Their heads turn slowly as one as we pass slowly by.  Our heads turn just like theirs as we watch them.  Once past them, I look into the rearview and see them trot toward the long line of cars.

About ten miles further north, the main FortLewis exit appears.  There is no traffic in or out of this gate.  Traffic barricades are in the road out front and the gate is shut.  There is no movement whatsoever at the entrance gate.  The first visible buildings of Fort Lewis appear on the right behind a barbed wire topped, chain link fence as we drive a little further north; a few office type buildings and then family housing units.  I have passed by many times and have yet to see anyone moving about the area so seeing no one there is not all that strange.

There are a few more cars pulled off of the road as we progress further north.  We pass by an overturned semi in the south lanes that appears to have slid off of the road.  It seems so strange that we haven’t seen a soul.  I mean, there should have been someone about.  Even with the supposed CDC odds of immunity.  But nothing greets our journey but the grass, trees, blue sky, and empty, gray lanes.  The off ramp to another Fort Lewis exit is as clear as the first.  I can’t see the gate from the road but imagine it would look the same – closed.  I am not sure, but this also may be the entrance for MadiganHospital as well.  Apparently the Army was a little better, or more persuasive, at turning people away.  Perhaps something to do with the quarantine I read about.

A blue sign stating “McChord AFB Next Exit” stands by the side of the road ahead of us.  I slow down and move over to the right lane.  Robert, behind me, does the same.  I really want to take the exit further up by the mall but I know there is a hospital at that exit and I don’t want to be blocked.  Pulling over to the side of the Interstate, I turn off the Jeep and exit.  Nicole and Bri, taking this as a clue, get out as well and walk to the back of the Jeep.  Robert and Michelle, seeing me get out and apparently deciding I want them to do the same, get out and meet me.

“The gate is off the next exit to the right,” I tell them.  “I don’t know what to expect so I’m going to go up there alone in the Jeep.  If I’m not back within thirty minutes, assume something happened.  You four get in the car as best as you can and get back to Grandma’s house.  Understood!”

“Dad?  Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” pipes up Nicole.

“It’ll all be okay, hon.”

“Can’t we just go with you?”  Bri asks

“No, babe.  I really don’t know what to expect and so want to scout this one alone.  Okay, any questions?”

“What about if we just go to the top of the ramp and watch from there?”  Robert chimes in.

“Okay, fine!  You can drive to the top but stop a little before you get there.  Then you can walk to the intersection.  But for god’s sake, don’t go all of the way into the intersection and make yourself totally visible,” I say in exasperation, feeling my hair go a shade grayer.

Stepping back into the Jeep, I crank it up and turn right at the top of the ramp where I am immediately met with a closed gate.  Well, I didn’t make it very far.  I get out and step up to the gate.  It is a chain link gate topped with barbed wire and operated by a motor driving a chain which then propels the gate open and closed.  The motor is located at the base of the fence by where the gate withdraws.

With the sun staring me in the eyes, I look up the road through the gate.  The roads bends slightly to the right with trees alongside, hiding the security point.  There are no sounds except for the occasional chittering of small animals as they scurry amongst the bushes and the sound of a light breeze as it blows across the tops of the trees.  I make out what appears to be a body in the middle of the road where it bends.  Are they under a ‘shoot on sight order’?  Is there still anyone there at the checkpoint?

I grab a section of the gate fencing and pull as I ponder my approach.  I am not too keen to take a round just for showing up at the party.  Let’s see, how best to not get shot? I think, pulling harder on the gate.  The gate doesn’t move in its tracks more than a couple inches so I head to the gate end keeping an eye up the road.  Grabbing hold of the aluminum post on the gate end, I pull to the side attempting to open the gate.  Other than moving a few inches, it holds firm.  I put my foot to the end fence post and strain once again.  The fence holds firm initially but then, with a jarring clank, it opens about four inches.  The gearing teeth on the motor or chain gave slightly.  Another try but apparently, the gate, anticipating this move, holds firm once again.  Heading back to the Jeep, I glance back down the road towards the ramp to see the four of them looking at me with hands to forehead shielding their eyes.

Grabbing my wire cutters and a couple of screwdrivers out of my tool box, I walk back to the mule-headed gate.  I snip the wires holding the chain link to the post along the side as far as I can reach up and a few along the bottom.  Enough so that I can peel the fencing back and slip through.  Taking a look around me, I walk over to the gate motor.  Next, I unfasten the housing around the chain driving the gate and take the chain off of the gear wheel with the screwdrivers similar to the way you take a tire off a bike.  The gate moves freely back as I pull it toward me.  Okay, we don’t have to walk.  Well, from here at least.

I debate walking up to the bend in the road but decide to drive for a couple of reasons.  Driving will give me a certain amount of protection in case I am fired on plus it will give anyone at the checkpoint notice that someone is coming, giving them time to think rather than react as they might if I just materialized on the road.  There is another factor – If humans are at the gate, they know anyone driving is as well.  I am quite sure these “things” aren’t just driving around in the middle of the day and so, hopefully, it will give notice to anyone there that I am quite human.  I can’t label whatever these “things” are.  To me, there is human, these “things”, and the dead.

I pull the gate the rest of the way open, walk back to the Jeep, and put away the tools.  Climbing back in, I start slowly up the road keeping to the middle.  As I drive forward, more of the road that was hidden by the bend appears and I see bodies lying both on the road and alongside it.  Warily, I drive to the bend and stop before reaching the first body.  The road continues to a set of checkpoints similar to double-sized toll booths that are connected together by a single, overhead roof; the inbound lanes split into several ones; each to a booth.  The traffic barricades are down in the lanes.  One lane curves off to the right to a visitor center with a small parking lot in front.  There is an exit lane passing by the security point but it is blocked by a Humvee.  I see the silhouettes of more Humvees parked behind the booths.

A few bodies lie on the ground; from here all of the way up to the checkpoint and scattered throughout the area.  I look for any sign of movement but see nothing but the tip of the trees bending in the breeze.  With the engine running, I step out slowly and take another step or two away from the Jeep with my arms raised fully expecting a call from a bullhorn, a warning shot, something.  Nothing.  Keeping my arms up, I step next to the first body noticing several bullet wounds in the chest, abdomen, and legs.  The skin has turned that reddish color.  Putting my arms down, I survey the area for a few moments before heading back to the Jeep.

Climbing in, I drive slowly toward the checkpoint weaving slightly to avoid the bodies, each one with that sunburned look.  All of them have bullet wounds of some sort; some whole, others with a limb or face or most of a head missing.  I can feel my stomach clinch as I approach.  Parking about twenty feet from the booths, I notice a black boot sticking out of one of the booth doors with the toes pointed skyward.  My vision past the checkpoint is blocked by the Humvees parked lengthwise across the road.  I step out into the shadow of the booths cast by a sun still low in the sky and notice just a hint of an odor in the air; like the beginning of milk souring.

Still not knowing what to expect or if there are any security personnel about, I leave my gun holstered.  An armed person with a weapon ready will bring about a supersonic, steel-jacketed bee quicker than one without a weapon in hand.  I haven’t been stung to this point and am looking to keep it that way.  Edging slowly in a circular fashion up to the booth with the boot sticking out, I notice shell casings on the ground around the booth and behind it.  Finally reaching the open door and stepping up to the opening, my heart jumps up a notch at the same time as a twist of nausea grips my stomach.

Lying before me, stretched across the booth, is what must have been one of the base security personnel.  It is absolutely unidentifiable as to what gender it once was.  The pants and left shirt sleeve are completely shredded revealing devastation beneath.  The skin and most tissue have been removed from the arms, legs, and face leaving behind only bits of tissue, tendons, and dried blood still clinging to the bone.  Dried blood lays everywhere with shell casings littering the floor.  The right arm, from the elbow down, lies close to the body with the still intact portion of the sleeve surrounding it; the hand still gripping a Beretta 9mm pistol with the slide back and locked open signaling an empty chamber and magazine.  The right leg is completely missing from the knee down.  The only intact portion of uniform is a combat vest still attached to the torso and the boot pointing skyward at my feet.  Small bits of intestines and organs poke out between the pelvic bones. 

What a mess, I think and notice the stock and lower half of an M-4 poking out from under a small desk.  Hmmm, that will come in handy as will the combat vest but removing the vest won’t be pretty.

I step away from the door, duck under the barricade, and edge to the rear of the booth toward the Humvees.  The ground behind the booths is covered with shell casings to the point where there isn’t really much pavement to be seen below them.  Four Humvees have been parked front to back across the lanes with driver sides toward me and open and machine guns on top angled skyward.  I walk to the front of one and look further into the base.  The scene before me transfixes in my mind.

The ground is littered with bodies.  Bodies are piled upon each other forming walls and mounds in places right up to the Humvees themselves.  Some lie singly between mounds, the bodies decreasing in number the farther away I look.  Holy shit; there are easily over a hundred of them.  Maybe hundreds.  I guess I know where that smell is coming from, I think looking around for any sign of movement or any form of mankind.  Nothing greets me but a multitude of crows hopping on the ground amongst the bodies.

I walk along the line of Humvees, looking inside each one.  More shell casings lie thick on the floors of each one with dried blood spattered throughout; reminiscent of the security booth.  I do a quick check inside each to see if the mounted guns have any ammo left.  No luck.  I do find an ammo can sitting in the driver side floorboard of the second Humvee.  Opening it up, I see it is about half full of 5.56mm rounds.  I close it up, pull it out and follow along the line.  Coming to the last Humvee, I reach into the driver’s compartment, and turn the start switch to the right.  A moment later, the orange light comes on letting me know that the glow plugs are warm.  Very nice, the battery still works.  I jump in, set the ammo can in the floor next to me, and turn the starter switch over.  The engine cranks over and comes to life after a few revolutions.  Way cool.  Looking at the gauges, everything seems to be working fine and plenty of fuel.  I close the door and do that wonderful three-point turn a few times until I can steer clear of the other vehicles.  I drive the Humvee up over the curb and grass, park beside the Jeep and shut it down.  I look and listen to see if my antics have drawn any attention.  One more thing to do, I think sighing heavily and not looking forward to it.

I walk back to the booth and step inside trying my best to ignore the carnage within.  I reach down, grab the black, plastic M-4 stock, and pull it to me.  The bolt is back.  I remove the magazine and find it empty as suspected.  I slide the magazine back in and bend down to the separated arm and hand to pick up the pistol but the hand doesn’t want to let go just yet.  I am able to pry the forefinger out of the trigger guard.  I then look to the combat vest still secured to the body and see a couple of magazines poking out of their compartments.  I take the carbine and pistol out and look on the ground beside the Humvees.  Ah, there we go, I think strolling over to them.  Several empty magazines lie on the ground by the front wheels.  I should have noticed that before.

Gathering everything up, I walk to the front and set everything in the passenger side of the Humvee.  Oh crap, I have to get back to the kids, I think closing the passenger door.  Otherwise, I may find they have actually driven back to the house.  Looking at my watch, I see 0820.  I have been here about twenty minutes.  Time to get back and then finish up here.  I drive the Jeep back to the gate and see them standing on the side of the road as I round the bend.  I wanted to bring the Humvee just to see the expressions on their faces but I could also see them jumping in the car and taking off thinking security forces were approaching.  That would be great fun; chasing them all of the way back to the house and starting the trek over.

“There’s no one manning the gates,” I tell them after arriving back.  “I parked a Humvee at the gate and we can transfer the stuff from the car into it and drive that instead.”

“Do I get to drive it?”  Robert asks with a not too well concealed grin.

“No, I’ll drive it and you take the Jeep,” I answer as he hangs his head in mock disappointment.  Well, he pretends the mock part but I know he really does want to drive it.

“Let’s head up as before.  Watch the road, there are some bodies lying on it but you can maneuver around them.”

We get back into our vehicles and proceed through the gate slowly with Robert behind me and we park where I had before.  “Dad, there’s other ones we can drive,” Robert says nodding over to the parked Humvees.

“What!?  And leave my Jeep just sitting here.  I don’t think so,” I reply and take a step toward the booths.

“But,” he starts but stops immediately as my head whips around toward him, not completing the rest of his sentence.  “Okay, Dad.”

“You guys unload the stuff in the Honda into the back of the Humvee.  I’ll be right back.”

Back at the booth with the corpse lying in it, I step inside.  I don’t really want to go through with this and consider leaving the vest there, but it will come in handy.  If this were a fighter base or I had time to find the security detachment building, I could easily find another, but you take what you can get.  I bend down by the side of the body and keep my eyes focused on the vest as much as possible.  This is not going to be easy to get off just by pulling the arms through so I take my folding blade out and snap it open.  The upper arms are being held onto the shoulder by tendons, the muscle structure, and skin in back.  I pull the left socket bone away and slice my knife through the tissue setting the arm bones away from the body.  I do the same to the right side with my stomach doing flips.  I undo the front clasps and lay the right vest front out on the floor, grab hold of the left side, and pull.  The body rolls over to the right as I lift and pull.  The head stays in place for most of the way and then starts following the body before bending backward with the back of the head almost touching the back.  The body flips over and the vest comes free, the head flips forward and comes to a rest looking over the left shoulder.  I scramble out and upend my breakfast behind the booth.

“Alright, fuck it,” I address the group coming back around to the front.  All heads turn from loading the last of the gear.  “Robert, go get the Humvee on the right.  If you can manage to get it over here without hitting a building, running over any of us, or hitting any wildlife, you can drive it to the flight line.”

“Yeah!”  Robert says with his eyes lighting up and he starts fast walking over to get it.

“Wait,” I say before he gets very far.  “Come here.  I’ll show you how to start it.”  I see some confusion in his eyes trying to judge whether I am joking or not.  “It’s a diesel and they start differently.”

Throwing the vest onto the passenger seat, I show him the start switch and light, explaining to him that diesels don’t have spark plugs but glow plugs and they need to heat up.  “The orange light here tells you when the plug is warm and you can crank it,” I tell him finishing with the mini diesel lesson.

He walks behind the booths and disappears.  I hear an engine crank up a short time later and see the rear of the Humvee emerge from behind the checkpoint as he backs up slowly.  He then turns down the lane to the visitor center, through the parking lot, and catches the lanes back by the bend in the road to where we are.  I sigh heavily, part of it from that he didn’t hit anything, part of it knowing that my Jeep and I will soon part company, and another from thinking that some things are just ingrained in our mind.  We are going to have to all start thinking outside some of the civilization we are apparently now leaving behind.

“You could have just driven over the curb there,” I say upon his return from his extended scenic road trip and nod to where I had driven over it earlier.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I could have.”

I can tell there is a bit of glee in his eyes that he had just driven, and was going to drive, a Humvee.  Some pride and some chest puffiness as well.  I see he wants Michelle to be impressed.

We finish loading the gear.  I drive the Jeep to the visitor center and park it in an empty parking spot.  No, I didn’t go over any curbs.  This is my Jeep after all.  I make sure I have my cell phone, the battery powered charger for it, and look around to see if we have everything.  Ugh, I think, the kids left the tool box here so I grab it out of the back.  Setting the tool box on the ground, I climb back in for a moment.

“See you later my friend,” I say softly patting the top of the dash.  “I’ll be back.”

Climbing out, I grab the toolbox and put the keys in my zippered sleeve pocket.  With the sun starting to warm the air, I start back to the checkpoint.

Back at the Humvees, I grab the 5.56mm magazines.  “Here, you can help me load these,” I say handing each of them a magazine.  Unloading the ammo can, I set it on the ground.  “29 to a magazine and here’s how you do it.”  They gather around and we load up the 8 magazines I found.

“Ok, let’s move out.  We have a lot to do and the day is moving on.  I doubt we’ll be able to get out of here today.  Bri, I want…”

“Why aren’t we leaving today?”  Robert interrupts.

“A couple of reasons.  First, we need to plan our legs around flying and arriving during the day if at all possible.  That way, we can fuel up when we get to our destination.  Secondly, I want the flight to be during the day in case we have a problem and have to land.  I’m not certain any airport lighting or nav aids are working so I need to be able to find the airport and land in daylight.  Plus, we have to flight plan yet and I have to learn the new aircraft so I’ll have to go through the manuals and checklists, if we can find them, and take it up for a spin to get used to flying it,” I explain.

“Now, if Robert is done interrupting, Bri and Nic, you are with me.  Robert and Michelle, you take the second Humvee.  Follow a little behind.  If we meet anyone and have to stop, you park a short distance away.  Be ready to turn around and get the hell out of here if anything goes wrong.  Ready?”

They all nod and we board the Humvees.  Nicole is in front with me and Bri is in the back seat.  We start up and head around the checkpoint.  Passing by the other parked Humvees, I do my best to maneuver through the piles of bodies but unable to avoid all them, we ride over some like driving over a speed bump; only, these speed bumps have a little give to them.  The bodies eventually decrease in number the farther away from the checkpoint we get until I can maneuver without running over any more “speed bumps.”

I continue driving slowly further into the base and toward the morning sun with Robert about twenty five yards behind.  We pass by a golf course to our left and buildings begin to appear on either side of us.  I am constantly looking around for any sign of life but am only met by the occasional bird crossing the road ahead of us or riding the air currents above us.  It’s like driving through a ghost town.  There are no cars on the streets or people walking the sidewalks.  No one is standing outside a building taking a smoke break or running errands.  The building windows stare back as if in a surrealistic dream.  I take a left onto another major road knowing the flight line lies to the north end of the base.  Buildings continue along the road with their large brown signs outside denoting what unit or service they housed.  A three story building appears to our left, set back from the road with a large parking lot and open fields surrounding it.  The signpost outside reads “McChordAFBHospital.”

I pull to a stop at the road entrance staring at the structure.  There are several cars in the parking lot, more than I have seen at any of the buildings.  That’s to be expected though and keeps with the general trend I noticed on the way up and the assumptions I made.

“What are you doing Dad?”  Bri asks from the back seat.

“Thinking.”

I want to go inside and check things out for a couple of reasons.  The first is there are medical supplies we could use in there and the second is that I figure if anyone has some idea of what happened or some information on these things, it would be a military hospital.  There must be some sort of report floating around there, I think with only the idling motor keeping my thoughts company.  I would guess with the hospital administrator.  Maybe even some information on bases overseas although it may only be reports from other Air Force bases and units.  I am really only interested in Army units though and truly only one in particular.  But any information on what we are dealing with would be beneficial.  I sit contemplating the risks and time involved versus information.  The seconds on my watch tick slowly by as thoughts and plans streak through my mind.  Finally deciding, I put the Humvee into drive and turn left into the hospital and look in the rear view to see Robert following.

Pulling around to the emergency entrance on the south side, I park a short distance from the doors and shut off the motor.  The first four rows of parking places are filled with cars and trucks as was the parking lot of the main entrance.  Not as packed as the civilian hospitals, no traffic jams, but still busier than any of the other buildings.  An ambulance is parked under the covered drop off by the entrance doors with its back doors open.  I get out and head around to the back watching Robert and Michelle exit their vehicle and hear the doors shut from the other side of mine indicating Nicole and Bri have exited as well.

“What are we doing here?”  Robert asks.

“Medical supplies and hopefully some info on what we’re dealing with,” I answer pulling the combat vest out, the dried blood almost blending in with the camouflage.  Putting the vest on, I adjust the straps for a more comfortable fit.  I slip magazines into pouches as Robert asks, “So, what’s our plan?”

“You all stay here.  I’m going in alone.”

The amount of cars in the lots indicates that there are a few people inside; either alive, dead, or one of those transformed things.  I don’t want to have to worry about them in a larger building like this.

“I’m not going in far and I won’t be long,” I say.

Finishing with the magazines, I duct tape the cylindrical flashlight to the left side of the M-4 as near to barrel alignment as I can and make a mental note that the center of the light is a couple of inches off of the left of where any bullet will strike.  I test the light to assure myself of its brightness and put the tape roll on my left wrist again.  Sliding a magazine into the lower receiver, I flip the bolt release and thumb the selector to ‘safe.’  I glance down at my watch and note the time.

“Okay.  It’s 09:10.  If I’m not back by 10:00, head back to Grandma’s.  Don’t come in after me.  If someone does come by or you see someone, try to hide as best as you can but do not, under any circumstances, draw any weapons.  If they see you, do what they say and tell them the truth.  Don’t go making anything up.  If you tell them I’m inside, they’ll wait here until I come out so we won’t be separated.  Questions?”

“What about if we just cover the doors like we did at Freddie’s?”  Robert asks.

“No, I have this one.  You just stay here and don’t go exploring.”

I pass the rear of the ambulance to the emergency entrance room doors.  The back end of the ambulance is empty with the stretcher missing and there are a couple small pools of dried blood on the floor.  I’ll grab the med supplies out of here as well, I think to myself turning once again to the doors.

The main doors are double glass doors that slide open automatically with a glass, push-open door flanking each side.  Approaching from the right side, I see that quite a bit of ambient light reaches inside illuminating a black and white checkered linoleum floor.  I kneel down by the red brick wall and peek through the right hand door.  It appears the room opens up to both the left and the right with a hallway leading off into the darkness directly across the room from me.  A large nurses’ station counter abuts the back wall to the left of the hallway entrance and is dimly lit by the light.  The left and right walls are shrouded in darkness.

I reach over to the pull bar on the right door and give a pull.  The door gives a fraction of an inch before stopping with a slight metallic thud.  Okay, I try pushing.  Same thing – locked.  I sidle over to the pneumatic doors keeping my eyeballs on the interior.  I don’t expect them to automatically open, and they don’t, but I try pulling them apart.  They don’t budge.  I try the left door but it only gives the same response as the one on the right.  Righty-O then.  Another tape job coming up.

I am a little worried as I have snuck onto a military base, taken a couple of their vehicles and weapons, and am about to break into a building.  If I do run into anyone on base, they are going to be slightly displeased.  And, with what I am sure is a martial law status going on, that displeasure could sting.  Wait until I take one of their airplanes.  They are going to positively love that!

Leaning my gun against the brick wall, I peel off strips of duct tape and tape the lower pane of the glass door on the right.  Taking out my knife, I bash the handle end against the glass.  My knife rebounds without any resounding crack or shattering of glass.  Another bash gives the same response.  Damn, this has always worked before, I think giving one more smack.  “Okay you son of a bitch!  Be that way!” I mutter as I turn and walk back to the ambulance.

Climbing into the back, I lift the bench seat that lines the right compartment wall.  Inside are folded blankets and small pillows.  I grab three of the blankets and a pillow, close the lids, and walk back to the titanium door that has cleverly disguised itself as glass.

I fold two of the thin blankets slipping a pillow between them.  I put the pillow sandwich against the glass and hold it there with my shoulder.  I take my Beretta out and drape the other folded blanket over it and my hand.  Putting the draped pistol against the blankets on the door, I remove my shoulder and fire.  The shot sounds loud but is muffled substantially by the blankets.  There is no rebounding echo off of the buildings around so I know the shot couldn’t have been heard from very far away.  Laying the bundled blanket on the ground and holstering my handgun, I chip away the rest of the glass starting at the bullet hole until the entire pane comes clear.

Grabbing my M-4, I turn on the flashlight and pan it around the room.  The light comes to rest on several bodies lying on the floor.  From this low angle, I can’t really see much of the room, but of what I can see, nothing moves.  I crawl into the room and stand up at the entrance.  The smell immediately hits.  It smells exactly like the inside of that truck I opened yesterday; blood, vomit, and feces.  It’s like a solid cloud permeating the room, gagging me.  Taking short, shallow breaths, I shine the light around the room.  Molded plastic chairs line every wall except where the nurses’ station is.  Double wooden, swinging doors are set into the far right wall.  The hallway across the room and in front of me stretches away past the limit of my light tapering off into unrelieved blackness.

Bodies are scattered across the waiting area and are in the same state as the corpse in the guard post.  The bodies have been stripped of most of the skin and tissue with only small strips of tendon and muscle still clinging to the bone.  Most still have their hair attached to the top of their heads.  Pieces of entrails stretch away from some of the bodies and the floor is covered with dried blood.  I have seen many, many things in my life; badly burned bodies, disembowelments, bodies of villagers killed, mutilated and stacked like cordwood, bodies thrown from speeding vehicles; but never anything like this.  The darkened room, with only my light illuminating the ruin as it pans its way around the room, coupled with the overwhelming stench, is enough for me.  I scramble my way out of the door and lean against the brick wall outside, letting the nausea subside.

It won’t be long before the flies and disease crop up from so many bodies.  Most of the diseases, plague, cholera, and typhoid in particular, will become rampant in the most populated areas.  I am not so keen on going back in there.  I just won’t shine my light on the bodies and head over to the nurses’ station, I think reaching down and taking the pillow case off of the pillow.  Folding the pillow case into a triangle, I tie it around my face covering my nose and mouth; not so much as a precaution for disease, but more so for the smell.

Crawling back in, I keep the light and M-4 pointed at the ground straight ahead.  Approaching the counter, I notice bloody footprints leading down the hall.  Not just one or a couple of them, but lots of them.  Too many to count and they almost form a trail.  I suppose they could have been from hospital workers here before or during this tragedy, but with my experience from the gas station and the footprints there, I am going to assume there are a few of those things in here.  My thumb subconsciously slides the selector to ‘burst.’

Stepping behind the counter, my light catches a multitude of charts and papers lining the desk.  Some charts lie open and others are just stacked on top of each other with individual papers scattered in every way.  I shine my light on the charts hoping for a folder that would give me information on what I am looking for but they only have individual names on them.  Keeping my ears open, I check out the various papers on the desk.  One is a memo detailing the immediate cessation of the Cape Town flu vaccinations, another outlining a quarantine area and ordering those with flu symptoms to report there or medical staff observing these symptoms in others, to call security.  I search through files and desk drawers but come up empty on anything related to CDC or military findings.  So, that leaves the medical services commander or hospital administrator.

Near the phone in middle of the desk is a hospital telephone directory.  On the top page is the commander’s name, Col. Sarah Jensen, ext.  2856, room 350.  Of course it would be on the third floor, I think setting it down and looking at hospital diagrams taped to the top of the counter.  Using my folding blade, I liberate the diagrams from the counter, each diagram depicting a floor of the hospital.  I notice the commander’s office two floors above me on the complete opposite side of the hospital.  Wow!  Two for two.  A third strike and I’m outta here, I think stepping from behind the counter and into the hallway.

Heading quietly down the hall, I come to an elevator and a steel stairway door to my right.  The bloody footprints continue down the hallway fading and disappearing altogether a short distance away.  I shine my light at a doorway across the hall from the elevator and see a black engraved sign on the wall that reads ‘Dispensary.’  The door is a half door in which the upper half can be opened separate from the bottom half with a small counter separating the two halves.  And, the top half is open.  Aha, my luck seems to be changing, my thought bubble hanging out there in hope.

I edge across, alternating my light between the dispensary opening and the hallway.  Reaching the door, I pan my light around the small interior of the room.  Bottle-filled shelves line the walls with three smaller bottle-filled shelves in the middle of the room creating small aisles between them.  A small, open doorway opens in the middle of the left wall.

Entering the room, I quickly clear the small aisles inside and swing back to the open doorway.  It is a small storage room and is empty with the exception of several open cardboard boxes filling the wall space to the left.  Bringing the empty boxes into the dispensary room, I fill them with various bottles.  Now, I am no Pharmacist by any stretch and so I start with the ones I do know.  Various antibiotics and pain killers start the transfer from shelf to box followed by most everything else I can pack into them.  Time to sort later, I think filling box after box.  There is a Pharmaceutical book on the counter and so that goes with.  Can’t Google stuff anymore so we’ll need this.  After the boxes are filled, I bring them to the front doors making several trips, making sure to keep an ear and eye alert for any sound or movement.

I head back into the hallway and the metal fire door leading to the stairwell.  Yes, I plan to go further inside than what I told the kids.  I pull slightly on the handle and the door swings open.  Opening the door, I shine the light inside while holding the door open with my foot.  A flight of concrete stairs leads upward to a landing with another flight of stairs leading off in the opposite direction to the next floor.  I step into the stairwell noticing only a folded wheelchair next to the wall in the alcove next to the stairs as the door slowly closes behind me.  Focusing my light on the stairs and landing above me, I step onto the first step.  The stairwell is completely dark except where my flashlight radiates a small circumference of light.  Away from the light, an oppressive darkness prevails and presses in on me.  No emergency exit lights.  No light of any kind.

I proceed up the stairs counting them as I go and focusing my light and carbine as far up the next flight as my vision permits.  My stomach is clenched tight with a tingling sensation as my system continues to pump adrenaline through my bloodstream.  No matter how many times I have done this in the past, it is always the same feeling.  Hyper-alert.  Time slowing.  My heart beats strong in my ears, to the point where it seems that it can be heard externally.  With a team around, this feeling was minimized to a certain extent, but when solo, the feeling intensifies.  You can get used to the feeling but not the circumstances.  Keep focused and keep moving. 

Approaching the second floor, I see two metal fire doors exiting off from the landing to either side.  With my back to the wall, I continue up to the third floor landing.  Two more fire doors exit here.  Crouching by the left door, I ease it open with my shoulder, and enter into an inky black hallway.  To my left, towards the emergency room parking lot, the hallway goes a short distance before turning left to another hallway.  A single door sits closed in the wall at the juncture with a small amount of light leaking from under it; a natural light most likely from windows facing the parking lot.

To my right, the hallway extends into darkness and I see several closed doors set into the walls.  The stairway door closes behind me with a soft thud.  I check to see if it opens, find that it does, and so I am not stranded having to find another way down.  The hospital diagram shows the administrator’s office lies down the hallway to my right at the other end of the building.  I edge down the darkened hallway panning my light from left to right.  I see the third door down on the right is open.

As I approach the opened doorway, I see it is actually a set of double doors and begin to pick up on a faint panting sound.  Much like a room full of dogs on a hot day or after a day of chasing sticks but heard from a long distance.  This sound fills my ears at the same time as my light zooms into the room.  There, I see the end of a folding table on its side jutting slightly out into the doorway with several orange plastic chairs lying upended and scattered throughout the room.  And, against the far wall, huddled together on the floor, lie fifteen to twenty bodies, their skin pale and blotchy.  It is from this huddled mass that the panting sounds emit.

The one closest to the door, and hence me, opens its eyes, staring back at me through the light.  Rising with lightning speed to its knees, its mouth opens and lets out an ear-blasting shriek of alarm.  I pull the trigger and the gunshots join in this sudden escalation of noise, the flash of my rounds giving a quick strobe-like quality to the room and hallway, affecting my vision only slightly.  The burst of rounds stitch across its body from the chest upwards, hurling it back into the huddled mass; its scream changes in mid-shriek; from alarm to pain to nothing.

The smell of gunpowder wafts in the hallway as time stands still for a moment.  The only sound that of the empty cartridges bouncing metallically on the floor.  The stillness ends with an explosion of activity and noise as the things all seem to rise instantly and as one, the shrieks from them deafening as they charge for the door.  Two more bursts lift the two in front off their feet and into those behind as the others streak for the door.  I am going to have to reload before I can take them all down therefore allowing them to pour into the darkened hallway.  With this in mind, I start backing down the hallway toward the stairway focusing on the room’s entrance and thumbing the fire selector to ‘semi.’

The first one appears at the door.  My round enters its head just beside the left eye, rocking its head backwards.  The back and side of its head explodes outward, coating the doorjamb with blood and bits of bone and gray matter.  It falls forward to the ground onto its chest and face, its momentum carrying it forward further into the hallway.  A second one appears leaping with a shriek over the body falling in front.  Another strobe of light and popping sound of a round leaving the chamber fills the hall.  The body is thrown sideways in mid-leap from the round slamming into the side of its chest, cutting the shriek off mid-way.  Hitting the floor, it skids across the linoleum, coming to rest against the hallway wall.

Three more enter into the hallway at an almost full run, turning toward me as they exit.  Three more rounds fly from my barrel, sending them all to the ground; the one on the right flies backward with its feet over its head, slamming head first into the floor with a meaty smack.  By the time the last one has fallen to the ground, five more have poured into the hall and launch themselves toward me.  I continue backing toward the stair door with the smell of cordite strong in the air.  I fire once at the one closest, bringing its forward momentum to a sudden halt.  It just stands there as if its body doesn’t believe it has just been shot in the sternum.  Unable to continue forward, it slumps toward its final resting place.  A movement brings the next one in line with my barrel as a loud, metallic crash erupts close behind me.

I’m so outta here, I think turning to bolt towards the fire door that stands between me and the stairs.  Racing to the door, my light catches the aftermath of the metallic crash.  An upended aluminum cart lies on its side at the hallway juncture.  Shards of glass on the floor glitters faintly in the light.  A beaker rolls in slow circles amidst small metallic shapes scattered about.  Three more of the things have rounded the corner running in my direction, the one on the right shrieking loudly.  I hear footsteps pounding behind me mixing with those that have now entered the hallway in front of me with more sounding from the hallway around the corner.

I reach the steel fire door at a run, throwing it open and race through it on the fly with those things right on my heels.  I can almost feel the warmth from their bodies on my back and hear their breathing seemingly inches away.  Launching down the stairs, I keep my light focused on the stairs themselves.  This would be the absolute wrong time to trip or stumble.  Rounding the corner of the landing and using my hand on the railing to help my turn, one of them enters into my cone of light just ahead on the stairs, having apparently jumped over the railing from the flight of stairs behind me.  Too close to bring my M-4 to bear for a shot from the hip, I duck my shoulder and head and slam into its chest knocking it backwards.  It flies off the stairs and lands almost to the bottom, close to the second floor landing, hitting the stair with the small of its back, sling-shotting its head backwards to smack into the concrete landing with a sharp, meaty crack.  Blood spurts outward from where its head was introduced to the concrete and it slides backward into the concrete brick wall with another, slightly smaller, wet, crack, coming to rest face up.  Blood immediately begins pooling outward around its head.

The impact slows my momentum.  I feel the brush of a hand against my left shoulder as my feet continue their flight down the stairs, the thing reaching over the stair railing directly beside me.  Leaping off the second stair from the landing and over the prone body, I turn quickly in mid-leap facing both the next flight down and the flight I just traversed, thumbing the selector to ‘burst.’  My light flashes to the stairs coming down, my direction reversed.  The stairs are completely filled with an ashen gray horde barreling toward me, a few scant feet away.

Just before my feet come into contact with the landing, three rounds exit my M-4 at the nearest one sending it backward into its companions as the steel jacketed rounds pound into its chest and neck, spraying blood outward.  I feel a few warm splashes hit my cheek and forehead.  Flashes bounce off the concrete brick walls as my feet contact the landing and gunshots echo loudly in the stairwell, overwhelming the growling emitting from the horde.  My second burst slams into the next ghoulish thing setting foot on the bottom stair, spinning it to the right and into the arms of the one behind, gaining me another foot of separation.  I launch forward, tearing off down the stairs toward the first floor.

I hit the magazine release button before reaching the third stair down.  The magazine clatters down the stairs, its sound of metal bouncing on the concrete mixing with the growling right on my heels.  Clearing the bottom of the upward flight of stairs, I grab the hand rail with my left hand and vault over to the final flight, concentrating on landing square on a stair.   Hitting a stair edge could cause a trip, stumble, or twisted ankle and that is something I can’t afford right now.  Several shrieks fill the enclosed space as I land with bent knees and race to the fire door.  Reaching into my vest pocket, I withdraw a fresh mag and slam it into the receiver.  I hit the door at a dead run, slamming into it with my left shoulder and spin through the opening.  Planting my right foot, I shift my momentum toward the emergency room lobby and exit.  The first of the many things streaks out of the still opening door before I have taken my second step.

The lobby opens just ahead with the glare of the light outside pouring through the glass doors.  I feel something swipe across my back and am jerked backwards slightly, the back of my flight suit in the grasp of a hand for a split second before being released.  Fucking A!  These things are faster than I am.  This may not end well, I think focusing every bit of energy into my legs.

I sweep into the dim grayness of the emergency room lobby, the light growing brighter the closer to the exit I get. Almost across the lobby and to the doors, I slide down to my knees, do a 180 across the linoleum, and face back toward the hallway as I slide to a stop bringing the M-4 to my shoulder.  The roar of seemingly a thousand shrieks fills the room.  The ghostly outlines of gray faces mill agitatedly at the edge of the radiating light.  I fire a burst into the milling crowd, concentrating on one face that is thrust toward me, its mouth open and emitting a loud, shrieking roar, and watch its head explode as it falls backward into the darkness beyond. 

“Motherfuckers!!!  Come and get some you assholes!”  I yell back into the gloom.  Adrenaline-rushed fear seems to refocus itself towards anger in me once a situation has stabilized to a certain extent.

I rise to my feet and step toward the darkened hallway, firing another burst into one of the dimly outlined bodies only to watch it too launch backward into the darkness.  More popping sounds combine with the roar of the crowd beyond as I continue stepping toward them squeezing off bursts.  The cordite smell once again fills the air, mixing with and then overwhelming the previous stench.  My barrel makes slight alterations in the air as I focus on one target after another, cartridges clinking as they bounce across the tiled floor.  I reach the halfway point in the lobby and a single, unified shriek sounds out.  The ghostly faces disappear seemingly as one.  The only sounds are growls and pounding footsteps as they run away down the hallway, diminishing in volume as the darkness swallows them up.

I stop and reload, contemplating chasing after them as my heart pounds from the adrenaline and chase.  Sanity prevails, in the darkness and with their number, the advantage is theirs.  With a heavy sigh, I stoop to pick up the empty magazine as silence returns to the room.  “Well, I’m not going to get any info here,” I mutter crawling out of the door and into the mid-morning light with the aftermath still roaring in my ears.

Stepping out from the entrance shadows, I walk over to the Humvees.  The kids stand huddled near the front of the first Humvee, watching my approach.  “What the hell was all of that?  Did you find anything?”  Robert asks.

“Yeah, I found something alright,” I answer.

“What happened, Dad?  Are you okay?”  Nic asks noticing the splotches of blood on my face.

“Yeah, babe.  It’s not mine,” I say wiping my face with my sleeve.

“There sure are enough of those things in there,” I continue realizing I have to pee like crazy as my heart slows to normal and the adrenaline levels decrease.

Taking care of business behind a Humvee, I reload the empty magazine, depleting the remaining ammo in the can, and stick the now full mag back into the vest pocket.  “What happened in there?”  Robert asks as I finish up and rejoin them by the front passenger door. 

“Never mind.  Let’s head to the flight line.  Same thing as before,” I say removing the vest and set it inside.

In the Humvees once again, we turn around and head north after exiting the hospital lot.  The tails of C-17s stick up from the buildings as we close in on the flight line and I am still amazed that we haven’t seen a single other soul.  I know we can’t be the last ones.  Thoughts of Lynn pass through my mind as we take several turns and enter onto the ramp proper.  Some of the roads here cross taxiways and I drive along them looking at the control tower, fully expecting to see a red or green light flash from the top.  The dark, tinted windows stare blankly back.

I pull out onto the ramp looking at the seven C-17s parked there.  This is certainly going to be interesting, I think looking at the behemoths squatting silently on the concrete in front of what I guess to be the wing operations building.  We park and exit the Humvees, walking further out on the ramp toward the C17’s, my mind wondering which one we should to take.

My gaze travels along the ramp to the north.  “No way!” I breathe loudly.  There, sitting off by itself, like an outcast and lonely kid on a playground, a familiar shape is parked on the transient ramp.  The familiar hump above the wing with its four huge four-bladed props.

“What?”  Robert asks in response.

I merely point toward the aircraft sitting to the north of us and his head swivels in that direction.  “Is that a 130?”  He asks knowing full well that it is.

“Yep.  And, you see that hump.  That tells me it’s an HC-130.”

“Isn’t that what you flew?  Are we going to take that instead?”   He asks.

“It’ll add to our time enroute, but yes, let’s go check it out.”

We walk back to the vehicles and drive north along the ramp, coming to a stop by the nose of the C-130; the red flags from the various pins and engine covers sway in the breeze.  We jump out and I look toward the base operations building adjacent to the ramp by us.  Surely there is someone around here, but only the gentle summer morning embraces us.  I walk around the aircraft, looking for any leaks or signs that it is not airworthy, everyone walking around behind with me.  A ground power unit sits by the left nose of the aircraft with its lines hooked up.  External tanks are attached to both wings.

Finishing with a quick perusal, I walk to the crew entrance door on the left front of the aircraft.  Undoing a latch by the door, I pull on the handle inside and the door swings slowly downward, opening up.  Stairs are built into the door.  Above me, immediately inside the entrance, the small galley sits and a step or two inside, stairs lead up to the cockpit.  To the right, the cargo compartment opens up; a bulkhead separates the cockpit from the cargo compartment.  Taking the first step up, the cargo compartment is dimly lit by light streaming in from two windows, each one set into the fuselage on each side.

Stepping off of the stairs and walking to the rear of the 130, I undo another latch and lower the rear ramp.  The sound of the motors inside stops when the ramp lowers itself to the asphalt with a clunk.  I walk around to the ramp entrance peering inside.  There, taking up most of the cargo area, are large fuel tanks with a small aisle leading to the front from the left side.  A catwalk leads up over the inside tanks to the right.  Only a little cargo space is left in the rear.  Other than the fuel tanks, the cargo interior is empty.

“Wait here,” I say stepping up on the ramp.

With my hand on the butt of my pistol, I walk inside and up the left hand aisle.  Next to the bulkhead and over a window, a cot lies against the right fuselage.  An olive drab helmet bag lies on top.  Several red nylon troop seats are folded up against the left fuselage.  I continue forward and up the cockpit steps.  Helmet bags lie on the four seats within along with the various consoles filling the interior.  The memories jostle around inside my head as I reach over and turn the DC power switch to battery and the AC to internal.  Needles flicker on the various instruments and I hear the instrument gyros spinning up.  Looking up on the fuel panel, all gauges on the main and aux fuel panels have swung over to the right indicating full.  Stepping over to the fuselage tank panel, I see both tanks register full.  Very cool, I think flipping the switches back off.  Opening the helmet bags, I find a helmet and night vision goggles nestled within each one. In the side pockets, I find kneeboards, checklists, grease pens, and marking pens.  Very cool indeed!

I walk back outside.  “Are we taking this one?”  Robert asks as we all gather around by the ramp.

“Yeah, this one looks operational so I think so.  I’ll have to take it up to make sure and acquaint myself with it again.”

“Are we going with?”  Nicole asks.

“I don’t know as yet.  Let’s get the stuff loaded out of the vehicles and I’ll think on it.”

I am in a bit of a quandary.  It has been a while since I took one of these babies aloft and so really don’t want them onboard for a familiarization flight, but I also don’t want them on the ground if someone does show up while I’m airborne and off gallivanting in one of their airplanes without even asking permission first.

We load the stuff out of the Humvees and into the cargo space, stacking it as best as we can.  I rummage through the crew chief’s space finding several tie downs and lash the equipment down, leaving out the sleeping bags and some water.  Finishing with the offloading and parking the Humvees over by the base ops building, we meet by the ground power unit at the front of the 130.  A set of headphones sits on the handle with a long cord coiled up next to it.

“This is a start cart.  Michelle and Nic, you’ll be outside here during the start.  Nic, you’ll have the headset and when I tell you to disconnect, you pull the cart and headset cords out, wrap them up, close the latch, and then wheel it around the ramp to the back and push it in if you can.  If not, Robert or I will come back after the start up.”  I tell them and show them how to operate the cart.

“I guess this means we are coming with then huh,” Bri says.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I say not completely realizing I had made a decision.

“What about the props, they are pretty close?”  Michelle asks eyeing the giant propellers close by; each one extending outward 13 feet.

“Not to worry, I’ll be starting the other side first.  Both of you come inside the cargo area when you get the cart to the back and one of you come into the cockpit to let me know you are clear of the outside area.”

“Robert and Bri, you’re with me,” I say and walk around the aircraft pulling the pins, intake covers, and chocks before climbing up inside and into the cockpit, shutting the front door behind me.

“Robert, you are in the co seat and Bri, you sit here in the flight engineer seat.  Bri, I want you to study the fuel panel here for a bit and get acquainted with it, that’s going to be your job,” I tell her pointing to the panel mounted in the center above.

The panel itself is pretty self-explanatory with the valve switches aligning with lines marking fuel pathways.  The switch either blocks the flow or aligns with it.  Much like a maze puzzle.  The electrical panel by it is in much the same manner.

“Robert, you’ll have the gear, flaps, and, if we need it, the radios.  The gear is easy, up or down.  You know three green means down with the handle down.  I will call ‘gear up’ or ‘gear down’.  The flaps here are in ten percent increments so I will call out a percentage or ‘flaps up’ or ‘full flaps.’”  I show them both how to operate the radio panels at their stations.

“Okay, Bri,” I say leaning back to her station.  “It’s pretty self-explanatory,” and continue to show her how the system and switches work.  “Make sure you turn the pump on and the switch allowing fuel to feed from the tank you are switching to before closing the switch from the tank you are switching from or you’ll get the chance to see just how quick I can go through an engine restart.”  We practice switching tank feeds until she has several flawless changes including the fuselage tanks which is located on a different panel.

I show them how to buckle in and then slide into my seat.  We slip on the helmets and plug into the radio consoles.  Bri’s is a bit loose but stays on for the most part without sliding completely over her eyes.  Hearing the power cart start up outside, I reach up and switch the AC switches to external power and the DC to battery.  The cockpit starts coming alive, the gyros spinning up as I complete the preflight and before starting engine checklists talking to Robert and Bri about what I’m doing.

“Nic, can you hear me?”  I say through the mic.

“I hear you, Dad,” she responds.

“Okay, we’re ready to start.  Once I get the first engine online, I’ll have you disconnect and then you two push the cart to the back.  Make sure you don’t go past the ramp to the right side.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Everything clear on the right?”  I ask Robert.  He leans forward and looks out of the right windows, swiveling it back and forth.  “It’s clear,” he answers.

“Bri, make sure the engines are feeding out of the main tanks.”

“They are, Dad,” she responds back.  I peek back up over my right shoulder.  All crossfeed switches are closed and the boost pumps are on.

“Good job Bri.”

“Number three turning,” I say moving the prop control lever to run, reach up to the #3 engine start button – the inboard one on the right - and depress the button.

Out of my line of sight, the propeller begins to turn; the only indication is a rise in the instrument readings.  The fuel flow gauge immediately rises.  By the time the RPM reaches 25 percent, the turbine inlet temp gauge begins to increase showing that ignition has occurred.  I release the start button at 60 percent and monitor the gauges.  The aircraft vibrates as if alive as the engine comes up to speed and a dull, deep, throaty roar is heard throughout the aircraft and only slightly minimized by the helmets.  I bring the engine generators online and switch the electrical system to the internal power.

“Okay, Nic. Disconnect.  See you inside.”

“Okay, Da…”  I guess she was in a rush to disconnect as the last part didn’t come through.  I look down through the windows and see Nicole and Michelle pulling the cords loose from the aircraft and disappear as they push the cart beyond my field of vision.  I start engine number 4 in the same manner.

“Robert, go back and help them with the cart and secure it in the back.”

“Okay,” he says disconnecting from the seat and heads into the back.

“All done,” Robert says reappearing after several minutes with Nicole and Michelle in tow.

“Nic, hon, Michelle, good job.  Take the Nav seat there and Michelle can take the pull down seat beside it.  Robert, show them how to put on their helmets, buckle in, and plug into the radio.”

With everyone in their seats, I tell Robert where the ramp controls are and we close the cargo ramp up before I start the remaining two engines on the left.

“Alrighty then.  I haven’t blown us up yet,” I say finishing up with the before taxi checklist and advance the throttles to start us moving.  I also show Robert how to taxi with the taxi wheel rather than the rudders.  Looking at the windsock, I taxi to the north runway completing the various checks along the way.

Verifying flaps at fifty percent, I maneuver out onto the runway.  This part is easy, I think lining up with the center line.  It’s the getting down part that gets tricky.  I run the throttles smoothly up to max ensuring I don’t over torque and the 130 starts down the runway.  The muted throaty roar of the engines permeates the interior, memories of how much I loved rolling down the runway washes over and through me.  Easing back on the control wheel with my left hand, the right on the throttles, the nose wheel lifts off of the ground followed by the main gear a short time later.  The VVI –Vertical Velocity Indicator – jumps up; we are airborne.  What an awesome feeling!!!  The events that have transpired are momentarily swept away as we leave the earthly bonds.  That is one thing I loved about flying, once the wheels are up, all worries leave and a peace settles inside.

“Gear up,” I call over the mic.

Robert reaches over to the gear handle and yanks it upward as I turn off the landing lights.  A loud rumble courses through the aircraft as the gear are drawn upward.

“Flaps up,” I say almost immediately as the airspeed increases.

He reaches over and moves the flap lever up.  I reset the trim as the aircraft becomes heavier, wanting to settle back with the change in configuration.  We climb up to 5,000 feet turning over Puget Sound in the cloudless, blue sky.

“Everyone alright?”  I ask looking back and getting thumbs up from everyone.  “You can unbuckle and look around if you want.”

Nic and Michelle move over to the windows, staring out from behind the pilot seats.  Bri stays in her seat being able to see the blue water of the Puget Sound sliding along beneath us from her position.  The Olympic Mountains rise majestically in the distance ahead.  A quick glance behind through the windows and across the wing on my side shows Mount Rainier overlooking Tacoma and the Cascade Range.

“Okay Bri, lets switch to the external tanks now,” I say looking back inside to monitor her moves.  She does perfectly, turning on the external boost pumps and opening the valves before switching off the main boost pumps.

I spend about thirty minutes flying around getting used to the feel of the aircraft once again, letting Robert fly for a bit; his excitement and enthusiasm radiates.  We switch to the main tanks before heading back.

“Everyone buckle back up,” I say banking back toward the field.  “We’re going to see if I can remember how to land this elephant.”

Completing the checklists, I start my descent.  Approaching the airfield, Robert blasts out, “Holy shit!”

“What?”  I say in response, everyone sitting up a little straighter.

“I think I see a car driving below us.”

“Where?”

“In the mall parking lot.”

I bank the aircraft around so the parking lot on my side and look down.  Sure enough, there is a red car driving in the lot.  It comes to a stop and the door opens as I continue to circle around.  Someone gets out and gazes up at us, their hand up to their forehead shielding their eyes.  I continue circling as I write a note down on the tablet on my knee.  ‘McChord.  You’ll see us parked on north end.  Meet us there,’ it says.

“Robert, go back into the cargo area storage and see if you can find something fairly heavy.  Michelle, go get two toilet paper rolls, rope, and the duct tape and bring them up here please.”

They unbuckle and head into the back as I circle around the mall, keeping the car and person in sight.  They wave as I circle around.  A few minutes later, Robert and Michelle return; Robert with a large wrench he found somewhere and Michelle with the items I asked for.  I wrap the note inside another sheet of paper and duct tape it to the wrench.  I cut off a section of rope and put it through the two rolls of toilet paper, tying both ends to the wrench and taping it in place.  I flip the parachute door air deflectors to the open position after slowing the aircraft down and trimming it up.

“Robert, can you keep us here while I head into the back?”  I ask.  His head swivels over to me with his eyes opening wide and eyebrows raised with the rest of our little group mimicking the look.

“I think so,” he responds back.

“Dad, are you sure this is a good idea?”  Bri asks behind me.

“Shut up Bri!”  Robert answers instead.

“Easy,” I say.

“Okay, you have the aircraft,” and transfer control to him.  I sit there for a bit watching to make sure he does okay.  “I’m going into the back and toss this out of the door.  Robert, when I say that I’m ready, I want you to tell me when we’re coming to the north end of the lot.”

“Okay, Dad.”

I unbuckle and take my contraption to the rear parachute door unraveling a large part of the toilet paper rolls and bunching them up.  “Can you hear me?”  I say plugging into the intercom system and attaching the safety line at the left door.

“I hear you,” I hear through the helmet speakers.

I swing the door open and am greeted by the rush and roar of the wind outside, protected from the blast by the shield doors extending out into the slipstream.  The ground looms outside and I have an unrestricted view of the roads, buildings, and greenery below.  The angle of bank is altering and the nose rising and descending.

“Easy there buckaroo,” I say into the microphone.  “Small, easy corrections.  Tell me when we are approaching the north end.”  The aircraft stabilizes to a degree.

I can see where we are but want a verbal verification of my visual.  The lot appears in my frame of reference as we circle again and I see the red car in the middle of the mostly empty lot.  “Coming up on the north end,” I hear.

“Okay,” I respond and toss the wrench complete with the bunched up toilet paper rolls out of the door.  The slipstream immediately carries the contraption back and almost out of sight.  Peeking my head out of the door into the chilled air, I see the toilet paper unfurl creating a white streamer as the wrench plunges toward earth.  I hope it doesn’t land on any building roofs, I think seeing the wrench head toward the north end of the parking lot.  Or hit them in the head.  That would really suck.

I watch the wrench plummet and strike the roof of one of the few cars in the parking lot at its most northern end.  The car roof caves in and glass explodes outward.  “Ouch,” I say softly, cringing slightly.

“What!?”  Robert’s question comes through the earphones.

“Um, nothing,” I say as I close the door, unhook the safety line and comm cord, and make my way back to the cockpit.  Buckling in and taking control, I continue our descent to the airfield, arriving on a downwind leg.

“Gear down,” I call at about mid-field.  The rumble of the gear is both heard and felt in the cockpit.  Approaching the turn to base, I call for ten percent flaps.  On base leg, I call for fifty percent flaps and continue descending to final.  “Full flaps,” I say after rolling out on final and aligning with the centerline, pushing forward on the wheel and trimming to compensate for the increase in lift and drag.  Aiming at the threshold, I make small adjustments with the throttle to keep the indicator glued to the final approach airspeed.  Coming up to the threshold, I start the nose up and the throttles back until they hit the flight idle detent.  I feel the main gear touch rocking the aircraft slightly.  Still got it, I think lowering the nose to the runway.  I always had a knack for landing the 130.  “Flaps fifty percent,” I say applying power once again doing a touch and go.  We do a few more landings before I pull the throttle into reverse thrust on the final one, taxi back to the ramp and shut down.

“We need to gather charts and flight plan,” I say.  We are standing on the ramp again having left our helmets and gear inside the aircraft.  “The base ops building here should have everything we need.  Robert, see that truck over there,” I say pointing to a fuel truck parked by the building.

“Yeah.”

“Go get it and pull it up behind the right wing.  Your goal is to not hit the aircraft.  I’m going into the building to get what we need.”

I pull the M-4 and vest from our stuff in the cargo area and walk to the building.  Robert walks alongside me until he heads over to the fuel truck.  A “Welcome to McChord AFB” sign is posted above the double glass doors leading into the building.  With the vest secured on my chest, I test the doors leading in, finding them both unlocked.  Hmmmm, that’s odd, thinking that all of the buildings would have been locked like the hospital.  The light from the door shows a hallway extending deeper into the building with doors opening off at various intervals before disappearing into total darkness.  A sign above the door to the immediate left indicates that it is the base weather shop.

Perfect, I think stepping into the hallway from outside.  With my light on, I edge carefully up to the wooden door remembering my wonderful and fun-filled adventure from the hospital.  Looking in through the large, glass panel set into the upper portion, I see an open area with chairs and coffee tables.  Across from this resting area is a large counter spanning the length of the room with darkened television monitors hanging down from the ceiling just above the counter.  This is obviously where pilots get their weather briefings.  A room opens up to the right of the open area with a large table sitting in the middle.  The entire room and area are lit fairly well from the light streaming in from the many windows.  The door is unlocked and I step inside.

A very musty smell greets my entry.  Not quite the same musty smell as at the hospital, this is more from disuse than anything else.  The room opening to the right contains various charts and is meant as a flight planning area.  Just past this room, between it and the counter, a small hallway heads off to the right.  Stepping across the room and peering down the hallway, I see that the light doesn’t quite reach all of the way to the end.  A couple of doors open to the right and one to the left.  The one to the left apparently the entry into the weather shop and the ones on the right with ‘Men’ and ‘Women’ posted on them.  Pretty obvious what they are.

Back into the flight planning area, there are two very large maps of the world on the back wall.  The first one is a depiction of the VFR charts covering the various areas of the world and the other has the various IFR charts.  I grab a pencil and jot down the ones I will need.  Looking over the charts, I also note the approach charts I will need.  Slots in the walls are filled with individual charts and approach books in them along annotations denoting which ones lie within.  In the past, it always seemed to take a small fork lift to bring them all but that was usually handled by the nav.  Most squadrons had everything in large carry cases regionalized.  Hopefully they have some here as well, I think, not really wanting to head into more buildings but these charts are crucial.  I hear Robert start the fuel truck outside and drive away; the sound diminishes as it gets farther away until vanishes altogether.

With my light on, I creep down the hall.  Adrenaline is already making its appearance again.  My light shows the hallway ending in a door at the end with no light showing out from underneath.  Drawing close to the thin, wooden door and with complete silence around me, I put my ear up against it.  I hear a faint panting coming from within along with a now familiar shuffling-like noise.  The shuffling sound stops and I flick the M-4 to burst mode.  With my ear to the door, the shuffling changes to a sniffing sound.

A loud bang resounds as whatever is inside slams against the door, rocking my head off the door and ringing my ears.  Fuck this!!!  I think, recoiling backward and bringing my gun to bear.  I fire a burst into the door noticing the rounds penetrate completely through.  I fire two more bursts making sure the last burst centers on the door latch.  Raising my right foot, I kick the door just beside the knob.  The door flies inward before instantly rebounding back shut.  I kick again and this time, the door flies all of the way open.  My light picks up a creature staggering backward into the room.  I fire a burst into the staggering thing propelling it even further backward, launching it off its feet to slam into steel shelves set against the walls.  It slumps to the ground, sitting there momentarily before slumping sideways to the ground.

I quickly pan the rest of the room only to see another one launch at me from the back corner.  Another quick burst into its chest and this one slides to the ground at my feet.  A dark liquid begins gathering on the floor beneath; the flight suit it was wearing is shredded in the back and stained with fresh blood.  My light flashes throughout the room but is now only met by cases sitting on the steel shelving around the room and the two bodies crumpled on the floor.  Motherfuck this is getting old!  I am getting really tired of this and it’s only been one day.  Obviously populated areas are not the place to be.

With cordite strong in the air, I eject the magazine and replace it with a fresh one.  I step into the room looking at the cases on the shelves.  Markings on them indicate various regions.  Now, that is a welcome sight, I think, grabbing several cases and carrying them outside.  I deposit them on the ramp after taking several trips and verifying they are the ones I need.  I walk back into the lobby and grab some of the comfortable chairs and drag them out onto the ramp.  Lastly, I grab the large, round coffee table out and add it to the arrangement

I walk over to the 130 to find everyone gathered around the fuel truck parked just behind the right wing by the fuselage.  I look at my watch, 10:57.  “Michelle and Nic, grab some packaged food from inside and meet us over in front of base ops,” I say above the sound of the running truck beside us.

I walk over to the fuselage and undo a latch, opening the refueling point.  After unwinding the fuel hose and connecting it to the aircraft, I put the truck into its PTO position and open the fuel lever, flipping the switches to the tanks at various intervals and fill them.

“Drive this back and meet us at the building,” I tell Robert after finishing the task of reeling the hoses back and latching the refueling point.  I walk with Bri back to the outdoor seating area I have created.  “I love you, sweetheart,” I tell her wrapping my right arm around her and giving her a hug.  “I love you too, Dad,” she responds leaning into me.

Back in front of base ops, I take off the vest and set it beside a chair, sitting down as Robert, Michelle, and Nic arrive.  “My guess is that we won’t be able to take off today, so we’ll flight plan, input the coordinates in the nav system, and hunker down in the aircraft for the night.”

Michelle and Nicole put packages of food on the table and we all dig in.  I pull some of charts out and lay them on the table as I eat, marking routes and jotting down various coordinates to input into the onboard navigation system.  The only time I get up is to retrieve some rubber bands and sticky note markers so I can later quickly find various pages and approach charts.

The planned route takes us first to Naval Air Station Brunswick in Maine.  The Coast Guard flies HC-130’s out of there and so I know there should be plenty of fuel available.  The route takes us basically along the US/Canadian border on a route of 075 degrees out of McChord.  The first leg is about 2,500 miles and should take us a little over 6 ½ hours without any wind either helping or hindering us.  From Brunswick, our next stop is the Azores, a flight of almost 2,400 miles and a little over 6 hours with a bearing of 085 degrees.  Then the dicey hop from the Azores to Kuwait.  That leg is about 4,200 miles leaving very little margin for error as our max range is about 5,000 miles.  That will be the doozy taking almost 11 ½ hours to complete on a route of 075 degrees.

On our first two legs, we will lose three hours due to the time difference.  The sun sets around 2030 so we will need to be off of the ground by 1100 in order to make it there in daylight hours.  Our last leg will cost us four hours and so we need to be off from the Azores by 0500.  Calculating the flight times and fuel, jotting down the coordinates, arranging the approach charts, marking the maps and putting them together has taken a little over an hour.  Finishing the flight planning, I take the charts up to the cockpit, laying the ones for the first leg on the nav table and stowing the remaining bags under it.  I sit there and contemplate the options; leave now and try a night landing with night vision goggles thereby gaining a day but at substantially higher risk, or wait until morning.

I walk out of the aircraft and hear a noise that I have not heard in days.  There is the sound of a vehicle driving and its noise shatters the stillness we have become accustomed to.  It sounds as if it is coming from farther in the base.  I look over at the kids and see they have all turned to look in the sound’s direction; Robert and Michelle stand alert and tense.  The sound is nearing and I pick up the pace and trot over to our nice outdoor patio where I have left the M-4 sitting by my chair.  I pick it up as a red car pulls out onto the ramp.  It stops for a moment and then turns towards us, slowly approaching our position.

It stops about thirty feet away and out steps a man in his mid-twenties, dressed in jeans and a blue Old Navy t-shirt.  White tennis shoes poke out from the bottom of his jeans.  Turning toward us, he is holding something and smiling from under his short, wavy brown hair.

“Lose something?”  He calls, waving the wrench we threw overboard and walks over to us.

Setting the M-4 back down, I smile and take the wrench offered in his hand.  “Yeah, we kinda dropped something back there,” I say nodding in the direction of the mall.  “Much obliged to you for bringing it back.”

“You made a pretty big dent on that BMW.  It’s pretty much scrap metal now.  Impressive though,” he says smiling back.

“Did you hit a car with that?”  Robert asks putting the current dialog and my previous ‘ouch’ comment together.

“Um, yeah, kinda,” I answer.

“I’m Jack,” I say reaching with my hand toward the young man.

“Andrew,” he says, shaking mine in return.

“Have you seen anyone else around?”  I ask after introducing everyone else.

“I saw a couple of cars heading down my street yesterday and a few people in some windows but no one as yet today.  Heard lots of those things screaming and hollering last night.”

“So, what’s your story Andrew?”

“Well, I’m a biology student up at ‘UW.’  At least I was until this whole thing started.  I’ve been holed up in my apartment for the most part but ventured out to see if I could get some supplies then I saw you guys and your note, and, well, here I am.  Are you in the Air Force?”  He asks looking my flight suit up and down.

“Um, yeah sure, I guess so.  Well, I was some time ago.  My girlfriend is over in Kuwait and we’re heading over there to pick her up.  You’re welcome to join us if you like.”

“Well, I’m actually going to head over to Spokane to look for my parents.  But thanks anyway.  It’s just good to know that there are actually others around.”

“We’ll be back in about six days.  Why don’t we just check in here around noon a week from now and we’ll hook up then.”

“Sounds good.  I wish you luck then,” he says holding his hand out again.

“And to you Andrew,” I say shaking his hand goodbye.  He gets back into his red Acura and retraces his route back; the sound of his car diminishes in the distance until the sound of silence embraces us once again.

“Okay guys, I’ve been thinking, yeah, I know, a dangerous thing, but I’ve decided we should start as soon as possible.”

“What about wanting daylight for landing?” Nic asks.

“Well, if it’s clear and we can find the airport, which should be simple enough with GPS, then we’ll hopefully pick up the runway with the landing lights clearly enough.  If not, then we always have night vision available but that’s the iffier solution.  These things seem fairly rampant and a day could make all of the difference.”

“What about the chairs and stuff?”  Bri asks standing up with the others.

“Just leave ‘em.  I don’t think there’s anyone around to mind.”

“Michelle, you’ve been awfully quiet.  Feel free to speak your mind if you have any thoughts or input.” I say as we arrive at the aircraft.

“Okay, um, Jack. Will we need the cart from the back?”  She responds.

“No, we’ll make this start on battery.”

Closing the crew door behind us, we step in and buckle up in the same seats.  I turn the electrical systems to battery and let everything warm up.  The aircraft has two navigation systems.  One is operated by equipment located on the center console and at the nav station receiving their input from the various ground navigation systems throughout the world.  The other is a separate GPS navigation system getting its information from satellites.  It’s a complicated system with many very nice features, such as the ability to input any coordinates and create an instrument approach anywhere.  It’s this system I plan to use as the ground nav systems will most likely be inoperative.  With the system warmed up, I test it and ensure the coordinates shown are identical to the ones stenciled on the ground by our parking place.  The next twenty minutes are spent inputting our route coordinates and setting up approaches to mimic the instrument approaches at the various fields we will be landing at, showing everyone the basic functionality.

Starting the aircraft up, we taxi to the runway and take off into the early afternoon sky.  “Okay, it’s 1300 so we should expect to arrive around 2230 East Coast Time,” I say turning the aircraft on an easterly heading of 075 degrees then reach up to set the pressurization system.  “Let me know if you have any problems with your ears.”

We climb up with the sun overhead, the mostly forested hills of the Cascades float below.  Mount Rainier slides by to the south of us, its snowy peak still reaching up above the horizon.  At 16,000 feet, I raise the nose slightly and retrim the aircraft to 160 knots from the 180 knots we were climbing out at; the steady roar of the engines reverberates throughout.  There is not a car moving on the few roads and highways that thread their way through the high, desert plains of eastern Washington below us, growing smaller as we continue our climb.

“Set altimeters to 29.92,” I say as we pass through flight level 180 and reach ahead to make the setting, watching Robert do the same with his altimeter.

We level off at flight level 250 and let the aircraft accelerate to 250 knots before powering back to maintain that cruise airspeed.  “Robert, look on the nav system.  It should give a ground speed readout on the front screen,” I say looking back to check on the pressurization system and ensure I have indeed stabilized at the 10,000 foot setting previously inputted.

“396 knots,” he replies back.  Nice, I think, we have a tailwind.  If that continues, it should shave about thirty minutes off of our time.  I am worried about our long leg from the Azores to Kuwait and any headwinds we might encounter there.  We can’t afford to have much of one due to the distances involved.

“Bri, let’s switch to the external tanks,” I say looking over my shoulder as the ground continues to slide beneath us.

The props keep turning giving a strong indication that she switched everything correctly.  I set the autopilot and reflect a moment on the days past and what to expect in the days coming.  Eventually, without any manufacturing, everything mechanical will fail.  Fuel will eventually dry up, autos will break, anything with a moving part will cease without any way to manufacture and replace the parts.  We will begin a fast or slow decline back into the medieval stages or beyond.  Any energy source will depend upon some type of heat production which probably means coal, and, without any way to transport that from the coal producing regions, that will mean limited ways to manufacture anything.  There is solar or wind power to consider but those also rely on parts that eventually fail and need replacing.  Mankind and civilization as we know it has reached it pinnacle.

My mind tracks along this theme wondering if this has happened before.  Has mankind flourished in the past only to be brought down again to re-establish itself from scratch?  Did we miss something in the growing up process that brought this about?  Do we continually miss something?  The civilizations before leaving only small markers of their existence, whether by physical markers or by legend or myth.  It seems we grew up with intelligence only, leaving the wisdom of our actions behind.  Blinding ourselves or ignoring the ramifications.  Certainly the indications were there, but in our selfish ways and thinking only of our own time, we ignore them and continue on as before, hoping others would rectify our mistakes.  Yes, our time has reached its pinnacle during this evolution.  We will crawl and scratch our way back, hopefully doing it right this next time.  Respecting and being a part of nature rather than over-controlling it.  Living in harmony with it rather than trying to bring it to heel, for, nature seems to take care of itself when pushed over a boundary.  We need to live in synchronicity and have a synergy with the world rather than a destructive and over-controlling one.

The drone of the engines pushing us through the sky slowly seeps back into my consciousness as the tall peaks and mountain chain of the great continental divide appears on the horizon.  The dry, barren, rocky hills of what was once northern Idaho crosses under our nose and wings, sliding behind us as we push our way eastward.

“Otter 39 on UHF guard for anyone receiving,” I call, switching the UHF radio to guard and listening in between calls.  I switch over to the VHF radio, “Otter 39 on VHF guard.”  Although silence is the only greeting to our calls, I continue to make radio calls on both frequencies every thirty minutes.

The only exceptions to the blue sky around us are a few lonely high clouds to the south.  The air is completely smooth as we drone ever more eastward.  I spend some of our time showing everyone the various aircraft systems and letting them take turns flying from the right seat.  Approaching the Rockies, we pick up a little turbulence from the westerly winds sweeping up and over them.  Not much, but enough to bounce us around a little.  Just as the last of the Rocky Mountains pass under our wing and we begin crossing over the high plains of Colorado, I make my usual thirty minute radio call on UHF.  This time however, a static-filled response crackles in our headset, “Ot…..Che…..res…..on thr……co…….” 

“Calling on UHF, say again.  You are weak and garbled.”  I transmit.

“…ine….enne….col…ngs….rep…..”  The static interferes with the message to the extent that I can’t come close to making out what they are saying.  It’s like playing audio ‘Wheel of Fortune’.  Being on UHF, it is most likely military in origin and I am itching to hear and talk with them.  I call for the next twenty minutes, even turning south in order to close the distance but am met by silence.  The turn to the south assumed that the radio call was American in nature and, with us cutting the US/Canadian border – or what used to be the US and Canada, the caller would almost assuredly have to be to the south.  I look at the coordinates on the nav system and mark the map with a small circle and put ‘UHF contact’ with the time and altitude and turn back eastward to intersect our route.

Much of the flight is spent stretching our legs, switching tanks, developing systems knowledge, and taking turns flying.  Although some conversation is spent on speculation of the past events and the future, most of the time is spent wrapped up and absorbed in our own thoughts.  The only change is the land below as it transitions from mountainous areas to the flatter plains and hills of Montana and then North Dakota.  The occasional smudge of smoke billows skyward from fires to the south of us. Some are small with light brown smoke but several others are large and the smoke is dark and oily; the nature and size of the plume indicates the possibility that some large refinery or city is burning.

As we drone on across the northern part of the country, I spot the tops of a line of cumulus clouds on the horizon directly on our route ahead, stretching far to the left and right.  This, I think, is the problem of flying distances without any weather forecasting.  I was really hoping to avoid weather of any kind but it is hard to navigate the distances we are without encountering some.

“Are those going to be a problem?”  Robert asks as the dark clouds loom larger in our windscreen.

“I’m hoping not,” I reply back with some trepidation.

With the autopilot engaged, I unbuckle and walk over to the nav station where Michelle and Nicole are sitting.  Reaching across Nicole, I turn on the radar to warm it up.  The radar has both weather radar and forward looking infra-red capabilities.  With the radar warmed up and on, I step over to Robert, “This is a repeater scope,” I say pointing at the round dial by his right knee.  “The grand master plan is to maneuver around anything red on that scope so you give me the number of degrees to turn left or right.  The red will be the thunderstorm cells.  As we turn, you’ll see the objects on the radar move in relation to our line of flight.  The idea is to maneuver around those cells having the red objects either left or right of center.  We’ll thread our way through as best as we can.  Keep us going generally eastward though.”

Sitting back in my seat, I look ahead to get a visual indication of where the major thunderheads are and mark them in my head to maintain situational awareness.  This is a pretty big squall line and looking both north and south, it is apparent we would have to travel several hundred miles off our route in order to divert around it; if we could at all.  I hate thunderstorms and have an immense appreciation and respect for them.  In jets, we could just pop above them for the most part and maneuver around the highest buildups.  My memory flashes to one anxious moment when I was caught in one over Texas in a T-38….

A large squall line had marched across most of northeastern Texas cutting off our route home.  Traffic control was overwhelmed due to the large number of weather diverts going on and we were being vectored all over the place in order to sequence us into the divert base.  Well, I was given a vector to the northwest which would take me directly into the squall line.  I requested an easterly heading letting the controllers know the heading they gave me was into the weather and that my preference was to avoid being immersed in a paint shaker.  They came back that they didn’t show any weather along my vectored flight path.  I told them I was staring right at some and that heading would merge me with it.  I think their care factor was pretty low at that point as they repeated that they didn’t show any in that area and repeated the heading.  Huh, I must be imaging things then, I thought and turned northwest figuring that continued requests might be met with an even worse heading.  I was at 10,000 feet and was enveloped in clouds almost immediately.  The turbulence wasn’t too bad initially but being small and relatively light, I was bounced around a bit.  Then, the sky turned dark; I mean black dark.  At the same time, it felt like a giant hand had punched the jet.  It wasn’t just rough turbulence; it was like being repeatedly slammed into the ground by my ankles.  I was all over the sky.  The altimeter went anywhere from 16,000 to 6,000.  Approach control came on at one point, “Otter 57, we show you several thousand feet off your altitude, maintain one zero thousand.”

Want to know what my thought bubble said at the time – Fuck you!!! You are the ones who sent me into this god-awful mess!  What actually came out was, “Otter 57, unable.”  They then came back and said, “Otter 57, you are cleared maneuvering airspace from six to one six thousand.”  Yeah, right, Maneuver! Are you kidding me!  If I only could.  My ability to ‘maneuver’ had ceased long ago and the aircraft had lost any functional aspect of the term ‘flying’ and became more like a high speed puppet; pulled this way and pushed that.  Oh yeah, did I mention it was raining.  I mean, raining inside the cockpit.  It was raining so hard, it was coming into the cockpit through the canopy seal, dripping, no, pouring onto my lap and side consoles.  Yay me!

After a three hour battle – okay, more like five or ten minutes – and aging twenty years, I was finally given an easterly vector and eventually flew out of the cell.  After landing, I crawled out of the cockpit furious.  Seems that happened a time or two.  One of my buds that had just parked next to me came over and asked me what happened.  I was absolutely soaked.  “Never mind,” I told him.

“I mean with that,” he said pointing at my jet.  I looked back and my heart froze.  Every bit of paint from all of the leading edges of the aircraft was gone leaving only the gleaming metal showing.  The rain had been so intense that it had stripped the paint off.  Yes, I respect thunderstorms!

Other stories flash around in my head, such as the one where my wingman was struck by lightning, but the line of thunderstorms is looming large ahead and so I focus on the coming penetration.  In the 130, we will maneuver through them as best as we could.  I know the aircraft can take just about anything but I hate them nonetheless.  After all, the weather chasers would fly 130’s through hurricanes into the eye to get telemetry data so I knew the aircraft could take it.  I wouldn’t want to be one of those pilots though and there was one thing I could never understand about them; how they could fit their balls inside the cockpit.

As the sun sinks down below the horizon behind us, the Great Lakes appear ahead on our route and slightly south of it; the line of thunderstorms is rising to incredible heights above them.  Large cumulus clouds rise above our altitude with even larger, imbedded cells within.  Lightning strikes downward against the earth’s surface in a continuous light show.  Flashes of light show within and between the clouds; their strobes, in almost continuous intervals, highlight the rising mass.

“Everyone buckle in tight,” I say slowing the aircraft down to 180 knots.  “Robert, give me a heading around that monster,” I say pointing directly ahead.

We have turned on the instrument and outside lights and I dimmed my instrument lighting enough to read them clearly.  I look over at the NDB – non-directional beacon – and see the needle swing left and right.  Another lesson learned from thunderstorms, the beacon will point to lightning.  One night, I threaded my way under a squall line at low level and at night using the NDB and my mark-one eyeball to show the imbedded cells.  That was another time I had to have the seat cushion removed via a surgical procedure.

“Come left thirty degrees,” he replies as I bank the aircraft and we enter the outlying clouds; the sudden turbulence within the billowing clouds bounces us and welcomes us to their domain.

Rolling out, I notice the NDB needle is now swinging to the right with occasional trips to other parts of the compass row.  The outside of the aircraft is dark with the exception of flashes of light off to our right.  With each flash of light, the outside environment is shown to us like a Polaroid; the propellers caught in mid revolution and the rain frozen in time, each drop stark still yet giving the indication of movement.  I turn on the wing lights and check for icing.  None.  Good.

We are being bounced around inside, feeling an updraft for a moment only to be dropped downward, the downward motion stopping with an abrupt slam before we are propelled upward once again.  My hands are in constant motion making adjustments to the control wheel countering the constant changes in the aircraft’s attitude.  It’s very much like riding a high speed roller coaster except the corners, hills, and valleys are squared instead of round.  I look at the NDB again and see the needle fluctuating between our immediate right and dead ahead.  I glance over at Robert and see him silhouetted by the instrument lights, his widened eyes staring outside.

“Robert, the radar!”

He looks down to the scope after shaking his head.  “Um, turn right here shortly.  There’s a red cell to our right and one ahead.  I see some more on the edges of the screen around us,” he says refocusing on his task.

“Okay, let me know when we have enough clearance to cut between the one on the right and the one ahead.”

“Okay.”

A minute or two more pass before he says, “Turn right 60 degrees.”

“60 degrees!  Are you sure about that?”  I ask thinking that will take us too close to the one on the right.

“Yeah, the two are pretty close to each another but there’s yellow in between them.”

Oh great, here we go, I think banking to the new heading.  The bank is hard to control as the 130 is being tossed about.  I try to anticipate the forces and apply corrections.  That is one thing having a few hours of flying time will give you and knowing your aircraft, the ability to tell, almost in advance, what the aircraft is going to do and applying a correction before or just as it happens, negating the opposing force.

I roll out on our new heading and the aircraft is suddenly caught in the grips of the storms.  Our initial turbulence nothing compared to the beating we take now.  I am barely able to hold our altitude to within a few thousand feet.  I pull the throttles back and attempt a descent to a lower altitude keeping the airspeed as close to 180 knots as possible thinking I should have done this prior.

“What are you doing?”  Robert asks shakily.

“Descending so a large updraft won’t launch us above our service ceiling.  That would be bad.”

I hear a scream, actually a couple of small screams, through the headset as the bottom drops out from under the 130; the kind of drop that tickles the stomach for a seemingly endless period of time.  That is followed by a bone-jarring crunch as our descent is slammed to a stop.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” I say applying power and leveling off as best I can.

We have just lost 5,000 feet in a single moment.  A mile drop.  This plane certainly was built well, I think, thanking the engineers who designed it and amazed the wings are still attached.  I am pretty sure, for one split second, that my hips and shoulders became as one; compressing my torso into the size of a dime.

“Come left 45 degrees,” Robert says, threading us around another one.  “There’s a little more distance between this one and the one we are passing.”

On rolling out, I see the NDB needle twitches are mostly off our left wing now with a few to the upper right quadrant.  The turbulence, although mighty, has decreased a bit from the roller coaster ride from hell to more like being in a paint shaker.  We momentarily fly into open airspace; clouds built up all around us and two, very impressive monolithic towers, one to the left of us and one to our right front.  These monstrosities are lit by flashes within.  We gaze up at them in complete awe before we are immersed in the clouds once again.

Threading our way around three additional large, red cells and feeling like we have been bashed against the side of a cliff repeatedly, we are suddenly launched out into clear weather.  One moment we were enclosed in the clouds, shaking to bits, and the next, thrown out of the system, emerging on the other side.  The turbulence slows and then stops altogether, the drone of the engines filling the sudden silence, the 130 shakes it off and continues its harmony with the skies as if nothing happened.

“Fuck me,” I say breathlessly, pushing the throttles up to accelerate back to cruise airspeed.  We had only been in the thunderstorms for about thirty minutes but it seemed like an eternity.  I am coated in sweat and am pretty sure I will need to visit a proctologist to remove the seat cushion.  “Good job everyone.”

I glance out the windows to the wing on my side looking for damage.  Looking back over the wing, the storm continues to flash mightily as if angered we got away.  The moon is out and reflects on the cloud tops with the thunderstorm anvils reaching out towards us.

“Check the wings on your side for any damage Robert,” I say after verifying that everything looks fine on mine.

As he glances out and behind him, I look up to the pressurization gauge.  It still reads 10,000 feet and steady.  Good.  No leaks so the fuselage looks to be intact.

“All good over here,” Robert says and I turn off the wing lights.

Once we intersect our course, I set the autopilot.  “I’m going in back for a look around,” I say unbuckling from the seat.

“Dad, I have to go to the bathroom,” Bri says.

“Me too,” says Nicole.

“Okay, you two come with me.”

They unbuckle and we head into the back.  I turn on the interior cargo light and inspect the inside after showing them the toilet.  All appears normal with the exception that some of our supplies have been tossed loose.  While Bri is in the screen-enclosed toilet, Nic and I gather the stuff we can see and put them back as best as we can.

“Dad.”

“Yeah, hon,” I say stooping over to pick up a water bottle that has rolled loose and looking up to her.

“Thanks.”

“For what, hon?”  I ask standing up with said water bottle in hand.

“I was terrified and thought we were…. Well, just thanks.  I am really glad you’re my dad.”

You know, I live to just hear that line.  That makes my whole life justifiable to hear that and my eyes well up with tears.  “Hon, I’m the lucky and fortunate one to have been able to be your dad.”

She steps over and wraps her arms around me, burying her head in my shoulder.  I fold my arms around her and feel her shake as she releases the emotion of the storm passage and the events of the past few days.  That is my Nic, in all of my life with her, it is a rarity to see her cry and that is usually only a silent sob and the shedding of a couple of tears.  I hear the curtain swing back, “What’re you guys doing?”  Bri lightly asks stepping out.

Nicole steps back and I release my arms from around her.  “Nothing, babe.  Just picking some of this stuff up,” I say as Nicole starts for the bathroom.

“Are you okay Nic?”  Bri asks, half turning to follow her as Nic passes by her.

“I’m fine Bri,” responds Nic turning her head toward Bri but continuing to the toilet and pulling the curtain closed.

“Help me with the rest of this please Bri,” I say.

She turns back toward me and starts fishing loose items off of the floor with an occasional glance toward the curtains and Nic.  Those two have always been close.

With Nic finished and the loose items put away, at least as many as we could find and gather, we head back to the cockpit, settling in our seats for the final hour and a half to our stop.  I attach the night vision goggles to my helmet and brief Robert on what to do if we have to resort to a night vision approach.  Basically, he is to read out the airspeed and altitude on the radar altimeter.  The radar altimeter gives a reading on feet above the ground when we are within 2,000 feet.  The altimeters are basically worthless down low as we don’t know what the local altimeter setting is.  I will be looking out the front for the runway with my instrument lights turned down.  Night vision goggles aren’t the best for depth perception so it is important for Robert to call out the instrument readings so I can assimilate what I see with what he tells me to better present a three dimensional picture although my hope is to be able to just use the landing lights and the GPS.

Having called many times on the radio and only receiving the one garbled and scratchy reply, I make one more call before beginning a long descent into Brunswick NAS, hoping to raise someone there.  I call on UHF guard three times but as most every time before, am only met by continued silence.  Switching to VHF, I try there, “Otter 39 on VHF Guard for anyone that can read me.”

“Otter 39, this is Gulfstream Four Juliet Golf on guard.  How do you read?”  I stare down at the radio almost disbelieving what I just heard.  We all look at each other in astonishment.

“Gulfstream Four Juliet Golf, read you loud and clear.  What’s your position?”

“We’re about 100 miles west of Charlotte at flight level 350. Over.”

“Where are you out of and where are you heading? Over,” I say still incredulous about talking to someone.

“We left Florida a short time ago and are heading up by Columbus, Ohio.”

“Watch out for a line of thunderstorms up that way.  The line is basically over the Chicago area extending several hundred miles Northwest and Southeast from there.  You might be okay in the Columbus area though.”

“Copy that.  I don’t have anything on radar yet but will be looking out for them.  Thanks for the tip.  What’s your location?”

“Roger that Four Juliet Golf.  We’re an HC-130 a little over 330 miles west of Portland, Maine at flight level 200.  We plan to bunk there for the night before refueling and continuing to Kuwait in the morning.”

“Copy.  Where in Kuwait if you don’t mind my asking?  I have a sister stationed there.”

No freakin’ way, it couldn’t possibly be, I think.  Lynn had, or has I guess, a brother who was a pilot flying out of Ohio.  “Four Juliet Golf, your sister wouldn’t happen to be named Lynn would it?”

“Um, Otter Three Niner, that’s affirmative.”

“You wouldn’t by chance happen to be Craig would you?”  I ask completely amazed and a little befuddled by this seeming happenstance.

“Okay, this is weird and perhaps a rather strange coincidence.  I’m going to hazard a guess that you are Jack.”

“Yeah Craig, I am.  This is an amazing coincidence and I’m glad we met up.  I’ll tell Lynn when I see her.”

“Have you heard from her lately?”  Craig’s question comes into my earphones.

“Not in the past couple of days.  How about you?”

“About the same,” he replies back.

“You mentioned we, who else do you have on board?”  I ask leaving the hope that she is still okay open.

“Mom and two feline friends.  Do you know how hard it is to buckle two cats up?”

“About as hard as trying to herd them I guess,” I say chuckling.  “You’re welcome to follow us into Brunswick Naval Air Station.  I can give you the coordinates if you like.  I’ll leave the lights on for ya.”

“Love to Jack but I have to check on my other sis and dad.  What’s your plan after?”

I tell him about out plan to return to McChord in a few days and we continue to talk for a bit back and forth, at one point Mom getting on the radio, “You find my girl and bring her back Jack.”

“Will do ma’am,” I reply.

We didn’t want to get off of the radio after having made contact, however, each of our duties calls and we agree to meet back at McChord in 5 days.

“Good luck to you Craig.  I wish you and Mom the best.”

“To you as well Jack.  Tell my sis hi.”

“Roger that.  See you in 5.”  And as quick as he came, he was gone.

It is quite the miracle we came together like that.  Like the bubbling realm of possibilities in my mind and the quantum world came together to form a piece of reality.  The realm of possibilities are endless and don’t surface into to the realm of reality until observed in some fashion; whether through direct observation or through a conscious or sub-conscious factor.  Was meeting Craig like that, and the fact that he happened to be Lynn’s brother a direct manifestation of my mind and sub-conscious want?  I drift into thoughts of the quantum world and energy until my brain bleeds.  I shake my head bringing myself out of my reverie and into the current reality.

Beginning our descent, I switch our primary route to Robert’s nav instrument and the approach I designed to mine after accomplishing our checks.  The moon looms large in the sky above, casting a ghostly, silver blue light on the landscape below. Nowhere does the light of man show and only the drone and vibrations of the engines keep us company.

Having descended a little out over the Atlantic, I turn back to the west, centering the localizer needle, flying toward the naval air station.  Three miles from final approach fix, where we will start down toward the runway, with our flaps at 50 percent, I call for the gear.  The deep rumble vibrates the aircraft and then comes to a stop as three green lights are illuminated by the gear handle.  The horizontal needle on the instrument starts its downward trek toward the middle.  I pull the throttles back and flick on the landing lights as the needle centers with the vertical needle already centered.  It looks much like a crosshair and that’s the way we want it.

The moon disappears behind the clouds from the far away storm as they trek slowly eastward and the moon continues on its westward journey, leaving the land and sky around only very dimly lit by the stars above.  Too dark to see any buildings or runway from here.  I can only hope we are on the right path, that I have set up the right coordinates, and that the GPS is still accurate.

Continuing down the glide path, Robert calls out the airspeed and altitude on the radar altimeter for practice should we need to use the night vision equipment.   My eyes alternate between the nav readings, the airspeed, altimeter, and outside hoping to pick up the runway soon.

“500 feet,” he calls out through the microphone.  I can feel the tension from the girls.  Well, I can feel it from me as well.  I have been a long time out of the aircraft and here I am flying a night, GPS only approach to a foreign airfield that has no lights.  What could be more relaxing?

“300 feet.”

Suddenly, the lights pick up the threshold of a runway with the white threshold markings, then more of the runway and its surroundings illuminate as we draw closer.  “I have a visual,” I call out transitioning to a total visual approach.  “We’re going to do a low fly-by to check out the runway.”  For all I know, there are wrecked aircraft all over it or deer deciding the runway is a good place to gather and I have already had enough surprises for one day.

About 100 feet off of the ground, I push the power up leaving the gear down so we can have the lights.  We lumber down the runway for the length of it.  I try to get a visual on the wind sock but it is lost in the darkness somewhere when I realize forgot to have Robert check the nav system for wind direction and speed.  Well, it’s not like I have a choice on which runway to land on.  I can’t exactly circle around to an unlit runway.  I mean, I could but it is just like any other dark patch of land below us and winding up on an exact final would be a matter of luck.

We climb away after seeing the runway clear and clean up the aircraft, turning once more towards the markers I set in the nav and align with the runway again, this time with the intention of landing.  I pick up the runway at about the same point as the last time with our gear down and call for full flaps.  Robert checks on the wind and it shows that we have a very slight tailwind.  Nothing to worry about.  This time, rather than powering up, I pull the throttle and control wheel slowly back, flaring over the threshold.  I wouldn’t so much call what we did scant seconds later a landing but more of an arrival.  Thump!  Welcome to Brunswick!  Night landings can do that but at least the wheels stay on the ground and the wings are still attached.  Lowering the nose, I pull the throttles over the detent and apply reverse thrust.  The aircraft leans forward and our airspeed diminishes.

“Holy shit!”  Both Robert and I say at the same time as there is suddenly someone standing there in the glare of the lights.  I mean, just standing there right on the runway and just to the left of our path.  Idiot, I think pushing down on the brakes.  We still have a bit of momentum and they can overheat in a hurry causing the tires and gear to disintegrate.  There’s no way I’m going to stop in time, and, as quick as they appeared, they are lost below the windows and down the left side.  The aircraft lurches slightly to the left and, very quickly, so quick as to almost be non-existent, a vibration and buzz saw noise comes through the cockpit.  I quickly correct the direction and take the throttles out of reverse, applying brakes to bring us to a taxi speed.

“Was that what I think was?”  Michelle asks from her seat.

“Yeah, I think so,” Robert responds.

“Should we go see if they are alright?”  Nicole asks.

“I’m not sure that’s going do any good Nicole,” Robert says still incredulous.

“Besides, we’re not going out at night.  I’m pretty sure that was one of those things because no sane person would be standing in the middle of a runway with a plane landing,” I add.

I turn off the runway at the end and turn the aircraft around so we are facing the runway.  I would just park on the runway ready to take off again but there is the off chance that someone could come in and try to land here.  The runway wouldn’t be the best place to be if that were to happen as they won’t see us until too late.  Shutting down but shunting the electrical power to battery and setting the parking brake, we then head to the cargo area.  Drawing curtains across the cockpit, I also put covers over the cargo compartment windows.  The covers are for blackout operations and allow lighting within the cargo area without emitting any outside.  With the cargo compartment lights on, I check the doors and have everyone else ready the sleeping bags and get some food out.  There are three cots available within.

“Bri, Nicole, you have the two middle cots between the tanks there,” I say pointing.  “Michelle, you have the one over the window.”

They take out their bags, unfurling them on the cots with Robert unrolling his under Michelle’s location.  Smiling inside at that, I unroll mine in the aisle by the front door.  We find some small pillows in the storage compartments and heat up some canned food after arranging our beds and hunker down for some dinner.  We are all exhausted and so eat mostly in silence with little small talk.

“We’ll get some rest and head out of here in the morning,” I say as we finish dinner.  “Flashlights by your bed in case you need to get up in the night.  I’ll take the first watch.”

With everyone in their bags, I head up to the cockpit and flip the electrical system off plunging the aircraft into darkness.  My path illuminated by flashlight, I head over to my bag and climb inside, laying the M-4 and pistol by my side and switching off the light.  We all say our goodnights in the darkness.

I am just about to lay my head down and keep watch from inside my bag when a loud thump reverberates through the aircraft.  Nicole gives a small yelp.  “What was that?”  Robert asks sitting up in the darkness.  A shriek sounds outside.

“I guess that answers your question,” I say climbing out of my bag and grabbing my weapons.

Another thump as something slams into the side from outside, this one close behind me by the front crew door.  It is followed by another close to the rear of the aircraft on the other side.  Several shrieks sound out in the night and I hear growling outside, muted by the metallic skin of the fuselage.  The thumps against the fuselage increase with the shrieks and growling growing in intensity and numbers.  Apparently more are arriving outside the aircraft.

“Don’t worry guys and be absolutely quiet,” I whisper loud enough for everyone to hear just as two simultaneous thumps echo inside from opposite sides of the 130.  “This thing took the beating the thunderstorms gave it so we are quite safe here.  And, unless they know how to manipulate the doors, they can’t get inside.”

The slams and shrieks become a constant with the muted growls filling any void in-between.  Exhaustion fills us but we are unable to sleep with the noise outside coupled with the tension that so many things prowling around brings.

“Okay!!  Enough of this crap!”  I say after three solid hours of this constant barrage on our senses.  “This has got to stop!”

“What are you going to do?”  Robert asks as I turn on my flashlight and start toward the curtains at the bottom of the cockpit stairs.

“End this shit,” I say cupping the light in my fingers and drawing the curtains back enough to slip inside and up the stairs.

I step over to the commander’s seat and buckle up, placing my helmet on.  Buckling the chinstrap on, I notice Robert slide into his seat and buckle up.  “Are we taking off?”  He says after plugging into the intercom.

“No,” I reply reaching up to switch the electrics to battery and ensuring the main fuel tanks are feeding the turbines with the boost pumps on.

With the helmet on, the thumps and shrieks are muted even further; the thumps more felt than heard and the constant growling muted altogether.  If the helmets muted everything altogether, perhaps we could just put them on and enjoy some quiet, but well, that’s just not the case.  I don’t know how many are gathered outside trying to bash their way in, bu, from the sound of it, there are quite a few.

“Are we just going to move then?  Won’t they just follow us?”  Robert asks as I attach the NVG’s to my helmet and rotate them down over my eyes.

“We’re going to move alright and I hope they do follow us.”

I glance out my side window.  The runway and surrounding area is bathed in a greenish glow.  Depth perception is a little off but details are not.  I see at least fifty gathered around on my side and in front; some just milling around but others running at the aircraft only to disappear below my line of sight, the only indication that their run continues is a solid thump against the aircraft.  My line of sight cannot see much past our inboard engine toward the fuselage but I imagine it is the same all around us.

“There are about fifty over here.  How’s your side?”  I ask looking over at Robert to see he has put his NVG’s on.

“About the same I think,” he answers as the girls step into the cockpit and buckle into their seats.

“Are we leaving?”  Bri asks once she attaches her comm cord.

“Nope.”

“What are we going to do then?”  She asks only to be interrupted by Robert. “How are we going to start the engines with those things around them?”

“We just are,” I answer back as four sets of eyes turn toward me and I raise my NVG’s.

“I’m not even going to ask if it’s clear right,” I say moving the throttle lever to run and reach up to the number three engine start button.

Robert looks back in but keeps sneaking quick glances outside, both curious and appalled at the potential of what will happen when the engines start.  I push the button and hear the turbine start spinning up and see the gauges on number three rise.

“Oh sick!”  Robert says but he continues glancing outside.

I feel a couple of thumps as the props spin up to speed and the engine stabilizes smoothly at idle.  I run up the engine a little and begin the start on number 4.  I feel thumps along my side of the aircraft and some on Robert’s but they are distinctly lacking on the right rear.  The hurricane force winds generated by the engines and giant props prevent anything from being able to exist behind.

“They’ve moved away from the engines but are bunched up below me,” Robert says.

I start the remaining engines and the drone drowns out all but the slams against the front.  With everything stabilized, I flick on the landing and taxi lights flooding the area in front of us in light.  The crowd around the aircraft comes into full view, their mottled skin showing up brightly and they are clothed in a variety of manners; some in flight suits, others in fatigues and other uniforms, and still others in civilian clothing; shorts, jeans, t-shirts, button up shirts, some shredded, some whole.  The intensity of the lights causes them to appear as if in black and white with little color being reflected back to our eyes.  They are milling about anxiously with only the occasional one slamming into the side but all give the blur of the props room.  In the lights, more are running toward our front and sides from around the wind edges.

I release the parking brake, move the throttles up and the aircraft starts rolling forward.  “Are you going to do what I think you’re going to do?”  Robert asks staring at the immense crowd outside.

“Yup,” I reply pushing the throttles forward.  The engines respond to my request and the 130 begins to pick up speed, the nose of the aircraft forcing the things outside to part to one side or the other.  “I wouldn’t look as it’s not going to be pretty.”

A change in the pitch and drone of the engines occurs as we head down the taxiway and onto the runway accompanied by a series of soft slaps against the sides of the fuselage behind us.  The things outside closest to us try to back away from our advance but are slowed by those behind them.  Some try to get away to the side only to be caught by the outside engines.  In the middle of the runway, I start turning the aircraft around, the light we cast turning with us and illuminates the outside by degrees, picking up the things outside coming back at us, first in singles as we turn, and then in groups as we complete our 180 degree turn.  The lights clearly show our previous path by the small and large clumps of shredded clothing and bloodied body parts strewn on the taxiway with a clearly defined path down the middle.

Some are now coming toward us from in front with more from the sides as we start down the taxiway to where we were parked just moments ago.  Some of those in front scatter to the sides and away at our approach but a few keep coming blinded by the intensity of our lights.  There are a couple additional buzz saw-like sounds and meaty slaps against the sides as we turn left and proceed down the main taxiway paralleling the runway.  The main ramp area opens to our right and I swing out onto it, doing yet another 180 degree turn at about midfield.  I bring the throttles back and step on the brakes bringing us to a stop.  The lights pick out an immense horde of things running after us down the taxiway and in the grass between the taxiway and runway.

“They’re persistent, I’ll give ‘em that,” I say watching them close in.

I push the throttles up a bit holding onto the brakes, the nose bows downward compressing the nose gear strut, waiting to be released.  “Won’t this damage the props?”  Robert asks as we all look at the well-lit group hurtling towards us.

“Should be okay.  Those are thirteen foot props turning at over 1,000 rpm.  Rocks and such will put nicks in them but I doubt they’ll even notice flesh and bones.”

“Dad, do we have to do this?”  Bri asks.

“Hon, we don’t have the fuel to fly our next leg nor do we have enough to just fly around all night.  Plus, they’re just pissing me off.  Sorry, sweetheart.”

There we sit, stopped on the taxiway, the deep, steady, strong drone of the engines, the propellers turning at high speed, lights blazing out into the darkness, and the approaching horde, steadily closing the distance, drawn by whatever it is in their heads that leads them to this chase.

When the mass is about 75 yards ahead, I release the brakes, the nose launching upward as the aircraft is finally released from its blocks.  We start down the taxiway, picking up speed as we near the horde, our closure rate increasing as we add our speed to it.  We close to within a few yards and the ones in front of us start separating from our path to the sides.  And then, just like that, they sweep behind us, the outboard engines catching a couple of them as we pass them by.

I taxi to the end of the ramp and taxiway, turning around once again, “Okay, let’s try that a little differently,” I say bringing us to a stop.

Once again, the horde has turned around and is pursuing us.  This time, I wait until they are only 50 yards ahead before releasing the brakes.  We surge ahead and draw closer to them.  They separate in the same manner and I turn to the right with them, maneuvering to bring the nearest edge of them close down our right side.  Our lights ahead show the ramp clear of obstacles other than the running horde.  Our engines plow through them, raw, meaty slaps against the fuselage barely heard over the roar of the turning props.  Slap…. Slap,slap…slap,slap,slap,slap..slap….slap..slap,slap.

“Oh my god,” Nic whispers sickly and with horror through the headset as the lights shining ahead of us turn a pale pink on the right side.

My anger at them turns to a sickness deep inside that rests in the pit of my stomach.  I gain a little distance and turn the aircraft around.  “You’re kidding,” Robert says as we stop for the third time and see the mass, although diminished, has turned around and are after us yet again.

“Dad, can we just get out of here?”  Bri asks.

“I wish we could, babe,” I answer back.  “I am really sorry, hon.”

I hear a heavyish sigh over the helmet speakers; I think from Michelle.

“If this is too much for anyone, just head into the back.  You can stuff bits of clothing in your helmet to drown out the sounds and you don’t have to watch.  Hell, I might even join you,” I say watching the diminished horde draw closer, most of them directly in front of us but a few scattered groups and single ones off to the side, looking almost like a flanking maneuver.

“I’m okay,” Bri says behind me.

“Me too,” says Nic.

“I’m doing alright,” Robert answers.

“I’m fine,” Michelle speaks out.

“Well hell, I’m not.  This is disgusting as hell,” I say.

There is a simultaneous “yeah” from everyone.

When they are again about 50 yards away, I release the brakes and the aircraft leaps toward them.  I stay to the right side of the taxi way with the ramp to my left as the horde and we begin another joust.  They separate as before and I head toward the left group trying to take them down the left side this time.  Rather than angle outward, they then turn a direct 90 degrees away from us attempting to get far away from our path, the ones off to the sides turn towards us, attempting to run around behind us.  We catch fewer of them.  Slap…slap,slap..slap….slap,slap,slap..slap. 

We draw to the end once more turning around.  Our lights illuminate the ramp and taxiway showing the asphalt littered with scraps and chunks of clothing, body parts, and bits of flesh and bone.  An absolutely disgusting sight that makes me want to flick the lights off but I need them.  The things hovering at a distance, milling about, and some lean towards us with their mouths open, obviously emitting those loud shrieks.  The only sound coming to us is the continuous droning of engines and heavy breathing in our helmet speakers.

“What the hell is that!?”  I say into the microphone.

“What?”  Michelle asks.

“Listen,” I say and then hear another faint thump; more felt than heard.  “There, that.”

“It sounds like it’s coming from behind us,” Robert says.

There must have been a group of them that waited while the rest of them ran towards us knowing we would turn around and stop here.

“Well, they’re apparently not overly dumb,” I say as we feel and hear more thumps from the rear of the 130.  They are apparently coming in directly behind us avoiding the wind from the propellers.  Luckily, we are in a secure aircraft but I note their quick change in tactics each time and do not like the ramifications.

I release the brakes and head toward the crowd a ways down the tarmac, taxiing over the mass of body parts and clothing.  The milling about of the horde ceases as they become completely still, all focused towards us and our ever closing lights.  They then, almost as one, turn and run, most of them heading towards the buildings sitting on the edge of the ramp, the others directly away from us.  I head across the ramp in an attempt to cut off the ones running towards the buildings.

“Daaad, they’re running away,” Bri says over the intercom.  “Please don’t.”

“Honey, we can’t feel sorry for them.  Ever!”  I say but turn the aircraft away nonetheless slowing our taxi speed.

I head on the taxiway to the end and close to the edge of the runway, just as we parked before except at the other end of the runway.  I will want to inspect the aircraft in the morning but have no intention of doing that in the mess we created at the other end.  I shut down the aircraft and we settle in once again for the night.  It takes us a while to get to sleep after the events of the evening with vivid images still floating through our minds but we eventually drift off one by one and are not bothered for the rest of the night.

To the Beach

I awaken to the sound of soft little snores echoing throughout the cargo interior.  Teens, they can sleep the whole day away.  Of course, I can as well and remember the days when noon was a normal wake up time for me in the summer months.  I lay quietly thinking in my bag on the deck of the pitch black cargo bay with my head resting on the small, white pillow, not knowing how in the world we are going to be able to stay alive with these things absolutely everywhere.  There is no reasoning with them or calling a time out.  There can be little to no mistakes on my part.  I can’t let my emotions overcome common sense.

Those little snores remind me that I have to be more responsible and adept at analyzing situations; the choices I make mean more and have greater ramifications.  I have been fairly proficient at making good spot choices in various situations in the past and so I can’t be second guessing, but on the same hand, those choices have to be the right ones.  We would most likely have been just fine last night, if not a little more tired, if I had just left things alone.  However, we are all still alive and, like a landing, any one you can walk away from is a good one.

My quandary is like that of any parent; how to keep your children protected yet still let them learn to make good choices.  We are in a new world order and some of the lessons they learned growing up to this point may not apply.  Normally there is a gradual integration of ideas and lessons but this is not the case now.  There are different lessons to be learned; survival skills of a different order.  I have a lot I can teach them and hopefully I can do so in a somewhat controlled environment.  I am not going to be able to do everything for them forever.  Ugh!  This is making my brain hurt.  Enough early morning philosophizing.  One day at a time, I think, unzipping my bag and crawling out.

I open the curtain to the cockpit and find it illuminated by the early morning light streaming in the windows.  I step up to the cockpit windows and look out.  The eastern horizon is the pale blue of a just risen sun transitioning to a darker blue as the eye travels westward across the cloudless sky.  The shadows of the trees lining the air station cast long shadows across the green fields surrounding the runway.  Looking out the windows to the other side, the two gray runways ahead of us and the paralleling taxiway behind us stretch away westward.  The ramp opens up off the taxiway with several tan buildings abutting against it.  Several P-3 Orions are parked on a ramp angling off of the main ramp, looking a lot like a C-130 but with low wings and the engines mounted upside down.  There’s not a thing moving anywhere that I can see.  The indications of last night remain scattered on the main ramp and taxiway; colored bits of clothing littered around but are tiny from this distance.  Several crows hop around the strewn body parts in the early morning light.

I climb out of the cockpit and open the front door, light streaming in as it lowers to the ground.  Cool morning air replaces the warmth of the interior, cooling my cheeks as it passes on by; the smell of a fresh summer day rides the currents.  I peek out of the door gazing at the motionless, monstrous propellers, their blades feathered with the edges facing forward, as if completely unaware and not caring what they faced the night prior or the carnage they were involved in.

Stepping down the stairs to the asphalt taxiway, I look down the side of the aircraft.  It is there that the evidence reveals itself.   On the fuselage, directly in line with the propellers, a thick line of dark red runs vertically down the aircraft with streaks reaching back toward the rear; the darkened streaks dripping down like paint that was put on too thickly.  The darkened color is close to the same hue as the olive drab of the 130 and almost blends in.  With the sun now fully above the horizon to the east, I do a walk around of the aircraft to check for damage.  With the exception of the new paint job, the aircraft looks in good shape.  Unless these things figure out how to open the doors, the 130 offers a good mobile sanctuary.  The light of the sun begins to warm the air and the sight and sound of birds flying around the distant trees, on whatever errand calls, makes last night and the events of the past few days even more surreal

I finish my walk around to find Robert standing by the bottom of the stairs.  “Quite an interesting past few days eh?”  I say stepping up next to him as we both gaze across the fields to the north.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he says turning his gaze down the side of the aircraft.

“Wow!”  He comments as his eyes reach the darkened streaks.

“Yeah,” I say in response.

“The girls up yet?”  I ask after a moment of once again studying the dried blood pasted along the side.

“They were getting up as I left.  Are we taking off soon?”

“As soon as we refuel,” I say looking over at the ramp.  “Let’s start ‘er up and taxi over while the girls are getting up.”

“Okay, Dad,” Robert says and starts up the stairs.

We settle into our seats and begin our checks.  I reach up to set the electrical panel.  “Ah crap.  Really!”  I say noticing a low reading from the batteries.

“What?”  Robert asks from the right seat.

“Low batteries for some reason.  We’ll use the cart but we’ll need to figure out why the batteries are low.  Let’s go hook up the cart,” I say as we unbuckle and head into the cargo bay.

“Morning, Dad,” Nic says sitting up in her sleeping bag.

“Morning, babe.”

“What are you guys doing?”

“Getting the start cart out.  Something’s up with the batteries.”

“Need any help?”  She asks climbing out of her bag.

“Sure, hon.”

“Morning,” Michelle says as she climbs out of her bag, descends the small ladder and joins us as we walk to the back.

“Good morning,” we all say in return.

We look like we just woke up from an all-night frat party.  Well, I do at any rate.  Michelle walks up to Robert and they both give each other a small good morning kiss.  Okay, now this has to be one of the oddest moments I have lived through.  Seeing your son kiss a girl for the first time.  It is just, well, startling.  I have always tried to keep up with their growth and treat them accordingly, but it is moments like this that make me realize they are more grown up than I realize, another big step in my acknowledgement of his being a man.  My legs actually grow a little weak and I stumble over my own feet.

“You okay, Dad?”  Nic asks me, looking up at me with a huge smile painted across her face and a twinkle in her hazel eyes.

“Um, yeah, just fine,” I respond as she continues smiling up at me.

“Bri, we’ll be outside,” I call out.

“Okay, Dad,” a sleepy voice answers on the other side of the fuel tank.

We lower the cargo ramp, unstrap the start cart, and wheel it around to the front of the aircraft by the crew door.  “Okay Nic and Michelle, do your stuff,” I say and they unroll the connector cables, unlatch the small door on the side of the fuselage, and attach the cart.

Robert and I walk in through the crew door pulling it closed behind us and head back into the cockpit buckling up as before.  I switch the power over to external and, after confirming that Nic is online, start up the right two engines – numbers 3 and 4.  Switching to internal power, the electrical instruments read fine.  Switching the DC to battery, the reading drops significantly.

“We’ll give them a charge taxiing back to the ramp,” I say switching them back.

Robert unbuckles and heads back to help get the cart onboard and secured while I start the remaining engines.  We really only have to start the outboard ones for taxiing but it gives me something to do while they are stowing the cart.  I make radio calls on UHF and VHF guard frequencies but silence is my only response as Bri joins me and buckles into her seat.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” I say hearing the click of her plugging in and finishing up with my checks.

“Good morning, Dad.”

Moments later, Robert, Michelle, and Nic walk in and settle in and we taxi over to the ramp by the P-3s.  I leave the engines running checking on the battery readings.  The readings haven’t changed.  I leave them running for another twenty minutes with still no indicated change.

“Crap!  We may have to change the batteries out with one of the P-3s,” I say beginning the engine shutdown procedure.

“Do we need to?”  Nic asks.  “It seems to be running fine.”

“Yeah, we need them.  I’m not going to head over the pond with bad batteries.  At least, I’m hoping it’s the batteries.”

“Have you ever changed batteries before?”  Robert asks.

“Nope.”

“Do you know how?”  He asks.

“Nope,” I say with the engines winding down.

We shut the aircraft down and search for tools in the storage compartments bringing them to the nose of the aircraft.  The one thing I do know is where the batteries are stored in the nose and so, using the onboard tools and a large stepladder we found stored inside, I remove the hatch and look inside.  Hooray, first try, I think looking at the batteries sitting on a shelf just inside the aircraft.  Looking them over with a flashlight, I notice one of them has a crack in the side.

“The thunderstorm must have bounced them around a little,” I say showing everyone the damaged battery.

“Robert, take Michelle, grab that fuel truck over there and meet us over at that P-3,” I say pointing to the Orion parked closest to us.

“Okay.”

“Do you two have your weapons?”  I say as they begin their trek over to the truck.

“Yep,” he replies over his shoulder.

“Let’s gather this stuff up,” I say to Bri and Nic indicating the tools on the ground.

The sun climbs higher into the blue sky, warming the air further as we start across the ramp towards the other parked aircraft, our hands full with tools, and the ladder.   The M-4 is slung over my shoulder and I keep an eye out for movement.  Off to our right and behind us, about a quarter mile away on the edge of the gray ramp, lay the remains of last night, scattered about and looking like someone just dumped their trash.

We arrive at the P-3 at about the same time that Robert and Michelle pull up.  An easterly breeze has sprung up.  This is once again the type of day where we would normally be outside getting the Jeep or bikes ready for a day in the sun, listening to the first lawnmowers crank up and the smell of fresh cut grass, to be followed by throwing some burgers on the BBQ.  The wafting breeze carries the morning smell of the trees and plants.

“Dad, I’m hungry,” Nic says as we drop our tools and ladder by the front of the P-3.

“Me too,” Robert says.

“What?  I fed you yesterday,” I say.  “I feed you once and now you expect it every day.  Is that the way it’s going to be?”

They all smile as this is an old one between us.  “Okay then, let’s finish this up and then we’ll grab a bite.”

It takes a while to find the batteries as I don’t know this aircraft.  However, several panel removals later, I find their super-secret location and manage to remove one.  It takes both Robert and I to actually lift it out of the aircraft.  “Have Michelle help you take this one over and set it in the truck,” I say after we finish with the first one and start in on another.

“How many are we going to take?  I thought only one was broken,” Robert asks seeing me reach in again.

“We’re going to take them all, just in case.”

The last one is finally removed and loaded onto the truck.  “Meet us over at the aircraft,” I say to Robert, putting the hatches back on and we all start our journey back across the ramp.  The sun has now climbed almost directly overhead.

“You guys go get something to eat,” I say once we are all back at the 130.  “I’m going to start working on the bad one.”

“You aren’t hungry?”  Bri asks.

“No, babe.”

“I suppose that means you aren’t fixing anything,” Robert says with an exaggerated sigh.

“You are perfectly able to fix your own food.”

“I know, I’m just kidding,” he says back.

“Oh, and the pantry won’t be available so you’ll have to use the packaged food.”

The day presses on.  They eat and we get the new battery in place and hooked up.  We should’ve been a few hours in the air already, I think reattaching the panel.  I head up to the cockpit and check the battery reading.  The indicator jumps up to normal.  Thank god.

“Okay, let’s get it fueled up,” I say as we stow the tools and ladder away.  I look at my watch, “It’s almost 1500.  Let’s try to be off the ground within the hour.  Looks like we’ll have another night approach and landing.”

I am a little more worried about this one as our airfield is in the middle of the Atlantic with very few options available should something go wrong or we end up not being able to find it.  We do have enough fuel to make the coast of Portugal or Spain and so that might be a second option.  However, if we lose the GPS or it is a little off, we could end up searching endlessly and only find water.  The only thing I truly don’t like is not being able to see the weather visually from a distance as you can during the day.  I don’t want to have another evening like last night.

Fueled up and with the cart and extra batteries stowed away, we start up and take off with the afternoon sun wending its way over the blue sky behind us.  Climbing out on an easterly heading, the coast of Maine fades away beneath us, eventually becoming a dark smear on the horizon.  The sparkling blue of the Atlantic spreads out around us in all directions.  The skies above us are clear with only a few scattered clouds high above as we level off at flight level 250.  Far to the south, only the very tips of cumulus clouds appear, covering much of the southern skies, obviously part of a very large storm system.  Ahead of us though, the skies remain clear.  The only interruption of our flight is our intermittent calls on guard frequencies and the switching of fuel tanks.  I keep an eye on the electrical system but everything seems to be operating smoothly.

I let everyone take turns on the controls from the right seat, only getting out of mine to stretch and get the blood flow back into my legs.  I venture to the cargo compartment once to change flight suits as my current one is starting to offend not only me, but I am sure those around.  The others eventually venture to do the same.  We drone ever eastward with nothing but the blue of the ocean below and the skies above to keep us company.  The blue skies above change to a deeper blue as the sun sinks to the horizon behind, transitioning in the east to a dark blue, merging with the ocean below.

We continue on into the dark, dialing up the interior lights to watch our instruments by and have dinner in the cockpit, the food having been heated in the pantry with Michelle graciously doing the honors.  We replace water bottle after water bottle at our sides as the dry altitude air sucks moisture from our bodies.  Outside, we are flying in a dark void with only the stars shining brightly above us; the only indication of our movement is the mileage on our nav instruments slowly counting downward as we drone ever closer to our destination.

About 250 miles out from Lajes Field, I pull the throttles back and start a gradual descent.  “Okay guys, if there is anyone left there, it’s the same as we talked about before.  As far as you know, I’m on a mission to pick up some soldiers in Kuwait.  I picked you up and we headed out.  Don’t lie about anything other than the mission you believe I’m on.  And let me do the talking.”  I’m really going to have to come up with a good reason why I have brought kids along on a military mission.  I mean, you can’t just plop your family on a military aircraft and head off any time you want.  That would be very much frowned upon.  I rack my brains trying to come up with something but nothing plausible emerges.  I guess I’ll just wing it if I have to.

“Okay, Dad.  Do you think there will be anyone there?”  Bri asks with a twinge of both excitement and worry in her voice.

“I’m not sure, hon.”

“What about me?”  Michelle chimes in.  “Am I supposed to be yours as well?”

“Hmmm, haven’t thought about that one.  I think we’ll need to keep it as real as possible so our stories match up and are believable so you’re Robert’s friend that we picked up on the way.”

Descending through 10,000 feet, I set up the instrument approach on my nav while maintaining the enroute plot on Robert’s.  The stars still glitter above us and the weather looks clear.  The nav system shows the wind out of the south at about twenty knots so I set up the approach I designed for runway 15.

A little over 15 minutes out, I switch over to the UHF guard.  “Lajes approach, this is Otter 39 on UHF guard.”

To my absolute astonishment, I get the following reply back, “Otter 39, Lajes approach on guard.  Contact Lajes approach on xxx.xx,”  Uh oh, I think.  Someone’s home and there’s going to have to be some quick explaining.  Can I hide the kids?  No, that might even be worse if they were found.  Surely they know the situation and will understand.  I’m going to go with that for now.

“Otter 39 roger.  Lajes approach on xxx.xx.”

I switch the radio.  “There’s someone there?”  Bri asks.

“Apparently so,” I answer and key the mic.

“Lajes approach, Otter 39, an HC-130 100 miles west descending through one zero thousand.  Request vectors for the straight in for the ILS runway one five.”

“Otter 39, Lajes approach copy.  Squawk 0271 and ident.  Altimeter three zero one four, landing runway one five.”

I set up the code in the IFF and flick the ident button.  This will create a momentary larger blip on their radar screen allowing for a positive identification.

“Otter 39, Lajes approach, radar contact.  Turn left heading 070 degrees, descend and maintain seven thousand.  This will be vectors for the straight in ILS one five.  State departure point and destination.”

“Lajes, copy that.  Otter 39 passing through niner thousand for seven.  Left to 070.  Departed Lewis McChord.  Destination classified.”

I am still astonished and my mind is working overtime thinking about what kind of reception we are going to get and setting up for the approach.  Although civilian aircraft do refuel here, I am in a military aircraft landing at a military field.  And, oh yeah, I kinda borrowed this aircraft.  My worry meter is climbing steadily.

Approach control gives us vectors to the instrument approach and we set up for landing.  Passing the final approach fix, configured for landing, with the runway lights ahead of us and the lights from the base to the side, we are told to contact the tower.

“Lajes tower, Otter 39 on final for runway one five with the gear,” I say after switching to the tower frequency.

“Otter 39, Lajes tower, cleared to land runway one five.”

We touch down, reverse thrust, and slow to taxi speed.  “Otter 39, Lajes tower.  Taxi to the end of the runway onto the taxiway and shut down.  Contact ground on xxx.xx leaving the runway for further instructions.”

“Otter 39 copies.”

Taxiing to the end of the runway, I pull off onto the taxiway and stop the aircraft contacting ground on the assigned frequency.  “Ground, Otter 39 clear of the active.”

“Otter 39, ground, roger.  Shut down there. Security will meet you. Remain on this frequency.  State souls on board.”

“Ground, Otter 39 copy. Five souls on board. Shutting down and remaining on freq.”

Going through the shutdown procedure, I pull the prop levers back and the props begin their long, winding journey down.  To our right, through the windscreen, multiple vehicles are approaching down the taxiway with blue lights flashing.  “Otter 39, ground.  Open your crew door and ramp.”

“Ground, Otter 39 roger,” I say and direct Robert into the back to open the door and ramp.

The security vehicles pull up, stopping a short distance away in a semi-circle around the nose of the aircraft.  With the sky lighting in the east, signaling the coming dawn, security personnel scramble out of their vehicles; several taking positions behind the hoods and three stepping up by the crew door.

“Otter 39, exit out of the crew door one at a time keeping your hands in sight and unarmed.”

“Otter 39 roger.”

We take off our weapons and leave them on the seats with our helmets and head to the now open crew door.  Spotlights illuminate the entirety of the aircraft, blinding me as I walk down the door stairs first, setting my flight cap on my head.  I can barely make out the three security personnel standing off to one side, silhouetted by the blinding lights.  The kids follow me out and down, exiting one at a time.  I stop at the bottom and am met by an Air Force Sergeant wearing the stripes of a tech Sergeant.  “This is your crew, sir!?”  He asks in an incredulous manner, stopping in front of me and saluting.

“It is, Sergeant,” I say returning the salute.

“Anyone else on board, sir?”  He asks.

“No, Sergeant Watkins,” I reply back noticing his name tag.  “This is it.”

He turns and grabs the mic at his right shoulder, “Cressman, take bravo and secure the aircraft.”

Sergeant Watkins then turns back to me.