He saw the flashes of gunfire immediately erupt from below him. One bullet smashed through the fuselage just above his head and exited the other side of the aircraft.
“Damned fools,” he yelled, quickly pitching the helicopter away from the boardwalk and passing over the beach in the direction of open water. He checked the gauges for any sign of engine trouble from the barrage, but could see none. Reaching a distance off the beach that was safe from gunfire, he saw a forty-six foot Cigarette speed boat cruising slowly below him.
My God! They’re having a party, Putney thought in stunned disbelief. He came to the realization that there was nothing he, nor anyone else, could do for these misguided people. Putney prepared to swing his craft around to leave, but stopped when he saw a sight that he would carry to his grave.
The water’s edge began to draw back from the beach, further and further, as if a gigantic blue-green carpet was being rolled up. The velocity of the outflow turned the Cigarette boat completely around and carried it with the rushing current until it finally bottomed out on the sand. The sleek, bright red craft was left sitting high and dry, more than three thousand feet away from what used to be the shore line.
Putney could do nothing but stare at the horror-stricken faces of the boaters as they abandoned the speed boat and began running wildly toward the beach. Most of them became bogged down immediately in the loose muddy bottom, stuck like flies in a spider’s web. Putney could see their silent screaming and desperate waves to him for help.
He glanced at the beachfront to see a mass of people strolling down to the now exposed ocean bottom, seeking a closer look at the phenomenon.
Putney, not able to endure the sight anymore, decided to leave. As he spun the craft around, he witnessed a sight that would haunt him for years. His eyes locked on a rapidly approaching, monstrous wall of white foaming water. Higher and higher, the boiling maelstrom rose from the depths. The sixty-foot high wall of death and destruction bore down on the unfortunate individuals on shore, their fates now sealed.
He saw the boaters once stuck in the mire beneath him vanish under the crushing force of the huge wave. He averted his gaze as those on the beach desperately trying to flee the onslaught were swallowed up by the rushing torrent mere seconds later.
The huge wave, driven by tremendous pressure, hit the famous Atlantic City boardwalk with a thunderous crash. It splintered the planking into millions of lethal shards as it continued to rush into the city streets. Cars, trucks, and people were washed away by the white foaming death. The front of the massive wave smashed into the plate glass window fronts of the casinos, causing a roaring deluge of debris-laden water to flow through their lower floors. It leveled everything and drowned anyone in its path.
Putney rose in altitude as he surveyed the specter of death and destruction. His mouth had gone dry and his hands trembled from the magnitude of the upheaval he was witnessing below. From his higher vantage point, he watched as the wall of water swept across the entire city landscape, exiting at the bay front and continuing toward the mainland. He could hear the excited reports coming across the radio from the many helicopter pilots in the area. They vividly described the catastrophe they were witness to. Putney remained silent, however, numbed by the awesome power of nature he just observed.
He looked down upon the ghastly sight of floating cars, debris, and bodies. The waters flowing through the city streets were blackened by dirt and debris stirred up as the wave continued its destructive march inland. After what seemed an eternity for Putney, the waters begin to flow back out to sea. Like a giant vacuum, it carried a mass of refuse and ravaged bodies with it; back to the abyss from where it came. Putney saw many survivors on the rooftops of the hotels and high rise condos. They stood huddled together, beholding the devastating spectacle below them. He finally found the inner strength to contact his superiors.
Still shaking as he watched a multitude of bodies flowing back into the dark ocean, he said with a breaking voice, “Command…they’re all dead. Those on the ground never had a chance.”
“Roger, Zulu-Victor-two-six-three,” the dispatcher said solemnly. “You did all that you could. We have to concentrate on the survivors now. Do you want to return to base for relief?”
“No,” he replied after a moment's reflection, “I’ll start plotting survivor locations for Coast Guard rescue teams. There are many stranded on the rooftops that are going to have to be evacuated. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, Command,” he said gravely, “a lot of work.”
40
The aftermath of the great tsunami was a daunting effort to recover from. Fortunately, the wave held to the expectations of U.S. Geological Survey scientist Peter Markson, limiting its devastation to less than three miles inland. It was a reprieve for the communities that populated the eastern seaboard and the lives of millions were spared. The wave height was even less in the far northern and southern states, limiting the amount of destruction in some of the most highly populated areas.
The sad testimony of the looters and criminals played out relentlessly in the world media, but in reality, a vast majority of unsung American heroes stepped forward in the tsunami’s aftermath. Good and caring Americans rose to the occasion, flooding the east coast with an outpouring of money, supplies, and volunteers from all over the country. Relief workers in the thousands flocked to the stricken shores to respond to the disaster.
The ultimate death toll from the tsunami, though never actually confirmed, was around nineteen thousand. Most of the drowning victims were never recovered, claimed by the sea for all eternity.
The loss of infrastructure amounted to trillions of dollars, and all national resources were directed to the cleanup and reconstruction effort. When the waters finally receded, very few countries initially came forward to offer any form of assistance. As the true scope of the tragedy unfolded, however, countries such as England, Germany, Canada, and Japan were among the first of many to respond. An outpouring of aid from China also came in the form of materials, funds, and workers.
As events unfolded in the aftermath of the La Palma incident, it became clear that the United States acted prudently and within reason in their attempt to avert the disaster. The Hazleton and her crew were instrumental in providing relief in the form of food, water, and medicine to the stricken people of the island of La Palma.
As promised by Yagato Osama, a trail of incriminating evidence linked Robert Pencor to the dastardly act of terrorism. His lifelong obsession with fame finally became a reality. Robert Pencor's name would be vilified forever as the mastermind of the East Coast Tsunami, and the one responsible for the death of thousands.
The Yakuza connection in the matter never came to fruition. The powerful organization quickly and expediently destroyed all evidence and eradicated all persons linked to the project. Rumors and conspiracy theorists had a field day on the internet and in publications with their conjecture, but the organization managed to slip beneath the radar. Their terrible Scalar weapons were hidden away for another time and another place.
The artifacts recovered by Eli Turner, and, ultimately saved by Maria Santiago during her escape from the catastrophe on La Palma, caused a worldwide fervor. The cup and thorn brush were placed on display at the San Fernando University Museum on Tenerife by Carlos Santiago after rigorous examination and carbon dating by experts in the field of archeology and anthropology. The rolled copper scroll, attributed to be the actual writings of Jesus, was sent to Switzerland for the careful process of unrolling.