Like a deer in a forest fire, Pat sought safety. She noticed that the stairs leading down to the flight line had a solid wall on both sides. While not offering complete cover, they would at least provide some protection from flying glass. Yelling to her group to follow her, she grabbed Sarah and ran for the stairs. At the top of them, she told everyone to go halfway down and get against the wall on the airfield side, following only when everyone with her was accounted for and on the stairs.
The children, with a look of sheer terror on their faces, huddled against the adult they were with and held their hands over their ears. Sarah and Jane’s baby were crying while Kurt pleaded with his mother to make the noise stop. Pat and the other women could offer little in the way of comfort as they were barely able to hold back their own screams.
Outside the soft muffled report of large caliber air defense weapons, heard above the wailing of the siren, grew louder and closer at an alarming rate. A gun just outside the terminal that sounded like a chain saw joined in just before the first bombs hit.
A series of crashing explosions, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass and screams of women and children on the second floor filled the terminal. Now all the children were crying or screaming. Fran pulled Sean and Debby in closer. Sue, with tears running down her face, held on to Kurt, doing her best to cover his ears and face. Jane and Pat did the same with their babies. Just as the tinkling of glass and the screams from upstairs began to subside, another series of bombs went off closer to the terminal, blowing out what glass was left and causing the screams to begin anew.
We’re going to die, a panicked voice in Pat’s head screamed. We’re all going to die. This trip was no longer one of inconvenience and discomfort. It had become a life and death ordeal. Any second now the next series of bombs could hit the terminal, killing them all in the blink of an eye. This thought horrified Pat. What had she ever done to deserve this? What harm had her children ever done to anyone? What purpose would their deaths serve? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Unable to hold back any longer, Pat began to weep as she rocked Sarah in a vain attempt to comfort her baby.
At the height of the bombing, a disheveled Air Force captain without a hat came running in from the flight line. When he turned to run up the stairs. He stopped when he saw Pat and her group. He stared at them for a moment, then started yelling. “YOU PEOPLE, FOLLOW ME. QUICKLY!”
Pat looked at the captain. The other women looked at Pat. With no time to waste trying to cox them on with persuasion or threats, he reached out and grabbed Pat’s arm. “COME ON. FOLLOW ME. I’M TAKING YOU OUT OF HERE NOW.”
Without the need to give the matter the thought it deserved, and realizing anywhere would be better than where they were, Pat got up and yelled to her group to follow the officer.
Fran was first to respond, pushing Sean into the officer’s arms and telling him to carry the boy before picking up Debby and following. Pat was last to leave the shelter of the stairway, watching to make sure everyone in her little group was in motion.
At the bottom of the stairs, Pat flew around the corner, bringing up the rear. Only then did she realize, to her horror, that the Air Force captain had run out of the door of the terminal and onto the flight line followed by the rest of her group. What the hell was he doing? She asked herself as she slowed, then stopped. After a brief moment of hesitation, she continued on after them. She had to. The bastard leading them had Sean and Sue, who was on the man’s heels, had Kurt.
Once outside the pop-pop-pop, the detonations, and the ripping burr of the gun that sounded like a chainsaw became deafening. The shattered fuselage of the giant C-5 that had been taxiing up to the terminal was engulfed in flames, its huge wings drooping down to the ground like an injured bird. The ear splitting screech of the air raid siren, the sharp report of anti-aircraft guns and the roar of explosions drowned out the captain’s voice when he turned to scream something to them. Only when she looked past him did Pat see the C-141 he was running straight toward it. He was going to get them out of here.
With a sudden clarity of mind, Pat appreciated that plane represented their last chance. This was it. There was no going back, no options. Calling upon the last reserve of nerve and strength she had left, she threw herself into this one last effort. It was now all or nothing.
Onward the group ran, swerving to the left or right only to avoid shell craters and debris strewn about the flight line. As they were circling around one of the craters, Fran suddenly stopped dead, causing Sue to ram into her from behind. When the captain noticed the women behind him had stopped, he turned, and ran back. By the time he’d reached Fran, Pat caught had up enough to see what had caused Fran to stop.
Looking down, Pat’s eyes fell on the remains of several bodies tossed about the flight line. The brightly colored clothing marked them as civilian, not military. No one needed to tell her they were some of the very same they had seen heading for the C-141 before the attack had been. Caught in the open, they had been killed, which was why the captain had come back for more evacuees to take their place.
Looking up, Pat saw the captain was coming back with Sean. NO! a voice in her head screamed. NO! She wasn’t going to let anything go wrong this time. Every step of the way during this evacuation had been a screw up. Now, when they were only a few feet away from what she saw as their last means of salvation, Pat was determined they were going to finish this trip. Pushing Fran, she yelled at her to go. When Fran began to run, Pat turned to Sue and took to pushing her along as well. Jane, who seemed to share Pat’s resolve, followed without the need for further encouragement. When he saw the women were on the move once more, the captain let Fran catch up to him, then grabbed her with one arm and began to pull her along.
Not waiting until they reached him, the crew chief of the C-141 ran down the ramp in order to helped the women up. Another airman inside pushed them over to some empty nylon seats arranged along the sides and middle of the aircraft’s cavernous body. Only when they were all on board did the captain hand Sean to the crew chief who threw the boy on a seat and buckled him in. Having done all he could for Pat and her little group, the Air Force captain ran back down the ramp toward the terminal. He was halfway there when the closing ramp shut out the view of the shattered flight line.
The crew chief and airman were still hustling about buckling in the new arrivals as the plane began to roll. Above the sobs of the women and children who filled the dark cavernous interior of the transport and the sound of the air attack outside, Pat was deafened by the roar of the transport’s engines as it began to pick up speed and rumble down the runway. The pilot, she appreciated, was just as anxious to leave as she was. As if to confirm this, when he did bring the transport’s nose up for lift-off, the aircraft shot up at an angle that was alarmingly steep, causing a chain reaction as everyone in the cargo bay was thrown sideways into the person seated next to her.
Pat had no sooner managed to recover from this that the transport suddenly leveled off, throwing everyone in the opposite direction, back towards the front. Glancing over her shoulder and out a small porthole-like window behind her, she saw that they were skimming along at tree top level and moving fast. No doubt, she thought, the pilot had no wish to become mixed up in the air battle or be taken under fire by nervous anti-aircraft gun crews.
Only when she was sure they were well away from Rhein-Main and safe did Pat take stock of her little group. There was a blank, emotionless stare on the face of every woman and child she laid eyes on. They, like she, were drained, exhausted, and listless. The harrowing climax of their ordeal had succeeded in beating the last bit of energy and emotion out of them. If there was one thing to be said for this sad state of affairs, it was that the long flight home was made in near total silence, with only the steady drone of the engines and an occasional whimper of a child seeking what comfort its mother could give them.