by T I WADE
“That would be great,” replied Sally. “I’ve done so much flying since the beginning of the year. I think about them often, and have even called down on the 130’s radio to Yuma whenever I was within radio range. They have everything they need, warmth from a massive fireplace in the lounge, two powerful generators and my father always keeps reserve stocks of fuel for emergencies. They grow their own food and always have chickens in the freezer; he raises two hundred high-quality meat chickens a year and then gets them processed somewhere. The neighbors on each side are good friends, both ex-Special Forces, and they have enough weapons and ammo between them to start a war. My parents could leave the ranch for as long as long they wanted and they would find it the same way when they returned. Much like Preston and Joe, they all look after each other. I’m sure that between the Three Musketeers, which is what they call themselves, there is enough food there for a couple of years.”
An hour before dawn the next morning, the two AC-130s were warmed up and took off for their forty-minute flight to a much smaller Air Force base in Santiago de Cali where Uncle Philippe’s fourth brother was in command. A third aircraft took off before them. To Carlos it looked like the military version of Buck’s and his DC-3, Lady Dandy, an AC-47. This one had no trouble keeping up with the more powerful AC-130 engines. She must have been fitted out with the same engines. The AC-47s, all six of them, were called Fantasmas or Ghosts in Colombia, and had been called Puff the Magic Dragon when they were in service with the U.S. Air Force in Vietnam. They were early versions of the Hercules Gunships and, as one turned for takeoff in front of them, Carlos noticed it were equipped with three Miniguns on each side.
Carlos remembered that his father had been to Cali, or Santiago de Cali, before. He, his mother and sister had taken the bus to get away from the bad guys after his grandfather had been shot.
They landed on Runway 24 as the sun came over the horizon giving them protection, as they were almost out of the bright light of the sun as it rose.
There had been no mention of why they were flying to Cali but Uncle Philippe and Manuel knew of something which needed their attention. Carlos understood immediately after landing when he saw a line of seven C-130s neatly parked in front of the hangars. Here, too, it looked like a war zone with hundreds of soldiers in trenches and foxholes all over the airfield, which was much smaller than in Bogotá. There were civilian houses and warehouses visible on the other side of the high perimeter fence which was about eight hundred yards from the runway. All looked quiet and peaceful.
Two tanks and two artillery pieces were stationed in front of the line of aircraft and again Blue Moon and Easy Girl were directed into the two large hangars in the middle of the military establishment. Tractors turned them around, their tanks were topped off from two old gas trucks, and the doors closed to hide them from public view. All this happened within twenty minutes of landing and the surrounding area looked still sleepy and peaceful with very little movement.
Carlos was introduced to Colonel Alberto Rodriquez, Uncle Philippe’s youngest or second youngest brother, Carlos had lost count by now. The other brothers, the general and the admiral, had come along for the reunion flying in the AC-47 and there were many hugs and laughter as the old men, much like a group of kids, jostled with each other. They were a close-knit family.
“Anything you need, young Carlos,” laughed a happy and jovial Alberto, “you just ask.”
“How about a tour of your Fantasmas, Uncle Alberto? I’ve always wanted to see the real Puff the Magic Dragon.”
“I will take you on a tour myself, Carlos,” interrupted the older brother, General Rodriquez, walking up. “My young brother has helicopters as his specialty and mine are our AC-47s, thanks to your old friend General Allen. He got the U.S. government to sell us our Fantasmas for $1,000,000 each in 1985. Expensive, but he filled them with all sorts of goodies before they left American soil.”
The AC-47 was just like his and Buck’s DC-3 Lady Dandy, except for the three Miniguns and three air-to-ground rockets placed under each wing, and engines which looked like they were a lot more powerful than Lady Dandy’s. “Israeli modifications to the engines,” stated the general. There were cases of ammunition the size of coffins next to each Minigun and General Rodriquez told him that the aircraft could take off with full fuel and 150,000 rounds for the three guns. The guns could fire up to 4,000 rounds per minute, but the Colombian Air Force had their fire rate decreased to 2,000 rounds per minute. Three guns at 2,000 rounds per minute was a lot of firepower and Carlos did the math: 30 minutes of firing.
She was a beauty and Carlos wanted her. “May I assume that you want these C-130s turned into Gunships, Uncle? And that’s why we are here, to look at the C-130s?” The general nodded, looking a little guilty. “What range does this AC-47 have?”
“Exactly 1,900 miles fully loaded, or 2,350 miles with less than 25 percent full load,” the general replied, suddenly understanding where his nephew was going. “But, Carlos, she is my personal aircraft!” He looked at Carlos, shaking his head negatively.
“Well, General Rodriquez,” smiled Carlos, looking the older man straight in the eye, “if you give me your old model as a trade in, maybe you get the new models with the bigger guns, no?”
“Crazy family,” smiled the general. “First your mother shoots up the whole of Colombia. Then your father disappears for decades. Then he returns with an insolent son who wants everything we poor Colombian people own. Carlos, you are worse than the drug lords out there. And yes, she will reach America. And yes, I want the bigger machine with the bigger guns, as you described it. Just put in some leather flying seats, a blonde waitress and a refrigerator full of beer!” General Rodriquez replied smiling and slapping Carlos on the shoulder roughly. “I must tell Philippe to not bring you next time. Come, she is yours. I will get her fueled up. Since I heard you own an old DC-3 with your American friend, I’m sure you will not fly my girlfriend to your American Davy Jones Locker en route, you SOB!”
After pleasantries and Uncle Philippe’s complaints to Carlos about bullying his younger brother to hand over his prized aircraft, a Colombian Air Force Cessna A-37 Dragonfly was seen touching down on Runway 24 from the east. Again Carlos had always wanted to see one of these so he descended the stairs from the boardroom overlooking the airfield from the third floor and walked out to get a glimpse of the latest addition. Sally joined him and they walked out to the tarmac where the aircraft had stopped. The pilot got out and looked at his reception inquisitively.
“And may I have the name of this good-looking American lady pilot?” he asked Carlos.
“Captain Sally Powers, United States Air Force,” replied Carlos before Sally could get her Spanish going.
“And you are, Señor?”
“Carlos Rodriquez, son of Manuel Rodriquez,” he replied to this stern-looking pilot, many years older than himself.
“Good to finally meet you, young man,” replied the pilot. “I’m Commandant Alvarez Rodriquez, third in command of the Colombian Police Force, and your uncle, Carlos.”
Now I have met all five of my uncles, Señor,” replied Carlos, happily shaking his hand.
“May I assume that all my older brothers are already here?”
“Correct, Uncle,” Carlos responded, walking with the man back to the building. This man seemed as exciting as his other uncles and the A-37 could wait for the time being.
Again, the brothers displayed warmth and close family friendship. Alvarez Rodriquez was quickly welcomed with lots of handshaking and slaps on the back. Then he was introduced to Manuel, Carlos’ father.
“Last time I saw you, Manuel, I flew you, your wife and young Carlos here into Miami. 1980s, no?”
“That is correct, Alvarez, late 1980s. It was a bumpy flight in that little aircraft, whatever it was, and we were hot and squashed in with all our worldly possessions in six large suitcases.”
“An Air Force Cessna 210 Turbo. Manuel and I remember that long flight. Af
ter taking off in Medellin we refueled in Panama City, Guatemala City and Merida, Mexico, before landing in Florida. It was the only civilian-looking aircraft in the Air Force and was mostly used for aerial surveillance. A meeting was held to get troop numbers while all the aircraft were refueled and the U.S. aircraft were readied for their return flights.”
Not really part of the meeting, Carlos was deep in thought. He believed Uncle Philippe had played a trick on him. First, his uncles winked at each other when he brought up the idea of renovating the C-130 Transporters into AC-130 Gunships, then at his thoughts on the most powerful aircraft, slow attack semi-armored Gunships, and finally, they arrived here in Cali and the entire fleet of Colombian Air Force C-130s were sitting and waiting for them just as they are about to return to the U.S.—probably fully fueled, with pilots, and ready to go. Then it hit him! This whole trip and his invitation to come along were to persuade him to use his contacts to get the 130s reconstructed into Gunships.
“Uncle Philippe!” Carlos interrupted the meeting and everyone turned to him, silent. “You have played me, a member of your family, to convert your 130s into Gunships. That was the only reason you invited me to come along. You wanted me to bring Blue Moon and Easy Girl for you and your brothers to inspect.”
“Also to introduce you to the family here sitting around you, young Carlos.” Uncle Philippe smiled. “The thought of bringing the Gunships had crossed my mind.”
“Your Uncle Philippe is a very devious older brother,” added General Rodriquez, also smiling. “But he looks after us here in Colombia and he has a very mean and dry sense of humor. You seem to be of the same blood, Carlos, since you wanted to commandeer my personal Air Force transportation as soon as you saw it.”
“And he has eyes on mine as well, gentlemen,” chipped in Alvarez.
“Why didn’t you ask me outright, Uncle? I would have done what you asked.”
“Now that takes all the fun out of it. We all wanted to see how long it took you to be a Rodriquez and figure out our devious plan for yourself. And it took you longer than we expected. You are far too trustworthy; it must be your engineering brain, and your grandfather’s genes. He always trusted everybody. Gentlemen, am I correct in saying that young Carlos is a spitting image of his grandfather?” And there was unanimous nodding of approval, even from his father who laughed and slapped him on the back.
“Did he have a mean streak like the rest of you?” asked Carlos, trying to keep his composure.
“Oh yes,” laughed Luiz, the admiral. We played tricks on him all the time as children, but he always got us back somehow.”
“Good,” continued Carlos, “because in payment for getting the U.S. to bow down to you bad guys, I want both of your aircraft, General and Commandant. I see your AC-37 Super Tweet, or Dragonfly, as you call it, has in-flight refueling capabilities. Does the refueling rig in your Cessna Super Tweet, as we called them in the States, comply with our older U.S. Vietnam-era refueling systems? Also that pretty girl you met on the tarmac is going to be my wife one day and your Super Tweet is the type she trained on for several months. It would be a great persuasion for her to become my wife if I gave her a fully-armed jet aircraft as a wedding present. She would be a great addition to this family, no?”
“Alvarez looked at him and didn’t believe what he was hearing. “And what do I get out of this?”
“What do you want?”
“I heard America captured a few Chinese J-10 fighters, young Carlos. Is that too much to ask?”
“I think so. Unless the U.S. Air Force has no use for them, you will not see them in a million years, Alvarez. But I feel that Miniguns placed on your police vehicles could be an addition to your strength, as well as having more firepower than the rest of the Colombian Police Force—who maybe aren’t your friends—and the Florencia Cartel that hopefully doesn’t have the same firepower as your new vehicles. How about that idea, Uncles?”
Carlos could see that he might have hit pay dirt as Alvarez sat back and thought about what he had just said.
Suddenly machine gun fire erupted from outside the perimeter fence and a nearby mortar bomb could be heard ejecting into the air.
“Attack, attack!” sounded everywhere and an old-fashioned siren started blaring its sheeplike noise.
Most of the aircraft had been parked on the tarmac directly in front of the building they were in. From the movement of soldiers in jeeps, it seemed that the gunfire was coming from the northwest area of the airfield, about a mile away. The two Gunships were hidden in a large single hangar in front of the windows they were looking through, and the first incoming mortar bomb landed harmlessly at least three hundred yards short of the hangar in a grassy area between the only runway and the closest hangar.
Everybody rushed for the door. Carlos left the building as a second mortar bomb landed in the same area, twenty or so yards closer. The noise of the return fire from this side of the airfield was loud as he ran for the hangar in front of him where the Gunships were parked. He reached the large hangar door as it opened slightly to allow the Marines in the two jeeps to speed out in the direction of the mortar fire.
A third mortar bomb landed a hundred feet or so in front of the jeeps as they sped down the grassy verge of the runway towards the corner.
“A two-inch mortar at its furthest range,” stated General Rodriquez as he ran up to Carlos breathlessly. “It can’t reach the hangars, but it can reach the runway. We need to get all the aircraft off immediately.”
“Let’s get the Gunships up first,” suggested Carlos.
“No,” replied the General. “Take my aircraft, get some of your Marines in it and give us covering fire until we get the rest out of here. They must all be refueled by now.”
Sally ran up and asked what Carlos wanted of the Gunships.
“Sally, do you have enough pilots for the Gunships without you and me?”
“Sure, Jenifer has her copilot and my number three pilot can take over Blue Moon. We always have one of the crew as a backup. Why?”
“See that A-37 Dragonfly or Super Tweet over there?” Sally nodded. “Climb in and follow me,” Carlos ordered. He shook his uncle’s hand quickly. “General, get Uncle Philippe and my father into our Gunships and get your pilots ready for takeoff. Once the runway is safe, get all the aircraft airborne and we will say our goodbyes. Also thank Alvarez for me and tell him that our two jeeps are a deposit for what we take with us. I will come in and pick up the rest of our Marines.” With that he ran off in the direction of the AC-47 which already had its engines running.
Another mortar bomb landed a hundred feet from the aircraft as Carlos reached it and climbed in the large side door and ran for the cockpit. A Colombian pilot was readying for flight and was the only person in the cockpit. Several men were also preparing the six Miniguns on each side. In Spanish Carlos thanked the man, slipped into the right seat and told him to leave the aircraft. The pilot looked over to his general still standing on the tarmac where Carlos had left him, looked back at Carlos and got up to leave. “Tell the gunners to stay in the aircraft.”
Once the pilot was out, Carlos pushed the throttles forward as another mortar bomb blew a massive piece of turf out of the ground only fifty feet from him. “They must be moving down the side of the runway fence,” he thought to himself, getting his headphones on his head and maneuvering the aircraft out towards the runway.
“Sally, we take off from the southern end and bank slightly right immediately. Stay low and keep your underbelly flat with the northeastern corner. Are you on radio?”
“Yes, lover,” she responded calmly. “I’m going to need a couple more minutes to finish my checks. I have jets that need TLC.”
“I’ll get out of here and come around to give you covering fire. Let me know when you are at the bottom end of the runway.”
“Roger that,” replied Sally. “I need four minutes to get these two little jet engines warmed up.” Carlos knew that it would take her longer to warm up
her engines versus his propeller-driven engines. He headed down to the runway end. Again in Spanish he talked to his gunners over the intercom.
“I believe the enemy is working their way down the runway fence. When we take off, gunners, give us covering fire all the way down the fence. Just make sure your shooting is outside the perimeter fence. We don’t want to hit our own men. Comprehend?” There were acknowledgements from the rear of the aircraft.
By the time he reached the end of the runway, the engines were well-warmed at maximum taxi speed. He continued past the tarmac end onto the grassy area and right to the fence where he swung the heavy aircraft around, nearly hitting the tail on the fence itself. This would give him another twenty to thirty yards of runway. He gunned the engines to maximum, holding the brakes until the tail started rising into the air. As it left the ground he let the brakes go and the aircraft jerked forward, the engines screaming and blowing up a dust storm behind them.
The engines were far more powerful than Lady Dandy’s and he felt the speed increase even though the weight of the thousands of machine-gun bullets made her heavy. He noticed Sally taxiing and waiting for him to pass as he came abreast of her.
Another mortar bomb hit the dirt a hundred yards in front of him but left of the runway. He went through a little of the falling debris and watched his speed climb.
He felt his gunners on the port side open up as they left the ground and the tail of the aircraft kicked sideways with the three guns opening up. He reacted quickly, kicking the rudder pedal, and then banked slightly to the right as he brought up her wheels. They turned out of the airfield at a hundred feet and he pulled the stick back slightly to compensate for buildings coming up. There weren’t many over two stories. He passed over them, quickly straightening the aircraft into level flight so that his wingtip wouldn’t collide with any of the ground structures he was so close to.
