Tossing the M-16 to the side, he pumps his arms harder. His breathing is coming in gasps but his legs respond. He leaves the grassy field, crosses the street and comes out onto the ramp. Not really knowing which way to go, he continues across the ramp looking to both sides as he runs. Nothing but the dark shapes of resting aircraft catches his eye. No movement of people. Nothing that would indicate the recent landing of an aircraft. Well, I gave it my all, he thinks feeling his boots rhythmically strike the pavement. Sure wish I had kept the gun. I’ll just keep going as long as I can and go down fighting.
Bright lights stab out across the ramp from his left, blinding in their intensity and ruining any night vision he had acquired. He instinctively heads towards them knowing that the turn will give the night runners an angle to close the distance. There is a sound of movement coming from the direction of the lights; faintly heard above the roars of the horde on his heels. The light prevents him from seeing anything in that direction. As suddenly as they appeared, the lights go off leaving only bright spots in his vision. He continues running in the same direction.
“Goggles on. Open fire,” he hears someone shout.
Flashes of light appear in his vision. They’re firing. I hope not at me, he thinks and changes course to his right to get out of the line of fire.
The steel zipping through the air meets the first line of the night runners close on the heels of the soldier running towards us. The ones in front and to the side of the soldier are flung backward as if they ran full tilt into a wire stretched across the ramp. The rounds strike their chest, shoulders, head and limbs with tremendous force; some propelled backwards into the arms of the ones behind, others spinning around from the force of the bullets impacting their bodies off center.
The man running for his life angles off to the side with the first rounds fired. It is apparent he is having trouble seeing us but is angling away from the sound of the gunfire. The night runners are also having trouble identifying our exact location with the sudden extinguishment of the light. The bright light ruined their night vision, enhanced or not, and with it being turned off abruptly, they only see darkness. Some are running toward the opposite side of the aircraft while others are heading farther off onto the ramp. A few still head directly at us. There are far too many to take down before they descend upon us but we should be able to disengage in their current disorientated state.
The echo of gunfire across the ramp is a constant. Night runners continue to fall to the pavement cooled by the night air; some falling and not moving again. Others fall and try to crawl away from their pain. The lone soldier is attempting to circle around to our lines but cannot see our exact location and is venturing further aft of the aircraft.
“Lynn, go get him and guide him back. Bravo, prepare to disengage and fall back to the aircraft,” I shout firing into the mass of night runners to our front.
“Roger that, sir,” Cressman responds, her voice carrying above the din of the firing. Lynn lowers her weapon, locates the running man, and takes off towards him.
“Alpha, prepare to board the aircraft once Bravo clears,” I shout looking over and seeing Lynn guide the soldier in by the arm.
The night runners are recovering from their disorientated state and begin to home in on us. I see Lynn out of my peripheral start up the stairs with the soldier.
“Bravo, clear out,” I shout.
The sound of gunfire diminishes as Bravo Team stands, runs behind Alpha and begins to board the aircraft. The horde of night runners are scattered in all directions due to being blinded but are now converging on our positions. They are just scant yards ahead and we only have seven rifles engaging. It will be close as we begin to disengage Alpha. I pat the two soldiers to the left of the line on their shoulders and direct their fire into our left front flank. I direct the two in the middle to our immediate front and the soldier closest to the stairs to make sure night runners don’t get to us from under the aircraft. I direct my fire into those that are closest regardless of the angle. Magazines are ejected to the ground as the team members reload; the sound of the mags and empty cartridges hitting the ground are lost in the gunfire and screams.
I see the last of Bravo mount the stairs and shout for the two Alpha members on the far left to disengage taking up their sector for them. My carbine and those of the rest of Alpha constantly send out rounds against the closing horde. The bodies continue to pile up on the ramp; the moonlight catches an occasional spray of blood in its silver beams. I observe the two Alpha members mount the stairs and catch sight of Lynn firing her M-4 from the doorway; lifting her carbine as the members enter in front of her.
“Go, Go, Go!” I shout to the three remaining members of Alpha.
“Robert, turn on the lights,” I say into the radio.
Alpha rises and scrambles up the stairs. I stand at the bottom of the stairs firing into the night runners but my rounds do little to slow their rapid advance. I hear the popping of rounds above me from Lynn firing out of the door. The bright lights flash from the aircraft once again. Shrieks of rage, pain and frustration come from the mass; the light blindingly painful. The night runners are only ten feet from the nose of the aircraft.
“Get your ass up here,” Lynn yells from the top of the stairs.
I scramble up the stairs two at a time and run through the entrance, slamming into the bulkhead with my shoulder. Lynn and Watkins pull the door closed behind me. As the door closes, the cargo compartment darkens even more; the only light coming from the reflected glow outside through the cargo windows. In the dim light, I see our newest member bent with his hands on his knees catching his breath. Thumps and pounding begin against the aircraft fuselage startling the newly rescued soldier.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “They can’t get in here. Or at least they haven’t been able to as yet.”
I ask Drescoll to put the blackout covers over the windows and Michelle to draw the blackout curtains in the cockpit. When those are in place, I have Robert kill the lights outside and turn on the interior cargo lights.
“What about the battery, Dad,” Bri calls down the cockpit stairs.
“Leave it on. It’s not like we’re going anywhere with this aircraft anyway,” I call back.
“Dad?” The new soldier says raising his head but with his hands still on his knees.
“Yeah. Looks like we have some stories to share,” I say as the lights of the cargo interior lighting come on.
The soldier rises and puts out his hand, “Greg Petersen.”
“Jack Walker,” I say taking his hand.
The introductions are made after the kids come down out of the cockpit. Noticing the Captain’s tabs on the field cap he is wearing, most address him as “sir.”
“It’s just Greg, folks,” he says in response. “The days of ‘sir’ are over. I want to thank all of you for saving my bacon. I seriously don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here. Well, I do and it wouldn’t have been pretty.”
“Just glad we were here,” I say as the shrieks and slams against the fuselage continue; some solid enough to cause us to jump.
“What was that about not going anywhere?” Greg asks.
“We lost an engine coming in. This aircraft isn’t going anywhere,” I answer feeling sad at the thought that this aircraft, our mobile sanctuary that has accompanied us through so much and kept us safe, will end its days here on the ramp; becoming just another remnant of civilization as we knew it.