by John O'Brien
“Perhaps I can help ya there,” Jim says. He disappears inside the aircraft and returns with an ID card. “I don’t know if this is still good but I was called back to work when the flu shots began making people sick. I brought it along in case y’all decided to go in.”
“Well, that’s right handy,” Greg says accepting the card.
We cover a few more points with Jim but a lot of it will be on the fly. I’m just glad Lynn isn’t here to hear that thought. And yes, I’m pretty sure she can hear my thoughts. She seems to have a knack for that. Well, I do wish she was here and am missing her something fierce.
Sergeant Prescott and a small contingent of his group make their way over the ramp and join us. I gather Horace and Gonzalez so we can plan for tonight and tomorrow. The sun is high overhead as we gather under the meager shading by the rear ramp. I inform Prescott of the night runner’s position in the building to which he merely nods.
“Are we going to fuel up here?” Robert asks as we settle in a lop-sided circle.
“Bri, how are we on fuel?” I ask.
“We’re still over half full in our tanks, Dad. The external tanks are dry but we still have quite a bit,” Bri answers. Prescott and the others have startled looks on their faces. Yes, that’s right, you heard correctly, my kids are the crew, I think with a smile.
“So we’ll be fine on fuel. I’d rather wait until we can do a proper weight and balance. We’ll have lots of folks onboard along with two Humvees. The AC-130 will be stocked with any ammo we can find in the dumps at Canon. It’s only a four to five hour flight home depending on the winds so let’s wait before taking on any more fuel,” I answer.
We talk for a while coming up with the plan to leave from here, conduct a sunset drop, and Robert landing with the others at Canon AFB. Prescott will be coming with his group when we leave. Horace will lead the rest of the teams to Lubbock in the morning and park in the gully at their old location by the creek. If all goes well, we’ll call them before noon and they’ll meet us at whatever gate we designate. We’ll figure transportation out at that point but that is not really a worry. They’ll also be in a position to back us up if we need it for any reason. We’ll then return to Canon AFB, search for the ammo dumps, load the AC-130, and leave the following day. I tell them that if they haven’t heard from Greg or me by noon, they are to head back to Canon AFB and leave. Greg and I will have to start pre-breathing oxygen on the flight down.
The sun has partially settled in its afternoon position blasting us with its heat. I look to the sky and note it’s clear of clouds. It still seems a touch unreal that we’re going to conduct a drop in a post-apocalyptic world. Too fucking strange. Not only that but my son and daughter are flying me there. I’d like to go back home now please. Or at least be woken up from this very strange dream by the sound of birds chirping outside of my cottage. The sweat trickling down my back and the smoky smell of my clothes tell me that it’s not to be. I forgot it can still be so hot down here this late in the year. Right now, it’s time to pack my gear and try to get some rest.
I grab one of the empty rucks we brought from the building and begin stuffing items into it — ammo, fiber optic camera, C-4 and a variety of fuses (stowed separately from the C-4 of course. The last thing I want is for the buffeting on the way down to bang something against a pencil fuse and ignite it next to the C-4. See the ruck will be close between my legs on the way down. You get the point), a slim jim I brought along, zip ties, signal mirror, first aid kit, and a few other items. I want to keep it light for our trek through the facility. I hook up the ruck to the MC-4 making sure the lanyard is secure. It sure wouldn’t do to release the ruck after the chute deployment and watch it tumble to the ground. Next I gather Robert, Craig, and Bri to set up the navigation computer for the drop.
I pull the oxygen masks out for them and show them how to hook up. We’ll be flying unpressurized so that’s a pretty vital piece. They’ll have to be alert. I’d hate for them to get hypoxic and either pass out or find we’re dropping in the middle of the Caribbean.
“It’s basically like flying any other path. You just have to keep your altitude and the needle centered. Lower the ramp ten minutes out, turn on the red light five minutes out, and the green when the computer distance reads zero. Pretty easy stuff,” I say.
We plan the flight backwards from drop time to takeoff time. I then settle into the cockpit bunk to try and get some sleep telling Robert to wake me an hour prior to takeoff.
It’s stifling inside but I manage to fall asleep for a while. Robert wakens me with afternoon shadows filtering in through the cockpit windows. I rise and make my way to the cargo area still feeling tired but more refreshed than before. Everything is loaded up and the Humvees rechecked to make sure they are secure. The metallic thunk of the ramp closing seems a little too foreboding for my likes. Greg and I don our gear and hook up to the oxygen system. We settle in for the flight, if settle is even the right word. I have butterflies floating around inside thinking about what we are doing.
I’m not even in the cockpit for the takeoff but I have faith in Robert, Bri, and Craig.
It’s been so long since I’ve done this and I can’t believe I’m doing it now. With the engines and aircraft rumbling, we lurch forward on the ramp and to the runway. I feel the familiar game time approaching and settle my thoughts down. The butterflies continue but I focus my mind on the upcoming night. The engines rev and we thunder down the runway. It seems like forever but the nose eventually rises and we are free of the earth. Greg and I are silent, lost in our own thoughts, as the aircraft claws for altitude in the late afternoon sky.
I feel us level off after a while. The heaters are keeping the aircraft warm in the cold, unpressurized altitude. There are enough portable oxygen kits for everyone and we drone on for a short time. McCafferty walks over at one point to tell Greg and I thanks.
“No worries,” both Greg and I reply.
A sound at the rear of the aircraft draws my attention from the scenarios I had been running through my mind. The top of the ramp lifts and the roar of the outside thunders in. The bottom of the ramp begins to lower. The sky behind is painted in yellows and oranges as the sun drifts toward the horizon. The ground, painted in square brown shapes, is far below us.
The horizon tilts as the aircraft banks to a new heading. I have a sudden, deep pride for Robert and Bri. They are controlling this behemoth and doing it well. I would swear it’s an experienced crew up front. Well, they are actually; one of the few left on earth that could be doing this. The horizon stabilizes back to its normal position as we level off again. It’s just about go time.
The red light illuminates. Five minutes. Greg and I disconnect, stand and jump to settle our gear in place; tightening straps, making sure our gear is in place and secured. I tighten my M-4 across my chest. The cargo compartment has become frigid with the warm air being sucked out of the open rear of the 130. We check each other over and shamble over onto the level ramp.
He leans over and shouts, “The screaming you hear on the way down will be me.” The roar threatens to carry his voice away but I catch what he says.
“And the rain drops you feel will be me,” I shout back.
I tighten my chin strap and make sure the clear goggles are firmly in place as I watch for the green light. The ground, rolling slowly below us from the edge of the ramp, is bathed in the dark glow of the setting sun. The western outskirts of Lubbock appear to the right. It’s cold but we won’t be at altitude for long. Our free fall will take us quickly to the warmer and oxygen rich levels. The land below grows darker as the sun hits the horizon, beginning its slow sink to mark the end of another day. The roar of the air whipping by and the engines fills the space in my mind. The red light vanishes and the green light illuminates below it.
“See you on the ground,” Greg shouts.
“Better that than in it,” I shout and launch out of the aircraft into the free air.
I feel myself start to
tumble before old memories flood into my brain. I stabilize quickly feeling the rush of air against my body. My clothes flap madly in the freezing air. It’s a lot like jumping into a cold pond and feeling the shock of it. Brown fields stretch out below with the city showing fully now. Long shadows paint the ground with the sun half way down its day’s final path. I turn a 180 looking for the white roofed compound that is our target, picking it up immediately to the side — side being relative here. The familiar roar of the wind rushes into my ears. It’s amazing just how old things can come back immediately — just like riding a bike.
Greg is about at my altitude and he adjusts to bring us close together. We won’t have much time on our little journey down as we reach our terminal velocity. We are falling at close to 120 miles per hour; almost 200 feet a second. I just hope we aren’t observed as it’s not entirely dark. I look up and see the 130, high above us, finish a turn and begin heading back to Canon AFB.
“Be safe,” I whisper.
I look down and see the ground drawing closer by the second. A glance to my altimeter tells me we don’t have much longer until we deploy. I already feel the warmer air. I think momentarily of other times and the places I’ve had to do this before; the adrenaline that always accompanied this kind of drop and mission. I don’t have time to let my mind meander much beyond the recognizable feeling. If I think beyond the immediate moment, the next thing I’d see would be the walls of the prison flashing by and that would be it; without even enough time for an “Oh shit.”
My fatigues whip as if they’re trying to leave my body. The needle on my altimeter decreases non-stop. It looks like we are right on the money as far as being positioned so I don’t contemplate deploying at a higher altitude and keep dropping. We are approaching our deployment altitude. Greg waves his arms from his chest out. He repeats it again letting me know to clear the area as he is going to deploy. I turn slightly to gain some separation. He reaches down and throws his pilot chute into the slipstream and immediately vanishes upwards. Not that he went up mind you, it just appears that way. He is still falling.
I count a second longer and reach down to deploy mine as soon as I see him disappear. That will give us some altitude separation. My descent slows drastically as my chute deploys. I never did like opening shock but then again, who in the hell does? I look upward to check the chute and see it fully deployed. Reaching down, I release my ruck and watch it drop. It halts and dangles by the lanyard. Everything appears to be in order so I grab the steering handles and begin maneuvering for the most open part of the flat roof. I notice a faint glow of lights from the eastern wing windows on the ground floor. The other wing remains dark. It appears our guess was correct and that’s where we’ll make for. It also means there is a measure of power from a generator located somewhere.
There is a tangle of large pipes and assorted obstacles but I find a large open area. I look around the yard, lost for the most part in the gloom of the evening, searching for anyone outside or some sign we’ve been spotted. The large area between the buildings and the walls appears clear. I focus on the landing. There isn’t any wind so my inbound direction is left to my discretion. It is light enough that we don’t need to deploy our NVG’s mounted on our helmets but I wouldn’t need those in any case. My landing spot draws close and I flare just above the ground, taking a few steps until I stop. I drop the handles and release the chute which falls to the roof, draping over pipes and air vents. I move out of the way and Greg lands moments later. We gather our chutes and shrug off our packs, stuffing them under several pipes. We then gather our gear and look around.
Michael wakes just like he has so many nights before, present to the other packs in the area waking and readying for the nightly hunt. He tamps the thought to the back to his mind and scampers through the main store. This night is different though as he looks to the shelves, some a little bare but all still with packages of some sort. He knows a lot of them hold food and some of them definitely don’t. He could just sit inside again and break item after item and fill himself. The store holds evidence of the night before when he did just that. Broken bags lie in some aisles while others hold torn and twisted cans. Some cans lie near the outside walls where he bashed them until their contents fell to the ground. Some aromas of that food linger in the still air.
Tonight though, he wants to hunt. He wants the rush of the chase and the thrill of the catch. Michael wants to smell the musky scent of prey and the sweet taste of flesh and blood. With the excitement building, he heads out of the broken doors and into the chill parking lot. The remains of his previous pack members lie decaying on the pavement where they fell. The memory of that night is still fresh.
Sniffing the air, he sets off toward a lingering scent of food, his feet pounding the hard pavement as he sets off into the night. Running down a street chasing a particularly elusive scent, a flash erupts near one of the buildings, turning the night into day for a brief moment. Adrenaline launches through his system immediately bringing him into a fight or flight mode. He changes direction in mid-step and hides in a recessed doorway. The flash he recognizes from nights prior but he still doesn’t know what causes it. It’s like the flashes from the stick the two-legged ones carry but there isn’t the resounding boom that follows. He edges out of his hiding place and looks to where the light came from.
He sniffs and tests the night air. Nothing out of the ordinary other than the trail he is following and a stale odor of a pack that passed this way a while ago. He looks and doesn’t see anything moving. Cautiously, he steps out from the doorway onto the sidewalk ready to dart back at a moment’s notice. Nothing happens. Michael walks into the street watchful for any movement. Curiosity takes hold and he walks slowly over to the area. His muscles tighten as he draws near the source of the light.
There, on the wall of a building close to the street, he sees something attached. He walks closer stepping up on the sidewalk mindful of the flash of light just prior to losing his pack and almost his life. This, however, is just the light without the roaring explosion. Stepping in front of the object, the light flashes again leaving the aftermath of a bright spot of light in his sight and ruining his night vision. He leaps and starts running down the street but halts after a moment. His night vision returns. He’s still alive.
The curiosity takes hold again and he warily walks back keeping to the side of the object this time. It doesn’t flash. He looks hard at the object on the wall about chest high. Somehow, and he doesn’t know how, Michael grasps it’s from the two-legged ones. A very faint lingering odor from them is attached to the object. Along with the awareness that it’s from the dangerous two-legged ones, he understands it is not here for the good of his kind. It takes some doing but he pries it from where it rests and throws it on the ground with a loud cracking sound. There is a little sound of glass shattering and pieces shoot out from the object. He quickly waves his hand over it but there is no accompanying bright light.
He opens himself quickly to the others sending an image message to destroy the objects if they’re found. Tucking the others in the back of his mind again, he sets off on the trail he was following.
She and her pack smash the glass door into a large building with the images sent the night before of a new food source fresh in her mind. She is still intrigued about the sudden appearance and then disappearance of this strong one of her kind. Sending a message to her pack, they begin to take items off the shelves and break them open. Some smell like food while others are definitely not. A few cautious tastes and the pack tears into those items that seem edible. She smashes a heavy metallic object on the ground and then against the wall trying to get it to spill its contents, anxious to find out if its food. The can hits wall with a thump and falls to the floor rolling around before coming to a stop. The awareness she felt last night suddenly materializes again.
A flurry of images enters her mind. They are spoken in a simplistic method so all understand. They are pictures of a certain kind of object that
emits bright flashes along with a message to destroy them. She hasn’t seen the objects nor witnessed the bright lights mentioned. What does process is that she will take her pack west tomorrow night to get closer to this strong one. Tonight they will hunt in this place and begin the journey on waking the next night. She knows it will be a far trek but they should be able to make it before the bright, painful light appears in the sky. She sends the information to her pack. They stop what they are doing to listen and then rip into the packages again. The awareness vanishes as suddenly as it appeared.
The next night, the pack wakes. She turns back at the door to look at their lair after the others have passed outside. She is worried about leaving their shelter but will lead her pack westward nonetheless. With a last look, she turns and heads out into the night.
They stop at the store to pick up items from their new food source. She tells the pack that they will carry their food and to find items to bring with them. There will be no hunt tonight yet they must eat. It will be a long journey and they will need food to sustain them. The pack rushes in to gather items and rejoins her in the parking lot shortly thereafter. She rubs her stomach and worries about the effects of the long journey on her young one. She is strong so thinks she will be okay. The pack follows her as she heads down one of the large, hard paths leading in the direction of the one she sensed.
She paces the pack, alternating between a jogging run and walking, as they travel beneath the dark night lit by the other light in the sky. She feels a tingling on her skin from the bright white light hanging in the night sky but it’s only a very small sensation; more of an awareness than anything else. The night is silent with the exception of feet slapping the pavement behind her when they break into a trot.
The hours pass. They are a large pack running beside trees pressed up against the side of the path. Their passage is marked by the sound of their feet and their ghostly shapes passing by. A strong scent of prey comes upon them. They have stopped to fill up on what they brought but there is a hunger still. The smell brings thoughts of the hunt and the thrill of it. Sensing agitation among her pack as they want to chase the delicious aroma, she sends a message to keep on.
