by J. Thorn
We went down hard, my hands reaching out and grabbing one of the struts that connected the plane to the float. She started to slide down my legs but was able to wrap her arms around my ankles and hold on as the plane drug us out into the water. The pain from the wounds in my chest and left arm was like a searing hot bolt of lightning, but I managed to hold on as Anderson leaned across the cockpit and popped the door open for me.
The plane was moving through the water at taxi speed, about eight knots, and my legs and the female holding on were in the water putting more drag on my battered body than I could withstand. Taking a deep breath in preparation for going under I let go of the strut. Already fifty feet off shore we were in deeper water and both of us went down, the female taking advantage of the change to start trying to claw her way up my body.
Kicking, I felt my heavy boots connect, but the water slowed my kicks and softened the blows to the point they were ineffective against the raging woman. Still kicking to try and break free I fumbled on my chest for the Ka-Bar knife, hand finally grasping the hilt and yanking the wicked blade out of its sheath. The infected had not only managed to hang on, but had worked her way up to my waist. My heavy clothing and equipment was all that had protected me from her repeated attempts to bite. Reaching down with my weakened left hand I grabbed a handful of hair and held her head back as I stabbed the knife into her throat, twisting and cutting until she went limp and slid off my body.
Kicking her away I started to try to swim to the surface but realized that in the dark water I was disoriented and didn’t know which way was up. My lungs were on fire and screaming for me to take a breath, but I calmed my body for a moment and exhaled a small amount of air. I was surprised when the bubbles tracked across my chin then down my body as they headed for the surface. I was upside down and had almost started swimming deeper in my initial attempt to reach the surface.
Switching directions, I kicked hard for the surface. Breaking through I exhaled and gulped in air, looking around frantically for the plane, spotting it another 300 feet off shore. Anderson spotted me in his NVGs and revved the engines to come pick me up. I grabbed a handle on the float as the plane slid by and scrambled up onto the float then into the cabin where I flopped across the row of seats behind the pilot after slamming the door behind me.
“Go!” I shouted, but Anderson was already turning the plane towards open water and had pushed the throttles to the firewall.
The plane responded sluggishly at first but quickly gained speed as the floats came up out of the water and skimmed the surface. Quicker than I expected the vibration from contact with the lake’s surface ceased and Anderson pulled back hard on the stick gaining altitude and turning as quickly as he could.
There was a metallic ping followed by the sound of rushing air and a bullet hole appeared in the floor of the plane only a few inches from my head. A matching hole was in the roof where the bullet exited. Anderson kept us turning and dropped altitude until we were barely skimming the surface of the lake. His evasive maneuvering must have worked because we didn’t take any more bullets that I could see.
39
The flight back to pick up Rachel, Mayo, Helm and Dog only took a few minutes and Anderson never got us more than fifty feet in the air. Landing on the water was smoother than I expected, the plane decelerating quickly when the floats hit the surface. We taxied to the cabin cruiser, sitting dark on the lake’s surface, and Anderson cut the engines and let our momentum take us the rest of the way until the floats bumped the stern of the boat. NVGs on, I could see Rachel standing in the doorway to the salon, Dog at her side, watching as Mayo scrambled over the stern rail and made a line fast to each of the planes front struts.
“Nice flying,” I slapped Anderson on the shoulder, happy to have survived another fight and ready to get loaded up and in the air.
“Thanks, but I need some help here,” Anderson answered, pain obvious in his voice. I looked at him through the NVGs but didn’t see anything wrong. Pulling them off I reached up and snapped on an overhead map light and immediately saw the blood staining the arm of his flight suit around a large, ragged tear in the fabric.
“Fucking infected was in the damn plane. I opened the door and reached in to check the instruments and he bit me, right through the flight suit.”
I leaned over and popped the door open and yelled for Rachel. She stuck her head in the door, saw Anderson’s injury and shouted for Mayo to grab the first aid kit out of the salon. Climbing into the plane, Rachel elbowed me out of the way so she could check Anderson. I made myself useful by taking the first aid kit from Mayo and handing it to her before exiting the plane.
“Where’s Tech Sergeant Blake?” Mayo asked, peering around me into the plane.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “He didn’t make it. We got into a firefight with the people from the camp and he took a bullet.”
Mayo nodded his understanding and lowered himself to a seat on one of the benches lining the cruiser’s stern deck. I sat down across from him and absently scratched Dog’s ears while waiting for Rachel to finish treating Anderson. A few minutes later they climbed out of the plane, Anderson’s flight suit cut away from his lower arm which was heavily bandaged.
“How is he?” I asked Rachel.
“The bite was deep,” she answered, sitting down next to me. “I’m pretty sure there’s nerve damage and he lost a surprising amount of blood considering no arteries were involved. Infection is the biggest concern right now.”
“Infection!? You mean…”
“No,” She cut me off. “Not that kind of infection. He would already have turned if that was the case. Just the good old fashioned kind. The infection rate for bites from a human are normally in the seventy percent range, and considering these things are eating anything and everything… Well, God only knows what kind of bacteria are swimming around in their mouths.”
“Can he still fly?”
“Yes, I can fly,” Anderson spoke up before Rachel could answer me. “I can get us out of here. No problem. Just some numbness in my arm and hand but that won’t stop me from flying.”
“Alright. Let’s get loaded up and get the hell out of here before any more assholes from the camp show up.”
We all stood up and Rachel and Anderson started gathering all the gear in the cabin cruiser while Mayo and I took the ski boat to collect Helm from the houseboat. Helm was a big man, about the same size as me, and it took everything both of us had to carry him from his bunk to the ski boat, then once we were back to the plane up and in the cabin. When we finally got him situated and strapped in we were both drenched with sweat. Rachel checked him over and said he was as ready to go as he’d ever be.
Untying the lines holding us to the cruiser, I called for Dog and he leapt into the cabin and settled down next to Rachel in the second row of seats, Anderson and Mayo occupying the pilot and co-pilot seats. I held onto a wing strut and with one foot on a float pushed the plane away from the boat with my other, climbed into the cabin and settled in next to Dog and Rachel.
Anderson started the engines and let them idle for a few minutes as the plane drifted a safe distance from the anchored boat, then added some power and lined us up with the open lake. “Everyone ready?” He asked, eyes scanning the gauges.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I answered, looking out the window at the cabin cruiser that had been my home and safe haven for what seemed like months but was less than two weeks.
“Here we go,” Anderson said and shoved the throttles forward. The plane responded and quickly gained speed, lifting smoothly off the water and rapidly gaining altitude.
We were all quiet, each lost in our own private thoughts as the plane continued to climb and turn towards the north. I looked around at the world below us as we gained altitude. To the southeast there was an angry red glow that had to be the remnants of the fire that had consumed Atlanta.
Closer to us, and very visible, were the bright lights of the camp on the south shore
of the lake, but other than that one location there was not a single electric light to be seen in any direction. The world was as dark as it had been a thousand years ago. As we made our way north there was the occasional camp fire visible below, but so few for how many people had lived in the area.
We had been in the air about half an hour when Anderson started looking around outside the plane, then adjusted some knobs on the console and spoke into the headset microphone hanging in front of his mouth. He carried on a conversation for a few minutes then made a slight adjustment to our heading. Rachel poked me in the arm and pointed out the window on her side of the plane. Hanging slightly behind and above us was another aircraft, only visible when its anti-collision lights flashed.
“We’ve got an escort,” Anderson said loud enough for all of us to hear. “There’s a pair of F-16s out there, one on our left wing and I’m guessing the second is on our six – directly behind us – to make sure we don’t do anything stupid.”
“Do we need to be worried?” I asked, leaning forward and getting a grunt from Dog as I disturbed his sleep.
“I don’t think so,” he answered. “I’ve given them a brief version of who we are and where we’re headed. They’re re-routing us, won’t allow us in to Nashville. Makes sense with everything that’s going on. Guess we should be glad they asked questions before firing a missile up our ass.”
“So where are we going?”
“Arnold Air Force Base. It’s about 80 miles southeast of Nashville. We should be there in about another 20 minutes.”
I didn’t have a warm fuzzy about being diverted to an Air Force base, but I could understand why the military didn’t want us flying into Nashville. Just because we said we were red blooded American’s didn’t mean we weren’t really Chinese loaded down with either a nuclear bomb or more nerve agent. We’d just have to deal with the military bureaucracy when we landed.
Fifteen minutes later we started descending. I peered ahead out of the windshield but saw no lights. It took me a moment to remember that all US Military installations had to be on a war footing, and that meant blackout conditions at night. Not that it mattered as everything functioned off of GPS these days, but there was still no reason to light up your base like a Christmas tree and make it even easier for the bad guys.
As we continued to descend, Anderson maintained a conversation with who I assumed was an air traffic controller on the ground and soon, directly in front of us and a couple of miles ahead runway lights came on, unmistakable against the dark terrain. Anderson brought us down smoothly, the fighter jets roaring overhead as we touched the tarmac, slowing quickly and turning left on to the first taxiway we encountered. Waiting for us was a Hummer with a flashing orange light on the roof and a large illuminated sign on the back that simply read ‘FOLLOW ME’.
I could make out the dim outlines of dozens of fighter jets as we followed the guide down a taxiway that paralleled a row of hangars that were all closed up tightly and completely dark. Ahead was a gap in the row of jets and the Hummer turned into it proceeding through the doors of a massive hangar that was completely dark inside.
Anderson had turned off the plane’s landing lights when we started following the guide and the Hummer was running with just parking lights and the orange beacon on the roof. When we pulled into the hangar the driver shut off his lights and Anderson cut the engines off, leaving the propellers to spin down in the dark hangar.
From behind I heard the rumble of the big metal doors closing, ending with a dull boom as they met in the middle of the opening. Immediately, lights hanging from the ceiling flickered into dim existence, quickly brightening as they warmed up. Another Hummer waited for us, this one marked Security Forces in bold black lettering on a white background which was the Air Force version of Military Police.
Why they had to call them something different I never understood, but ever since breaking off from the Army and becoming its own branch of the military right after WWII, the Air Force had worked hard to distinguish itself from the Army much like an ungrateful child. Beside the Hummer sat an Air Force ambulance, two corpsmen standing in front of it with a gurney at the ready. Anderson must have told them to be waiting to take Captain Helm to the base hospital.
A young Captain stood next to the Hummer while a Staff Sergeant and Senior Airman carrying M4 rifles stood to his side waiting for us. We popped the doors and climbed out, Dog jumping down and coming over to stand between Rachel and I as the corpsmen wheeled the gurney up to the plane and climbed aboard to check on their patient.
Mayo held back by the plane as Anderson approached the MP Captain – I know, Security Forces, but I wasn’t about to think of him as SF which meant something entirely different in the Army – came to attention and saluted. The Captain returned the salute and they talked for a few minutes with frequent glances in my direction.
Anderson led the Captain over, the two MPs following, and introduced him as Captain Roach. At one point I would have had to salute the kid, but now I wasn’t in the military chain of command and could act like a civilian and get away with a simple handshake. We all watched as the corpsmen carefully lifted Helm out of the aircraft.
He was strapped to a backboard and they expertly maneuvered him through the door and onto the gurney. They wasted no time in getting him into the ambulance, driving to the back of the hangar where a door just large enough for the ambulance to fit through opened up then closed quickly after they passed through.
“Folks,” Roach said, addressing Rachel and I both. “Welcome to Arnold Air Force Base. And thank you for assisting Lieutenant Anderson. We appreciate your patriotism.”
He appreciated our patriotism? Seriously? Who the hell talks like that?
“We’ve got accommodations for you, hot showers, food and clean clothes. The intelligence staff wants to speak with you first, then we’ll get you settled. I do need you to surrender your weapons to my men before we go any further. Civilians aren’t allowed to carry firearms on base.”
Roach turned slightly at the waist and motioned the two MPs – oops, Security Forces members – forward with a little wave of his hand.
“Not going to happen,” I said. My rifle was slung across my chest and my right hand was resting on the pistol grip, index finger adjacent to the trigger guard and thumb on the fire selector switch which was currently on SAFE.
The two MPs stopped and the Airman started to raise his M4 in my direction, but I was faster on the draw, getting my rifle up and sighted on him before he knew what was happening. His eyes opened wide in fear and he froze in place.
“Son, you do not want to find out what will happen if you point a weapon at me.” I said, stepping to the side to put some distance between Rachel and I in case bullets did start coming my way. The Staff Sergeant started to slide off to the side but froze when Dog stepped forward with a low warning growl and Rachel drew her pistol, keeping the muzzle in the low ready position.
“Enough,” Anderson said, stepping forward and placing himself directly in front of my rifle. “No one is going to shoot anyone and everyone is going to keep their weapons. Let’s relax.”
“You’re out of line, Lieutenant.” Roach said, but he didn’t step into the line of fire. “These civilians will surrender their weapons and if you interfere any further I’ll have you brought up on charges for insubordination.”
Anderson looked at Roach with his mouth open in shock. I didn’t blame him. I had encountered officers like Captain Roach in my day and knew we were dealing with someone who would resort to us actually shooting at each other in order to save face. However, I didn’t care. In a normal world I would have willingly surrendered my weapons to them, but this wasn’t a normal world and being unarmed could very well be the difference between life and death, even in the middle of an Air Force base.
“Lower your goddamn weapons and stand down!” A commanding voice rang out from the shadows in the back of the hangar. Heavy footsteps came forward and a large man wearing an Army uniform
and a Colonel’s eagle stepped into the light. All of the Air Force personnel snapped to attention and I slowly lowered my rifle and motioned Rachel to holster her pistol. The Colonel walked right up in front of me and looked me in the eye for a long moment. The name tape on his uniform blouse read Crawford and he wore Airborne and Special Forces tabs as well.
“Captain, you and your men are dismissed. Leave your vehicle.” The Colonel remained facing me and didn’t see the look of disdain he received from Captain Roach, and a second later the look of hatred I received.
“Yes, sir!” Roach snapped out and turned to depart with his men.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Captain.” I was surprised to hear the barb come from Rachel, and wasn’t surprised to hear the rebuke she received from the Colonel.
“Knock that shit off, ma’am.” He barked, still maintaining eye contact with me. He stood rock still until we heard a door slam at the back of the hangar, then relaxed and extended his hand to me.
“Jack Crawford,” He said. I liked him immediately. A full bird Colonel that can introduce himself without feeling the need to include his rank was my kind of officer.
“John Chase,” I said, taking the offered hand. “Thank you for that.”
He waved it away and stepped over to introduce himself to Rachel and even bent to give Dog an ear scratch after getting an approving sniff of the back of his hand. Noticing Anderson and Mayo for seemingly the first time he told them to stand easy – meaning they could relax as much as possible with a Colonel in their presence – then pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered them around before lighting up. I was the only taker and cigarettes burning we wandered over to the Hummer where he leaned on the front fender as we talked.
Colonel Crawford commanded the 5th Special Operations Group (SOG) based at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Most of his operators were deployed when the attacks came and were now on hold where they were until the remnants of the government decided how best to punish our attackers. He happened to be transiting through Arnold AFB on a flight from a secure government facility when he heard about our inbound flight. Curiosity got the best of him and he came to see who we were.
