It started when the sun came up.
A loud crashing, a flash of lightning, and there it was.
Flight 19, missing for 69 years, just hovering in the sky.
We stood at the edge of the Park Avenue loop in Vero Beach, watching the missing airplanes hang like ornaments over North Hutchinson Island.
Yeah…this is Lt. Taylor. I can’t seem to see anything. Just Water. Water and fog.
His voice carried through the walkie-talkies of the emergency workers, distant and faded.
All five planes flickered, growing louder and quieter in waves.
They were low enough for a helicopter to reach.
The Navy sent up an Iroquois to reach the planes and determine if there was life inside.
Taylor, this is Bossi, we’ve got one unknown approaching. Looks like a helicopter.
The helicopter stopped in mid-air. The blades freezing in place.
Everyone held their breath, watching.
We’re stuck. We’re not falling, but nothing is working ksssshhhh Bossi, try to reach out to our friend, tell him we have orders to fire if need be.
The helicopter exploded, the shrapnel and fire hung in the air.
Flight 19 disappeared. A low humming came from the clouds above North Hutchinson Island.
The people pushed in closer at the end of Park Avenue, watching the sky.
Thirteen men flickered into view. Suspended, on fire, mouths open in silent screams.
Piece by piece the helicopter began to fall, dropping into the ocean.
The men faded away, leaving static filled holes in the sky.
Three hours after the last bits of wreckage fell into the ocean, the crowd began to wander away.
Divers scoured the ocean floor below where the planes had appeared.
What started as a strange sighting quickly became a rescue mission.