by Oliver Letz
With his hands lightly on the flight controls and a big smile on his face John Taylor was in his element. What a feeling to be flying again. The plane had reached its rotation speed and Taylor felt the reassuring positive resistance from the control surfaces in his hands and feet. He waited just a tad longer to be on the safe side, no need to rush things when there is plenty of smooth asphalt in front of you. With smooth application of backpressure to the elevator control and plane lifted effortlessly from the ground. He guided the plane into a steady climb and set the elevator trim for best climb speed. They had started from runway 36 and were flying due north. The plan was to go east and intercept the old Interstate 30 somewhere over Rockwall Lake, so he rolled the aircraft into a shallow right hand turn until they were facing straight into the rising sun. He pulled down the tinted visors over the windshield and for the first time in weeks relaxed into his seat.
“How’s everyone doing so far?” Taylor asked pushing the intercom button on the steering wheel. Small planes in particular those with military designation were still noisy inside so all four of them were wearing noise reducing headsets. “Push the white buttons on your headset cables to talk, one at a time, please,” he instructed his passengers.
There was just silence to be heard so Taylor turned around and looked into the white faces of Helen Spade and Tim Farmer. It was quite obvious that this was their first ride in a small aircraft, maybe their first flight at all.
“Don’t worry kids,” Cody Hunt chimed in, “he hasn’t managed to wreck this old thing yet, so chances are he’s not going to start now.” He had a devilish time to poke fun at them remembering all too well his first flight with Taylor. He was not feeling quite so frisky then.
“I’m fine,” Spade came through the intercom with a pressed voice, “but could you try to avoid at least some of the potholes ahead. It feels as if you were aiming for every single one of them.”
Taylor looked at Hunt with a little chuckle. The morning air was quiet and only when they flew across one of the more densely populated areas he felt the rising air disturbing their smooth glide. Farmer was clearly not feeling well and Taylor could only hope that he had had a light breakfast.
“Tim, there are paper bags in front of you in the seat pocket,” he reminded Farmer, “if you have to get sick, no big deal, just use one of the bags and put it under your seat when you are done. Do not try to throw it out of the window! It will explode and come right back at you and Ms. Spade back there, you hear me?”
He didn’t get an answer but heard the paper bags being pulled out. He looked with raised eyebrows at Hunt who gave him a grin and a wink when they both saw Helen Spade reach for the bags and with an almost tender gesture hand them to Farmer.
‘Who would have thought? There might be a heart somewhere inside that block of ice after all,’ he thought by himself smiling.
About twenty minutes into the flight they spotted Lake Rockwall with its highway bridge that had been put back into service a few months earlier. Taylor’s friend Harry ‘Dawg-Ears’ and his Rockwall Security Gang had performed miracles making the region safe again for personal and business travel. It was still not recommended to leave the immediate metropolitan area without the protection of either an armed convoy or accredited Safe Passage Certificates but this first step in the right direction had given hope for a brighter future to many.
The lake quietly sparkled in the morning light and only a few vehicles were in sight. The bridge connected Interstate 30 on both sides so Taylor banked into a slow left hand turn into the general direction of the once mighty freeway. Since this was a heading that not many flights were taking in those days no one knew exactly what the condition of the road beneath them would be. Taylor was hoping that it would at least be recognizable well into Sector XXI so it would be easy to navigate by looking out the window.
The old trusty engine droned its reassuring song propelling the travelers across the sky at a comfortable altitude of five thousand feet. The vistas onto the slowly changing landscape beneath them were breathtaking with remnants of a violent recent past still clearly visible in many places. They saw ruins of deserted villages, burned out factory buildings, roads that were overgrown by the surrounding vegetation with only patches of concrete visible but, on the other hand, the blue clear lakes were glistering in the sun like seas of sparkling diamonds and the mighty pine trees stretched their branches high into the heavens. Everyone was enjoying the beautiful scene before them and relaxed into their fate.
For more than two hours they followed Interstate 30 to bring them closer to their destination. To avoid complications and delays Taylor had not tried to get in touch with anyone who might still be living in the Little Rock area in Section XXI. He did not want to attract any attention to their expedition from friend or foe so he turned the airplane straight north before they reached the outskirts of Little Rock to fly a large arc around the more densely populated areas to catch Interstate 40 to the North. He was hoping to find the turnoff to US Highway 65 to follow it as far as their fuel would get them. This detour added at least forty minutes to their travel time and cut into the distance that they would be able to cover by air but it was much preferable to being shot at by some overly nervous security post.
It was not long until they saw Lake Maumelle stretching out on the horizon and the Arkansas River Valley right behind it. Taylor deviated from his course several times to avoid overflying larger groups of buildings that were scattered throughout the area. A lonely low flying plane that was going north might raise some questions, which he was not prepared to answer. Disturbing the peace was furthest from his desires for this trip.
Soon the beautiful lake rushed by beneath them and after a short while they had crossed the mighty river that had given the region its historic name. Taylor knew it would be about ten miles north that US-65 would turn off I-40 to climb into the mountainous terrain. A few minutes after they had first seen the deserted highway corridor Hunt spotted the remains of the road they were looking for leading north. For the first twenty minutes it was easy to follow the road through flat grassland, as it was still well defined against the green and brown surroundings. The further the flight reached north though, the more it was obvious that the vegetation had claimed back much of the man made surface.
At the onset of the mountains it seemed as if the forest had suddenly swallowed the highway. The openings in the dense tree cover became spaced wider apart the further they flew up the mountains. Taylor knew that they had almost reached the fuel reserve he was comfortable with to safely get them back home. He started to descend looking out for a suitable place to land that would also allow them to get back into the air once they had completed their mission.
Taylor could see the highway wind up a steep mountain ridge with a flat wide opening in the tree cover on the other side. He pointed the spot out to Hunt to get his opinion.
“Watcha think? Do you see any reason why we should not take this spot to land?” he asked into the microphone of his headset.
“You have to go in fairly steep to clear the trees right on the ridge but otherwise it looks good to me. Do a low fly over so we can see what the surface is like,” Hunt answered, confident in his eyesight and decades of flying shotgun.
“You got it,” Taylor said gleefully and rolled into a steep turn towards the mountain ridge. It was a joy to feel the speed and g-forces as he pulled the plane up to clear the row of trees that crowned the cliff by a few feet. The tension in the back cabin was electric and Tim Farmer winced just a tiny bit as Helen Spade’s fingernails dug into his thigh. There might have been more pleasant ways of first intimate contact but given the circumstances Farmer did not object in the least.
The surface of the chosen landing site was clear of large rocks or other debris. The concrete road was cracked and broken up on many places from freezing winters and hot summers but it still looked suitable for landing and starting the rugged airplane. The big tires and reinforced landing gear wer
e able to tolerate obstacles of substantial size, which had more than once saved Taylor’s day before, not to mention his passengers and cargo.
“That’ll do,” he announced to his companions and entered a sweeping 360 degree turn to get them back on an approach path over the ridge for landing.
Taylor reduced engine power and deployed wing flaps to the first notch for a steeper glide angle. He negotiated the final approach to clear the tall trees at the downwind end of the landing site and carefully touched down the plane a few hundred feet later in the middle of the clearing. It was quite a bumpy ride over broken concrete and brush work but the plane slowed down bobbing across some small rocks and came to a halt with plenty of room to spare.
The two men in the front seats had to fight back laughter at the very audible sighs of relief that came from the back once Taylor had stopped the engine at his chosen parking position close to the trees and out of sight from above. Helen Spade removed her hand from Farmer’s leg with an apologetic look on her face.
“It’s o.k., ... thanks ... em,” he mumbled softly.
The sound of cabin doors opening cut the tender moment short. It was time to think about more practical things than an ever so pleasant chance encounter in a cramped airplane back seat. Hunt and Taylor had already jumped out of the plane stretching their legs after the long ride. They inspected the aircraft for any damage it might have sustained from the rough landing roll. To their relief they could only see a few new dents to the underside of the hull but nothing that would bring the plane closer or further away from winning a beauty contest. They had managed the first leg of their journey according to plan. Now it was time to get oriented and to plan their hike up the mountains.
“It is hard to imagine that someone came through here fifty years ago with a truck and made it all the way down to the Irving Sector. Must have been quite a resilient fellow,” Taylor said to Hunt pointing at the road that disappeared into the forest.
“You’re telling me?” Hunt replied, “Remember, I was the one who tried to point out that the probability of your stories being true is slim at best. Wanna go back right now? We could be back at Ruudi’s Bar tonight at ten.”
“You kidding me?” Taylor laughed, “You are not getting out of using your legs for something else than balancing yourself on a bar stool for a change. Remember, it was you who begged me to come along.”
They both laughed feigning a sparring match in the middle of the road. Spade and Farmer looked at each other rolling their eyes. They had not been aware that they had signed up to travel with a comedy team like it seemed, a very old-fashioned comedy team as it turned out.
Savoring the peaceful scenery just a moment longer Taylor turned back to the business at hand.
“Let’s unpack our stuff and get going,” he resumed his role as leader of the expedition, “it’s twelve thirty right now, we can still travel ten or fifteen miles today before we find a place to camp.”
After they had emptied the plane, Hunt and Taylor fastened its fabric cover and a camouflage net on top of it. Better to be safe than sorry was their motto even in a remote location like this, just an old habit. They had brought backpacks for their personal effects and food rations as well as sleeping rolls. It fell on Hunt to carry the two small tents that were folded up in another backpack since his personal belongings were miraculously hidden somewhere in his combat suit.
“What are we going to do for water supply?” Farmer asked, “The canteens we brought are not going to last long.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Hunt answered eager to make himself useful, “I can smell fresh water from miles away, we’ll have more than we can drink.”
The four travelers sat down on scattered rocks to have a light snack from their military rations that they had brought for food.
“We are going to follow this highway north for about fifteen miles.” Taylor was ready to get going, “According to the reports we should come across a deserted town once called Lebanon. There’s still gotta be buildings and signs to recognize it. From there we head west on 74 or 377 whichever we find. It should not be more than ten maybe fifteen miles from there until we get into the area where I hope to find the colony we are looking for. Let’s gear up and happy trails!”
They grabbed their backpacks and helped each other strap them on. It was obvious that Farmer and Spade were very helpful to each other. It was sweet to see the young cowboy stare at the girl wide eyed as if she was a precious flower which kind he had never seen before. Spade on the other hand still made an effort to keep her cool but at the same time she basked in Tim’s admiration and did not discourage it in any way. Taylor and Hunt looked the other way. This promised to be interesting to say the least.
Taylor looked the airplane over one more time and satisfied with what he saw he took the lead and marched out in a northern direction. The old highway was overgrown by trees for the most part but there was still enough open space with the asphalt and concrete surface intact for them to travel at a decent pace.
Hunt felt right at home in the sounds and scents of the woods, the touch of mossy grass, and shadow patterns painted on last year’s leaves by the midday sun. For him it all was invigorating and intoxicating. He almost forgot about his travel companions and rushed forward into the emerald tunnel in front of them. Taylor did not mind. He had been traveling with Hunt long enough to trust his instincts and keen sense of direction. They settled into a comfortable rhythm of walking a ways and then exploring the surroundings and picking up the hike again. It was not the fastest way to travel, but it assured them a familiarity with the forest that might prove beneficial if their search kept them in the woods for longer than they had expected.
It did not take long for Tim Farmer to forget about his newfound interest in Helen Spade for a while to join Hunt in the exploration of the plants they were passing by. He could see right away that there was no evidence of genetic degeneration or other human induced disease in any of the vegetation. He unwrapped his precious DNA scanner to take samples of a few native trees and ferns.
“I’ll be d.....!” he interrupted his surprised outburst with a side glance at Spade, “I can’t believe it, the comparison between these samples of Live Oak and the ones we took around the Irving Sector show a deviation of more than seven hundred picas. That would normally be enough to qualify as a new species if the differences were healthy generational mutations and not just random defects.” He checked his readings again to make sure he did not fall prey to his own mistake.
“Mr. Taylor, sir, if my readings are correct and there really are farm animals or cultured plants around that are similar to these wild plants we are going to find a genetic gold mine here. People are going to name a steak after you.” He was all excited now and started to systematically scan new specimen as they came across them.
“Just make sure you don’t fill up your data storage with useless underbrush and weeds. Keep some of it free for that steak you were talking about. I want to eat it with potatoes and beans next summer,” Taylor laughed, “And Tim, please stop calling me sir.”
“Yes, sir,” Tim replied promptly.
Hunt and Farmer kept dashing on and off the road into the woods like little kids who had too much energy to burn. They were enjoying themselves while Taylor and Spade kept a reasonable pace on the road. Spade did not offer much conversation which suited Taylor quite well because he did not know how far he could trust her. He was sure that by now his name graced a folder in Mark Shiner’s intelligence bureau and he was not going to fill it voluntarily with additional information.
Hunt made good on his promise to find water. About three hours after they had left the plane he disappeared into the woods for almost ten minutes. The road had lead out from under the trees into a small clearing when they heard a sharp whistle from a steep incline above them. The other three turned to see Hunt up on the hill waving his arms gesturing for them to join him. His shout, “Water!” echoed through the valley.
“We’ll better go,” Taylor said, “otherwise he is going to be grumpy and we have to try to find water on our own. All right, who’s first?”
To everyone’s surprise Helen Spade stepped up to the steep gravel and rock slope and started climbing without effort. She looked as if she had lived in the mountains all her life and not in the Texas flatlands. Tim Farmer could not take his eyes off her slender figure elegantly moving up the hill with the grace and steady step of a mountain goat. It took him a moment to get his wits back and follow her lead. He climbed bravely and without complaint, but being a country boy who was more at home on the back of a horse or at the wheel of a truck he did not look quite as secure. Taylor chuckled to himself and followed the two at a safe distance.
Up on the hill Hunt was kneeling at a tiny gurgling brook with ice-cold water clear as crystal. They all filled their aluminum canteens with nature’s gift and drank as much as they could right on the spot. None of them had ever tasted water so sweet and refreshing in their entire lives.
“Let’s keep going for an hour or two more and then look for a place to set up camp,” Taylor suggested. “We can take the easier way down on the backside of the hill and make our way around back to the road. Thanks for the drink, Cody.”
All four of them were in good spirits from the refreshing rest. They climbed down the slope to join up with the road a few hundred yards from where they had left it. Hunt and Farmer stayed with the group for now. The long flight in a cramped cabin and the excitement of their hike started to wear down their energy reserves. They quietly marched on, enjoying the changing scenery. The air was getting cooler as they slowly reached higher altitudes. It was not unpleasant yet but they were glad that they had brought the tents and sleeping bags.
An hour later, after leaving behind the ruins of a small town called Marshall, Cody Hunt pointed out a small lush clearing between the trees that seemed the perfect camp site for the night. A small creek was flowing across the meadow to give them an opportunity to freshen up in the morning and the soft mossy ground promised a comfortable resting place.
“Let’s set up the tents and get a fire going. Cody, do you mind going for some fire wood with Farmer?” Taylor asked.
“Not at all, come on cowboy, let’s go.” Hunt replied.
It took Taylor and Spade only a few minutes to upright the tents and stow their belongings. Hunt came back with his arms loaded with dry and brittle branches.
“The kid said he’ll be along in a minute,” Cody announced dropping the wood on the ground and began building a campfire. He took a knife off his belt and debarked a big branch, scraped out the fluffy dry kindling from the bark and stuffed it beneath a pile of small twigs. Only seconds later the fire from his lighter had spread to the larger branches while he added more wood to the pile. Not long and a lively fire radiated cozy warmth into the dusk.
“Make room for the chuck wagon!” Farmer yelled, bursting from the forest onto the clearing. “First I’ll cook, then we’ll eat.”
Everyone was looking perplexed when he disappeared into the tent that harbored his backpack. He reemerged with the items he was looking for.
“Never travel without a frying pan and a coffee pot,” he announced triumphantly presenting both utensils. He then dug cautiously into the pockets of his jacket and to everybody’s delight produced three eggs and two hands full of various mushrooms and fresh herbs, which he had gathered in the woods.
“I’ll cook this and stir in the dry rations with water. That’ll make us a delicious dinner. I also brought a few packs of real coffee. It’s not a meal without something black and hot to wash it down with.” This was not Tim Farmer’s first rodeo. No sir, he knew how to live and to survive in the outdoors and how to have a good time along the way.
Fifteen minutes later the motley crew shared a welcome and unexpectedly delicious meal under the open sky. The coffee was hot and black and strong enough to wake the dead, just like you would expect when a cowboy does the cooking. The fine delicate flavors and aromas of wild bird’s eggs, herbs and mushrooms on the other hand would have been the pride of any fine restaurant in the Irving Sector and beyond. With their stomachs full and sipping the remaining coffee they all settled around the fire contemplating the events of the day.
Out of the blue Helen Spade turned to Taylor, “You and Hunt are very close. Care to share the story how the two of you met?”
Taylor did not care much for the tone in which the question was asked. He looked at Hunt who just shrugged his shoulders. The events were ancient history and none of the involved parties had any influence anymore so what harm could it do to tell the story of the day they had met.
“All right Ms. Nosy,” Taylor teased, “why not. I am just surprised that this is not part of the intelligence files that you and your buddies surely have on Cody and me.”
“It’s actually quite a story when I think about it. More than twenty years ago the Southern Coalition had gained stable control of the gulf coast and all the way up to Austin. I was a young pilot with the militia, all green and eager to prove what an ace I was. We were flying surveillance and minor ground attacks in little stinger jets against raiders and pirates who wanted to establish a bridgehead in the swamps. At least that was what we were told.”
He took a sip from his coffee before he continued.
“One night after my squad had completed a successful sortie I walk into my barrack and a black figure sitting in the dark grunts at me, ‘Don’t turn on the light.’ I almost pee my pants and go for my side arm when he points a flash light into my face and calmly says, ‘Don’t do that.’ He was moving so swiftly that I never saw him until I felt my own 45 being pressed into my back. ‘OK, you win,’ I say, ‘what is it.’ I was sure he wanted money or some of the rum that my buddies and I had stashed on the camp grounds.”
Another look at Hunt earned him a big grin.
“So we sat down and he laid an ugly story on me. Turns out the missions we were ordered to fly were not to keep Cuban pirates at bay but to cleanse the swamps from the people that were living there to give the pirates free access to support the reigning coalition. He had it all in writing, copies of high level orders, photos of the houses we had leveled, and communications with Cuban officials. I was sick to my stomach. He had been surveying the area for an opposing political party for months but the heat was rising so he needed a way out.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Hunt took over, “I had almost been caught too many times so I wrote my reports and signed off from the job. I needed a quick ride out of there. Lieutenant John Taylor here had a reputation in his day of being one of the best and craziest flyboys who ever strapped into a military jet. It did not take much convincing after I showed him the evidence I had gathered to get him on board with my escape idea.”
“My credentials as Special Operations Officer at the time gave me access to almost any official building or installation. So, later that night I waltzed into the hangar for utility aircraft and commissioned a single engine plane for a covert operation. Times were so messed up back then that the night security grunt did not even flinch and let me have my pick. We rolled the plane out to the parking ramp where Taylor waited and before most folks were finished with their after dinner drinks we were off and half way across the Hill Country.”
“Mind you,” Taylor picked up the yarn, “I had no idea where we were going at that time. We were flying under the radar with no lights and only basic navigation, no radios and no maps. At sunrise I was sweating bullets because I was still not one hundred percent convinced officer Hunt was for real and we were slowly running out of fuel. He directed me to fly this and that heading and all I could make out was that we were going north. I was able to identify Cap Rock in the distance when he dials the comm radio to a certain frequency and clicks away on the speak button. Twenty seconds later we hear three clicks as answer and right in front of me landing lights flicker in the middle of a field. Hunt points at the lights, ‘Land there, w
e’ll be safe.’ I didn’t know what to think.”
“You should have seen the look on his face,” Hunt interrupted, “Taylor was flying as if he had the whole Southern Coalition in his neck. We learned much later from a friend that they never even missed the plane.”
“As soon as we landed all hell broke loose, or so it seemed to me,” Taylor continued with a laugh, “Suddenly people came running from all directions, strapped a tow bar on the landing gear and pulled us into a barn next to a farm house. Hunt jumps out of the plane and everyone starts hugging and kissing him like the long lost son.”
“Yeah, my folks are quite fond of their kin,” Hunt chuckled, “My uncle and nephews had run that renegade air strip for many years during the war. They helped quite a few lost pilots out of a jam and made good business out of recycling the planes they left behind. Meanwhile my aunt pushed us into the kitchen where we were fed like kings while out in the barn the plane got a new coat of camouflage paint. They also removed all markings, insignia and serial numbers. Come noon the plane had a brand new identity with papers and all, was filled up and ready to go. The same evening we started our trek up to Alaska where we flew supply transports for oil and mining outfits for many years. Good times, right Taylor?”
“Yep, good times,” Taylor replied thoughtfully.
Soon thereafter the four agreed on the watch rotation for the night and retired to their tents, Hunt and Taylor in one and Spade and Farmer in the other.
Early next morning the rattling of an old frying pan and the smell of coffee woke Taylor. Never before he was so glad to have taken the young genetics engineer on the trip. After a breakfast of more wild bird’s eggs and strong black cowboy coffee the quartet continued the hike. They resumed their rhythm from the day before of making good time as well as exploring the surroundings on their way. Again, Hunt found them all the fresh water they needed and another lovely resting place for the night. In the morning of day three everyone felt that they were getting closer to the destination of their journey, the anticipation and excitement was almost palpable.
Chapter 4: What Is The Most Important Thing?
