“Well, the east wing is closer to what appears to be the loading dock where their vehicles are parked. That’s what I’d choose,” I say studying the map we drew.
“Good point. We’ll head that way then,” Greg says.
“So, if they have the generator going, I’m assuming that will mean the door locks are still engaged throughout the facility, right?” I ask Jim.
“Yep. All of the doors, emergency lighting, alarm systems, and bare kitchen facilities operate off emergency power,” Jim answers.
“How are you going to get through the doors?” Bri asks.
That one is a stumper and I’ve wrestled with it in my mind for some time. I have C-4 but that will make a lot of noise. I know that heat can demagnify a magnet, and therefore the magnetic locks, but that requires a significant amount of heat and how do you do that to the side of a closed door. I have even visualized finding a blow torch in a maintenance department there but that is a bit unreal. The best thing I have come up with is taking down one of the guards and relieving them of their card. I’m assuming they have them in order to be able to freely move about.
“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
