A New World: Return

by John O'Brien

  Robert continues to navigate us around the line of thunderstorms. Looking up at one of the anvils spread across us miles above, I hope we are not going to be pelted with large hail stones. Flying under anvils is not the best of ideas as it is basically formed as the top of the thunderstorm hits the higher winds aloft; those winds rip the top of the thunderstorm and cast its contents miles outward at high rates of speed. Better than being in it, I think as we are continually bounced from one altitude to another. Not nearly as bad as the line we passed coming over, but it is enough to make you want to check your dental work afterwards.

  I look back at Michelle seeing her eyes a little wide but she is coping well. Bri is busy with her panels and so engaged that she is not really thinking about our bouncing around much. Nic is at her nav seat looking absently through the medical files I left there while, at the same time, trying to keep them from spreading throughout the cockpit. Kathy, Little Robert, and Kenneth are on the lower bunk gripping the side rails tightly, trying not to get launched out of their seat. Mike is still behind me but lying on the deck, or trying to. He is being tossed a little into the air on the big bounces only to come back into contact on the reverse side of the bump.

  We transit the far side just as the last rays of the day disappear over the western horizon; a faint glow of what was still silhouettes the horizon and the peaks of the mountains ahead. The Continental Divide. The turbulence subsides and we enter relatively smooth air as the vast towers of clouds vanish behind our wingtips. Lightning flashes out from their underbellies in a symphony of light. I hear a click on the intercom as Lynn plugs into one of the stations in the cargo compartment.

  “Where in the world did you learn to fly?” She asks both amused and not.

  “Oh, are you under the mistaken impression that I ever did?” I ask back.

  “Very funny,” she says.

  “Everyone alright back there?” I ask.

  “Yeah, a few bumps and bruises but you didn’t manage to actually toss anyone out,” she adds.

  “And here I tried so hard,” I say unbuckling. “I’ll be back there in a sec.”

  Carrying the CDC folders, I head to the cargo compartment leaving the aircraft in the hands of my kids once again. I don’t think the oddity of that will ever leave, I think stepping down the stairs. The next few minutes are spent bringing Lynn up to speed on what I have gathered so far from the reports we brought out of the CDC; having to shout over the continuous thrumming of the engines. In a way, I have come to appreciate the mobility and security of the aircraft even more but am also ready to be out of it. I hand the folders to Frank and ask Lynn to share the information with everyone as I head back up into the cockpit; also letting her know that we’ll be at McChord in a few short hours and will brief on the next day’s activities when we land.

  Tag You’re It

  As I climb back up, Robert’s head turns toward me and he shouts. I cannot hear a thing he is saying so I step over to his side.

  “What?” I shout into the left side of his helmet.

  “You’re going to want to hear this,” he shouts back pointing at the radio. My heart rate elevates a little wondering what it can be. I buckle in and pull my helmet on.

  “Anyone receiving this message, please respond,” a voice comes through the radio.

  I check our frequencies and find we are on the UHF radio which means either military traffic or someone has found a military radio.

  “If anyone can hear this, please respond,” I hear the voice come over again. I swear I heard the sound of gunfire in the background of the last transmission.

  “Calling on UHF emergency, this is Otter 39. I read you loud and clear,” I answer the voice.

  “Oh, thank god,” I hear in response.

  “Calling on frequency, state your name and position,” I call back.

  “This is Sergeant Mullins. We’re an Army unit inside the BX at Petersen Air Force Base,” he responds to my query.

  “Okay, Sergeant. What’s your situation?” I ask further.

  “We have those, um, things all around us. Holding out for now but ammo is running low,” he answers.

  “How many are with you and how many of them are around you?” I ask.

  “I have twelve including myself and I don’t have an accurate count of the things out there. I would say at least fifty to a hundred,” Sergeant Mullins responds.

  “We are a C-130 with a contingent of soldiers aboard and about thirty minutes out from the base,” I say looking over our nav charts. “Can you hold out?”

  “We’ll try but the sooner you get here, the better,” he answers.

  “Copy that, standby,” I say.

  “Michelle, go get Lynn and have her come up here please,” I say in the intercom.

  She heads into the back as I pull the various nav and approach charts out of our flight bags. Robert has control of the aircraft as I begin plotting a flight path to the airfield into the navigation computer, further configuring an approach to the main runway. Lynn comes up behind me and begins to ask what is up. I hold up hand stalling her while I finish inputting all of the numbers. A mistake here could be disastrous and we could find ourselves attempting to fly half way across the world. I figure the predominant winds there would be from the north with the season so I plan to use runway 35L. With the inputs complete, I switch the nav system over to the new flight plan. The aircraft begins a gentle bank to the right as I turn to Lynn and shout the situation to her.

  “Are we going after them at night or wait until daylight?” She asks not once thinking we would not be going to help the soldiers in trouble.

  “I don’t think they’ll make it until daylight,” I answer.

  “I’m not overly fond of going in at night. What’s the plan?” Lynn asks.

  “We only have twelve NVG’s so two teams. I would say a very small team but I think we’ll need the firepower. We’ll do a flyby on night vision to pick our route and scout the situation,” I say answering.

  “Roger that. I’ll brief Black and Green Teams,” she says.

  “I’m going as well,” I say.

  “Haven’t you done enough?” She shouts in an exasperated tone.

  “Haven’t you?” I shout back.

  “Okay, fine,” she says turning to head back.

  “Am I going?” Robert asks once Lynn has left the cockpit.

  “No, someone has to stay here and get the plane ready to go on a moment’s notice. Be setup for a battery start. Don’t worry, you’ll get your share with the state the world is in,” I add taking control of the aircraft, turning off autopilot, and beginning a descent to the base.

  The area ahead of us should be lit up by the lights of Colorado Springs and the surrounding towns, forts, and bases with the glow of Denver further to the north. Only pitch blackness shows beneath our nose. It looks as if we are descending into a large, black hole.

  “Sergeant Mullins, this is Otter 39,” I say pressing the push-to-talk switch.

  “Otter 39, go ahead,” he says with definite gunfire in the background.

  “Switch to semi if at all possible to conserve your ammo. We’re going to do a flyby so you’ll hear us overhead in about 15 minutes. We have to land at the airfield and make our way to you,” I say giving an outline of our plan.

  “Copy that Otter 39,” Mullins responds.

  “Robert, I want you to stay on our ground freq. You’ll be the radio relay to Mullins. Keep the aircraft on battery power but with the lights off,” I say as we continue down.

  We don our NVG’s and do a low pass over the base, sighting the location of Sergeant Mullins and his group by the flashes of light from their gunfire. There is a main road from their location directly back to the airfield ramp that we locate on our pass over the area. Lynn is looking over my shoulder in the cockpit as we fly over.

  “We’ll have to exit and seal the aircraft up quickly on arrival. We can’t be caught with the aircraft open. Everyone will have to exit through the sid
e door. The ramp is too slow,” I yell to her.

  “We’ll be ready,” she says and disappears once again as I fly the aircraft away from the base and set up for the approach.

  We will not be using landing lights in this case as I do not want to attract more attention than we already are. Before, we left the aircraft sealed up so I was not overly worried about the attention. Here though, we will be very vulnerable so this one will be on NVG’s alone. Not the optimum solution but one I have done a few times before. And, I have a nice, long, paved runway. The few times this was necessary before was a remote patch of ground in the middle of nowhere. And when I say nowhere, I mean nowhere.

  The approach goes well with the interior lights dimmed but I set it down rather hard on the runway. Depth perception is always tough with these stupid NVG’s. We slow down and pull off of the runway. I shut down the engines on the left side as we taxi in so the props will be stopped on that side and we will be able to exit the aircraft quickly. I leave Robert to taxi in as I head to the back and gear up. He also knows to give us the all clear if he does not see any night runners about. I tell both teams to load up on ammo and carry a couple grenades each, remembering my need, or want, of them back in the CDC building. I pack four of them myself, hanging them on my tac vest, making sure the pins are bent.

  We all line up inside the cargo compartment, ready to exit the side crew door like a line of paratroopers ready for a drop. Waiting for the aircraft to stop and the all clear to sound. I am in the front with my hand on the door actuator. I will exit first and remain by the door to quickly close it back up. If we get caught outside, I briefed that we will open the door and rush back in but if it looks like the night runners are about to overwhelm us and get inside, the door is to get shut regardless of who is still out there. In this manner and with these thoughts, we wait.

  The aircraft comes to stop with a slight forward lurch. Anticipation fills us all. Black and Green Teams will exit immediately behind me and set up a small perimeter. I will seal the door and then we will be silently off; quietly making our way through the base to the BX approximately three quarters to a mile away.

  “All clear,” Robert shouts from inside the cockpit.

  I lower the door, quickly exiting and turning. Both teams fluidly follow behind and set up around the aircraft. I push the door back up and seal it up. So far, so good. In the green light from our night vision goggles, the ramp looks clear of night runners to the extent of our vision. I hear the far side engines winding down as their fuel source is cut off.

  “Robert, tell them we are on our way and to expect us in about thirty minutes,” I say into the radio.

  “Roger that,” he replies picking up the lingo.

  “Lynn, we’ll head out in staggered formation as before. You take the left, Drescoll, the right. I will be out ahead in the middle. Center on me,” I say.

  “Copy that,” Lynn says.

  “Yes, sir,” Drescoll responds.

  We start off across the ramp, all eyes alert and ready; weapons loaded and ready to fire.

  “Mullins just said there are a lot of night runners in the parking lot around them and they are low on ammo,” Robert relays.

  “Okay, thanks and keep us informed if he has any more updates,” I reply.

  “Okay Lynn, Drescoll, when we arrive, we’ll create a hole for Sergeant Mullins and his group to exit through. Then we’ll beat feet back here in a rapidly folding rear guard action, two soldiers firing half of a clip each on semi and retreating back on the run past the next two in line to take station at the rear. Ten meter intervals. Don’t forget to reload. And no firing except on my command. Questions?” I say and ask.

  “Will do,” both Lynn and Drescoll respond.

  We head across the ramp and pick up the main road on the other side. I am quite surprised we do not have any visitors at this point as we made quite the entry but am glad of it. The main road is split by a grass meridian between the two, one-way streets; each one with two lanes. Black is on the left behind me with Green staggered behind them on the right. The road passes what looks like a park to my left but I cannot really see that far into it to determine. Silence prevails in the night air; chilly at this high altitude and after spending time in the heat these past few days.

  We cross a main intersection with the wide road stretching to our right. I cannot hear any gunshots at this point indicating either we are still a distance away from Mullins and his group or, for whatever reason, they are not firing. The bright stars overhead are the only witnesses to our quiet venture into the night. Tension remains high as we all know the danger of being out at night, especially with this small of a force when there are possibly hundreds of night runners around us. And with the fact that they can locate us quite easily. The one redeeming factor going our way is the slight but gentle breeze blowing from our left to right and away from where the night runners are massed by the BX.

  We proceed further up the street and begin to pick out sounds of gunfire and shrieks drifting along the cool breeze. A small copse of trees lies ahead on my left. My nerves are on high alert expecting night runners to appear at any moment. My hope is that we will not have any materialize behind us, cutting us off from the aircraft; our only sanctuary.

  I pick out a hint of movement within the trees as we draw silently closer to the BX. The popping sound of rounds being fired mix with howls, roars, and shrieks up ahead and to our left. Suddenly, two night runners break out of the trees and begin running for me, their feet pounding rapidly across the grass. It’s over, I think and am about ready to order our two teams to begin a retreat when I notice that these two are not shrieking their cry of discovery like all of the others had in the past.

  “Hold your fire,” I say quietly in the radio as I set my M-4 down and pull out my knife.

  I quickly check the area around me assuring myself that these are the only two in sight. If they shriek, then I’ll quickly pick up my carbine and we’re outta here, I think watching them rapidly close the distance. This is not a really smart plan on my part but I want to give us and Mullins the best chance possible at surviving this night. Gunshots will bring the horde upon us making it impossible to help those trapped. Mullins and his group would be in the same position they are in now so firing now would only make things worse as we wouldn’t be able to help them and will endanger our own position.

  The two night runners come on staggered, one behind the other, which is extremely beneficial to me. The one in front is almost upon me with its arms stretching out in front of him, its gray skin almost glowing in the green light. I drop to one knee under its outstretched arms and rise quickly, plunging my knife under its sternum and grabbing its shirt with my left hand, using its forward momentum and my rising momentum to lift it up and over me with my knife in its heart. I feel warm blood spurt out, running down my knife haft and hand. All it makes is a grunt as my knife penetrates its shirt, skin and heart. That is its one, only and last sound.

  Using my knife as leverage, I continue lifting the night runner over me, giving a slight twist to my knife to assure the kill; lifting it up and over onto its back, withdrawing my knife as it begins its downward journey and lands on its back with a thud. I pivot quickly on my right foot, turning to face the second one and bring my left arm around in a sweeping motion, catching the second night runner’s arms with my forearm, knocking them out of the way. Continuing my pivot, I drive my knife into its neck, cutting through the jugular, cartilage, and gristle of its airway. Blood squirts out from the severed artery coating my hand and splashes on my face and neck as the knife exits out the other side, slicing through the opposite jugular. With a sawing motion towards the front, I pull my knife free hearing the night runner gurgle as blood pours down its windpipe. Its knees give out and it slumps straight down, a small amount of its forward momentum remains causing it to hit the pavement face first with a crack next to its friend.

  “You okay,” Lynn asks over the radio as I kneel to clean my blade on the
night runner’s clothing.

  “I’m good,” I say replacing my knife and picking my M-4 up.

  I am still puzzled as to why they did not shriek like the others but will take fortune where it is found. I do a quick check of the area and find it clear. The soldiers behind me to the left and right are rising from their knees where they went down in a ready stance covering the area when the two night runners emerged.

  We start up the road again, round a slight bend and the sound of the full fury of what Sergeant Mullins is dealing with comes to us. Shrieks sound out continuously with rapid fire gunshots overriding them occasionally. Howls of pain intrude upon the absolute din breaking over the night. We reach another main intersection and head to our left, across a large grassy lawn adjacent to a building which then opens up to the parking lot in front of the BX.

  There must be hundreds, I think looking at the parking lot filled with night runners. Flashes of light appear to the left side, coming from within the building as the soldiers there defend themselves. The night runners are milling in the parking lot for the most part with groups suddenly launching forward with mighty waves of shrieks and roars to attack the building. A true madhouse scene if I have ever seen one.

  “Drescoll, spread quietly and slowly out to the right. Lynn, spread out on me,” I whisper in the radio.

  “Yes, sir,” they both respond. I can barely hear their replies over the noise.

  “What’s the plan?” I hear Lynn ask.

  “Not sure yet but we can’t linger long thinking about it. They’ll spot us soon enough,” I say responding.

  I study the massed night runners. It should not be all that difficult creating a hole for Mullins and his group to escape through; it is the mass of night runners chasing us down afterwards that worries me. And, with them being faster, it will not be long before they catch up to us, certainly before we get to the aircraft.