Waking early in the afternoon from a deep, restful sleep, I grab a bite and trudge downstairs to the table. Frank meets me and we go over the map marking buildings. I notice he has selected several in the area we visited last night.
“I looked at the tape a few times and marked some of the larger buildings that remain where the night runners ran into last night. The big one here,” he says, pointing to a coliseum of Saint Martin’s College, “is where a majority of them emerged from. I would target it first and before dark. If they are still in there, we could get a number of them while they are still inside.”
“Okay, we’ll concentrate in that area. Good job,” I reply, running my finger along the buildings he’s marked. With his hand covering a wide yawn, Robert joins us.
“Careful,” I say, “you’ll unhinge your jaw.”
“It feels like it,” Robert responds, breaking into another yawn which, of course, becomes contagious.
“Other large groups emerged from these buildings,” Frank says, pointing out other campus buildings, to which Robert and I nod.
“Now here’s the part that you may not like,” Frank continues. “I couldn’t get an accurate count but by my estimate, the numbers we saw last night were over ten thousand and could be as many as fifteen thousand.”
I know we saw a lot on the screen, so many that the screen literally turned white, but I had no idea there were that many. I am literally stunned into silence. Again, the theoretical number that must be out there that we can summon up in our head isn’t like physically seeing that many. It’s like when I’d see something in the news that mentioned a billion dollars. It’s easy to conceptualize because it’s something imaginary, but trying to actually visualize a billion of something is mighty hard to do.
Frank looks at Robert and me staring at the maps with our jaws scraping the ground. “If we take the estimates we found from CDC reports and combine that with the area population, that puts the total number of night runners in the area somewhere around sixty thousand. If we take an attrition percentage from starvation, combat, and other factors, and I don’t even know what number to use, but let’s use a fifty percent attrition factor, then that leaves thirty thousand remaining in the local area. That means those we saw last night only represent half, or less, of those left,” Frank states.
“I can’t imagine what the larger areas like Seattle would be like,” Robert comments.
“What will be interesting is to see whether a pack of this size can stay together considering the food they’ll need. My guess is that they’ll have to migrate to some extent or cover a wide area,” Frank says.
“What about the other fifteen or so thousand in the area? Where do you think they’ll be located and do you think they’ll eventually join up with those we saw last night? As far as that goes, do you think they’ve established other large groups?” I ask.
“I’m not sure to be honest. I’m guessing there were a few that migrated outward into the countryside. I imagine those will be in smaller groups just because there aren’t that many places to house larger packs. And, I have no idea whether they’ll join up or if there are other large groups. For the most part up until now, we’ve only observed small packs of five to seven and larger groups of up to twenty or so. We don’t have any information on how they group or why, but it does seem they have the tendency to collect together,” Frank answers. “Like I mentioned, they may group together based on prey or leadership. We’ll just have to watch and see.”
The others on the flight crew begin to arrive singly or in small groups. I brief the overall flight for our practice runs up at Fort Lewis and for the night. Robert briefs the systems and changes for selecting and firing on two targets simultaneously. That will be utilizing both the 40mm auto-cannon and gatling gun in unison. The 105mm howitzer will be used for single targets, those being the buildings. With everyone hovering around the large map with the buildings for the night marked, I point out the targets mentioning Frank’s briefing about where the night runners emerged from and his estimate of numbers.
“We’re going to conduct practice runs this afternoon over the ranges, land to refuel and rearm, and then we’re taking off again during daylight to destroy the campus buildings in the hopes of catching those night runners we witnessed last night inside,” I say. Smiles light up around the table thinking of being able to catch that many night runners indoors.
“We’ll then patrol the rest of the evening looking for night runners on the prowl and taking out the remainder of the marked buildings. The weather looks better than last night but we’ll be keeping an eye on it. Be ready as night falls to engage any night runners emerging. Any questions?” I ask. There aren’t any so we gather our gear and fold into the vehicles the same as last night.
Taking off, we circle one of the large Fort Lewis ranges. It takes a while to get the coordination for multiple target selection and firing. After quite a few runs, the crews are able to put their rounds on the selected targets. It’s not as good as when we run the single targets but our rounds eventually impact close to the ones selected. I’m not too sure about using this as our first option, but if the night runners emerge like they did last night, then close is good enough. Our 40mm and 20mm rounds will decimate their ranks. I’m eager to see the devastation we’ll bring upon the night runners. This time, we’ll be ready for their emergence. They kind of took us by surprise last night and, although Robert reacted quickly, we could have taken out a far greater number. Their numbers worry me, okay, scare the shit out of me, and I’m all for reducing those. Zero would be good number.
We land to rearm and refuel. The cloud cover has broken letting the sun shine through in intervals. If it clears and the winds calm down, there is a chance of fog forming so we’ll have to watch for that. It will be easier given that we’ll be able to fly under the weather and have a clear visual of the region. Feeling the sun warm my shoulders as it casts its rays through a break in the clouds, I hook up the fuel lines from the truck Robert drove over. We stand next to each other as the volatile fuel runs through the thick, rubber hoses and into the selected tanks. The high-revving truck is loud but we manage to shout about the noise.
“Are you sure about running multiple targets tonight?” I ask, shouting above the truck noise.
“Yeah, I think we have it down,” he answers.
“You know we can’t afford to lose any time or be off target if they emerge suddenly like last night,” I say.
“Dad, we’ve got it. It took us a while to work the coordination but we can do it,” he replies.
“Okay. Just don’t forget the leads.”
“No worries, Dad, we’ll handle it and bring the rain down on their heads,” Robert says with a smile.
I shake my head remembering my own youth and enthusiasm and it’s hard to hide a smile hearing it from my own son. There was a time when I used to use those same words. The others return with a fresh load of ammo just as we are reeling up the last of the hose. Bri walks out from the rear of the aircraft readjusting the M-4 on her shoulder, a weapon she has used several times.
“The gauges all show fuel although the right wing outer fuel gauge stuck for a moment. I tapped it and it ran up to full,” she says as Robert drives the fuel truck over by the base operations building.
“Keep an eye on it. It may stick on the way down as well,” I say, thinking we may have to switch the gauge out with one from the HC-130 parked next to us.
The specific fuel tank and gauge are the same between the aircraft so it should be an easy change out. It is, however, a reminder that everything will eventually fail and that the fuel becoming unusable may not be the only limiting factor on our ability to fly.