Final Winter

by Brendan DuBois

  ‘Yeah. Lots of books and TV scripts will be written about this fuck-up when we’re through - but they’ll miss the essential story.’

  ‘Which is what?’

  ‘Which is that we had to do something after 9/11. The Tiger Teams were a great idea. It was the staffing of them that caused this disaster. Always goes back to the people factor. Not the technical factor. It’s the people that make it work, and in this case, it was the people - Adrianna and those CIA people, years ago, who did a shit-ass job of checking out her background - who failed us.’

  ‘Nice essential story, but I don’t feel too essential. I feel like we came within minutes of killing several million people. Not the kind of way I’d like to spend my days.’

  Monty reached over and slapped Brian on the leg. ‘True enough, my friend. And I’ll make you two predictions. By the end of this week, the Tiger Teams will be done. And a week after that, they’ll be planning something else to replace them. For something like the teams are always needed. No matter what we and others did, the main essential truth still remains: there are many, many people who want to do us harm, and the old ways of protection don’t work.’

  Brian looked like he was going to say something when a nearby phone rang, and the guy picking it up gave a little whoop of joy.

  ‘AirBox 15 is on the ground, safe and sound!’

  Monty looked up at the display screen. Two icons remained.

  He turned to Brian. ‘See? Day’s getting better already.’

  ~ * ~

  Captain Tuthill said, ‘How much longer, boomer?’

  ‘Another five, six minutes, sir.’

  ‘Very good.’

  He turned in his seat, said to his co-pilot, ‘Travis, minute we’re done dumping fuel, tell ATC we’ll want a rendezvous heading to that last AirBox flight immediately. Got it?’

  ‘Roger that, sir.’

  ‘All right.’

  The navigator said, ‘Bet your dad will have a story to tell you when this is through.’

  Tuthill said, ‘More than one story, I’m sure.’

  Good point, he thought. Dad loved to tell stories about all the places he had been, all the aircraft he had repaired, all the pilots whose butts he had saved. God, the hours he had spent in the backyard, those damn tiki torches burning, Dad talking about—

  His boomer’s voice, shouting, ‘Captain! Pull up, pull up, pull up!’

  ~ * ~

  So close, Hugh thought, so close, just a few more minutes, and Stacy Moore confirmed it, saying, ‘Hugh, we’re going to make it, just a few minutes more, and we’ve got enough fuel to—’

  The KC-135 was there, right in front of him, a huge construct of steel and fabrication and the fuel was dumping out and—

  Oh, damn, oh damn—

  Hugh’s chest felt like it was exploding, like it was swelling up and he fell forward, choking, and the last thing he heard was his co-pilot, screaming . . .

  ~ * ~

  An amateur filmmaker from Hobson, Kentucky, caught it on tape, the moment when the AirBox flight sped up and descended, its nose colliding with the tail of the KC-135, the AirBox shuddering and breaking up in flight, the KC-135 catching fire, turning over, and then exploding in mid-air, fuel burning, debris raining down, falling to earth, yet—

  Yet not that day, nor ever, did a single spore of anthrax from that aircraft make it to the ground.

  ~ * ~

  General Bocks saw the display screen, heard the reports, sat down. For a moment it seemed as though the phones had stopped ringing, the voices had stopped talking, the keyboards had stopped clacking. All that he saw in his world was the blinking icon of that one single aircraft up there that belonged to him, yet which had been stolen such a very long time ago.

  ‘One-oh-seven, am I right?’ he asked no one in particular.

  ‘Yes, sir. One-oh-seven, airborne over southeastern Pennsylvania.’

  ‘Fuel status?’

  ‘About twenty minutes.’

  He looked at the faces, saw that the night manager, Pam Kasnet, was still there. ‘Pam?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Get a phone patch set up. I need to talk to one-oh-seven.’

  ~ * ~

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Carrie Floyd’s eyes hurt from the strain, looking and looking out there for that damn KC-135, but the sky was blank. She checked the fuel gauge and the time on her watch. About twenty minutes of flying left, if they were lucky, and luck would mean having that damn Stratotanker pop over the horizon and shag ass to their position. Because if that particular Air Force aircraft didn’t show up, she was sure that the two Air Force fighters still shadowing them would take care of business.

  Sean whispered something and said aloud, ‘Carrie, the General’s on comm two.’

  She felt everything just fade away. Sean’s face looked ashen. ‘Not good news, is it?’

  ‘Seeing a Stratotanker out there would be good news,’ she said. ‘Hearing from the General is not good news. All right, let’s hear what he has to say.’

  And in the space of those few seconds when she made the comm switch so that she could hear the General’s voice, she also hoped against hope that her worst fears weren’t about to come true. She said a quick prayer, too quick to reach God, she thought, for the General came on and said what had to be said.

  ‘Carrie...Sean...I’m sorry to say we’re unable to get a KC-135 to your position.’

  A feeling came to Carrie, that horrible empty feeling she had felt once before, back on the Enterprise, when the Viking S-3 that she had been piloting had fallen off the end of the flight deck, knowing that she was seconds away from her and her co-pilot’s death.

  ‘What happened?’ she finally asked. ‘I thought we had one in-bound from Kentucky, after it had met up with AirBox 22.’

  Bocks said, ‘Mid-air collision. I’m sorry, we lost both aircraft. There are no other refueling aircraft available in the area.’

  Sean whispered something again. For the briefest of moments, she closed her eyes. So close. Her own idea...and so close.

  She triggered the microphone, and the voice that came out wasn’t her own, it wasn’t someone panicking over what was about to happen, no, it was her old Navy voice, old Smash, come to life. The voice said, ‘We understand. Thanks for trying. General, you need to make it right for our families. Understood?’

  Bocks said, ‘Of course. Is there ... is there anybody you’d like to talk to ... Carrie? Sean?’

  She looked to Sean. He shook his head. Carrie thought about her Susan...Susan, safe and secure in school. To talk to her, at this last moment? To have her hauled out of class and taken to the principal’s office, to have a phone shoved at her and be told that... well, mommy wants to say goodbye?

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. There’s nobody we want to talk to. But I have a request, General. And you better make it happen.’

  ‘All right,’ Bocks said. ‘I’ll make it happen.’

  She made her request, and when Bocks signed off she said to Sean, remembering her service aboard the Enterprise, ‘Sorry, my dear. I have a rotten record of taking care of my co-pilots.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll complain to the union, when I get a chance.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Carrie said, looking out to the empty sky, no last-minute reprieve out there. ‘When you get the chance.’

  ~ * ~

  Grayson Carter worked in one of the maintenance shops for AirBox, and he was trying to catch up on some paperwork when the door to the offices blasted open and General Bocks and Randy Tuthill were there, staring at him.

  ‘Sir...what can I—’

  Bocks said, ‘Grayson. You’re a minister, aren’t you? At a church in the city?’

  ‘‘Yes — yes, I am. Fourth Street Baptist. I minister there on weekends and—’

  His upper left arm was grabbed hard by the General. ‘Grayson, we need you to come with us, right now. We need you, and we need you bad.’

  ‘What... what for?’

  Ran
dy said, opening the door and waving the two of them on through, ‘We’ll explain on the way, and by God, Grayson, please tell us you’ll do it. Please.’

  ~ * ~

  Carrie no longer wanted to look at her watch or the fuel gauges. She just wanted to look at her Sean and at the Pennsylvania landscape beneath them, small cities and towns, tens of thousands of innocents alive down there, and here she was, with the unintended and unwanted power to sicken and kill them all. Sean was doing all right, though his hands trembled some and it looked like his eyes were filling up. She took a deep breath as her earphones came alive.

  ‘Carrie - I think we’re all set,’ Bocks said.

  ‘Thank you, General. . . and one more thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  Carrie said, ‘Thanks for hiring me, when I got out of the Navy. I had...had some troubles, before I left. Some thought I wasn’t tough enough or hard enough to be a pilot. But you took a chance on me. Thank you.’

  Bocks said, ‘No, thank you, Carrie. Thanks for everything ... and I need to ask you something, if you will.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I. . . I . . .’ It seemed like the poor guy’s voice was breaking up, and then he went on. ‘I was responsible for putting those canisters in your air-conditioning system. I thought I was taking part in a confidential emergency immunization program - those canisters were supposed to be carrying anthrax vaccine, not anthrax spores. It was my call, my decision to install those canisters - and for that... I ask you for your forgiveness...’

  Sean said ‘Fuck. Fuck me, so that’s how it happened...shit..

  Carrie said, ‘General, consider yourself forgiven. It’s all a moot point now ... all right? Were you able...were you able to—’

  ‘Yes, Carrie. Hold on . . .’

  She reached over, took Sean’s hand, squeezed it hard. A man’s voice came over the headphones, a strong, deep voice, and she squeezed Sean’s hand as he started. ‘Carrie...Sean ... my name is Grayson Carter. I’m a minister with the Fourth Avenue Baptist Church - are you ready?’

  ‘Yes, reverend, we’re ready,’ Carrie said, as Sean squeezed her hand back.

  ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in troubled times, under the eyes of God, to perform sacred matrimony upon your servants, Carrie Ann Floyd and Sean Barnes Callaghan . . .’

  ~ * ~

  By now the broadcasts between AirBox 107 and the company’s Operations Center had been monitored by the news media. So it was that millions of Americans, most of them frightened, others angry, some stuck in cars and SUVs attempting to flee major cities, others in basements or sealed rooms in their homes, listened as a pilot and a co-pilot shared their wedding vows.

  ~ * ~

  ‘I, Carrie Ann Floyd, do take thee, Sean Barnes Callaghan . . .’

  ‘I, Sean Barnes Callaghan, do take thee, Carrie Ann Floyd...’

  ‘…for better or worse…’

  ‘…in sickness and in health…’

  ‘…til death do us part…’

  And most were amazed that the last phrase was proclaimed with such strength, conviction, and obvious love.

  ~ * ~

  Bocks stood there, hands folded in front of him, in the nearly silent Operations Center. Several times he wiped at his eyes as the familiar refrains were uttered, and he looked to his people, his AirBox staff, and realized that there was not a dry eye to be seen. Save for Grayson Carter, his maintenance worker and minister, who was keeping it under control as he performed God’s work this late morning.

  Grayson’s voice rose at the end, saying, ‘And by the power vested in me, through God and the State of Tennessee, I now pronounce you man and wife. Praise the Lord.’

  And faintly, through the speakers, both Carrie and Sean repeated the phrase.

  ‘Praise the Lord.’

  ~ * ~

  Carrie tried to keep a smile on her face as she looked to her husband. ‘What? You’re not going to kiss the bride?’

  Tears were streaming down the cheeks of her strong man and he bent over, kissed her softly and quickly on her lips, and she kissed him back, still holding his hand. ‘Carrie...God, I wanted so much for us ... I wanted . . .’

  She kissed him again. ‘Shhh...my love, it’s almost over. We’re...we’re going together. You and me. I love you so.’

  ‘And I love you, too

  She turned to the windscreen, saw something out there on the horizon, and a sort of peace came over her. There. That would work.

  ‘My love...that’s a lake over there, isn’t it?’

  Sean glanced at a chart. ‘Yeah - Lake Douglas.’

  ‘Okay. That’s where we’re going . . .’

  ‘Carrie - it’s not wide enough.’

  She said, ‘Width isn’t what counts,’ and she explained to him what was going to happen, and all he could do was nod in agreement.

  ~ * ~

  Bock’s Operations Manager said, ‘General?’

  ‘Yes, Pam.’

  ‘AirBox one-oh-seven wants you again.’

  ‘All right.’

  He picked up a headset, placed it over his head, no longer seeing anything around him. It was a blur now, just a gray blur. ‘Carrie, this is Bocks, go ahead.’

  ‘General... I don’t know if you can do this for us...but we know we have company up here. Two F-16s. Have them pull away. All right? We’re ... we’re going to do this right... you don’t have to worry about a thing . . .’

  ‘Carrie, I don’t know if I—’

  ‘Sir, we don’t have time to argue. Pull them away. We figure if we go down because of those F-16s lots of innocents can still die. We’ve got a better way.’

  ‘Carrie, I’ll—’

  ‘AirBox one-oh-seven, out.’

  Monty was now at Bocks’s side. The General said, ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘Yeah, I did.’

  ‘Call off those planes. Now.’

  ‘General, I can’t see how—’

  ‘Just try, all right? Just try, damn it.’

  Monty said, ‘You got that.’

  ~ * ~

  Lieutenant General McKenna of Northern Command listened to the man in Memphis, said very little, and hung up the phone. He waited just a few seconds, long seconds during which he knew that he was being asked the impossible. Procedures and plans and operations took precedence over everything, and he was being asked to toss it all aside.

  Over the promise of a woman he had never met.

  A woman who...God, what she had ahead of her . . .

  ‘Sir?’

  His adjutant, Colonel Anson, stood in front of him. She looked at him expectantly.

  He clenched his fists, released them. ‘Colonel, contact the two F-16s escorting AirBox 107.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Tell them...tell them . . .’

  A pause, and then, ‘Sir?’

  He looked away. ‘Tell them to break off. Tell them to break off and not do a damn thing.’

  Anson was a good adjutant. She just nodded. ‘At once, sir.’

  ~ * ~

  So now this lake was beneath her, a beautiful lake it looked like, and she said to Sean, ‘Guess it’s too late to suggest to AirBox that they put parachutes for their aircrews in these things.’

  ‘Guess so.’

  ‘Funny thing, this . . .’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You and I swore when we joined the service to defend the Constitution and our countrymen, our civilians. Never thought I’d be doing that today.’

  ‘Me neither,’ he said.

  She grabbed his hand again. ‘Be of good cheer, my love. It’ll be quick.’

  ‘Carrie…’

  ‘Yes, Sean.’

  ‘The Navy was fucked-up. You’re the best and toughest woman I’ve ever known. And I’m so happy you’re my wife.’

  ‘And I’m so happy you’re my husband.’

  The low fuel warning light had been on now for what seemed like a month. Fuel status was
way past critical. Only minutes were left to them...just a grouping of seconds, that was all.

  ‘Here we go, my love.’

  No answer. Just another squeeze of the hand.