For three hours they watched as the bulldozers cleared an area right next to them. A couple of men were opening the fuel openings in the apron cement right next to the 777. An electrical generator on wheels was being pulled into sight behind one of the trucks and they could hear the motor starting up and then shutting down. It was a big one—the type of generator used to pump fuel into large aircraft. It had “Air China” written all over it. Pipes and connections were offloaded from a fuel truck and stacked neatly by the building out of the way. The third bulldozer slowly came back into view followed by a dozen other vehicles, mostly an assortment of 30-year old trucks and cars. One white Cadillac had what looked like red blood down the side of it. The road was now passable and the radio squawked on.
“How many men are out there?” the Major asked.
“I see about 30 so far,” answered the Lieutenant in the 777. “The new vehicles are being parked in a line and three or four more coming into view. Each is been driven by one man. A fourth bulldozer has come into view pulling a second “Air China” generator and the man is being given orders. It looks like he is being told to start clearing a second parking area. The first area is complete by the looks of it as a road is now being made out to the runway itself. The finished clearing could fit a large 747.”
“Roger that. It looks like you guys have the front row seats. We are going to move to the closest terminal next to you guys and will let you know when we are ready. The incoming aircraft are going to have to use stairs if they are parking over there. I want to see if we can find some more and bring them forward so that they leave yours alone. Check out a bottom exit to your aircraft in case they move your stairs and don’t drink the first-class liquor, boys,” the major said with a smile on his face. “Pack it up and we’ll take it back to base. We must not be seen until we have their aircraft in the hands of our pilots, who are waiting here with me. Their incoming pilots might want to freshen up, powder their noses and use these bathrooms, and we will take them out in here. We are going to collect their clothes. Hopefully our guys are short enough to fit into their clothing.”
“The way they are clearing all that snow, we will have enough packed snow to use for defensive positions. They are obviously not considering that anyone will attack them and are walking around as if they own the place. I’m sure they won’t miss a couple of their guys. And remember men, the brass reckons the aircraft are not due in until dawn tomorrow morning. Out.”
Over the rest of the day, the major worked out what the visitors would do if they had access to the terminal. First, he made sure the door was ready to be opened, and then he studied the closest store, a clothing store full of warm clothing.
“Yes,” he thought to himself. “The pilots going back won’t resist getting a few presents for themselves and their girlfriends,” and he formed a plan of action and broke the lock of the door. There was no electricity, and the concourse was dark, but they would come in here for warmth. He saw the bar on the other side. He broke that lock, too, opened the steel mesh doors on top of the counter, and then arranged cases of beer in a pile so that they couldn’t miss them—what man could resist a mountain of cold beers ready for them? He opened a couple of cases and put six cold bottles on the table and poured three down a sink to make it look like somebody had already been there when the airport closed down. He lay one on its side and let one break on the floor.
The action on the runway went on and on throughout the day. It was one of the longest civilian runways in the United States. They only had three bulldozers working on the runway itself and the snow was a couple of feet deep. It took each dozer about an hour to clear a narrow line from one end of the runway to the other.
Another old truck came out and men started throwing salt onto the parking areas. They even got an aircraft weather-spray truck pulled in close by the fourth dozer. It didn’t work, but they were obviously expecting whoever was coming in by air to have everything they needed, and they might need a spray down before take-off if bad weather came in again.
Night fell and the lights on the bulldozers showed that they were still working out there. They were halfway done, and it was going to be a very cold night. The salt truck had gone out several times and they had done a good job. One of the major’s men in white snow gear had sneaked out to inspect the runway. It was quite dry and they had about three hours of work left to go.
The major had allowed many of his men to sleep part of the day, and he had talked with two of his Chinese-American Air Force pilots who spoke fluent Mandarin, and together they had worked out a plan. Quite a few of the Chinese had come into the terminal a couple of hours earlier and helped themselves to food and the beer placed for them. The major and his guys had gone on high alert when they heard voices in the terminal for the first time. They were over 100 feet away from the door and a couple of soldiers had crawled down the dark terminal floor and found two men sitting at the main table of the bar drinking cold bottles of beer.
They hadn’t finished their brews before their necks were broken and they were dragged back to the storage area where Major Patterson and his team of pilots were holed up.
An hour later, six more men came in looking for the other two, whispering their names, an interpreter told the major. Two came down to the dark area where the troops were waiting. One American soldier made a grunt on the opposite side of the concourse and the two flashlights held by the Chinese men quickly swung around towards the sound. That was their last move before being terminated from behind by strong hands. The other four had found the beer, the demise of many men, and bottles were opened.
It wasn’t long, however, before the first two were missed. The crew in the store shouted for them, and one of the Chinese-American pilots impersonated them with a cloth over his face to hide his voice, and told them that they had found some good chocolate and American candy. One of the four men, carrying a shoulder missile launcher, swaggered over to the dark area of the concourse shouting that beer was better than chocolate and then he, too, went eerily quiet.
It took several more minutes, but the last three went the same way as the rest, sitting around the darkened terminal with flashlights and the moon, their only source of light. The eight dead men were relieved of their clothing and it was given to the shortest soldiers in the group. The two Chinese-American pilots were now as mean looking as the guys outside.
Going through the pockets and jackets, they had found two satellite phones as well as lots of small things, and now they had communications with the outside world. The major had been told to update the general whenever a phone became available, so he called the general and was connected just like he would have been on his regular cell phone a few weeks earlier. There was no answer on the other side until the major stated “Allen Key” into the phone.
“Name and location?” General Allen requested into the phone curtly.
“Patterson. Juliet, Foxtrot, Kilo,” Major Patterson replied.
“Well done, Patterson. I assume you have terminated some visitors to get this?” the general asked, now well on his way to Elmendorf Air Force Base in Alaska.
“Roger that, Allen Key.”
“Give me a quick sitrep (Situation Report) Mr. Patterson,” the general continued.
“We have 180 friendlies in four separate locations. We were visited by 40 guests in trucks a little earlier, now down to 32. We have two new cell phones and hope to have several more by tonight. So far today, two areas cleared by four bulldozers. Area 31-Lima (left) is about 120 minutes from being totally cleared. Salt is being laid. I have a plan in place. Two friendly Charlie-American pilots are ready and prepared to get into any arriving empty birds and take them to Mr. McGuire. Then we bring in reinforcements and terminate uprising ASAP. We have one friendly Charlie ready on cell phone to tell any aircraft that everything is okay. Any suggestions? Over.” The major gave his brief report into the cell phone as more visitors suddenly entered the terminal shouting for their friends.