by John O'Brien
I sweep into the dim grayness of the emergency room lobby, the light growing brighter the closer to the exit I get. Almost across the lobby and to the doors, I slide to my knees, do a 180 across the linoleum, and face back toward the hallway as I slide to a stop bringing the M-4 to my shoulder. The roar of seemingly a thousand shrieks fills the room. The ghostly outlines of gray faces mill agitatedly at the edge of the radiating light. I fire a burst into the milling crowd, concentrating on one face that is thrust toward me, its mouth open and emitting a loud, shrieking roar, and watch its head explode as it falls backward into the darkness beyond.
“Motherfuckers!!! Come and get some you assholes!” I yell back into the gloom. Adrenaline-rushed fear seems to refocus itself towards anger in me once a situation has stabilized to a certain extent.
I rise to my feet and step toward the darkened hallway, firing another burst into one of the dimly outlined bodies only to watch it too launch backward into the darkness. More popping sounds combine with the roar of the crowd beyond as I continue stepping toward them squeezing off bursts. The gunpowder smell once again fills the air, mixing with and then overwhelming the previous stench. My barrel makes slight alterations in the air as I focus on one target after another, cartridges clinking as they bounce across the tiled floor. I reach the halfway point in the lobby and a single, unified shriek sounds out. The ghostly faces disappear seemingly as one. The only sounds are growls and pounding footsteps as they run away down the hallway, diminishing in volume as the darkness swallows them up.
I stop and reload, contemplating chasing after them as my heart pounds from the adrenaline and chase. Sanity prevails, in the darkness and with their number, the advantage is theirs. With a heavy sigh, I stoop to pick up the empty magazine as silence returns to the room. “Well, I’m not going to get any info here,” I mutter crawling out of the door and into the mid-morning light with the aftermath still roaring in my ears.
Stepping out from the entrance shadows, I walk over to the Humvees. The kids stand huddled near the front of the first Humvee, watching my approach. “What the hell was all of that? Did you find anything?” Robert asks.
“Yeah, I found something alright,” I answer.
“What happened, Dad? Are you okay?” Nic asks noticing the splotches of blood on my face.
“Yeah, babe. It’s not mine,” I say wiping my face with my sleeve.
“There sure are enough of those things in there,” I continue realizing I have to pee like crazy as my heart slows to normal and the adrenaline levels decrease.
Taking care of business behind a Humvee, I reload the empty magazine, depleting the remaining ammo in the can, and stick the now full mag back into the vest pocket. “What happened in there?” Robert asks as I finish up and rejoin them.
“Never mind. Let’s head to the flight line. Same thing as before,” I say removing the vest and set it inside.
In the Humvees once again, we turn around and head north after exiting the hospital lot. The tails of C-17s stick up from the buildings as we close in on the flight line and I am still amazed that we haven’t seen a single other soul. I know we can’t be the last ones. Thoughts of Lynn pass through my mind as we take several turns and enter onto the ramp proper. Some of the roads cross taxiways and I drive along them looking at the control tower, fully expecting to see a red or green light flash from the top. The dark, tinted windows stare blankly back.
I pull out onto the ramp looking at the seven C-17s parked there. This is certainly going to be interesting, I think looking at the behemoths squatting silently on the concrete in front of what I guess to be the wing operations building. We park and exit the Humvees, walking further out on the ramp toward the C17’s, my mind wondering which one we should to take.
My gaze travels along the ramp to the north. “No way!” I breathe loudly. There, sitting off by itself, like an outcast and lonely kid on a playground, a familiar shape is parked on the transient ramp. The familiar hump above the wing with its four huge four-bladed props.
“What?” Robert asks in response.
I merely point toward the aircraft sitting to the north of us and his head swivels in that direction. “Is that a 130?” He asks knowing full well that it is.
“Yep. And, you see that hump. That tells me it’s an HC-130.”
“Isn’t that what you flew? Are we going to take that instead?” He asks.
“It’ll add to our time enroute, but yes, let’s go check it out.”
We walk back to the vehicles and drive north along the ramp, coming to a stop by the nose of the C-130; the red flags from the various pins and engine covers sway in the breeze. We jump out and I look toward the base operations building adjacent to the ramp by us. Surely there is someone around here, but only the gentle summer morning embraces us. I walk around the aircraft, looking for any leaks or signs that it is not airworthy. A ground power unit sits by the left nose of the aircraft with its lines hooked up. External tanks are attached to both wings.
Finishing with a quick perusal, I walk to the crew entrance door. Opening it, the door swings slowly downward. Above me, immediately inside the entrance, the small galley sits and a step or two inside, stairs lead up to the cockpit. To the right, the cargo compartment opens up; a bulkhead separates the cockpit from the cargo compartment. The cargo compartment is dimly lit by light streaming in from two windows, each one set into the fuselage on either side.
Stepping off the stairs and walking to the rear of the 130, I lower the rear ramp. The sound of the motors inside stops when the ramp lowers itself to the asphalt with a clunk. I peer inside. There, taking up most of the cargo area, are large fuel tanks with a small aisle on the left leading to the front. A catwalk leads up over the inside tanks. Only a little cargo space is left in the rear. Other than the fuel tanks, the cargo interior is empty.
“Wait here,” I say stepping up on the ramp.
Ready for any action, I walk inside and up the aisle. Next to the bulkhead and over a window, a cot lies against the right fuselage. An olive drab helmet bag lies on top. Several red nylon troop seats are folded up against the left fuselage. I continue forward and up the cockpit steps. Helmet bags lie on the four seats within along with the various consoles filling the interior. The memories jostle around inside my head as I reach over and turn the DC power switch to battery and the AC to internal. Needles flicker on the various instruments and I hear the instrument gyros spinning up. Looking up on the fuel panel, all gauges on the main and aux fuel panels have swung over to the right indicating full. Stepping over to the fuselage tank panel, I see both tanks register full. Very cool, I think flipping the switches back off. Opening the helmet bags, I find a helmet and night vision goggles nestled within each one. In the side pockets, I find kneeboards, checklists, grease pens, and marking pens. Very cool indeed!
I walk back outside. “Are we taking this one?” Robert asks as we all gather around by the ramp.
“Yeah, this one looks operational so I think so. I’ll have to take it up to make sure and acquaint myself with it again.”
“Are we going with?” Nicole asks.
“I don’t know as yet. Let’s get the stuff loaded out of the vehicles and I’ll think on it.”
I am in a bit of a quandary. It has been a while since I took one of these babies aloft so really don’t want them onboard for a familiarization flight, but I also don’t want them on the ground if someone does show up while I’m airborne and off gallivanting in one of their airplanes without even asking permission first.
We load the gear out of the Humvees and into the cargo space, stacking it as best as we can. I rummage through the crew chief’s space finding several tie downs and lash the equipment down, leaving out the sleeping bags and some water. Finishing with the offloading and parking the Humvees over by the base ops building, we meet by the ground power unit at the front of the 130. A set of headphones sits on the handle with a long cord coiled up next to it.
“This is a start cart. Michelle
and Nic, you’ll be outside here during the start. Nic, you’ll have the headset and when I tell you to disconnect, you pull the cart and headset cords out, wrap them up, close the latch, and then wheel it around the ramp to the back and push it in if you can. If not, Robert or I will come back after the start up.” I tell them and show them how to operate the cart.
“I guess this means we are coming with then huh,” Bri says.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I say not completely realizing I had made a decision.
“What about the props, they are pretty close?” Michelle asks eyeing the giant propellers close by; each one extending outward thirteen feet.
“Not to worry, I’ll be starting the other side first. Both of you come inside the cargo area when you get the cart to the back and one of you come into the cockpit to let me know you are clear of the outside area.”
“Robert and Bri, you’re with me,” I say and walk around the aircraft pulling the pins, intake covers, and chocks before climbing up inside and into the cockpit, shutting the front door behind me.
“Robert, you are in the co seat and Bri, you sit here in the flight engineer seat. Bri, I want you to study the fuel panel here for a bit and get acquainted with it, that’s going to be your job,” I tell her pointing to the panel mounted in the center above.
The panel itself is pretty self-explanatory with the valve switches aligning with lines marking fuel pathways. The switch either blocks the flow or aligns with it. Much like a maze puzzle. The electrical panel by it is in much the same manner.
“Robert, you’ll have the gear, flaps, and, if we need it, the radios. The gear is easy, up or down. You know three green means down with the handle down. I will call ‘gear up’ or ‘gear down’. The flaps here are in ten percent increments so I will call out a percentage or ‘flaps up’ or ‘full flaps.’” I show them both how to operate the radio panels at their stations.
“Okay, Bri,” I say leaning back to her station. “It’s pretty self-explanatory,” and continue to show her how the system and switches work. “Make sure you turn the pump on and the switch allowing fuel to feed from the tank you are switching to before closing the switch from the tank you are switching from or you’ll get the chance to see just how quick I can go through an engine restart.” We practice switching tank feeds until she has several flawless changes including the fuselage tanks which is located on a different panel.
I show them how to buckle in and slide into my seat. We slip on the helmets and plug into the radio consoles. Bri’s is a bit loose but stays on for the most part without sliding completely over her eyes. Hearing the power cart start up outside, I reach up and switch the AC switches to external power and the DC to battery. The cockpit starts coming alive, the gyros spinning up as I complete the preflight and before starting engine checklists talking to Robert and Bri about what I’m doing.
“Nic, can you hear me?” I say through the mic.
“I hear you, Dad,” she responds.
“Okay, we’re ready to start. Once I get the first engine online, I’ll have you disconnect and then you two push the cart to the back. Make sure you don’t go past the ramp to the right side.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“Everything clear on the right?” I ask Robert. He leans forward and looks out of the right windows. “It’s clear,” he answers.
“Bri, make sure the engines are feeding out of the main tanks.”
“They are, Dad,” she responds back. I peek back up over my shoulder. All crossfeed switches are closed and the boost pumps are on.
“Good job Bri.”
“Number three turning,” I say moving the prop control lever to run, reach up to the #3 engine start button - the inboard one on the right - and depress the button.
Out of my line of sight, the propeller begins to turn; the only indication is a rise in the instrument readings. The fuel flow gauge immediately rises. By the time the RPM reaches 25 percent, the turbine inlet temp gauge begins to increase showing that ignition has occurred. I release the start button at 60 percent and monitor the gauges. The aircraft vibrates as if alive as the engine comes up to speed and a dull, deep, throaty roar is heard throughout the aircraft and only slightly minimized by the helmets. I bring the engine generators online and switch the electrical system to the internal power.
“Okay, Nic. Disconnect. See you inside.”
“Okay, Da…” I guess she was in a rush to disconnect as the last part didn’t come through. I look down through the windows and see Nicole and Michelle pulling the cords loose from the aircraft and disappear as they push the cart beyond my field of vision. I start engine number 4 in the same manner.
“Robert, go back and help them with the cart and secure it in the back.”
“Okay,” he says disconnecting from the seat and heads into the back.
“All done,” Robert says reappearing after several minutes with Nicole and Michelle in tow.
“Nic, hon, Michelle, good job. Take the Nav seat there and Michelle can take the pull-down seat beside it. Robert, show them how to put on their helmets, buckle in, and plug into the radio.”
With everyone in their seats, I tell Robert where the ramp controls are and we close the cargo ramp before I start the remaining two engines on the left.
“Alrighty then. I haven’t blown us up yet,” I say finishing up with the before taxi checklist and advance the throttles to start us moving. I also show Robert how to taxi with the taxi wheel rather than the rudders. Looking at the windsock, I taxi to the north runway completing the various checks along the way.
Verifying flaps at fifty percent, I maneuver out onto the runway. This part is easy, I think lining up with the center line. It’s the getting down part that gets tricky. I run the throttles smoothly up to max ensuring I don’t over torque and the 130 starts down the runway. The muted throaty roar of the engines permeates the interior, memories of how much I loved rolling down the runway washes over and through me. Easing back on the control wheel with a hand on the throttles, the nose wheel lifts off the ground followed by the main gear a short time later. The VVI -Vertical Velocity Indicator - jumps up; we are airborne. What an awesome feeling!!! The events that have transpired are momentarily swept away as we leave the earthly bonds. That is one thing I loved about flying, once the wheels are up, all worries leave and a peace settles inside.
“Gear up,” I call over the mic.
Robert reaches over to the gear handle and yanks it upward as I turn off the landing lights. A loud rumble courses through the aircraft as the gear are drawn upward.
“Flaps up,” I say almost immediately as the airspeed increases.
He reaches over and moves the flap lever up. I reset the trim as the aircraft becomes heavier, wanting to settle back with the change in configuration. We climb up to 5,000 feet turning over Puget Sound in the cloudless, blue sky.
“Everyone alright?” I ask looking back and getting thumbs up from everyone. “You can unbuckle and look around if you want.”
Nic and Michelle move over to the windows, staring out from behind the pilot seats. Bri stays in her seat being able to see the blue water of the Puget Sound sliding along beneath us from her position. The Olympic Mountains rise majestically in the distance ahead. A quick glance behind through the windows and across the wing on my side shows Mount Rainier overlooking Tacoma and the Cascade Range.
“Okay Bri, lets switch to the external tanks now,” I say looking back inside to monitor her moves. She does perfectly, turning on the external boost pumps and opening the valves before switching off the main boost pumps.
I spend about thirty minutes flying around getting used to the feel of the aircraft once again, letting Robert fly for a bit; his excitement and enthusiasm radiates. We switch to the main tanks before heading back.
“Everyone buckle back up,” I say banking back toward the field. “We’re going to see if I can remember how to land this elephant.”
Completing the checklists, I start my descent. Approachin
g the airfield, Robert blasts out, “Holy shit!”
“What?” I say in response, everyone sitting up a little straighter.
“I think I see a car driving below us.”
“Where?”
“In the mall parking lot.”
I bank the aircraft around so the parking lot is on my side and look down. Sure enough, there is a red car driving in the lot. It comes to a stop and a door opens as I continue to circle around. Someone gets out and gazes up at us, their hand up shielding their eyes. I continue circling as I write a note on the tablet on my knee. ‘McChord. You’ll see us parked on north end. Meet us there,’ it says.
“Robert, go back into the cargo area storage and see if you can find something fairly heavy. Michelle, go get two toilet paper rolls, rope, and the duct tape and bring them up here please.”
They unbuckle and head into the back as I circle around the mall, keeping the car and person in sight. They wave as I circle around. A few minutes later, Robert and Michelle return; Robert with a large wrench he found somewhere and Michelle with the items I asked for. I wrap the note inside another sheet of paper and duct tape it to the wrench. I cut off a section of rope and put it through the two rolls of toilet paper, tying both ends to the wrench and taping it in place. I flip the parachute door air deflectors to the open position after slowing the aircraft down and trimming it up.
“Robert, can you keep us here while I head into the back?” I ask. His head swivels over to me with his eyes opening wide and eyebrows raised with the rest of our little group mimicking the look.
“I think so,” he responds back.
“Dad, are you sure this is a good idea?” Bri asks behind me.
“Shut up Bri!” Robert answers instead.
“Easy,” I say.
“Okay, you have the aircraft,” and transfer control to him. I sit there for a bit watching to make sure he does okay. “I’m going into the back and toss this out of the door. Robert, when I say that I’m ready, I want you to tell me when we’re coming to the north end of the lot.”
