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The Palmyra Impact

A Novel By

Boyd Morrison

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank Dr. Chip McCreery and Dr. Stuart Weinstein at the Pacific Tsunami Warning

Center for listening to my wild stories and showing me around the facility. Thanks also to Delores

Clark of NOAA for assisting in setting up the tour.

Much appreciation to Dr. David Kriebel, professor of ocean engineering at the Naval

Academy, for information about the effects of tsunamis on structures.

Thanks to Ray Lovell at Hawaii Civil Defense for talking to me about HCD response

procedures in emergencies.

Thanks to my good friend, Dr. Erik Van Eaton, for his medical expertise.

It’s great to have a brother who was an Air Force pilot, and I’d like to thank him--retired Lt.

Col. Martin Westerfield--for his help with all things military and airborne.

Finally, thanks to my wife, Randi, for going on this journey with me.

Any errors in science, organizations, or geography, whether intentional or not, are mine alone.

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

MORRISON/THE PALMYRA IMPACT 1

CHAPTER 1

Memorial Day

8:41 AM

Captain Michael Robb opened his eyes and found himself lying on the cockpit floor. Heat

washed over him, like the airliner had been plunged into a blast furnace, and multiple warning

horns blared. Blood trickled from his brow and stung his eye. For a second, he lay there, dazed,

wondering what had happened. Then he remembered. The impact.

He had just returned to the cockpit, swearing himself off coffee for the rest of the trip. The

flight from Los Angeles to Sydney wasn’t even halfway over, and it had been his third trip to the

lavatory. His copilot, Wendy Jacobs, a good 20 years younger than he was, had turned to smirk at

him but said nothing. He had been about to climb back into his seat when a streak of light flashed

by the airliner’s starboard wing.

Robb thought it was a lightning strike from a storm they were flying above, but then the plane

was thrown sideways, as if batted away by a giant hand. A sonic boom blasted the plane, and the

aircraft rocked from multiple strikes. He smacked into the bulkhead, his head and shoulder taking

most of the blow, which knocked him to the floor.

He must have been out for only a few seconds. Though his mind was still fuzzy, his vision

MORRISON/THE PALMYRA IMPACT

quickly came back into focus. Robb sat up and wiped the blood from his eye. The instrument

panel was intact. Jacobs had disengaged the autopilot and grabbed the yoke, which she now

fought for control. Robb pulled himself to his feet. He had no idea how badly he was injured, but

he was moving. That was enough.

As Robb clambered into his seat, he glanced at the cabin differential pressure gauge. Its needle

was pegged at zero. Explosive decompression.

Reflexively, he reached for the mask hanging to his left, years of training taking over. His

shoulder protested the motion, and he winced in pain.

“Oxygen masks on, 100 percent!” he shouted.

Robb pulled the mask over his head, and Jacobs did the same. The masks in the passenger

compartment had already dropped automatically. He mentally raced through the possibilities for

the blast. A terrorist bomb? Missile attack? Fuel tank explosion? To depressurize that fast, some

of the passenger windows must have blown out, maybe an entire door. The aircraft was still

flying, though, so that meant the fuselage was intact.

With his attention focused on getting the airliner under control, there was no time for Robb to

talk to the passengers. The flight attendants would have to deal with them. The best thing he

could do for the passengers was to get the plane down to 10,000 feet where there was breathable

air.

He pushed the yoke forward and silenced the decompression horn, but another one continued

to wail. The lights for the starboard engines flashed red, meaning they were both on fire.

“Pull number three engine T-handle!” Robb barked out. He suppressed the panic he could feel

edging into his voice.

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