by John O'Brien
We load the vehicles, fold back into the aircraft and I have Robert and Craig make the short hop back. We’ll all brief later if it’s decided that we’ll go. There is a lot of setup to do with the flight computer for a drop like this and I want to cover how to fly it in detail. Really, it’s not that tough once the setup is complete but I want it to be as precise as possible. I mean, if we get dropped way off target, well, that puts us outside the walls at night — not a pretty thought at all. That would really suck to have our chutes open and find us drifting into downtown Lubbock. Yeah, I’d probably try to climb up the risers in an effort to stay airborne a touch longer.
Robert starts the engines blowing some of the bodies behind the giant props down the ramp a ways. At first the wind pushes at their clothing as the propellers gain speed and then the ones lying across the flow of the hurricane force winds begin to tumble and roll. Dust also blows behind the aircraft behind the engines as we roll out to the runway. The engines rumble louder as Robert pushes the throttles up and we are soon airborne leaving the messy ramp behind.
The flight is a short and unremarkable one. Unremarkable that is until I realize it is my son flying us and that I feel comfortable with that. And will be letting him fly tonight on the drop. I’m not sure that anything has remained the same since the world came crashing down. He sets us down at Kirtland with a pretty good landing and we taxi in to our previous parking spot.
As the propellers wind down, I see several people dressed in ACU’s leave the tower and head our way. We watch as they draw nearer, their long shadows stretching alongside of them to the west. They carry their carbines casually as they approach. I observe them quickly through a set of binoculars and recognize Sergeant Prescott among them. Catching a quick glint of light from the tower, I observe someone on the walkway circling the outside pointing a rifle in our direction. Another flash of light enters my magnified view confirming a scope of some kind is aiming in our direction. Sergeant Prescott is being cautious as well or at least providing himself a backup.
With the aircraft shut down procedures finished, I open the crew door and step outside. I’m not that keen on stepping out where a sniper has a gun trained but with the way Prescott and the others are approaching over the open ramp, I figure he is just being cautious and not planning to ambush us. I have Greg keep an eye on the one on the tower.
Prescott apparently recognizes me and waves after speaking into the mic at his collar. I see a final glint from the upper tower area and Greg informs me that the person has left the perch and retreated inside. With a small sigh of relief, the tension leaves. I think about the time we will still be down here and wish I could get a message back to Lynn. I know she’ll be worrying about our extended absence but there is no way we can communicate with her or the group. As Prescott continues walking to the aircraft, I give a thought hoping they are all doing well.
“I love you and will see you soon,” I whisper to the heavens while staring at the blue sky.
“Sergeant Prescott,” I say extending my hand.
“Um, Jack, sir,” he says taking my hand.
“Yeah, just Jack,” I respond.
“Are you heading back?” Prescott asks.
“Not immediately but soon,” I answer.
“Well, we talked about it and if your offer still stands, we’d like to join you when you do,” he says.
“Of course it does and we’d be glad to have you. We found some others in Lubbock so it’ll be a little crowded but I’m sure we’ll find room,” I say and fill him in on some of the details of our plan.
“You wouldn’t happen to know if there were still PJ’s training here,” I ask finishing. “Specifically any jump equipment.”
“There was a detachment in that building,” he answers pointing to a tan brick building next to a set of hangars. “I’m not sure about equipment though. I know they have, or had, an equipment room inside though.”
“Any night runners?” I ask referring to whether there were any actually inside said building.
“I know they are on base almost every night but who knows where the fuck they hide out,” Prescott answers.
“Alright, let’s get the vehicles off-loaded. Greg, the building looks small enough for one team, let’s take your Echo Team and have a look around,” I say. “Prescott, you’re welcome to join our briefing later if you want.”
“Okay, we aren’t doing any supply runs today so I’d be happy to,” he responds.
He heads off with his group towards the tower as Blue and Red Team unhook and begin backing the first of the Humvees out. Greg and Echo Team see to their gear. I check my mags, radio, and NVG’s as well. I have Robert join me and notify Gonzalez that Red Team will be on back up just outside of the doors.
“Does that mean Bri, sir?” Gonzalez asks.
“Yes, with Bri but make sure she is glued to your side,” I answer. I guess the scales are swinging toward gaining experience today.
The second vehicle is backed out onto the sun-filled ramp. The heat is climbing and I still smell a touch of the slaughter yard of the day prior on my clothes. I think about switching clothes or finding some wood to smoke ourselves in. The smell of dead and rotting flesh is liable to make the night runners start drooling and bring them running if they are inside. I feel so tired and am on the edge of just letting it go but realize that tired leads to shortcuts and shortcuts lead to mistakes; mistakes we can’t afford to make.
Some of the soldiers stand around the second Humvee gulping down water. We are all a tired group far away from home. I wonder if they feel like they are on a tour of duty. It’s similar but we are at least on home soil and not scheduled to be away for a year. I know I’m feeling like being back home in the Northwest. The sanctuary at Cabela’s seems surreal at the moment; like it’s a dream we are trying to get back to. It’s only a four hour flight but it feels like it’s on the other side of the world.
I call Horace over. “Take Blue team and a Humvee to find some dry wood and branches with leaves,” I say.
“Will do, sir,” she answers and strolls away gathering up the rest of Blue Team.
They gather their gear together and, with a slamming of doors which echo across the warming ramp, drive off between two hangars. Horace shouldn’t have far to go as most bases, regardless of where they may be located, like to keep up their appearances with trees and such. The green branches may be hard to come across as the watering systems which kept them that way haven’t worked in some time.
They return after a while with several armloads of both dry and leafy branches. We build a fire on the tarmac well away from the aircraft and any underground fuel locations. The last thing I need right now is to make a huge smoking hole in the ground. With the fire going, I toss on the greenery creating a small amount of smoke which we bathe our clothes in trying to remove the dead cow and sweat smells. Standing next to the fire with the sun beating down in the mid-morning sky brings additional sweat so it may be a moot point trying to cover ourselves with smoke.
We check for rounds in the chamber and pat our gear for assurance before heading over to the building pointed out by Prescott. It’s a smaller building adjacent to the ramp behind a line of MC-130 aircraft. Robert is by my side as we stroll across the ramp and between two of the aircraft. Red and Echo Teams follow behind; their boots striking the hard surface the only sound in the area. A blue Air Force pickup truck is parked in front of the tan single-story building. A single entrance door in set in the middle with a set of double steel doors on the left. A tattered U.S. flag barely hangs on the outside concrete wall to the right.
We walk to the shaded west side of the building and circle up near the set of double doors. I’m thinking these lead to the equipment room as opposed to the single door which may lead to any admin offices that may be inside. At least that’s been my experience; the double doors usually mean crew doors. Of course it could just lead to a large janitor’s closet for all I know. With the door on the side of the structure, it
means that we’ll have less angles to cover which makes it easier and I’m all for easier.
“Okay, Echo Team is in. Red Team, be ready to cover whether that is providing fire for a retreat or entering for additional support. Keep in mind we may be retreating and watch your fire. Robert, you’re with me. Greg, your team is first in. Robert and I will follow and back up where needed,” I say.
The tiredness has vanished from the soldiers’; replaced by their game faces. This is a darkened building and no matter how small it might be, it could still house night runners. We are treading into their domain and that will always increase the pucker factor. I reach out for a split second and don’t sense any night runners. That can’t be taken as fact though. If I can shield myself, so can they. There’s no evidence outside that there are any night runners inside but neither is there anything that shows they aren’t.
“No prob, Jack. See you inside,” Greg says turning to his team and organizing them around the door.
Two take the handles and test them to see if they’re unlocked. Both doors open an inch and the two give Greg a nod. The others stack up in front of the doors ready to enter when the doors swing open. Robert and I are behind Echo.
“Stay close,” I whisper to Robert.
“I’m right beside you,” he replies.
Greg nods and the doors swing open. I feel a jolt of electricity as adrenaline floods my system. Goggles are brought down upon entry and Echo rushes in. Cool air spills out and the sound of boots pound first on concrete and then linoleum. Robert and I take the doors as the two remaining Echo Team members enter and join the others. The sounds of our entry diminish as each team members takes his or her positions inside. I peer in to see an open room with work benches along two of the walls and a large wooden table bolted in the middle of the floor. Echo Team is standing in a semi-circle a few feet inside sweeping the area. I have Gonzalez and McCafferty hold the doors open to allow some of the daylight to penetrate the room. Robert and I step in. The room is small but not small enough to allow the ambient light to penetrate its width or length. Much of the room is left in darkness.
We slide in behind Greg and I tap him on the shoulder letting him know we’re there. Thin beams of light pan out searching every nook and corner. Nothing screeches nor is there the sound of pounding feet heading our way. The room is tomb-like in its silence. Another set of double steel doors is set against the wall to our right. One of the walls has large wooden pegs, some of which are empty while others hold parachutes hanging by the shoulder straps. Other parachutes lie on some of the workbenches and one, with its silk chute draping out of the pack, is on the large work table in the middle. The far wall has an array of shelving with equipment and boxes situated on them. For one of the first times inside a building, there are no bodies on the ground in some stage of decay.
Greg directs two of his team to the steel doors on the right. The yellow tape on the floor taped in arcs indicates that the doors swing inwards. I locate a metal rod under one of the work benches and walk over to the door sliding it through the door handles. If anyone does try to breech the room, the rod should hold the doors closed for a bit and give us a warning. There aren’t the usual small windows inset in the doors so I have no idea what lies on the other side but I’m guessing it’s a larger equipment room as this is apparently the packing room.
Greg looks over to the chutes on the pegs and nods. We walk over to inspect the racks. I know we’ll be hard pressed to find a chute that has been packed within the last 4 months (120 days) as the world has been changed almost that long but it’s worth a look. Hopefully someone had the foresight to pack two MC-4 rigs just before succumbing knowing we would show up and need them; maybe as his or her last act. That would be sweet.
There are four MC-4 rigs packed that are over the 120 days but not by much. A couple of rigs are way over. The shelves hold a few helmets along with some empty rucksacks. There are even a couple of wrist altimeters. I grab those and stash them in the side pockets of my fatigues handing Robert two helmets with visors and goggles attached. I am jolted upright as a very familiar tickle eases into my mind and it’s not a comfortable one. Someone or something has awakened. I guess I’m not able to either sense them when they’re asleep or they can block me out. Perhaps I didn’t open up enough. This is all still so new to me. Whatever the case, night runners are here and close. The sound of running feet enters my range of hearing.
“They’re in here and onto us,” I say and flick my selector switch to auto. A shriek sounds from the other side of the door.
“You think?” Greg says as a slam hits the double doors. The doors bow inward but are stopped by the bar through each of the handles.
“Fuck me,” Robert says bringing his M-4 up aiming at the doors. I hear the click of his M-4 as he slides the selector switch. The sudden jolt of adrenaline is a physical presence in each and every one of us.
“Greg, the chutes,” I yell grabbing one of the later packed rigs off the pegs. Greg quickly grabs another hoisting it on his shoulder and bringing his M-4 to bear on the doors.
The doors bang partially open again. The rod slides part way through one of the handles and is on the verge of falling out altogether.
“Echo Team, we’re leaving,” Greg says.
I touch Robert’s shoulder and nod toward the outside doors and the light. He nods and we begin backing up quickly with our carbines aimed at the doors where night runners are about to enter. We make sure to keep our aim points away from the two soldiers who were by the doors and are backing up as well. Screams fill the room from just a few feet away with only a set of doors between us and them. Another slam pushes the doors open a little before they swing back closed. The rod falls from the handles to the concrete floor with a ringing metallic clang. We are now only a door slam away from however many night runners are in the other room.
I open up and sense only a few of them but in this enclosed room, a few will be too many. I sense a quick, startled series of images before shutting down again. Robert is backing with me and the other team members are to the side of us. Greg is offset in front with the other two who were by the door. A silence ensues and we can only hear the panting of our own breaths. The room may be smaller but everything is happening rapidly and yet slowly. The bangs against the now unblocked door are happening quickly but it seems we are backing to the outside door very slowly. If the night runners enter, it will be mayhem and we will only get a few rounds out before they are upon us.
Another metallic bang against the doors and they both fly inward. Shrieking night runners pour into the small room immediately behind the opening doors. The room lights up with flashes as Greg and the front two team members open fire on the first to enter. Two night runners stop as if they hit an invisible wall. One is launched heavily against the far open door, hits it with a thud and slumps downward. The second is flung backwards and disappears from view. Others enter right on their heels.
The safety of light is near but seemingly far as we are still encapsulated within the darker reach of the room. We are backing steadily but we will be caught if we turn and run. We continue backing quickly as Greg and the other two open fire again. Three night runners enter through the ones falling. They crouch as if about ready to launch at our team members in front. I don’t have a good line of sight to add my fire. The night runners pause, howl, and turn back through the doors into the other room.
I look down seeing a lighter shade of concrete under my feet. We have reached the light pouring in from the outside. The night runners must have known they would be launching themselves into the daylight. One of the far doors swings slowly closed. The other is held open by a night runner lying on the cold, concrete floor.
We pour outside and into the shadow of the building. The heat envelopes us feeling even warmer after coming from the coolness within. Our breaths come out in gasps as we shake off the intense adrenaline rush. Here in the radiant light, the last few moments seem a touch surreal even though it happened o
nly seconds ago. I sure do hate darkened buildings. They don’t seem to like me much either.
My heart is pounding in my chest and it feels like I just can’t catch my breath. Greg drops his chute on the ramp as the outside doors close with a soft clang. “That was fucking close,” he says.
“You got that right,” another of his team says.
I am staring at the now closed double doors. The clang of their closing brought a deep feeling of dread within. Well, not perhaps as deep as when I first sensed the night runners within but I nevertheless have a coldness in the pit of my stomach. I drop my chute to the ground still looking at the doors. I hear the helmets Robert had looped around his arms by the straps hit the ground. Both of them notice me eyeing the doors and turn to look.
“What, you don’t think they’re coming out do you?” Robert asks bringing his M-4 up slightly.
“No, but you know what this means don’t you?” I reply.
“What?” Greg asks as his breathing settles. Red Team formed around us on our exit and all are looking at me.
“The night runners can manipulate and open doors. Not locked ones perhaps but definitely unlocked ones,” I say.
I see eyes gears turn in the minds around me. Some eyes grow bigger as the meaning of what I said sinks in.
“What do you mean, sir?” Denton asks.
“Well, those are the only doors in,” I say pointing to the two sets of doors. “They didn’t break their way in so they had to open those doors. They had to know what they were and how to use them. Whether by accident or not, they can open them.”
“All they had to do was push on them though,” Denton says still a touch confused and not really getting it. I don’t blame him. Adrenaline is still flowing and it can sometimes confuse the logical part of the mind as the system is in a fight or flee mode.
