Still staring at her lap, Lynn finishes with a silence that is deafening. Several tears fall onto her fatigues. Reaching over, I pull her close. She buries her head against my shoulder and her body shakes as she weeps for the loss of her sister and dad. There isn’t anything I can do except offer her my shoulder and hug her for as long as she needs. Her body eventually stops shaking and she pulls away to look into my eyes.
“Thank you. I needed to get that off my chest,” she says and lies down. I wrap my arms around her and we fall asleep. Her story is a reminder that the world is not a safe place. I feel grateful for our place and the people around us that make it relatively safe. I still have the images in my head but they’ve been relegated to a place that I can control. I drift off to see what my dreams hold.
* * * * * *
The sound of feet slapping on the pavement is a familiar one; one he has heard every night while on the hunt. The small pack he joined a while ago is running ahead down the darkened street. A faint scent of prey lingers but the swirling of the air around the buildings makes it hard to determine the actual direction. He is hungry and the odor indicates a meal that will feed the entire pack if they can get to it first.
Buildings pass as they turn down street after street searching. The screams of other packs drift on the night air in the distance. Images of prey found filter into his head but they are too far away to respond. His pack leader has found food on most of their nightly hunts so he is sure they will feed tonight. The scent grows strong down one street and the pack turns. Adrenaline surges as the thrill of the hunt takes over.
Several streets later, with the smell of food growing stronger, he stops. Grabbing his head from the overwhelming pain, he sinks to his knees. A dizzy feeling accompanies the deep ache making him feel that he is going to fall completely to the ground. He vaguely hears the sound of his pack member’s feet stop. The sense of them, once strong and providing a sense of assurance, fades and then vanishes altogether.
Where the hell am I? He thinks looking down at pavement below his head and slumped over body. How the hell did I get here? Where is here? The last memory he has is of taking the flu shot and feeling like shit. He headed to bed and is now kneeling on some unknown street. The only thing that comes to his fuzzy and confused mind is that he must have sleep-walked in a feverish dream.
A loud shriek penetrates his thoughts and he looks up. The night is dark but he makes out ghostly figures running towards him a short distance away. What the fuck? He thinks watching them close in quickly. More screams issue from four figures racing his way. He knows a good thing when he sees it and this definitely doesn’t fit in that category. Adrenaline pours into his body and he starts to rise with the flee portion of the fight or flee response taking hold.
He is only able to bring his arm up in an attempt to ward off the bodies as the nearest ones leap into the air and slam into him. The impact knocks him backwards and slams him to the ground. He is only vaguely aware of the growling and snarling above him as his head contacts the hard, paved surface bringing stars to his eyes. His mind is reeling from the confusion but is quickly supplanted with sheer pain. He feels more than sees teeth biting into his face, neck, and arms. He recognizes a scream, which rises over the others, as his own.
Pale, snarling faces, reeking of body odor, are close to his. He fights and squirms to get away from those on top of him and the agony. Chunks of flesh are torn from his cheeks and throat. A part of his mind wonders where this odd, vivid dream came from. He has never felt pain in his dreams before. Another part of his mind knows this is not a dream but the confusion of suddenly being in a foreign place doesn’t allow that thought to filter into his consciousness. There is only the struggle and intense agony.
He feels another strip of flesh ripped from his face. He screams and pain, colored red, floods his mind. His vision fades and then goes dark. He was right about one thing, the pack would feed well tonight.
* * * * * *
The next few days are a repeat. Frank notes areas for Craig and me to fly over broadcasting for survivors. Gonzalez, McCafferty, Bri, and Robert are on board for the daily 130 flights. Bri instructs both Gonzalez and McCafferty on the systems and flight engineer responsibilities. Robert takes some stick time as well to refresh his skills.
Bannerman sends the truck convoys south to pick up the trailers and livestock we found. The learning curve is pretty steep for getting the cattle rounded up and into the trucks. It’s not like they could just call “here boy” and have them come running. The crews find some horses that were left out in pastures and those prove useful in rounding up the cattle, at least according to the stories told around dinner. The horses find a home in the stables as well. There weren’t many found as those in the stalls had already succumbed to starvation, lack of water, or in some instances, night runners.
By the end of the week, our pastures have livestock in them. Bannerman also sent trucks to loot the barns of their hay and feed. The barns, stables, and greenhouses have been completed and the crews head north again to begin again on the walls. Bannerman also sends a detail out to look at a water tower and begins planning for its relocation if that is at all possible. Craig, Gonzalez, and McCafferty are now fairly proficient with the 130 operations. It’s time to head to the southwest and we excuse ourselves from the nightly training sessions to plan our flight.
A Meeting Remembered
“Well, isn’t that interesting?” I say plotting our route. Robert, Craig, Bri, Gonzalez, McCafferty, and I are gathered in a semi-circle.
“What’s that?” Robert asks looking up from the map.
“Nothing much really. Just that Tacoma, Boise, Salt Lake City, and our far end destination of Lubbock are in a nearly straight line. Similar to those mathematical lines of the pyramids and Stonehenge. Only, not meaning the same,” I say. “However, they will make it easy to verify our inertial navigation system.”
“Aren’t we going to use the GPS?” Robert asks.
“We’ll set up the route with both but I’m not sure the satellites are still in the right position with no one to keep them there. We’ll do some verifications enroute though,” I answer.
“Can we set up the same approaches?” He continues.
“Well, it depends on what we see on the way. The inertial nav system on board is highly accurate but it certainly isn’t near what a GPS is, especially if there’s a lot of turbulence, but we’ll see. There’s a pretty good chance of encountering severe weather once we hit New Mexico. If I remember correctly, the dry line sits right on the New Mexico-Texas border and the time is right for thunderstorms. The squall lines along there can grow quickly and are usually prevalent during the afternoon and evenings. We’ll have to plan alternate fields along the way as I’m not at all keen on flying through them on inertial nav alone, especially if we have to shoot an approach. Plus, I really hate flying through thunderstorms,” I reply.
“I remember the ones we flew through on the way to Kuwait were plenty scary,” Bri chimes in.
“Yeah, and those were gerbil ones compared to what the south and southwest can spawn. And I use the word spawn correctly. It’s like comparing a paper cut to being molested with a chain saw,” I say.
We finish planning our almost 1,600 mile trip plotting alternate airfields along the way. Horace and Greg join us after the evening training session and I go over the route with them. This is so they will have some situational awareness in case we have one of those unplanned contacts with the ground – read crash. That way they’ll have some idea about where we are or at least a clue of where we are supposed to be. I’ll keep them updated on our progress. It will take us about four hours to get to Canon AFB depending on the winds. I have no way of calculating the winds aloft for our trip but we’ll have plenty of gas. We can fly there and back with what we’ll have onboard.
I wake just before first light. I’m not all that keen on leaving my warm sleeping bag. I feel like rolling over and giving the flight a later start but
the image of towering cumulus clouds enters my foggy mind. The thought of wading our way through the dark masses spurs me off my cot. Well, spur isn’t exactly the correct word but I rise nonetheless holding my tired head in my hands for a moment before slipping my feet into my boots. Lynn stirs beside me and sits in a like manner.
“You don’t have to get up, hon,” I say wearily tying my laces.
“Yeah, right. Who’s going to make sure you get your boots on the right foot?” She answers sounding as tired as I feel. I glance down to make sure I do have my boots on correctly. Yep, good to go. “Besides, I’d feel bad if I didn’t see you off.”
There’s only the faint stirring of images floating in my mind and I shove them off to a corner. I hear the faint movement of others in cubicles across the upper floor. Leaning over, I kiss Lynn on the top of her head as she slowly does up the laces in her boots.
“You know I love you, right?” I say.
“Yeah, Jack, I love you too,” she responds looking up.
I can see how tired she is. Not just the tired of waking early but the kind that prolonged time without rest and stress can bring. I positively cannot wait until we reach a place where our stress levels are lowered and wonder if that can really ever be again. With a sigh, I rise and grab my already packed duffle bag. Pushing the curtain aside, I see that several others who are accompanying us have gathered at one of the large tables downstairs. Horace and Blue Team are making their way down the escalator with bags in hand. I wait by our cubicle entrance for Lynn, take her hand and we walk in silence down to where the others have gathered.
Craig is gathering the last of our planning notes and the maps; putting rubber bands around the approaches into the Canon AFB and the other fields we’ve selected as alternates. He puts these neatly into a large leather publication case. The closure of the snaps is loud in the still interior and has a finality to it. It also signals it’s our time to go. We look through peep holes drilled into the security shutters and open them when we see that all is clear.
The morning is painted in a blue-gray shade, portending the coming of the sun and another day. High clouds are showing a touch of orange on their eastern edges. Stepping out into the parking lot, a morning breeze rustles against our clothing bringing a chill to the air. The vehicles sit quietly in the parking lot as if waiting for the coming dawn as well; their darkened shapes still. I hate to break the absolute silence that only the time just before the sun breaks over the horizon can bring. With the sun comes the noise of our little slice of mankind awakening. I want to just stand and take in the stillness but I know we have to be on our way. High clouds give an indication that our route may not be clear all of the way. The team members make their way slowly across the lot; their steps showing the tiredness we all feel. Reaching the four Humvees we plan on taking, they begin tossing in their gear. It will be a cramped ride up to the base with us and the gear in only four of the vehicles but it’s only a short ride. We’ll leave two on the ramp and load two in the 130.
Robert and Bri come out and stand with Lynn and I. Bri rubs her eyes trying to vanquish some of the sleep she brought with her.
“Good morning, Dad,” she says having little success in dispelling her sleepiness.
“Morning, Bri,” I reply. Robert is sleepy as well and just nods in return.
“Robert, would you and Bri go get the helmets out of the helicopter?” I ask.
“Sure, Dad,” he responds and they make their way to the helicopter parked on the far side of the ramp.
Lynn and I stand at the edge of the entrance overhang watching the blue-gray of the morning turn to a lighter shade. There is such a peaceful atmosphere that I don’t want to shatter it with talk. I long for time to just stop and let us enjoy moments like this. This, however, is just not the nature of time. Its nature is the measure of movement and so it continues. As long as there is movement, there will be such a thing as time.
“Jack, don’t do anything foolish. Come back to me,” Lynn says quietly. She continues to look out to the soldiers loading the last of the gear.
“I’ll be back,” I say glancing to the side at her. “I enjoy you too much to rush into a departure from this life although I’ve never quite figured out why you stay with me.”
“Because you’re a dork, but you’re my dork. Remember the first time we met?” She asks with a chuckle.
“How could I forget that?” I answer.
“You could have gotten us killed you know,” she says with a sigh.
“That’s not true. Well, not entirely. Those guys were horrible shots. Besides, if I would have run into the tree line right away, I wouldn’t have gotten your number,” I reply. Lynn responds with another chuckle and shakes her head.
She pauses a moment. “Of all the ways to meet. It’s pretty clear we were meant to meet but at the time, I thought, ‘Who the fuck does that?’ It wasn’t until later that I fully realized that only you would do something like that. I’m glad you asked and actually called though,” Lynn says looking up at me.
“Me too!” I say as the memory of that time takes me back to the moment of our meeting.
* * * * * *
The sudden gunfire as the door gunner test fired his weapon startled me and garnered my attention. The helicopter flashed over the lush green canopy just a few feet under the wheels and wind poured in the open door bringing the muted roar of the rotors overhead. During the occasional jink and turn, I spied the chase Black Hawk behind and slightly above. I sat close to the door watching all of this and thinking about the mission ahead – to locate and take out a small rebel training facility. I looked at the rest of the team sitting in the shaking interior. Some were looking outside like me and some at the floor, all lost in their own thoughts.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I looked at the crew chief with his helmet on and the tinted visor down. The reflection of my face showed clear on the dark, polished surface; the streaks of my applied camo blending with my boonie hat. Having caught my attention, the crew chief held up two fingers. I then alerted the other team members and mimicked the action of the crew chief letting them know we were two minutes out. We checked our gear one last time and chambered rounds.
The second Black Hawk hung back as we proceeded forward. The tops of the trees abruptly gave way to a small field filled with tall grass; the grass transformed to clumps of bushes closer to the trees. The abrupt change, though startling, was expected. The helicopter sank below the tree line and settled quickly into the grassy field with the rotor wash laying the grass on its side. We were out of the door with the skids just above the fields’ surface and made our way quickly into the trees.
The bright sun quickly changed to the murky depths of the jungle as we proceeded a few meters in; our transport already out of sight and sound. Finding some dense foliage, we laid up for twenty minutes to ascertain whether our infil was detected. The chirps of birds and sounds of the jungle became normal after a few minutes. We released the helicopters and began our slow progress under the triple canopy toward the suspected training camp location with the oppressive heat and humidity tracking our every step.
After about an hour into our slow, quiet approach, my radio crackled in my ear piece with an incoming call – I always carried my own radio.
“Viper, Steel Rain, standby for an incoming message,” a voice from our overwatch said.
Steel Rain, Viper Six, standby one,” I replied.
I caught up with and tapped our slack man telling him to have our point find a secluded space to hold up in. We made our way into another dense patch of leafy bushes and set ourselves in a circular perimeter.
“Steel Rain, Viper Six, go ahead with transmission,” I said once we were settled.
“Viper, your mission is an abort, repeat, your mission is an abort, acknowledge,” the radio operator said.
“Steel Rain, copy abort,” I replied.
Another voice came on the radio, “Viper Six, you are being redirected. Proceed to your infi
l landing zone for pickup. Assets will be on station in thirty mikes. Will you be able to comply?” The new voice said.
I thought for a moment looking at the map. We’d be able to make it but we wouldn’t be as quiet on the way out as we were on the way in. “Roger that, Steel Rain, we’ll be there,” I answered.
“Viper Six, you are being redirected to assist an Army unit that has come under fire. You’re the closest. Further instructions and material will be provided upon pickup, out, acknowledge.”
A New World: Awakening Page 3
