Chapter 1 – Suspense Club Edition – Welcome to Somalia

🔥 This Is Where It All Begins…

You’re looking at the very first story on Suspense Club.

It just so happens to be written by me — Thomas, the founder, the guy obsessed enough to build this whole damn thing from scratch.

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Because I didn’t want to write into the void.

I wanted real readers.

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Written by Thomas Mai
© Copyright held by Thomas Mai

Chapter 1 – Flames On A Plane

The explosion ripped through the silence of the night, a deafening roar that tore the President of The United States, James Harrington, from the depths of troubled sleep. 

The aircraft shook violently, metal grinding against metal in an unholy symphony that drowned out the screams from the passengers. James grabbed the sides of his bed as Air Force One dropped in altitude sending his stomach to his throat.

At 55, James Harrington was a handsome African American man. Six feet tall, built like an athlete — with one small caveat: a belly earned from too much junk food and too many late nights on the campaign trail. His dark skin complemented his black hair with strands of grey, and deep brown eyes. 

James had been President for only six months. As the country’s leader, he was required to travel frequently. However, he secretly suffered from a fear of flying and turbulence always made him nervous. 

The airplane shook violently, causing James to scream in fear. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he fought to stay balanced, still dressed in his presidential pajamas.

“Baxter?” he spoke into the intercom, his voice nervous “What is happening?”

James stumbled into the aisle reaching out for anything to stay steady. He began coughing as smoke filled his lungs. James could see flickering flames coming from the back of the plane. Screams of terror filled the plane, adding to the atmosphere of panic and impending disaster.

Daniel Baxter, Head of Security, appeared at his side, his face filled with unspoken fears. Baxter firmly directed the President up the stairs. “Sir, we need you up in the cockpit,” he said urgently.  Another jolt shook the entire 747 aircraft.

Daniel Baxter stood tall with a strong, athletic build. With piercing green eyes and a chiseled jaw, his gaze was often met with a challenge from the president’s jokes. Playing games to get Baxter to smile more was a personal mission for the President, especially when they were alone.

Baxter and James burst into the cockpit and were met with a flurry of frantic motion. The cockpit was a symphony of noises—warning alarms blaring, emergency notifications sounding, and pilots scrambling to keep the airplane steady.

“Captain?” James’ voice trembled with fear as he tightly gripped the back of the pilot’s seat, another shudder running through the aircraft.

The leader of the flight, Captain Jack Mitchell, was a Caucasian man in his sixties. He had a loving wife, two children, and three grandchildren. His posture was frantic as he was trying to control the plane. As per tradition for all Air Force One pilots, Jack Mitchell held the rank of Colonel in the US Air Force.

The captain’s voice was filled with stress as he delivered the report: “Sir, we’ve experienced an explosion…but the most concerning issue is the fire.” His face was pale and drawn, worry evident in every line. He struggled to maintain control of the plane, his hands frantically working the controls.

“I would rather lose control of all four engines than have a fire on board. A fire is one of the most terrifying things that can happen on a flight. In 2010, a Boeing 747 from UPS crashed after only 17 minutes due to a fire…” The captain hesitated as he struggled to control the plane.  Regaining control the captain continued “Once a fire starts, it can quickly spread and melt crucial control systems and oxygen supply. We would lose consciousness, and then there is the smoke; soon I won’t be able to see our instruments.” He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. “We are on a sinking ship…we need to land as soon as possible….right now….”

“Land?” Chief of Staff John Parker echoed, his pallor ghostly under the red-tinted lights. His composure revealed the stark fear beneath.

John Parker, the Chief of Staff, was a Caucasian bespectacled man in his mid-70s with a somewhat stocky build and a conservative style of dress. He had a round face with round ears. His demeanor was often serious, sarcastic, and focused, reflecting his role as a political strategist and Chief of Staff for the President.

James’s voice was laced with worry as he inquired, “Where can we land?” His main focus was finding a safe place to  land air so he could get out of the aircraft as soon as possible.

“Working on it, sir,” a young navigator replied, fingers flying over the keyboard. “It’s…not good.”

At just 20 years old, Dylan Harrison was one of the youngest-ever navigators on board Air Force One. He was about to graduate from Maxwell Air Force Base in Alabama. Standing at 5 feet and 9 inches tall, he had a slender and wiry frame. His hair was a tousled mess of dark brown locks that framed his face. His face had soft features—a gentle smile and almond-shaped hazel eyes.

Dylan was not meant to be on this trip; the original navigator had contracted COVID-19, and the backup had injured himself falling off a ladder earlier that day. It was by sheer luck that Dylan, top of his class, was called up last minute to accompany the President of The United States—something beyond his wildest dreams.

“Find somewhere, anywhere,” James said in a panicked voice. “We don’t have a choice.”

James fought to stay upright as the pilots desperately tried to control the failing aircraft. The smell of burning filled the cockpit, along with the thicker smoke. The terrified screams of the passengers could still be heard over the chaos.

The young navigator replied, “Sir, our options for landing are limited. The United Arab Emirates Air Base is 1,700 miles from here. Our best bet would be our small base in Djibouti in North East Africa on the Horn of Africa.  But it is about 700 miles away and it would take us approximately 90 minutes to reach it.”

All eyes were fixed on the President, everyone eagerly waiting for his response. James Harrington leaned over to ask the navigator, “How many minutes are we off the coastline of Africa?”

Looking up from his computer, the young navigator answered, “We are 10 minutes off the coastline of Somalia—we can try to make an emergency landing there?”

“Somalia?” Chief of Staff John Parker interjected, his brows knitting together in concern. “That’s a death sentence!”

With gritted teeth, James responded. “Falling from the sky or suffocating from smoke is much worse, John. We will take our chances on the ground.” He turned to Baxter. “What’s our security status in Somalia?”

Baxter’s report painted a bleak picture: “Sir, Somalia is extremely dangerous. There has been no stable government in Somalia for four decades, and there are no friendly forces in Somalia. It is overrun with warlords. We are entering a high-risk zone with no assurance of safety.”

“Fantastic,” James muttered under his breath. “We might as well be trying to crash land in North Korea.”

The African coastline was just beginning to be lit by the early rays of dawn. President James Harrington braced himself as the plane struggled to reach the shoreline..

James reached for the secure phone, punching in a series of numbers with practiced ease. The line connected to Washington, and the Vice President’s voice came through. “Mr. President, how are you?”

“Not good Bill, Air Force One is compromised. We’re making an emergency landing in hostile territory in Somalia. Alert the Secretary of Defence, the National Security Council, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, NSA, and the closest US bases. Get our assets mobilized—now.” 

“Understood,” the Vice President replied, the gravity of the situation resonating across the miles. “Godspeed, Mr. President.”

James quickly sent a text message to his wife, Jocelyn. His thumbs moved swiftly over the screen. ‘Love of my life, I am afraid I have some bad news. We are crash-landing in Somalia. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I WILL come back to you, I promise. Be strong, don’t give up’ He hit send, the message a lifeline thrown into the digital void, hoping it reached her before the inevitable crash.

James turned to Major Austin Foster, a 35-year-old carrying the nuclear ‘football’ briefcase. He ordered the Major to disable the device, ensuring that no one would be able to access classified nuclear information.

“Mayday, Mayday, this is Air Force One declaring an emergency, latitude 10.838512 longitude 51.154232. We have a major fire and smoke aboard the plane with 69 souls,” the pilot broadcasted to any listening outposts. “We are descending rapidly and require immediate assistance, trying to make a controlled crash-landing in Somalia.” 

Dawn was breaking over the rugged coastline of Africa, revealing a barren landscape with scattered trees beneath mountains to the north. From the air, Somalia appeared picturesque, but it was far from an ideal place to land a plane—there was no airport, no infrastructure, and no security. 

The captain aimed for a small clearing. “Brace for impact!” the pilot yelled over the intercom, his voice cutting through the crescendo of chaos.

James buckled himself into a seat, his hands gripping tightly onto the armrests. His body was tense as he prepared for impact. He closed his eyes and started a silent prayer.

The world tilted on its axis as Air Force One slammed into the earth, a steel beast clawing at the unforgiving terrain of Somalia. Inside, President James Harrington was like a test dummy, his body thrown violently against the straps that kept him anchored to his seat. The  symphony of destruction drowned out the screams and prayers of the passengers.

Air Force One, once a symbol of power and safety, disintegrated into several parts and came to a full  stop.

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Edit Updates

9 May 2024 Edit: Version 2.0 –
Major update to grammar, tense, and spelling mistakes contributed by Monica Liebenow.

14 May 2024 Edit: Version 2.1 –
Minor update to grammar, indent, and spaces contributed by Monica & Erin Liebenow.

Thank you, Monica & Erin!

19 June 2024
another proofread version, hopefully in the past tense and with dialogue in italics. If you spot any mistakes, please use the comment section below

4 July 2024 Version 3.0
Split chapter 1 into 2 chapters (it was way too long) stay tuned for the new chapter 2 titled Welcome to Somalia Mr. President. The chapter Barbarians At The Plane will now be chapter 3. I cut out a lot of the background stories of each character and focused on making the chapter more edge-of-your-seat kind of read, starting and ending with a cliffhanger.

4 August 2024 Version 3.1
Very small edit changes. Changed a couple of words, rewrote some sentences and added some more panic from the pilots.

14 August 2024 Version 3.2
Small edit changes to the flow and structure of the chapter. 

29 August 2024 Version 3.3
small grammar corrections and added a paragraph on the appraoch to Somalia ie Dawn was breaking over the rugged coastline of Africa

Let me know what you think about the chapter and edits below. All feedback is important and I read and respond to every comment.

Thanks

Thomas