Chaos anw-1

by John O'Brien

  I keyed the mic button on the throttle and responded back, “Otter 39 flight, left 130.”

  Looking again to the cloud base I could reach out and touch, I knew we had no choice but to climb. We were flat going to run out of gas before reaching Altus if we didn’t and the higher altitude would give us a better fuel rate and increased performance lengthening our range. But there was the icing to think about. Well, a certainty versus a possibility. “DenverCenter, Otter 39 flight requesting flight level 250 (pronounced two five zero).”

  The reply came back, “Otter 39 flight, standby, expect flight level 250 in ten minutes.”

  Well, that wasn’t going to work, I thought. “DenverCenter, Otter 39 flight declaring a fuel precautionary at this time and requesting flight level 250.”

  The military is different from the civilian world in that we could declare a precautionary without having to go to a full-blown emergency. This notifies our control facilities that we were in a situation that wasn’t quite an emergency but could result in one.

  “Otter 39 flight, Denver Center, copy precautionary. Climb and maintain flight level 250.”

  Yes, we were just bumped up on the priority list. I looked over at the aircraft tucked against my wing and gave the throttle up signal getting a nod back. Moving the throttles up into mil power, I raised the nose. We immediately went into IFR conditions meaning we had only the instruments to guide us as we lost visual reference. Ice immediately gathered on our wings. Not only does this decrease aircraft performance, but interrupts the airflow. Enough disruption and the aircraft ceases its ability to produce lift and turns from a high performance fun machine into a brick.

  As we climbed higher, I kept expecting and wanting to break out on top of this. By flight level 180, I realized this may not happen and was questioning my decision. Ice coated the leading edge of our wings but we were still flying. This, incidentally, is a good thing. At flight level 210, the clouds began getting thinner and I could see the sun shrouded in mist above me. The ice stopped increasing and I fully expected to break out on top soon. But as we continued to climb, the sun only became a brighter disk in the sky, however, visibility increased. I leveled out at flight level 250 — that is really 25,000 feet but we use flight level designations beginning at 18,000 feet.

  The visibility wasn’t too bad so I sent my wingman to chase. This is basically a loose formation where the wingman flies about a 1,000 feet behind and to the left or right of the lead aircraft. This position lends to a flexible position where I could maneuver easier and the wingman wasn’t constantly adjusting the throttles giving a better fuel consumption rate. I looked at the fuel gauge again. Not good! I dialed in the navigation aid at Altus (TACAN) and looked at the DME (Distance measuring equipment. This tells how far from the nav aid you are). Once I locked on, I saw the DME which will also give you your ground speed. Looking at that and at my airspeed indicator, I realized we were also battling a 40 knot headwind. “Aw fuck, of course! Why not?” I said into my mask.

  I was actually beginning to get a bit nervous and worried at this point. Peeling my glove back, I used the flight calculator on my watch, setting the ground speed on the distance. I then looked at the fuel flow rate which gave me the fuel required. I compared that number with what I had on my gauge. Uh oh. Those numbers were damn near the same. Totally not good. That was to just fly to the airfield and didn’t include the fuel required to fly an approach which would most likely be required there. I had one ace up my sleeve and that what was called and enroute descent. That is a fuel saving request where you start your descent into the airfield from a farther distance out. This allows a shallower descent path allowing gravity to work on your behalf for a longer period of time. Normally about 100 miles out. Still, it did not save that much fuel.

  I continued to calculate the fuel. The fuel required and fuel onboard differential kept shrinking. I had serious thoughts that I would have to bail out; to the point of going through the controlled bailout checklist. The thought of bailing out didn’t exactly please me. It would be a long silk ride down through some very cold clouds. There was also the chance that the chute could freeze up with ice and cease being a parachute and more like a large piece of cardboard. Plus, there was the inquiry that would follow. See, the Air Force severely frowns on planting their aircraft into the earth. I knew I could probably skate on this one but still, not a pleasant thought. I liked my companion even more now!

  The fuel differential finally became a negative one. I should have declared an emergency much earlier on but I always hesitated on doing that. “DenverCenter, Otter 39 flight, declaring a fuel emergency at this time,” giving out particulars with regards to position, fuel remaining and intentions, “request enroute descent into Altus for the PAR runway 35.” (Precision Approach Radar. An approach option for military aircraft whereby the controller guides the aircraft in with very precise headings and altitude corrections).

  “Otter 39 flight, DenverCenter, copy emergency. Turn left heading 125, descend and maintain 15,000 at your discretion.”

  About 100 miles out, having furiously checked and rechecked calculations, I signaled my wingman back into fingertip formation, completed our approach to field checks, and we started down towards Altus. During my numerous fuel checks, I would also inquire as to my wingman’s fuel. We were about on par with him being a touch lower.

  I called Denver Center as we began our descent. We were handed over to Fort Worth Approach and received vectors and clearance for the approach. I was still constantly looking at the fuel gauge and calculations. We had gained a measure of fuel savings on the descent and, after switching to approach, they gave us short vectors to the airfield. The cloud ceiling was considerably higher here and when we broke out, approach asked us if we had the airfield in sight. I answered in the affirmative and we were given instructions to circle to land runway 17 which basically gives us the freedom to maneuver to and align ourselves with the runway.

  We touched down in formation and taxied to base ops. My fuel gauge read zero; I mean absolute zero while taxiing. I was pretty hot and furious and stormed over to base ops to give Mr. Know It All a pretty big piece of my mind after shutting down. As I walked in, the DO walked in behind me. I think he felt the mood and swept his arms wide and said, “My friends, at least we all made it.” That put a pretty good perspective check on me and settled my mood considerably. He was pretty good with stuff like that and it made an impression on me. Always keep things in perspective.

  Pulling my mind back to the present, I make a U-turn and retrace our route. We ride back mostly lost in our own thoughts after Robert shares our plans for tomorrow. Michelle seems to take it in stride only mentioning she doesn’t have a sleeping bag with her. “We have some extras,” I tell her. Those being only words I say as we drive through town and back down the highway towards home still thinking about the watch, maybe later.

  On the drive back, I am lost in my thoughts about various aspects of the planned flight out; gathering some supplies on the way back and putting another to-do list together. I think about asking Michelle where she thinks her parents might be or what happened to them. I also want to ask Robert what happened that he, Nic, and Bri ended up in the basement but the time doesn’t feel right. I feel they all have to sort things out in their own minds before reliving those experiences.

  “We should probably gather up some supplies for tomorrow,” I say as we turn off the highway by the gas station with the white F-150 still in the lot.

  I pull into the gas station and park in the same location as before with the Jeep running. I pull out the duct tape sliding the tube onto my left arm like a bracelet.

  “That’s just like the .45 I used to have,” I say nodding toward the gun at Robert’s side. We used to go off into the woods periodically to target practice so he knows how to shoot, “Remember, it has a lot of kick so make sure you refocus the sights on your target before squeezing off the next round. It may be a semi-automatic but that doesn’t mean rapid f
ire.” He merely looks at the gun and nods.

  “Let’s take a walk around,” I say grabbing my gun and walk towards the store. Both of them do the same and follow.

  The store itself is your standard stop-and-rob gas station store built with cement blocks. The cream-colored building has double entry glass doors with a door-sized window to either side. It also has two additional large glass pane windows, one on the facing corner to the left of the doors and another just around the left corner that looks into the checker stand. Both Robert and I know the interior well from the many, many times we have stopped there for soda or the occasional Subway pizzas or sandwiches.

  Just inside the front doors, the double register check stand sits to the left with a counter to the right holding automated coffee and other drink machines. This then opens up into the main store. Refrigeration sections line the walls to the rear and right of the store with the Subway station situated against the front right. The middle of the store is comprised of several food and sundry shelves with the aisles angled toward the front door. To the right, between the Subway station and the refrigeration unit to the right, I remember a door leading to the outside with the kitchen part of Subway just before this exit door. A bathroom is located on the left between the check stand and rear refrigerated section with a hallway extending to the rear of the building. I assume there is an entry into the refrigeration unit, a stock area and such, and a rear door.

  Outside, to the rear of the building, I see the beginnings of a chain link fence with wood slats in the links common to dumpster areas. We head in that direction checking the surrounding area out. The warm summer breeze gently stirs against my red Jeep t-shirt and jeans; my shadow extending slightly to my left across the pavement. I see two other shadows behind mine as Robert and Michelle tail behind. We round the corner to the rear of the store remaining alert to anything that might be there. A green dumpster shows through the reddish brown slats in the fence verifying my previous assumption. I want to check out every place to make sure. Minimizing surprises is a good philosophy to live by.

  The gate has a lock but is hanging open. The gate itself swings outward and to the left. I see through the slats but can’t see everything inside clearly. I gather Robert and Michelle around me.

  “Robert, you take the gate from the right, remove the lock, lift the latch, and swing the gate open stepping back to the right as you open it. This will minimize the possibility that the gate will swing open into you. At no time are you to step in front of the opening unless I tell you. I’ll cover the gate from the front a few feet back. Once the gate is open, you step a few feet back my direction and to the left.”

  “Michelle,” I say, “You cover the area around us.”

  They nod and Robert moves in a wide circle approaching the gate from the right. I set up in a kneeling stance a few feet in front of the gate. My guess is nothing will present itself due to the lock being on the gate, but you never know. Once at the gate, Robert grasps the lock and looks back at me. I glance back at Michelle. She has her back to me and is looking around the area with her pistol out. I must admit I am quite impressed with Robert’s exceptional choice for a girlfriend.

  I give Robert a nod. He removes the lock and drops it to the ground as he lifts the latch. Swinging, the gate open to his left, with the metallic rattling sound common to all chain link fences, he steps back away from the gate bringing his own gun up. I’m greeted by the sight of a dumpster hidden in the shadow of the store. Nothing moves except for the gate slowly swinging closed apparently not being quite level. I approach the gate noticing the left lift door on the dumpster is open to the sky with the right one closed. A couple of smaller cardboard boxes lie open on the ground at the foot of the dumpster.

  “Cover me,” I say at the entrance. He moves up behind as I edge toward the open end of the dumpster. A quick move up to my toes bringing my gun to bear toward the dumpster opening reveals nothing immediately apparent other than it being half full of miscellaneous paper wrappings, cans, boxes, and the standard things one would expect in a garbage bin. I feel kind of foolish for tactically assaulting a dumpster. However, if that dumpster were to spring up as some transformer and attack us, we would have had it covered. More so, I wanted to use this to teach tactical operations and this was a safe way to do it.

  Proceeding out of the enclosure, I shut the gate behind me. “Michelle,” I call out and she quickly joins us.

  We continue around the enclosure along the back of the store. In the middle of the rear wall is a gray, steel door that opens outward. Against the other rear corner is an enclosure similar to the one we just exited. The difference is a small aluminum tube jutting out from the top. I was hoping to see something like this. I guess I never paid very close attention to the surroundings before as I don’t remember seeing this. But then again, I don’t remember not seeing it either. I rather expected something like it though. Out here in the country, there are frequent power failures during storms and winter months with some failures lasting several days. Stores would keep small generators handy in order to keep the refrigeration units going in the event of such failures. This one would likely be attached to those and the emergency lighting. It might even be connected to the gas pumps. Something to think about in the future.

  “Same as before?” Robert asks.

  I nod and tell Michelle she has the door and the surrounding area. She stations herself in front of the door about twenty feet away and the assault on the generator begins. We go through the same motions and find it is in fact a generator and is clear. Emergency generators are usually set to automatically engage, triggered by the loss of normal electrical power. Some have a manual starter switch for maintenance check purposes. I press the green ‘on’ switch. Nothing happens. The fuel tank with the green ‘diesel only’ placard sits on the front and to the bottom and, as I tap the tank lightly working my way down. A hollow sound follows all of the way down to the bottom. I test the fuel level with a small, square pole sitting to the side of the generator to find the stick reveals only a dark, wet line about a quarter of an inch deep. Empty. I seriously doubt there is enough residual diesel fuel in the hose lines at the pump to power it up. If we want to ever use this generator and the gas pumps, we’ll have to drain diesel fuel from some vehicle at a later point. There’s too much to be done today with the light remaining for us to search for one now.

  Exiting and closing the gate, I walk to the steel door. There’s no latch, just a handle and a key slot above it. I give the door a light pull, not wanting to open it, just to test if it is locked or not. It doesn’t move.

  We head around the building to the far side. The paved area extends fifty feet completely around the store allowing people to drive away by completing a complete circle back to the entrance. A tree-lined hill, really more of small ridge, abuts the pavement to the rear and leads up to a shellfish plant on the other side of the trees.

  Only two things greet us on this far side; an outside door similar to the rear door, and a darker blue four-door Honda parked nearby. With gun in hand, I approach from the front to get a better look into the interior, angling up to the front corner of the car and peer inside. Nothing out of the ordinary and, more importantly, no one inside. I slide around to the passenger side keeping slightly away from the car to find there aren’t any keys in the ignition. Moving closer, I try the front door. Locked. I test all of the remaining doors only to find the car is completely locked up. No keys on the seat or floorboard. This tells me that whoever was driving the car either was picked up in another vehicle, walked out of here, or is still around. Maybe more than one if there were passengers.

  I test the steel door in a similar manner as at the back and find it is also locked. We retrace our steps around the building as I don’t want to walk in front of the store just yet. If there is someone here and alive, they most likely know we are here already but I don’t want to publicly announce the fact.

  “There’s the possibility of at least one person around
,” I say as we turn the corner to the rear.

  “How do you know that?” Robert asks.

  “The car is locked with no one in it,” I say and relate exactly what I think that means. He nods thoughtfully.

  “Looks like we’re going in through the front door,” I say once we are back at the Jeep. “We’ll do a visual check through the side window and then see whether the front door is locked. If it is, then I’ll tape the front door,” I hold my left wrist with the duct tape bracelet up slightly, “and break the glass.”

  “Once inside, both of you will be right inside the door. Michelle, you’ll have the door itself. Robert, you cover toward the back of the store. I’ll go right to check the aisles and the Subway station. If it’s clear, I’ll head back. I’ll then check the back and the refrigeration units. While I’m doing that, Robert, you’ll switch to covering the right,” I say outlining a quick plan. “If something happens, our best bet is to just get out. If it does come down to where we have to shoot, make doubly sure you’re not firing towards each other. Make sure you have a clear shot. And,” I say with emphasis, “I mean a very clear shot. Any questions?”

  “How do we tell if they’re alive or one of those, well, things if someone happens to be in there?” Robert asks.

  “I’ll call out once we are inside. If no one responds, then we’ll assume that anything is hostile,” I say after thinking about it momentarily. “Always know where everyone is.”

  “Any more questions,” I ask looking from one to the other. They shake their heads.

  “Robert, get the flashlight off the shotgun. You’ll be using that,” I say reaching to pick up my monster flashlight.

  Robert returns and I see from the tape still on the light that he chose to cut it off rather than unwrap it. Okay!? I think.

  I walk towards the wall a little ways from the window waving them behind. Against the wall, I edge up to the window and peek in the corner. There’s something blocking my view from the inside and I have to rise up until I can see in. The light streaming inside through the door in front reveals the first cash register on the front counter, along with several drawers, and the drink machines by the front door on the other side of the entrance aisle. I’m not able to see all of the way to the floor. Crouching under the window, I proceed to the other side of the window and peek in the opposite corner again having to rise up slightly. I see the interior aisles, or at least where they should be. The light from the windows and door doesn’t penetrate very far in due to the building being angled away from the sun but there’s nothing moving that I can see. The rear of the building and the Subway side remain blocked.