by T I WADE
Sally and Maggie still had several checks to complete before leaving North Carolina and caught up with the Mustangs cruising at 25,000 feet an hour later.
All three aircraft were on autopilot. They chatted over the airways until somebody, usually a C-130 or a food-carrying FedEx Cargomaster, heard them and called to give their positions, altitude and direction, usual for aircraft without ground traffic control.
Over Tennessee they communicated with six aircraft heading into different areas with food or troops, mostly out of McGuire. Sally knew a couple of the pilots and well wishes were sent. Other than that, the weather was clear at their altitude. Full cloud cover was far below them. The sun, behind them, heated up the backs of their helmets.
“Do you think we have a head wind, Sally?” asked Preston.
“Maggie’s doing a great job, checking the gauges,” replied Sally. “She is in her element and I don’t think she will allow me to decrease altitude for McConnell. The wind from the south has gone. It looks like we have something coming in from the west, but my directional beacons from Edwards and Hill are showing that we are not being pushed north or south. If we have a headwind, I think it’s not a very strong one yet. I’ll be able to get hold of traffic control at McConnell in about thirty minutes and get a wind speed from them.”
Thirty minutes later and halfway across Missouri, Sally gave the radio frequencies for McConnell Air Force Base to Martie and Preston, and they each reset one of their two radio dials to the new frequency.
“McConnell, Power Key, do you read? Over.”
“Power Key, McConnell. Over.”
“Power key, Alfa Charlie 37, incoming from the East with two friends in Pa Pa 51s, approximately 500 miles out from November Charlie (North Carolina) and heading for you. Need wind direction and temperature. Over.”
“McConnell, wind speed from the west three knots, temperature 31 degrees, no other aircraft in our area and will have you on radar as you enter our state. Over.”
“Roger that. Out,” replied Sally and switched over to the second radio on the first frequency to talk to the other two aircraft.
The ground was clear of snow as they came in from the northeast, Sally going in first. A jeep appeared and showed them where to park and in a line; they allowed the engines to come to a halt and the cold, icy air hit them as they opened their canopies.
Sally’s aircraft was towed into a hangar and two small fuel tankers arrived to refuel the Mustangs before the pilots had even dropped to the ground.
The base commander met them. They had met the colonel three days earlier at the meeting at Andrews and he seemed to be a good friend of Sally’s, giving her a big hug. “My old flight trainer when I was training in C-130s,” she commented by way of introduction, as the colonel, Preston and Martie shook hands.
They enjoyed a good lunch and then toured the gigantic warehouses where forklifts moved pallets of food into sections ready for the next delivery aircraft to arrive. There were at least a hundred men working and readying the food cases for delivery. Preston noticed tent bags and small generators in the loads and, looking around, he estimated there were a couple of weeks’ worth of rations left, if the ready loads were all today’s loads.
Finally, with three hours of daylight left, they took off for the four and one-half hour flight into Hill Air Force Base. This flight would be shorter by twenty minutes as they would be flying much higher and using oxygen masks at 28,000 feet, and at this higher altitude, no headwind was expected. The cold front had passed.
Just as the sun had warmed them hours earlier, it grew colder and colder in the cockpits as the evening shadows caught up with them. This time they could feel the chilly fingers of night on the backs of their helmets.
The view of the Rockies, stretching out hundreds of miles in every direction, was breathtaking at this height. The control tower at Denver International was operational as they flew into Colorado and with the reduced equipment the tower had operating, they heard reports from a few other C-130 pilots about calmer, cleaner air above 30,000 feet. The three aircraft had used oxygen masks throughout the flight and as the chill began to envelope them from outside they turned the internal heaters up and climbed even higher.
Hill was experiencing a little snow as they came in from the east. It was getting dark and visibility was down to a couple of miles. Sally went in first, and Martie and Preston spaced themselves out behind her. Keeping Sally on their radar screens, they stayed a mile behind each other.
The base runway lights could be seen at a thousand feet above ground as they flew through low clouds. They all landed as softly as possible so as not to skid, especially the two Mustangs; being rear-wheel tail draggers, they could easily start slipping and sliding on an icy surface. The ground was white except for the runway which had just been cleaned and they were directed to park in front of a large hangar where tractors were waiting to wheel them in backwards.
Carlos and Lee Wang were there to meet them and the friends greeted each other as their aircraft disappeared behind the door of the closing hangar, leaving them in lightly falling snow.
“We have a great Officers’ Mess accommodation for us tonight,” stated Carlos, welcoming Preston. Preston hadn’t flown this far for a couple of years and Carlos could see that the two long stretches had taken their toll on the civilian pilots. Maggie did look good in her Air Force flight overalls, Carlos noticed. So did Sally and Martie, of course. It was the first time Martie and Maggie had ever worn the U.S. Air Force flight suits that were given to them at Andrews. They were comfortable and warmer than other clothing on long flights, certainly better than civilian clothes with constricting belts which would always begin to dig in during long stretches in the cockpit.
Lee was also excited to see his friends. He was wrapped in a thick, sheepskin-lined pilot’s jacket, probably one Carlos gave to him. The temperature was already ten below freezing.
Dinner was served and it wasn’t long before the tired pilots looked forward to bed. Carlos told them that he had flown across in Isabella. His own Mustang was still at Andrews and he and Lee were going to join them on the short flight down to Yuma the next day. However, weather interceded. Heavy snow arrived overnight and the ploughs couldn’t work fast enough to keep the runways clear. The air base was closed to any traffic and a lazy day was had by the pilots.
“How are the Utahans surviving this icy weather?” Preston asked Carlos over a late brunch of MRE ration packs.
“A lot better than other places,” Carlos replied. “The country folk have wood fireplaces, much like rural mountain areas. I’m sure Canada is the same. Here, just about all the houses have a wood fireplace or two and all the people I know are always stocked up with food and wood. It’s a Mormon thing, maintaining ample food storage in cellars and pantries. Higher up in the ski towns like Park City, cordwood stands outside all of the houses with enough wood to last for the entire winter… and plenty of stored food as well, I assume. All the houses I’ve visited have a chest freezer here and there. Even if the freezers aren’t working, the weather is cold enough to keep the food if thhey carry the freezer outside and just leave the freezer door open.”
“Are they shipping out supplies from Hill?” asked Martie.
“When I returned the day before yesterday, the weather was cold and clear and I saw several helicopters flying above us when Lee and I headed up the mountain to the observatory. The base commander has seven helicopters working when the weather is clear. He told me that a week ago there was a line of people from the inner city over a mile long asking for food and wood, but with the airlifts supplying food, bottled water and wood, the lines have disappeared except for people living in close proximity to the base. The base has a wood pile three stories high.”
“Anything new with our Chinese satellites, Lee?” asked Preston.
“I spent most of the night before last listening to people talking over their satellite phones,” replied Lee. “I set up a system that records speech being
directed through the satellite system, sort of eavesdropping in case of another attack. In twelve hours of recorded conversation—apart from the numbers here in the United States we know originate at military bases—there were only seven conversations outside our country. Carlos and I made a list of all the numbers that we know are in safe hands and we do not monitor those. Our list says that we currently have 59 phones outside the country. There are another 40 satellite phones we never received or were destroyed when the enemy bombed its own people, or never left China. I monitored the recordings while I was in Washington and identified five of the phones to be in China and another five with the moving container ships; we assume the ships’ captains have them. I heard them speaking privately to each other and to a controller in Shanghai as they activated our orders to leave port for Hawaii. They will be there in four days and Admiral Rogers has asked me to communicate with them once they reach their destination point. The Chinese ships have soldiers aboard. I told the captains that there was no further need for soldiers and to disband all the soldiers and allow them to return to their families, on direct orders from the Supreme Commander. I don’t believe they will send all the soldiers home. The control person on the phone is in Shanghai, a person named Bong Tee Rhu and he is the Harbor Master of Shanghai Harbor. General Patterson gave me orders to tell him to collect all electronic parts stored at the airport and the harbor area for pickup, and any other parts he knew of still in Nanjing. He told me there were reports that Nanjing was attacked by North Korean bombers several weeks ago. I told him that the Supreme Commander knew of this, but wanted any remaining parts placed at the harbor and one of the container ships would return to pick them up in a few weeks. I’m still waiting to hear back from Bong Tee Rhu on how much he can find. I also told him to test every remaining aircraft in the hangars, as well as any empty ships in the harbor to see if anything still worked.”
As he said that, Lee’s satellite phone rang in his pocket. Everybody jumped at the noise. Lee looked around a little bashfully before answering it.
“This is Lee Wang,” he stated in Chinese into the phone held to his ear. “Mo Wang, the fish haven’t eaten you yet?” his next sentence in English. He listened for a few seconds and then handed the phone to Carlos. ”My uncle would like to speak with you,” Lee told Carlos.
“Comrade Mo Wang, it is surprising that you stayed alive so long. Maybe you are not such a bad guy after all. Thank you for the information you gave us in January. It was precise and accurate and I know that Lee told you the outcome.” He listened for several seconds. “I don’t think I’m interested in picking you up in Key West, or Cuba, or wherever you are.” He listened for another few minutes and then smiled at the table listening in. “If you are correct, when you get here I will listen to you; but if you are bull crapping me, Comrade, you will spend the rest of your life in a place you don’t want to be. As far as I’m concerned, Lee, his family and I owe you no favors and vice versa. I will make that decision if you ever make it here and if you don’t, nobody here really cares. I will meet you when you are on American soil. Call me from a callbox in Key West and I’ll think about it. Goodbye, Comrade Wang,” and Carlos hung up the phone.
“Interesting,” remarked Preston. “In the middle of nowhere we still get phone calls from around the world. Hell, we couldn’t even pick up radio conversations apart from food aircraft yesterday.”
“Did he give you some information?” asked Lee.
“Where was he supposed to be holed up, Honduras?” Carlos asked Lee.
“That is where he said he was going last month,” replied Lee. “My sister lives there and he was going to visit her.”
“Well, now he says that he wants to travel to Key West and could be there in a few weeks. He didn’t say how, but he wants me to pick him and several other people up. He says that in return he could tell me about a depot of working electrical parts Zedong Electronics has stashed away in a town called Harbin. Know anything about Harbin, Lee?”
“Northwestern China, north of North Korea,” replied Lee. I think that is where the atomic missiles blasted off from and I think it is the secret base where the 747 transporter was stationed. Nobody knows where, but General Allen said that it couldn’t get to New York from anywhere in China without refueling somewhere.”
“I’ll check with General Patterson when we see him again, but the transporter can get into Harbin from Alaska, and she can get from Andrews directly into Alaska,” stated Carlos with Preston nodding that he thought the flight very possible. “It’s certainly something to ponder when Comrade Mo Wang reaches our shores sometime soon! Mo Wang also said that he had some civilians traveling with him,” Carlos continued. Suddenly his phone rang and again the people at the table jumped. No calls for weeks and then they all happen on a snowy day in the Rockies.
“Carlos,” he stated into the phone and began talking in Spanish. He put his hand over the phone and whispered to the table, “I gave my five uncles phones in Colombia. This is my uncle, the admiral.” He went back to his conversation. He talked for about ten minutes and hung up. Immediately his phone rang again. “It pisses me off, these phones,” he told the table. “They always phone when I’m nearly, or on finals to land somewhere.”
“Can’t be too hard today, buddy!” joked Preston. “You are only flying a table. Try not to crash into anything!” Carlos tried to whack his friend across the head but missed and went back to a second, long conversation in Spanish. Again he hung up and immediately the phone rang for the third time.
“Carlos.” He listened for a few seconds. “Sally, my uncle the police commandant wants his Super Tweet back,” he smiled at her.
“Tell him in his dreams! It’s my wedding present and I haven’t even got married or been proposed to yet!” Carlos relayed the message and spent several seconds laughing with his uncle. Sally aimed for Carlos’s head and got it with her open right hand. “Tell him I don’t miss!”
Finally Carlos ended the call and looked at the people around the table. He had a smile on his face and looked at Sally, at the same time rubbing his head.
“My uncles have agreed with General Patterson; we are getting three Light Frigates; our best naval ships are leaving port in Colombia and are heading for Florida. My uncle, the admiral, is in charge of the flotilla and will work with our friend Admiral Rogers patrolling the Gulf of Mexico. What they will find there I don’t know, but one of our old Destroyers and maybe an American Frigate will be there in a week or so. They are working on it in Charleston, South Carolina. My other uncles asked if their new Gunships are ready and I told them that it will take about six months to rebuild their aircraft. Colombians aren’t very patient!” he laughed.
“Admiral Rogers told me that all the ships stationed in Charleston are being refitted for operations,” added Preston. I don’t believe it but the Navy kept her two museum pieces, the Yorktown in Charleston and the USS Midway in San Diego, in one piece. He said that new work to the Yorktown was started in 2011 and he already has a thousand men working on servicing her engines and trying to give her CPR. He thinks that in three years the Yorktown might sail again. The Midway has only been stationary for a decade and needs only about a year or so to be gone over and serviced. They are also working on another dozen ships to bring them back to life. There isn’t much else to do in the Navy right now, as all their ships either need total electronic replacement—which could take decades—or are lost at sea. We know of five ships tied up in different parts of Europe and a dozen ships sunk in dangerous waters so that enemy countries couldn’t get their hands on them. Otherwise there are over 200 ships and 10,000 sailors missing and presumed sunk.”
“What would we use the aircraft carriers for?” asked Carlos. “We have no aircraft.”
“I suppose we could use the FedEx Cargomasters and turn them into fighter bombers,” suggested Martie, smiling.
“We still have a C-130, Fat Albert I think her name is, that could land on one of those,” added Sally. “Maybe th
e newer carriers were longer, but Carlos, my sweet, we could add a connection to your fancy new DC-3 and winch it off. You might get your butt grazed on takeoff but it would be worth watching.” Everybody laughed at the ribbing poor Carlos was getting. What were friends for?
The rest of the day was slow, and they reflected on the satellite calls of the day. General Patterson called a couple of hours later asking if they had reached Yuma yet. He wanted a sitrep (situation report) of the base.
The next morning was clear as they took off; several feet of moved snow surrounded the runway as the three faster aircraft left Hill for Yuma. Carlos had been given an hour’s head start and the rest promised that they would blow him out of the sky if they caught up to him. Preston noticed that Carlos’ cockpit was sealed off from the open rear of the aircraft, the guns had been disassembled and stored away from the cold, icy air, and he assumed the cockpit would be quite warm as Carlos and Lee took off.
Preston also knew that to increase their aircrafts’ range, he, Sally, and Martie didn’t have a round of ammo between them. He wondered if Carlos knew that, as he certainly left for Yuma in a hurry. Carlos landed as Sally buzzed him at a few feet above the runway as he went in.
Sally also landed quickly and ran over to hug two people Preston assumed were her parents. As he and Martie taxied in, a curious crowd came out to greet them; they certainly had arrived in an array of interesting aircraft.
Carlos, Preston and Martie were introduced to the family, and a dog on a leash, waiting for the incoming aircraft. Yuma was too far south to get snow and the surrounding trees and vegetation were green. The temperature was a balmy 55 degrees and it felt very warm.
Sally’s parents were very happy to meet Preston. Martie had met them once before when she, Sally and Maggie shared time at MIT, but Preston didn’t often leave North Carolina. Sally introduced Carlos as her husband-to-be and her father jokingly suggested he get on with the proposing bit, or Jock the dog and his shotgun might have some work to do. Clint Busch, still sitting in his wheelchair, was introduced to the four pilots. His mouth had hung open since Carlos and the other fancy aircraft landed and, to this young boy, it was one of the best days of his life. Preston asked him if he could walk and immediately the boy got himself out of the chair and hobbled towards Preston, who grabbed him and, holding his left arm, he walked slowly with the boy towards the Mustangs.
