another shift in the trees, but he finally was able to unhook all the wires that attached him to the seat, unbuckle his restraints, shimmy out of the seat, and reach down to stand on the branch below him. He made his way closer to the tree trunk and had barely made it when his flight seat shifted, loosened itself, and fell, tumbling from branch to branch until it slammed into the ground below.

Jake winced as the thing hit the ground, expecting all his gear inside to be damaged beyond repair. Turns out those cockpit seats are made of some pretty durable stuff. While it'd never sit in a plane again, the storage compartments held up pretty good. Now to just get out of the tree, take stock of his surroundings, and find a way off this island. It had to be an island. He didn't remember seeing one on his display panels before his cockpit went dark, but it had to be there. He was on it, after all.

He started to make his way down. He slipped a couple of times and almost fell, but his combat boots found purchase both times. When he was still about twenty feet off the ground, he noticed something out the corner of his eye. Looking that way, he saw a relatively large cave opening. Perfect. Get down, get the gear, get to the cave, and hope it's empty.

He froze at the sound of a low growl. It didn't sound like anything he'd ever heard before, but whatever it was, it was big. Looking down, he had a clear view of where his seat landed. Something moved around it, nudging it with its snout.

[What the fuck is that!?] he thought. [A god damned T-Rex??]

No. It was too small to be a T-Rex. A Raptor, then? Was he on Jurassic Park or something? The thing started biting his seat. Fuck! If it destroyed all his gear, he'd be screwed. Jake pulled his 1911 Desert Eagle.45 from his shoulder holster inside his flight suit and fired at the thing using his flight seat for a chew toy. The bullets bounced off the back of its head.

"What the fuck?" he said in confusion.

Jake was an expert marksman. When he was on range, he hit the target exactly where he was aiming 95% of the time, with whatever weapon he shot. He did not miss. The fact that he missed this thing, as big as it was, and from less than twenty feet away, baffled his brain. Had he forgotten how to shoot? Had his ejection from the aircraft scrambled his equilibrium, causing his shots to go wide?

Suddenly, the thing looked straight up at him. Jake flinched as the thing roared. The best way he could describe this damn thing was a velociraptor on steroids with a dragon's head and neck, horns jutting from the top of its head and all. It craned its neck and jumped, almost reaching him. He clambered back up a few branches to distance himself from the damn dinosaur. Pointing his pistol again, he fired a few more times, only to have the bullets skip and ping off the damn thing's skin!

Apparently, this mega raptor, or whatever it was, was just as frustrated at not being able to get at Jake because it kept baring its teeth at him and roaring, trying desperately to jump up and grab him. He fired a few more rounds at the thing's head and cheered in triumph when he saw one of its eyes pop and squirt blood. His excitement was short-lived, though, as a few seconds later, the eye seemed to return magically!

"What the fuck are you!?" he cried.

The monster narrowed its eyes at Jake. The fucking thing actually NARROWED its fucking eyes at him as if to say, "You're dead, human!" Then, it started chewing on the base of Jake's tree.

"That's not normal!" Jake cried, genuinely afraid. "Not fucking normal at all!!" He started looking for a way to get away from this thing. Fight or flight and fight wasn't fucking working, so he had to get out of there quick. He started skipping across branches to a different tree. It wasn't that hard, as it turns out, because the trees were so dense. Looking down, he saw the damn monster following him and was now chewing on the base of the tree he was in!

"What in the holy fuck are you!?" he yelled again, this time in anger. The thing paused from chewing on the tree and, as if in answer to his question, looked up at him and roared again before resuming trying fell the tree.

The only other option he had was to try and hide from the thing. He started climbing again, darting through thick sections of leaves. After a few minutes of this, he figured he was hidden enough, and paused. Sure enough, about ten minutes later, the monster roared in frustration.

[Good,] he thought. [It can't see me anymore. It can probably smell me.] It snorted and sniffed. [Yup, definitely can smell me, but it still can't see me to know which tree to gnaw on.]

He'd have to wait it out. Hopefully, the monster would eventually give up on its prey and find a good meal elsewhere. Fortunately for Jake, he had water and meal bars in his flight suit, so he figured he had at least a day to hide out if needed.

A few hours later, he heard the monster shifting around below him, then he heard it lumber away.

[Finally,] he thought.

He slowly and quietly made his way lower. He needed to get his equipment out of his flight seat. When the seat came into view, he noticed a couple of cables still dangling from the tree above it. Ignoring the teeth and claw marks on the contraption below, he made his way to the cables. He grabbed hold of one and heaved. The chair shifted a bit fifteen feet below him. He pulled again, and it rose a few inches. The damn thing was heavy, but not too heavy for him to lift. He kept an eye out for that damn monster as he lifted.

When it was halfway up, he didn't notice the dinosaur come from a different direction and grab the chair, yanking it down and bringing Jake with it. "FUUUUCK!!" Jake yelled as he fell. He hit the ground with a grunt, tucked his feet under him, and rolled away from the monster. Coming to a stop on his back with his head opposite the direction he rolled from, he drew his pistol and fired at the beast. The bullets skipped off the monster's hide again, but he didn't care. He kept firing. An eye popped again, and the beast reared back on its legs, its head high in the air, and roared again. Jake only had one more full clip, so he reloaded as he rose to a kneeling position. Fifteen more rounds.

While the beast was distracted, Jake looked around. He saw his Ka-Bar fifty caliber semi-auto rifle had fallen out of the side compartment of his flight seat. Thank God for advancements in technology. Ka-Bar used to make just knives. Then some genius joined the team, and they started prototyping weapons. The rifle was heavy but only slightly larger than the size of an M-16 from the Vietnam War Era. It looked like something out of Starship Troopers, though.

He holstered his 1911 and scrambled toward the rifle, picked it up, and loaded a mag with twenty rounds. He chambered a round and released the safety just as the monster started to hone in on him again. Jake had just enough time to shoulder the rifle and fire. While the round didn't pierce the skin, it did knock the beast back a few feet, its skin flaking off, flying away as if it were stone. Jake fired again, and the beast roared in frustration. Jake aimed for the animal's open maw and fired again. This time, the fucking thing whimpered and turned away from him, apparently not liking the taste of metal slamming into its mouth.

Fuck! Jake forgot the damn thing had a tail. He scrambled back but still fell on his ass as the tail whipped by his head so fast it would have taken his head off if it connected. The beast faced him again and roared in triumph. The thing was smart, but apparently not smart enough. Jake lifted his rifle and put three more rounds in the damn thing's mouth before it clamped its jaws shut. It whimpered again and fell on its side, blood pooling out of its mouth. Hopefully, he got a round into its brain and it was done for.