Passportal
by
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They again stood on top of the precipice and ogled the landscape before them. It was like a deep canyon, a Death Valley for unfortunate passersby. "What’s the plan, Major," asked Jackson. "We need food, water, medical supplies and anything we deem useful," replied Gunn. "Some of these things have been here for a long time," commented DeVilbiss. "There must be thousands of people missing." "Yeah," said Jackson. "You’d think they’d have raided this storehouse bare a hundred times over." "We don’t know that," retorted Gunn. "Still gotta check it out. Besides, I have to find if the Monroe is here somewhere." They weren’t for sure what the supply ship would look like but they started down the hill in nervous anticipation. "Mitch," asked Jackson. "How come these things are scattered all over the place? There are quite a few wrecked or destroyed planes here but we made it. Why not them?" "Maybe it was our altitude, or our speed," wondered Gunn. "You may not come out of the portal in the same location. I thought Flight 19 disappeared into this place a little farther north from our location. It sure looks like there’s no rhyme or reason to where you wind up when you come through." "You sure about got your wings clipped by that old steamer," chuckled DeVilbiss. "That must be it over there," noted Gunn, pointing to a huge old ship from before the turn of the century, it’s crow’s nest still waving in the wind as though some ghost from decades gone by still peered from over it’s railing. It was a mixture of ancient and of classic. Of old and of new. There lied the U.S.S. Portsmouth, an old Civil War cannon infested warship. Crammed into it amidships was what appeared to be a 1940’s pleasure yacht about 80 yards long. A huge tanker sat partway on top of a Douglas C-54 Skymaster cargo plane, crushing it. It hadn’t exploded. Countless other ships and planes lay strewn everywhere, the majority of them quite old. There was no sign, as yet, of the Avengers of Flight 19, nor of the U.S.S. Monroe. They searched randomly, but found little of value. Most of these ancient hulks had been searched through long ago, a fact suggested by veritable shrouds of cobwebs and dust. It was a cold, dank, and morbid burial ground that still possessed the stench of death. A ghostly fog rose from the trench as it’s cold, shaded air met the heat of the morning sunlight. Then came a growl and a screech that echoed nightmarishly through the avenue of dead things. It repeated twice, with no apparent direction. Their blood chilled. "Jesus, what was that?" queried DeVilbiss as he whipped out his .45 and held it at the ready. "What was what?" replied Gunn, whose head was partially stuck through one of the old Constitution-like wooden battle cruisers. "Jason’s just being a wuss again," retorted Jackson. "Oh yeah," whined DeVilbiss. "Maybe you wanna hang around for the dinner bell, but not me." "It’s just wind," explained Jackson. "That’s fine, Captain," noted Gunn. "Except it’s about as breezy as a Pharaoh’s tomb down here." Jackson fingered the grip of his Colt. Again the guttural sounds came, followed by high-pitched whines. They were closer than before. Scurryings were all around them. This time they all heard it as three Colts sprang to life. "We gotta find shelter fast," warned Gunn, scrutinizing his surroundings. "Where?" screamed DeVilbiss. "We’re surrounded."
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About the Book
On December 5, 1945, five Navy TBM-1 Avenger torpedo bombers, code-named "Flight 19", embarked on a basic training and navigation flight. Entering the Bermuda Triangle, they encounter a black, moonless sky and unkind weather. Amidst public furor, the Navy Department maintains, even fifty-plus years later that each of those five aircraft and accompanying crew of fourteen mysteriously vanished, never to be seen again. An operation was launched to investigate the "disappearances". Months later during routine searches, a German U-boat, stockpiled with weapons and commandos was captured during a moderate storm at sea. Believing it to be one of many such post-war missions to invade the U.S. the government heightened the scope of Operation Triangle on December 7, 1947, enlisting five U.S.A.F. P-51 fighters to re-create the training flight under similar conditions. Unknown to that flight, another German submarine was passing directly beneath them during the peak of the great tempest. In a spiteful twist of fate, both forces succumb to the same fortune as Flight 19, passing through a malevolent fury that they would forever know as the portal. Transported far away to a hostile world teeming with warlike races and multitudes of previous victims of the ancient portals’ frenzy, two opposing factions of WW II are again thrown together, their war transplanted thousands of light-years away. Their ultimate choice-continue their aggression towards each other or combine their military might together in war against an uncountable horde of inhuman savages. It is for you to decide what is truth, and what is legend. The Navy Department will continue to proclaim that the incidents you are about to read never occurred. And yet, sitting idly in a deserted hangar somewhere in Florida, a Navy Avenger torpedo bomber collects dust, a forlorn derelict since 1947, the last earthly member of a fraternity known as Flight 19.
About the Author
This is the author’s first novel published in any format. His wife of eight years, Kim is his most beloved and cherished critic. A long line of military men has influenced the author. Among other veterans, his father, Donald was a decorated veteran of the Korean War and survived the infamous battle of Pork Chop Hill. His uncle, Orville was a member of WW II’s Darby’s Rangers. Randy is an ardent student of military history, his passion being the weapons, armor and warplanes of WW II, which forms the basis for the military presence in this book, which he hopes to make a series. Kim’s deceased uncle, Capt. Marion John Nutter, U.S.A.F., ret., and the inspiration behind this work, was a P-51D Mustang fighter pilot during the Big War. Randy and Kim’s good friend is Colonel John E. Murphy, U.S.A.F., ret., who was, among a great, many other things, a pilot of the SR-71 Blackbird, and his various experiences further motivated the author’s fascination with aircraft.