fills the room. The ghostly outlines of gray faces mill agitatedly at the edge of the radiating light. I fire a burst into the milling crowd, concentrating on one face that is thrust toward me, its mouth open and emitting a loud, shrieking roar, and watch its head explode as it falls backward into the darkness beyond.
“Motherfuckers!!! Come and get some you assholes!” I yell back into the gloom. Adrenaline-rushed fear seems to refocus itself towards anger in me once a situation has stabilized to a certain extent.
I rise to my feet and step toward the darkened hallway, firing another burst into one of the dimly outlined bodies only to watch it too launch backward into the darkness. More popping sounds combine with the roar of the crowd beyond as I continue stepping toward them squeezing off bursts. The gunpowder smell once again fills the air, mixing with and then overwhelming the previous stench. My barrel makes slight alterations in the air as I focus on one target after another, cartridges clinking as they bounce across the tiled floor. I reach the halfway point in the lobby and a single, unified shriek sounds out. The ghostly faces disappear seemingly as one. The only sounds are growls and pounding footsteps as they run away down the hallway, diminishing in volume as the darkness swallows them up.
I stop and reload, contemplating chasing after them as my heart pounds from the adrenaline and chase. Sanity prevails, in the darkness and with their number, the advantage is theirs. With a heavy sigh, I stoop to pick up the empty magazine as silence returns to the room. “Well, I’m not going to get any info here,” I mutter crawling out of the door and into the mid-morning light with the aftermath still roaring in my ears.
Stepping out from the entrance shadows, I walk over to the Humvees. The kids stand huddled near the front of the first Humvee, watching my approach. “What the hell was all of that? Did you find anything?” Robert asks.
“Yeah, I found something alright,” I answer.
“What happened, Dad? Are you okay?” Nic asks noticing the splotches of blood on my face.
“Yeah, babe. It’s not mine,” I say wiping my face with my sleeve.
“There sure are enough of those things in there,” I continue realizing I have to pee like crazy as my heart slows to normal and the adrenaline levels decrease.
Taking care of business behind a Humvee, I reload the empty magazine, depleting the remaining ammo in the can, and stick the now full mag back into the vest pocket. “What happened in there?” Robert asks as I finish up and rejoin them.
“Never mind. Let’s head to the flight line. Same thing as before,” I say removing the vest and set it inside.
In the Humvees once again, we turn around and head north after exiting the hospital lot. The tails of C-17s stick up from the buildings as we close in on the flight line and I am still amazed that we haven’t seen a single other soul.
I pull out onto the ramp looking at the seven C-17s parked there.
My gaze travels along the ramp to the north. “No way!” I breathe loudly. There, sitting off by itself, like an outcast and lonely kid on a playground, a familiar shape is parked on the transient ramp. The familiar hump above the wing with its four huge four-bladed props.
“What?” Robert asks in response.
I merely point toward the aircraft sitting to the north of us and his head swivels in that direction. “Is that a 130?” He asks knowing full well that it is.
“Yep. And, you see that hump. That tells me it’s an HC-130.”
“Isn’t that what you flew? Are we going to take that instead?” He asks.
“It’ll add to our time enroute, but yes, let’s go check it out.”
We walk back to the vehicles and drive north along the ramp, coming to a stop by the nose of the C-130; the red flags from the various pins and engine covers sway in the breeze. We jump out and I look toward the base operations building adjacent to the ramp by us. Surely there is someone around here, but only the gentle summer morning embraces us. I walk around the aircraft, looking for any leaks or signs that it is not airworthy. A ground power unit sits by the left nose of the aircraft with its lines hooked up. External tanks are attached to both wings.
Finishing with a quick perusal, I walk to the crew entrance door. Opening it, the door swings slowly downward. Above me, immediately inside the entrance, the small galley sits and a step or two inside, stairs lead up to the cockpit. To the right, the cargo compartment opens up; a bulkhead separates the cockpit from the cargo compartment. The cargo compartment is dimly lit by light streaming in from two windows, each one set into the fuselage on either side.
Stepping off the stairs and walking to the rear of the 130, I lower the rear ramp. The sound of the motors inside stops when the ramp lowers itself to the asphalt with a clunk. I peer inside. There, taking up most of the cargo area, are large fuel tanks with a small aisle on the left leading to the front. A catwalk leads up over the inside tanks. Only a little cargo space is left in the rear. Other than the fuel tanks, the cargo interior is empty.
“Wait here,” I say stepping up on the ramp.
Ready for any action, I walk inside and up the aisle. Next to the bulkhead and over a window, a cot lies against the right fuselage. An olive drab helmet bag lies on top. Several red nylon troop seats are folded up against the left fuselage. I continue forward and up the cockpit steps. Helmet bags lie on the four seats within along with the various consoles filling the interior. The memories jostle around inside my head as I reach over and turn the DC power switch to battery and the AC to internal. Needles flicker on the various instruments and I hear the instrument gyros spinning up. Looking up on the fuel panel, all gauges on the main and aux fuel panels have swung over to the right indicating full. Stepping over to the fuselage tank panel, I see both tanks register full.
I walk back outside. “Are we taking this one?” Robert asks as we all gather around by the ramp.
“Yeah, this one looks operational so I think so. I’ll have to take it up to make sure and acquaint myself with it again.”
“Are we going with?” Nicole asks.
“I don’t know as yet. Let’s get the stuff loaded out of the vehicles and I’ll think on it.”
I am in a bit of a quandary. It has been a while since I took one of these babies aloft so really don’t want them onboard for a familiarization flight, but I also don’t want them on the ground if someone does show up while I’m airborne and off gallivanting in one of their airplanes without even asking permission first.
We load the gear out of the Humvees and into the cargo space, stacking it as best as we can. I rummage through the crew chief’s space finding several tie downs and lash the equipment down, leaving out the sleeping bags and some water. Finishing with the offloading and parking the Humvees over by the base ops building, we meet by the ground power unit at the front of the 130. A set of headphones sits on the handle with a long cord coiled up next to it.
“This is a start cart. Michelle and Nic, you’ll be outside here during the start. Nic, you’ll have the headset and when I tell you to disconnect, you pull the cart and headset cords out, wrap them up, close the latch, and then wheel it around the ramp to the back and push it in if you can. If not, Robert or I will come back after the start up.” I tell them and show them how to operate the cart.
“I guess this means we are coming with then huh,” Bri says.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I say not completely realizing I had made a decision.
“What about the props, they are pretty close?” Michelle asks eyeing the giant propellers close by; each one extending outward thirteen feet.
“Not to worry, I’ll be starting the other side first. Both of you come inside the cargo area when you get the cart to the back and one of you come into the cockpit to let me know you are clear of the outside area.”
“Robert and Bri, you’re with me,” I say and walk around the aircraft pulling the pins, intake covers, and
