The snow came and went, winds moving it around, and toward nightfall it began to fall in earnest. The bulldozers worked to keep the runway clear. Only an inch or two had fallen when Blue Moon, Easy Girl, and the second HC-130 tanker were fully fueled and the two gunships, each carrying 15 men each took off two hours before dawn.
The flight was 90 minutes into Shanghai, and the general would only take off in Ghost Rider once the men were on the ground. He needed to conserve fuel. He wouldn’t have the backup of a tanker anymore, and Beijing was a straight flight line this time with the aid of the Russian radio beacons.
This time, the satellite phones would be the main communication tool—smaller and lighter than radios—and the men were dressed in the same clothing taken off the termination squads in New York.
Both gunships were able to guide themselves into the area accurately with their infrared scanners. Mrs. Wang had been transferred into Blue Moon and once the men were down, they were to refuel from the tanker and all head into Omsk, 2,850 miles away.
From Omsk, they would fly into Moscow and deliver the three promised cell phones, and then head for Turkey, which was the meeting point for all the U.S. aircraft heading back to the States. General Allen would be the last in, once he had delivered the radio beacon into Beijing, refueled, and then flown into Omsk for more fuel. He would also then head south into Turkey.
The pilots reported reasonable snowfall over the area and it didn’t take them long to find the mapped out LZ (landing zone) several hundred yards southwest of the airport. Snow wasn’t falling and the clouds were scattered. The dark of night just before dawn was not a problem for the scanners aboard the gunship. Both aircrafts’ speed was slowed as much as possible to reduce engine noise. The pilots reduced altitude down to 900 feet and the jumpers only had seconds before they landed.
All Marines were experienced at this and they had gone over the drills several times with the less-experienced pilots—teaching them low-level static-line parachute tactics. The tanker stayed aloft at 20,000 feet. She couldn’t help in any way, and she waited patiently for the two gunships to rejoin her. The rear door of the AC-130s opened, and the jump lights turned from red to green. Fifteen men ran out the back two at a time on each side of both aircraft in three second intervals. Their parachute’s ripcords were pulled by the static lines inside the aircraft as they jumped. The last man ran out on one side and seconds later a large case of carefully packed AK-47s and ammunition was pushed out on the other side of the both aircraft by two men. Its larger parachute’s ripcord was also pulled as it left the aircraft.
The two aircraft immediately banked right and glided out to sea as silently as possible and gently gained altitude to meet up with the tanker. Together they turned far out to sea to the east of Shanghai into a northwesterly direction and got on course for Omsk.
Several minutes later, the first group gathered their parachute gear and joined up reporting to Major Patterson. Everybody was okay, despite one slightly sprained ankle, and the second group headed by Captains Wong and Chong arrived several minutes later with no injuries to report.
Patterson’s men searched for, found, and unpacked the slightly banged up pallets of equipment. Their pallet was a hundred yards away and stuck inside a now roofless and broken chicken coop, and after a little trouble, two of the men handed out the arms and ammunition to the rest of their squad. They wrapped their 15 parachutes onto the now empty pallet with a timer and explosive device that would go off in three hours time, hopefully destroying all evidence, as well as a dozen or so unfortunate chickens, if they didn’t go out to peck around the field before the explosion went off. They then re-joined the other group and Major Patterson phoned General Allen, telling him that they were on the ground, and no injuries.
Already, and from this distance, they could see a dozen or more aircraft standing in a long line facing outwards away from the well-lit air terminal and facing the runway and outer fence that rested between them and the aircraft.
If all the aircraft had been parked head-in at the terminals with the walkways attached, it could have presented a problem. It would have been difficult to get them moved back from the gates and onto the runway for take-off. They couldn’t see all the aircraft, because a short snow squall blotted out the terminal halfway down, but that was fine—they had seen as much as they wanted.
The first terminal facing the west at Shanghai International was extremely long, and older satellite photos studied in the aircraft on the way over had shown that around 24 aircraft could be parked at the west-side gates.
A couple of men cut holes in the high fence surrounding the airport, noticing that several lights were on in and around the buildings, as well as the aircraft control tower. There were no guards to be seen. They certainly weren’t expecting any form of attack.
Once inside, they kept to the perimeter of the fence, carefully moving in the blackness around the south end of the runway. It took the group 20 minutes to get closer to the aircraft. By that time, the faint dawn light was beginning to show more and more of the airport stretching out in front of them.
Major Patterson and all the men were dressed in the same confiscated Chinese clothing from JFK. The team moved slowly and carefully toward the main apron of the airport. Once they arrived in the first lit up area, Major Patterson was ready for his mission and blatantly walked out to the middle of the lit apron with Captain Chong to make sure that they would be seen, and started looking at the first airplane.
Captain Wong ran to the tower and climbed the stairs as fast as he could with two shorter Marines as bodyguards, their faces totally hidden behind veils. He reached the airport’s command center or tower and found it unguarded with the door unlocked. He walked in and started shouting orders in Chinese, pointing down at the tiny figure of the Supreme Commander just barely visible checking aircraft.
“The Supreme Commander has arrived to do an inspection of the airfield,” ordered Captain Wong in Mandarin as the men sat straight up, suddenly at attention. While he shouted, he looked outside the tower and counted fifteen 747s facing outward toward the runway. Past the end of the line and in a half-closed aircraft repair hangar he could just make out the same transporter he had seen at JFK two days earlier. It must have refueled somewhere on its return journey because she certainly didn’t have the range to get from New York to Shanghai nonstop like the passenger version.
“The Supreme Commander has been given an army of elite troops from the government in Beijing as a gift, and needs 12 aircraft to collect them. Are those aircraft refueled and ready to fly? Where are the pilots?” he shouted at the man who looked to be most senior.
“The aircraft are fueled and ready to fly. I will wake the pilots immediately. They are in their quarters, Comrade,” the man replied, stammering nervously.
“General Wong to you! I am the Supreme Commander’s bodyguard commander. Is there an alarm to warn the soldiers about aircraft movements?” the captain demanded.
“The soldiers are controlled from the security detachment on the floor below. I can send a man to tell them that the Supreme Commander is giving orders to move aircraft,” the man replied, still standing at attention.
“Do that immediately!” ordered Captain Wong. “The aircraft will be flying into Beijing and will return in 12 hours. I need space and quarters for another 5,000 men. Tell the commander of the soldiers to find them space to sleep until we leave for America, understood?”