Peeking around the corner, I see the last of the night runners that were in trail behind me crossing the street to my left, following the path I took on the other side of the hangar. I want them all to cross before emerging and continuing on to my right. Plus, I want all of the night runners coming from the ramp side to enter into the route I just took alongside the hangar. If they venture down another path, I will run straight into them. That would not be a good thing and is the last thing I want right now.
The last of the night runners finally pass by and disappear down the far side of the hangar just as the night runners chasing me from the aircraft enter into the space behind me. I drop a prepared grenade by the corner and take off to my right. We are going to play a little loop-de-loop but I need a measure of distance. Plus, I need for those that were chasing me to follow along with the rules of the game; and those rules dictate that they are to stay behind and not try to circumvent me.
I run along the sidewalk lining the street, everything around me painted a yellow-green, well, more green than yellow. What I wouldn’t do for a set of generation 3 night vision goggles right now? I think as my radio comes alive.
“Jack, are you out there? Answer me please,” I hear Lynn say in my ear piece.
“I’m here. Get the side door ready to open,” I say breathlessly into the mic.
“Okay, Jack. Good to hear you,” she replies. “How long?”
The grenade goes off.
“Depends,” I say not wanting to spare breath for talking. I know when I used to run with a group, the others running next to me wanted to have a conversation. It was all I could do just breathe; talking was out of the question. Running and talking just do not mix well with me.
“On what?” She asks.
“On whether these bastards are going to do what I want them to and let me through. Call you when I’m close,” I respond. This last little bit just about expended all of my breath.
I glance behind and see the remnant of the night runners turn the corner and, with a cry of discovery, begin their chase in earnest. More follow behind but I direct my attention to my front and side, hoping that none of them come out in front of me. This merry little chase we have had this evening will come to a quick close if that happens; with me not coming out in first place. I race along the front of the building next to the hangar, planning to cut in toward the ramp when I reach the corner, provided of course that the path is not barred by, say, a horde of night runners pounding down it heading my way.
I ready my last grenade as I reach the corner with the night runners on the concrete close behind me. Turning the corner, I see the route to the tarmac empty of any reception committee and toss the grenade behind me, hoping it will land around the corner a little. I turn my speed up a notch but do not really gain much as all of my notches have been used up. The grenade goes off, sending its deadly shrapnel out into the midst of the night runners chasing after me. My toss must have been true as I am not blown forward nor do I feel the prickling of shrapnel entering my backside.
“Jack, we’re having trouble with the door. We don’t know how to open it,” Lynn says through the radio with a tone of worry and frustration.
“Fuck me! You’re kidding right!? You’d better figure it out and figure it out quickly. I’m coming out onto the ramp now,” I say frustrated at so simple a thing. I would give directions on how but I just don’t have any more wind for it. This last took the final vestige of my reaching down deep away. I am out of grenades, ideas, and options.
I race across the ramp toward the aircraft outlined in green. My boots pound across its concrete surface. Safety is close but seems so far. I glance over my shoulder to see the night runners just now rounding the corner of the building. I have some room and time and distance. They must have had some wariness about turning the corner after receiving so many of my gifts in doing so all night long. I run across the rear of the aircraft and up the left side. The crew door is lowering. I guess they figured it out, I think as the side of the 130 races by, my feet being forced to take the next steps, my legs aching and sore, the lactic acid that has been building all night is now making its presence known.
Just as I get close to the door, a night runner runs around the side from the nose. I am spent and my reaction time is slow as it rapidly closes the distance and slams into me, knocking me backward and to the ground. Where the fuck did that one come from? I think just before the impact.
I slam to the ground on my back, the impact nearly knocking the wind out of me. My M-4 is jarred from my grasp and clatters across the pavement. Using some of the momentum, I bring my knees up and roll over my left shoulder, reversing positions with the night runner. Ending up on its chest, I quickly jab sharply into its throat, feeling the cartilage break under my fist. I continue my stroke all of the way through, punching through its throat and mutilating all of the gristle and cartilage; destroying its capability of breathing.
I scramble to my feet, pick up my weapon lying on the tarmac nearby, and run up the stairs with a multitude of night runners close behind streaking toward me.
“Shut the door! Quick!” I say reaching the top and leaning over with my hands on my knees, panting heavily.
The door closes behind me, the shrieks and howls, once sharp in the night air, become muffled as the handle is turned, sealing the door and aircraft to the nighttime world outside. I try to catch my breath, bent over with my hands on my knees, marveling at the close calls of the night. I guess marveling is not the right word but amazed I made it through.
“Everyone make it back?” I ask once I gather a bit of breath.
“We did,” Lynn answers with her hand on my back.
“Good. What do you say we get ready and get this beast airborne?” I ask standing.
I turn off my NVG’s and take them off to find the cargo compartment darkened, lit only by the reflected glow of the stars illuminating the outside ramp. Sergeant Mullins stands in the gray gloom behind Lynn.
“Thank you both so much,” he says with a weary but relieved tone.
“Glad to help and have you aboard,” I say shaking hands with him.
“What’s an Army unit doing here on an Air Force base? How did you get here?” I ask.
“We’re part of the security detachment for NORAD facility. We headed down here when everything hit the fan figuring any help would arrive at an airfield. We’ve been holding out in the BX since arriving. We found a radio in the control tower yesterday and have been broadcasting on the hour ever since,” Mullins replies.
“And the NORAD facility?” I ask.
“Gone. Completely overrun with those things,” he answers sweeping his hand indicating the night runners outside.
“Why don’t you and Lynn here sit down and you can brief her? Lynn, will you catch him up to speed and brief him on our organization? Introduce them and organize them into squads as you see fit,” I say.
“Will do,” Lynn responds.
“In the meantime, let’s get this bucket of bolts off the ground and head home.”
I climb into the cockpit only to be immediately swept up as Bri and Nic throw their arms around me. Robert looks over from the right seat and nods in both welcome and relief.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Bri says with her face pressed against the left side of my chest.
“Glad you’re back, Dad,” Nic says looking up into my eyes in the gloomy shadows of the cockpit. “I was so scared and worried.”
I stand there hugging them close for a few moments longer before releasing them. Mike is sitting on the deck with what’s left of his tail swishing lightly across the steel. It looks more like he is trying to polish the floor with his rear end.