Depressing a black button in the center, he turned a channel select switch to an unmarked frequency position and pushed the transmit button.
'John, how do you read?' Elliott spoke into the radio.
Aboard the Old Dog, John Ormack pulled the boom microphone of his headset closer to his lips and raised his voice over the noise of the number four engine idling in the background.
'Loud and clear. General. Where are you?Any luck?'
'We're good. We may have what we need. Double-check section five of the tech order. Check on the use of alternate fuels. We might have enough kerosene here… ' 'Stand by. 'Ormack reached behind his seat and pulled out the Old Dog's technical order, the plane's instruction manual, found the listing and keyed his microphone.
'Got it, General. Kerosene is an approved alternate fuel may have trouble with it if it has no anti-icing additive, but we can fly with it.
How much do you have?'
'We got a tank truck that looks like it holds ten thousand gallons.
That's sixty thousand pounds.'
'Should do it,' Ormack asked. 'Dave figured a minimum of fifty thousand to get us to Nome.
'We'll call you back when we're headed toward you.''A B-52 can use kerosene for fuel?' Angelina asked doubtfully 'The books says it can,' Elliott told her. He turned to the Russian. He was no longer smiling and jovial.
'Kak vasha imva?Atkooda vi?' the Russian said stiffly, 'Who are you?
Where are you from?You are not fisherme 'Sputniks,' Elliott said, getting the bare gist of questions. 'Travelers. 'Sergei was still looking suspicious. Suddenly he snatched at the yellow survival radio, and before Elliott could grab it back Sergei had read U.S. AIR FORCE on a back instruction plate. McLanahan quickly raised his revolver to Sergei's head.
'I think we lost our buddy here, troops,' Elliott said and pointed at the truck. 'Patrick, check out that tank truck.
how much kerosene it has.'
McLanahan gave his revolver to Angelina, who pointed it with some expertise at the Russian. McLanahan found a dipstick in the truck's cab, climbed on top of the truck checked the amount of fuel inside through a cap.
'Probably one-quarter full,' he said.
'Not enough. Okay, tovarisch, ' Elliott said in Russian want gasoline in truck. Mnye noozhna binzuh he ta on the truck. Sergei did not move, unsure.
'I'll convince him, General,' Angelina said. She propelled the Russian around to the side of the truck where McLan was busy lifting a high-pressure hose. McLanahan fast one end of the hose onto the truck, the other to one of the valves rising from the ground. Angelina motioned to the truck with her revolver.
'Help him,' she said. The Russian looked at McLan lugging the heavy hose, then blankly back at Angelina. Angelina cocked the revolver and held it to the Russian's forehead. 'Now.
Sergei held up his hands and nodded, walked to McLanahan and gestured for him to reattach the hose at another valve, then removed and replaced the end of the hose at the truck. When the hose was fully attached Sergei opened the valves and kerosene began rushing from the tank to the truck. Minutes later the truck was full.
'Patrick, you drive the panel truck,' Elliott asked. 'Angelina, go with him. I'll ride with our buddy here in the tanker.'
McLanahan ran over to the Zadiv, started it up and waited for Elliott and the Russian to get in the tanker.
'Pazhaloosta, ' Elliott said when he and Sergei had climbed inside the icebox-like cab of the tanker. He gestured at the truck outside the fence, then pointed his pistol at the Russian.
'Vetam napravIvend. Please. This way.'in= watched the muzzle of the.45.When Elliott ntly swung it too high he reached out with his right hand and tried to grab it away. He'd been a clown too long…
A shot rang out, and the windshield of the tanker truck exploded, showering them with shards of glass. Sergei leapt out of the truck, running back around the fence. No longer a hero.
McLanahan and Angelina caught a glimpse of him just as he disappeared down a line of trees that paralleled the flightline road, and Angelina took a shot at him but the bullet ricocheted harmlessly away.
McLanahan ran for the tanker and jumped into the cab.
'You all right, General?'
'Yes, dammit, but things are going to get tense here real quick. 'He turned to Angelina as she came to the right side of the tanker. 'Take the panel truck to the plane. Patrick and I will take the tanker.
Sure as hell he's going to call for help, we won't have much time.
It took a few moments for McLanahan to figure out how to get the fuel truck moving, but soon the two trucks pulled up to where they had half-hidden the Old Dog in a wide parking area between two hangars.
Ormack came running out, the second survival revolver in hand. He saw the smashed windshield, looked to Elliott. 'What… T' 'We had a comrade but he bugged out on us. We've got to work fast before he calls in the Marines. John, you'll be u the cockpit on the fuel panel.
I think I can figure out how to work the pump on the tank truck so I'll be outside. 'He went over to Angelina in the panel truck. 'Pull the truck over to the right wingtip. Patrick, climb up on the right wing, open one of the fuel filler ports and we'll fill it from there.
Angelina help with the hose. Where's Wendy and Dave?'
'I've got Dave in the cockpit monitoring the engine Ormack said.
'Wendy is on the radios calling for help.
'Any luck?'
'Not yet. I'm not sure what anyone can do for us anyway unless we lift off out of here.'
Ormack then began unreeling the refueling hose from the truck while McLanahan climbed on the Old Dog's right win screwdriver in his teeth.
'The main-wing tanks have dozens of holes in them,' Ormack told Elliott as the general began to decipher and operate the truck's pump controls.
'The forward body tank had a few leaks too. McLanahan will pump fuel into the center tank. I'll plan on keeping the fuel in the center, aft and body tanks, but once we get up to engine start and takeoff v have to put fuel in the mains. We'll be losing fuel like crazy after that-' 'Nothing we can do about it,' Elliott said, 'unless you got enough chewing gum to plug the holes. 'Elliott started the truck's fuel pumps and waved to McLanahan, who had the cap off the center-wing fuel tank and was dragging the hose across the wing and over to the fuselage.
'Ready anytime you are, Patrick. 'Huddled against the biting wind, McLanahan inserted the fuel nozzle into the open fuel port on the fuselage between the two huge wings and began pumping fuel. Below him, Orrr ran inside the Old Dog and took Luger's place at the controls.
Luger, right leg heavily taped and bandaged, limped downstairs and out to the fuel truck, carrying several quart cans taped together. 'I found the spare oil downstairs near survival rations. I'll fill up the number two engine with oil-at least we should be able to use it for takeoff before it disintegrates.'
'Good, Dave… how you doing?'
'Great,' Luger said, dropping the case of oil on the fender to spell himself. 'I have a blinding headache, freezing cold and my right leg looks like Swiss cheese. How are you, sir?'
'Got you beat, Dave, but if I talk too much I'm afraid I'll pass out.'
'Let me handle the pump, General. You get inside.'
'No, put the oil in, then see what you can do about ripping loose some of the metal and that broken tip gear off the wings It's all drag-we can do without it. Especially for a sevenengine takeoff.
'You got it, sir… you know, I still don't believe we're doing this. I mean, actually stealing gas from a Russian fighter base 'We may be pumping water into our tanks, for all we know.
There just wasn't time to keep on looking And so saying, Elliott seemed to be drifting off, falling asleep, the rush of adrenaline wearing off…
j Chief Constable Vjarelskiv, the regional militia commander grimaced as he took a sip of what he was told was koffee, a thick liquid of grain and coffee. He took a bite of khl,lep to take the dusty taste away, glaring all the
