CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENThe angled flight deck of the Abraham Lincoln meant that Bessie Blue splashed into the Pacific beside the prow of the carrier, rather than beneath it. The carrier swept past the airplane.
Lindsey heard a moaning. He couldn’t tell whether it was his own voice or Wilkerson’s. As Wilkerson banked the Rainy Mama above Bessie Blue, Lindsey could see the bomber settle onto the choppy ocean surface. The plane had dropped off the flight deck at an acute angle, but once it hit the water it toppled back and lay on its belly. Lindsey heard his own voice.
“Wilkerson, how long can they float?”
“Ten minutes, maybe. Maybe only five. They couldn’t have rigged to ditch, they didn’t have time. There go the choppers.”
Navy rescue helicopters were racing toward Bessie Blue. They aimed
