Reseña del libro "Blossoms On The Ocean (en Inglés)"
An act of desperation becomes an adventure on the high seas. A loving father rescues his children from an abusive situation, and secretly casts off in a sailboat to ports unknown on the Pacific Ocean. When a violent storm downs an international passenger airliner, he must choose between saving the lives of its 170 passengers and crew, or safeguarding the children he has sworn to protect with his life...or die trying. Compounding his dilemma, the rescue ship U.S.S. Ticonderoga is loaded with media anxious to broadcast the spectacular mid-air rescue to the entire world. "Blossoms on the Ocean" is a riveting tale of danger, love, and one father's selfless battle to safeguard his childrens' freedom by staying safely off the grid. Excerpt "This is Neverending Story. I've put some lights on. You should be able to see us better. We'll have boats in the water in a moment, and I've got you on my radar about twelve miles out. Captain, what is the procedure for coming in? Can I help? Over." "Not much, Jack. I've got a stall speed of around 180 knots. Any slower than that, we just drop out of the sky. "I'll try to set her down with the nose slightly up. Too much nose, we go over backwards; too straight in, we hit a brick wall. If all goes well and we don't break up when we hit the water, it should float long enough to get everyone out. "That's the picture, Jack. But it's all out of the book. I never ditched one before. Over." "Okay, 53, understand. Glad it's not me up there! Over." On the Neverending Story, everyone was busy. Jamie had the raft almost inflated. The cover was off the dinghy, and the contents were being handed down below. I paused a moment, looked around the boat, then picked up the logbook. "This is K7SOL Maritime Mobile, the sailboat Neverending Story. My position is eleven degrees, twenty minutes north by one-thirty-one degrees, eighteen minutes west. I repeat, eleven degrees, twenty minutes north by one-thirty-one degrees, eighteen minutes west. "At 10:16 p.m. local time, after being overflown by aircraft, I received a distress message on VHF channel sixteen from Pacific Airlines Flight 53, Los Angeles to Papeete, Captain T. R. Baldwin commanding. "Flight 53 sustained damage from a lightning strike, and is preparing to ditch at my location in two, I repeat, two minutes. There are several injuries aboard the aircraft. We request immediate assistance of medical personnel, supplies, and transportation. Flight 53 has 170 passengers and crew on board. "Riley, this is Jack. Did you hear all that? Over." "I heard everything, Skipper! That ought to stir them up a little bit. We're about four miles out, a little over a minute. Over." "We've got you on radar, Riley, we're standing by. Over. "Need those boats in the water now!" I added to Mike and Jamie. "We're just about ready," Mike assured me. "I've got extra line in both boats for towing." "Jack, we're about 100 feet, about two miles. How do we look? Over." I could see the aircraft at two miles, but not clearly. "Nathan, hold this microphone close to my mouth and press the button when I speak." "Okay, Dad." I picked up the binoculars, braced myself, and focused the glasses on the plane. "Press the button now. "I have you in sight, Captain. Looks pretty good, port wing is down a little! Over." "Roger! If I don't answer, Jack, just keep on talking! Over." "Okay, Riley. Looks good. Looks like level flight, about fifty feet. You're about a half mile back, looks level. You're real close, Riley!" Suddenly I shouted, "Nose is up! About thirty feet off the water, Riley. Nose looks too high! Too much nose! You've got fifteen degrees nose! Riley!"
