I look back at Michelle seeing her eyes a little wide but she is coping well. Bri is busy with her panels and so engaged that she is not really thinking about our bouncing around much. Nic is at her nav seat looking absently through the medical files I left there while, at the same time, trying to keep them from spreading throughout the cockpit. Kathy, Little Robert, and Kenneth are on the lower bunk gripping the side rails tightly, trying not to get launched out of their seat. Mike is still behind me but lying on the deck, or trying to. He is being tossed a little into the air on the big bounces only to come back into contact on the reverse side of the bump.
We transit the far side just as the last rays of the day disappear over the western horizon; a faint glow of what was still silhouettes the horizon and the peaks of the mountains ahead. The Continental Divide. The turbulence subsides and we enter relatively smooth air as the vast towers of clouds vanish behind our wingtips. Lightning flashes out from their underbellies in a symphony of light. I hear a click on the intercom as Lynn plugs into one of the stations in the cargo compartment.
“Where in the world did you learn to fly?” She asks both amused and not.
“Oh, are you under the mistaken impression that I ever did?” I ask back.
“Very funny,” she says.
“Everyone alright back there?” I ask.
“Yeah, a few bumps and bruises but you didn’t manage to actually toss anyone out,” she adds.
“And here I tried so hard,” I say unbuckling. “I’ll be back there in a sec.”
Carrying the CDC folders, I head to the cargo compartment leaving the aircraft in the hands of my kids once again. I don’t think the oddity of that will ever leave, I think stepping down the stairs. The next few minutes are spent bringing Lynn up to speed on what I have gathered so far from the reports we brought out of the CDC; having to shout over the continuous thrumming of the engines. In a way, I have come to appreciate the mobility and security of the aircraft even more but am also ready to be out of it. I hand the folders to Frank and ask Lynn to share the information with everyone as I head back up into the cockpit; also letting her know that we’ll be at McChord in a few short hours and will brief on the next day’s activities when we land.
Tag You’re It
As I climb back up, Robert’s head turns toward me and he shouts. I cannot hear a thing he is saying so I step over to his side.
“What?” I shout into the left side of his helmet.
“You’re going to want to hear this,” he shouts back pointing at the radio. My heart rate elevates a little wondering what it can be. I buckle in and pull my helmet on.
“Anyone receiving this message, please respond,” a voice comes through the radio.
I check our frequencies and find we are on the UHF radio which means either military traffic or someone has found a military radio.
“If anyone can hear this, please respond,” I hear the voice come over again. I swear I heard the sound of gunfire in the background of the last transmission.
“Calling on UHF emergency, this is Otter 39. I read you loud and clear,” I answer the voice.
“Oh, thank god,” I hear in response.
“Calling on frequency, state your name and position,” I call back.
“This is Sergeant Mullins. We’re an Army unit inside the BX at Petersen Air Force Base,” he responds to my query.
“Okay, Sergeant. What’s your situation?” I ask further.
“We have those, um, things all around us. Holding out for now but ammo is running low,” he answers.
“How many are with you and how many of them are around you?” I ask.
“I have twelve including myself and I don’t have an accurate count of the things out there. I would say at least fifty to a hundred,” Sergeant Mullins responds.
“We are a C-130 with a contingent of soldiers aboard and about thirty minutes out from the base,” I say looking over our nav charts. “Can you hold out?”
“We’ll try but the sooner you get here, the better,” he answers.
“Copy that, standby,” I say.
“Michelle, go get Lynn and have her come up here please,” I say in the intercom.
She heads into the back as I pull the various nav and approach charts out of our flight bags. Robert has control of the aircraft as I begin plotting a flight path to the airfield into the navigation computer, further configuring an approach to the main runway. Lynn comes up behind me and begins to ask what is up. I hold up hand stalling her while I finish inputting all of the numbers. A mistake here could be disastrous and we could find ourselves attempting to fly half way across the world. I figure the predominant winds there would be from the north with the season so I plan to use runway 35L. With the inputs complete, I switch the nav system over to the new flight plan. The aircraft begins a gentle bank to the right as I turn to Lynn and shout the situation to her.
“Are we going after them at night or wait until daylight?” She asks not once thinking we would not be going to help the soldiers in trouble.
“I don’t think they’ll make it until daylight,” I answer.
“I’m not overly fond of going in at night. What’s the plan?” Lynn asks.
“We only have twelve NVG’s so two teams. I would say a very small team but I think we’ll need the firepower. We’ll do a flyby on night vision to pick our route and scout the situation,” I say answering.
“Roger that. I’ll brief Black and Green Teams,” she says.
“I’m going as well,” I say.
“Haven’t you done enough?” She shouts in an exasperated tone.
“Haven’t you?” I shout back.
“Okay, fine,” she says turning to head back.
“Am I going?” Robert asks once Lynn has left the cockpit.
“No, someone has to stay here and get the plane ready to go on a moment’s notice. Be setup for a battery start. Don’t worry, you’ll get your share with the state the world is in,” I add taking control of the aircraft, turning off autopilot, and beginning a descent to the base.
The area ahead of us should be lit up by the lights of Colorado Springs and the surrounding towns, forts, and bases with the glow of Denver further to the north. Only pitch blackness shows beneath our nose. It looks as if we are descending into a large, black hole.
“Sergeant Mullins, this is Otter 39,” I say pressing the push-to-talk switch.
“Otter 39, go ahead,” he says with definite gunfire in the background.
“Switch to semi if at all possible to conserve your ammo. We’re going to do a flyby so you’ll hear us overhead in about 15 minutes. We have to land at the airfield and make our way to you,” I say giving an outline of our plan.
“Copy that Otter 39,” Mullins responds.
“Robert, I want you to stay on our ground freq. You’ll be the radio relay to Mullins. Keep the aircraft on battery power but with the lights off,” I say as we continue down.
We don our NVG’s and do a low pass over the base, sighting the location of Sergeant Mullins and his group by the flashes of light from their gunfire. There is a main road from their location directly back to the airfield ramp that we locate on our pass over the area. Lynn is looking over my shoulder in the cockpit as we fly over.
“We’ll have to exit and seal the aircraft up quickly on arrival. We can’t be caught with the aircraft open. Everyone will have to exit through the side door. The ramp is too slow,” I yell to her.
“We’ll be ready,” she says and disappears once again as I fly the aircraft away from the base and set up for the approach.