by Mark Tufo
Hmmmm, that’s odd, thinking that all of the buildings would have been locked like the hospital.
The light from the door shows a hallway extending deeper into the building with doors opening off at intervals before disappearing into total darkness. A sign above the door to the immediate left indicates that it is the base weather shop.
Perfect, I think, stepping into the hallway.
With my light on, I edge carefully up to the wooden door remembering my wonderful and fun-filled adventure from the hospital. Looking through the large, glass panel set into the upper portion, I see an open area with chairs and coffee tables. Across from this resting area is a large counter spanning the length of the room with darkened television monitors hanging from the ceiling. This is obviously where pilots get their weather briefings. A room opens up to the right of the area with a large table sitting in the middle. The entire room and area are well lit from the light streaming in from the many windows. The door is unlocked and I step inside.
A musty smell greets my entry, more from disuse than anything else. The room opening to the right contains miscellaneous charts and is meant as a flight planning area. Just past this room, between it and the counter, a small hallway leads to the right. Stepping across the room and peering down the hall, the light doesn’t reach all of the way to the end. A couple of doors open to the right and one to the left. The one to the left is the entry into the weather shop, the ones on the right have ‘Men’ and ‘Women’ posted on them.
It’s pretty obvious what they are.
Back into the flight planning area, there are two large maps of the world on the back wall. The first one is a depiction of the VFR—visual—charts covering the areas of the world and the other has the various IFR—instrument—charts. I grab a pencil and jot down the ones I will need. Looking over the maps, I note the approach charts needed. Slots in the walls are filled with individual charts and approach books along with annotations denoting which ones lie within. In the past, it always seemed to take a small forklift to bring them all, but that was usually handled by the navigator. Most squadrons had everything in large carry cases regionalized.
Hopefully they have some here as well, I think, not really wanting to head into more buildings, but these charts are crucial.
I hear Robert start the fuel truck outside and drive away; the sound fades and then, vanishes altogether.
With my light on, I creep down the hall. Adrenaline is already making its appearance again. The hallway ends at a door with no light showing from underneath. Drawing close to the thin wooden door, and with complete silence around me, I put my ear against it. I hear a faint panting coming from within along with a now familiar shuffling-like noise. The sound stops. I flick the M-4 to burst mode. With my ear to the door, the shuffling changes to a sniffing sound.
A loud bang resounds as whatever is inside slams against the door rocking my head off the door and ringing my ears.
Fuck this!!! I think, recoiling backward and bringing my gun to bear.
I fire a burst into the door, noticing the rounds penetrate completely through and then, two more bursts, making sure the last burst is centered on the door latch. Kicking just beside the knob, the door flies inward before instantly rebounding back shut. Kicking again, the door flies all of the way open. My light picks up a creature stumbling backward into the room. I fire a burst into it, propelling it even farther backward, launching it off its feet to slam into steel shelves set against the walls. It slumps to the ground and sits there momentarily before falling sideways.
I quickly pan around the rest of the room only to see another one launch at me from the back corner. Another quick burst into its chest and this one slides to the ground at my feet. A dark liquid begins gathering on the floor beneath. The flight suit it is wearing is shredded in the back and stained with fresh blood. I shine my light throughout the room, but now there are only cases sitting on steel shelving and two bodies crumpled on the floor.
Motherfuck this is getting old! I am getting really tired of this, and it’s only been one day. Obviously, populated areas are not the place to be.
With the smell of spent rounds strong in the air, I eject the magazine and replace it with a fresh one. I step into the room looking at the cases on the shelves. Markings on them indicate various regions.
Now, that is a welcome sight, I think, grabbing several cases and carrying them outside.
I deposit the ones I need on the ramp, walk back into the lobby, grab some of the comfortable chairs, and drag them out. Lastly, I pull the large, round coffee table out and add it to the arrangement. Walking over to the 130, everyone is gathered around the parked fuel truck. My watch reads 10:57.
“Michelle and Nic, grab some packaged food from inside and meet us over in front of base ops,” I say above the sound of the running truck beside us.
I walk over to the fuselage and open the refueling point. After unwinding the fuel hose and connecting it to the aircraft, I put the truck into its PTO position, open the fuel lever, flipping the switches to the tanks at various intervals, and fill them.
“Drive this back and meet us at the building,” I tell Robert after refueling. Bri and I walk to the outdoor seating area I have created.
“I love you, sweetheart,” I tell her, wrapping my arm around her and giving her a hug.
“I love you too, Dad,” she responds leaning into me.
Back in front of base ops, I take off the vest and set it beside a chair, sitting down as Robert, Michelle, and Nic arrive.
“My guess is that we won’t be able to take off today, so we’ll flight plan, input the coordinates in the NAV system, and hunker down in the aircraft for the night.”
Michelle and Nicole put packages of food on the table and we all dig in. I pull some of the charts out and lay them on the table. As I eat, I mark routes and note coordinates to input into the onboard navigation system. The only time I get up is to retrieve some rubber bands and sticky note markers so I can later quickly find various pages and approach charts.
The planned route will take us first to the Naval Air Station Brunswick in Maine. The Coast Guard flies HC-130s out of there, so I know there should be plenty of fuel available. The route is basically along the US/Canadian border on a route of 075 degrees out of McChord. The first leg is about 2,500 miles and should take us a little over six-and-a-half hours without any wind either helping or hindering us. From Brunswick, our next stop is the Azores. That’s a flight of almost 2,400 miles and a little over six hours with a bearing of 085 degrees. Then, there’s the dicey hop from the Azores to Kuwait. That leg of the trip is about 4,200 miles, leaving very little margin for error, because our max range is about 5,000 miles. That will be a doozy, taking almost eleven-and-a-half hours to complete on a route of 075 degrees.
On our first two legs, we will lose three hours due to the time difference. The sun sets around 20:30, so we will need to be off the ground by 11:00 in order to make it there during daylight hours. Our last leg will cost us four hours, so we need to be off from the Azores by 05:00. Calculating the flight times and fuel, jotting down the coordinates, arranging the approach charts, marking the maps, and putting them together has taken a little over an hour. Finishing the flight planning, I take the charts up to the cockpit, laying the ones for the first leg on the NAV table and stowing the remaining bags under it. I sit and contemplate the options. We can leave now and try a night landing with night vision goggles, thereby gaining a day, but at substantially higher risk, or we can wait until morning.
I walk out of the aircraft and hear a noise that I have not heard in days. It’s the sound of a vehicle, and its noise shatters the stillness we have become accustomed to. It appears as if it is coming from farther in the base. I look over at the kids and see they have all turned to look in the sound’s direction. Robert and Michelle stand alert and tense. The sound is nearing. I pick up the pace and trot over to our nice outdoor patio where I left the M-4 sitting by my chair. I pick it up as a red car pu
lls out onto the ramp. It stops for a moment and then turns toward us, slowly approaching.
Stopping about thirty feet away, a man in his mid-twenties steps out dressed in jeans and a blue Old Navy t-shirt. White tennis shoes poke out from the bottom of his jeans. Turning toward us, he is holding something and smiling from under his short, wavy brown hair.
“Lose something?” he calls, waving the wrench we threw overboard and walks over.
Setting the M-4 down, I smile and take the wrench offered in his hand. “Yeah, we kinda dropped something back there,” I say, nodding in the direction of the mall. “Much obliged to you for bringing it back.”
“You made a pretty big dent in that BMW. It’s pretty much scrap metal now. Impressive though,” he says, smiling back.
“Did you hit a car with that?” Robert asks, putting the current dialog and my previous ‘ouch’ comment together.
“Um, yeah…kinda,” I answer.
“I’m Jack,” I say, reaching out with my hand toward the young man.
“Andrew.” He shakes mine in return.
“Have you seen anyone else around?” I ask after introducing everyone else.
“I saw a couple of cars heading down my street yesterday, and a few people in some windows, but no one as yet today. I heard lots of those things screaming and hollering last night, though,” he answers.
“So, what’s your story, Andrew?” I ask.
“Well, I’m a biology student up at UW. At least, I was until this whole thing started. I’ve been holed up in my apartment for the most part, but ventured out to see if I could find some supplies. I saw you guys and your note, and, well, here I am. Are you in the Air Force?” he asks, looking at my flight suit.
“Um, yeah sure, I guess so. Well, I was some time ago. My girlfriend is over in Kuwait and we’re heading over there to pick her up. You’re welcome to join us if you like.”
“Well, I’m actually heading over to Spokane to look for my parents. But thanks anyway. It’s just good to know that there are actually others around,” Andrew says, turning down my offer.
“We’ll be back in about six days. Why don’t we just check in here around noon a week from now and we’ll hook up then,” I say.
“Sounds good. I wish you luck then,” he says, holding his hand out again.
“And to you, Andrew. I hope you find your parents,” I say, shaking his hand goodbye.
He gets back into his red Acura and retraces his route. The sound of his car diminishes in the distance until the sound of silence embraces us once again.
“Okay, guys, I’ve been thinking, yeah, I know, a dangerous thing, but I’ve decided we should start as soon as possible,” I say.
“What about wanting daylight for landing?” Nic asks.
“Well, if it’s clear and we can find the airport, which should be simple enough with GPS, we’ll hopefully pick up the runway with the landing lights clearly enough. If not, then we always have night vision available but that’s the iffier solution. These things seem fairly rampant and a day could make all of the difference.”
“What about the chairs and stuff?” Bri asks, standing up with the others.
“Just leave ‘em. I don’t think there’s anyone around to mind,” I reply. “Michelle, you’ve been awfully quiet. Feel free to speak your mind if you have any thoughts or input,” I say as we arrive at the aircraft.
“Okay, um, Jack. Will we need the cart from the back?” she responds.
“No, we’ll make this start on battery.”
Closing the crew door behind us, we step in and buckle up in the same seats. I turn the electrical systems to battery and let everything warm up. The aircraft has two navigation systems. One is operated by equipment located on the center console and at the NAV station receiving their input from the various ground navigation systems throughout the world. The other is a separate GPS/inertial navigation system getting its information from satellites. It’s a complicated system with many very nice features, such as the ability to input any coordinates and create an instrument approach anywhere. It’s this system I plan to use, as the ground NAV systems will most likely be inoperative. With the system warmed up, I test it and ensure the coordinates shown are identical to the ones stenciled on the ground by our parking place. The next twenty minutes are spent inputting our route coordinates and setting up approaches to mimic the instrument approaches at the various fields we will be landing at. I make sure to show everyone the basic functionality. Starting the aircraft up, we taxi to the runway and take off into the early afternoon sky.
“Okay, it’s 13:00, so we should expect to arrive around 22:30 East Coast Time,” I say, turning the aircraft on an easterly heading of 075 degrees then reach up to set the pressurization system. “Let me know if you have any problems with your ears.”
We climb with the sun overhead, the mostly forested hills of the Cascades float below. Mount Rainier slides by to the south, its snowy peak still reaching up above the horizon. At sixteen thousand feet, I raise the nose slightly and re-trim the aircraft to one hundred-sixty knots from the one hundred-eighty knots we were climbing out at. The steady roar of the engines reverberates throughout. There is not a car moving on the few roads and highways that thread their way through the high desert plains of eastern Washington below us, which grow smaller as we continue our climb.
“Set altimeters to 29.92,” I say as we pass through flight level 180 and reach ahead to make the setting, watching Robert do the same with his altimeter. We level off at flight level 250 and let the aircraft accelerate to two hundred-fifty knots before powering back to maintain cruise airspeed.
“Robert, look on the NAV system. It should give a ground speed readout on the front screen.” I look back to check on the pressurization system and ensure I have indeed stabilized at the ten thousand foot setting inputted previously.
“Three hundred-ninety-six knots,” he replies.
Nice, I think, we have a tailwind.
If that continues, it should shave about thirty minutes off our time. I am worried about our long leg from the Azores to Kuwait and any headwinds we might encounter there. We can’t afford to have much of one due to the distances involved.
“Bri, let’s switch to the external tanks.”
The props keep turning, giving a strong indication that she switched everything correctly. I set the autopilot and reflect a moment on the days past and what to expect in the days coming. Eventually, without any manufacturing, everything mechanical will fail. Fuel will dry up, autos will break, anything with a moving part will cease without any way to manufacture and replace the parts. We will begin a fast or slow decline back into the medieval stages or beyond. Any energy source will depend upon some type of heat production, which probably means coal, and, without any way to transport that from the coal producing regions, it will mean limited ways to make anything. There is solar or wind power to consider but those also rely on parts that eventually fail and need replacing. Humanity and civilization as we know it has reached it pinnacle.
My mind tracks along this theme wondering if this has happened before. Has mankind flourished in the past only to be brought down again to re-establish itself from scratch? Did we miss something in the growing up process that brought this end about? Do we continually miss something? The civilizations of the past leaving only small markers of their existence, whether they were by physical markers or by legend or even myth.
It seems we grew up with intelligence only leaving the wisdom of our actions behind, blinding ourselves or ignoring the ramifications. Certainly, the indications were there, but in our selfish ways and thinking only of our own time, we ignored them and continued as before hoping others will rectify our mistakes. Yes, our time has reached its pinnacle during this evolution. We will crawl and scratch our way back, but hopefully doing it right this next time. Respecting and being a part of nature rather than over-controlling it. Living in harmony with it rather than trying to bring it to heel, for nature seems to take care of
itself when pushed over a boundary. We need to live in synchronicity and have a synergy with the world rather than a destructive and over-controlling one.
The drone of the engines pushing us through the sky slowly seeps back into my consciousness as the tall peaks and mountain chain of the great continental divide appears on the horizon. The dry, barren, rocky hills of what was once northern Idaho crosses under our nose and wings, sliding behind us as we push our way eastward.
“Otter 39 on UHF guard for anyone receiving,” I call, switching the UHF radio to guard and listening in between calls.
I switch over to the VHF radio, “Otter 39 on VHF guard.” Although silence is our only greeting, I continue to make radio calls on both frequencies every thirty minutes.
The only exceptions to the blue sky around us are a few lonely high clouds to the south. The air is completely smooth as we drone ever eastward. I spend some of our time showing everyone the aircraft systems and letting them take turns flying from the right seat. Approaching the Rockies, we pick up a little turbulence from the westerly winds sweeping up and over them. It’s not much, but definitely enough to bounce us around a little. Just as the last of the Rocky Mountains pass under our wing and we begin crossing over the high plains of Colorado, I make my usual thirty-minute radio call on UHF. This time however, a static-filled response crackles in our headset, “Ot…..Che…..res…..on thr……co…….”
“Calling on UHF, say again. You are weak and garbled,” I transmit.
“…ine….enne….col…ngs….rep…..” The static interferes with the message to the extent that I can’t come close to making out what they are saying.
It’s like playing audio ‘Wheel of Fortune’. Being on UHF it is most likely military in origin, and I am itching to hear and talk with them. I call for the next twenty minutes and even turn south in order to close the distance but am only met by silence. The turn to the south assumed that the radio call was American in nature and, with us cutting the US/Canadian border, or what used to be the US and Canada, the caller would almost assuredly have to be to the south. I look at the coordinates on the NAV system and mark the map with a small circle and put ‘UHF contact’ with the time and altitude, and turn back eastward to intersect our route.
