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[right][sub][h3][b]Unknown location[/b], [s]North Asia[/s][/h3][/sub]
[sub][h3][s]Morning,[/s] [b]Februrary 24[sup]th[/sup][/b], [s]1969[/s][/h3][/sub]
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[b]I[/b]t started on 9 am, Anchorage time. 

It ended eight hours later.

The flight was a typical Northwest Airline one, quick boarding, smooth takeoff and just the service everyone paid for. Pressurized inside the plane cabin was an air of calm. The arctic turbulence was nothing to be worried about, because who actually flew without one? Anyways, it was a sunny day where Flight 122 came from. It seemed like the runway cleared itself of snow by nothing more than sunshine. Alaska blew by in a few hours.

The Bering Strait was windy. The other side of the International Date Line didn't seem as bright. Though this route went east to west, almost as if the day never progressed as Flight 122 chased the sun. It looked like the same time of the day when sea turned to land. Clouds cast shadows on aluminum wings, and someone with a window seat rubbed their eyes open to see a snow-covered valley less than a kilometer below. 

Then something shook the 707, it wasn't anything strong, but it was unlike natural turbulent earlier. Smoke emitted from three of the four jet engines, at that instant, everything turned downwards. There was the pilot announcement, the scrambling of flight attendants securing loose objects and the mass panic to prepare for crash landing. Seconds later, the left wing caught fire. Lights flickered without warning to further the passenger's fears. Suddenly, the entire aircraft sounded like fright.

The fall itself took no more than two minutes, but it was the longest two minutes no one wished to experience. As if the boiling panic prior suddenly exploded into a deafening touchdown, every screech felt like the aftermath of a quake. Initially, the pilots found a strip of clearing and attempted to guide landing gears onto it. However, their plan was dashed by descent quicker than expected. At the same time, fire on the left wing dipped the entire aircraft in its direction. Wood met metal head on, those sitting up front to hear a disturbing shatter of glass, it would later reveal as a stubborn tree ramming into the cockpit; all fours pilots were killed in that instant. Thankfully, landing gears became cushions and prevented a straight nose dive. The 707 continued to skid forward until the left wing collided with a large boulder. The inner engine exploded immediately, ripping the nearby cabin open and either killing, or even more mercilessly, throwing nearby passengers out. Even at this speed, which was several hundred kilometers per hour, at the very least, being flung out equated to certain death. 

Three things happened to make matters worse; the right wing also caught fire, the landing gears gave out and the entire plane split in two. The first two came hand-in-hand as a one-two punch against the last. When the plane split, it rolled. The burning wing attached initially to the front, but it was flipped directly into the rear section, where the outer engine smashed inside the airframe and somehow blew up. This explosion shifted the rear section from the front, causing it to stop after a bundle of pines and a mound of slush. 

The front, however, dived in a pond. Because it still carried momentum, the cockpit plus business class slid several hundred meters into ice. [i]Crack[/i], an already battered nose broke through thin sheets. The forward section finally stopped, but it stopped buried into mud. Their surrounding was a pond just under ten meters, and with the remaining cabin longer than ten meters, only half was submerged at an angle. As if nature was handing out a cruel mock, the cockpit door clicked open, the crushed corpse of a dead pilot spilled out. 

Getting out of freezing water and reaching dry land should be priority for the three survivors in front. Because the cockpit door now came apart, the gruelsome scene inside reminded that the black box and flight plans were still in there. Recovering vital documents could reveal what destroyed a seemingly routine flight ten minutes ago. One survival kit consisted of basic medical equipment, a simple tool kit, a compass, a flashlight, a flare gun with four cartridges and a survival knife, could be found near the attendant's seats. 

Fire was burning in the rear section. Only passengers in far back rows had a living chance, and even so, many were killed by a variety of hazards during the crash. The former center rows were burning, and it would surely spread backwards. Two more exits existed behind the washrooms, but unfortunately, their levers produced no reactions what so ever. However, a red-bladed axe and a fire extinguisher could easily be seen inside an overturned compartment. Behind everything was a dark chamber, one hidden by a busted door identical to cabin walls. There was a small table inside, a table with a built-in sink for developing photos. On the floor laid a trapdoor.

Outside was chilly, the faint swoosh of wind could be heard. There was a long line of wrecked trees behind everything, a reminder of the crash course. To the side of the rear half was a circular clearing, where a still burning engine lodged in the center. A couple of trees were burning too, but it didn't seem like fire was spreading to the entire forest. A short mole hill sat no more than a kilometer away, and several kilometers behind it, a much taller mountain stood. Ravens have already started cawing around the wreckage, but beyond them and other bird songs, there was no sign of civilization.