need on the ramp, walk back into the lobby, grab some of the comfortable chairs, and drag them out onto the ramp. Lastly, I grab the large, round coffee table out and add it to the arrangement
Walking over to the 130, I find everyone gathered around the parked fuel truck. My watch reads 10:57 as I glance down at it. “Michelle and Nic, grab some packaged food from inside and meet us over in front of base ops,” I say above the sound of the running truck beside us.
I walk over to the fuselage and open the refueling point. After unwinding the fuel hose and connecting it to the aircraft, I put the truck into its PTO position and open the fuel lever, flipping the switches to the tanks at various intervals and fill them.
“Drive this back and meet us at the building,” I tell Robert after refueling. Bri and I walk to the outdoor seating area I have created. “I love you, sweetheart,” I tell her wrapping my right arm around her and giving her a hug. “I love you too, Dad,” she responds leaning into me.
Back in front of base ops, I take off the vest and set it beside a chair, sitting down as Robert, Michelle, and Nic arrive. “My guess is that we won’t be able to take off today, so we’ll flight plan, input the coordinates in the nav system, and hunker down in the aircraft for the night.”
Michelle and Nicole put packages of food on the table and we all dig in. I pull some of charts out and lay them on the table as I eat, marking routes and jotting down coordinates to input into the onboard navigation system. The only time I get up is to retrieve some rubber bands and sticky note markers so I can later quickly find various pages and approach charts.
The planned route takes us first to Naval Air Station Brunswick in Maine. The Coast Guard flies HC-130’s out of there so I know there should be plenty of fuel available. The route takes us basically along the US/Canadian border on a route of 075 degrees out of McChord. The first leg is about 2,500 miles and should take us a little over 6 ? hours without any wind either helping or hindering us. From Brunswick, our next stop is the Azores, a flight of almost 2,400 miles and a little over 6 hours with a bearing of 085 degrees. Then the dicey hop from the Azores to Kuwait. That leg is about 4,200 miles leaving very little margin for error as our max range is about 5,000 miles. That will be the doozy taking almost 11 ? hours to complete on a route of 075 degrees.
On our first two legs, we will lose three hours due to the time difference. The sun sets around 2030 so we will need to be off the ground by 1100 in order to make it there in daylight hours. Our last leg will cost us four hours so we need to be off from the Azores by 0500. Calculating the flight times and fuel, jotting down the coordinates, arranging the approach charts, marking the maps and putting them together has taken a little over an hour. Finishing the flight planning, I take the charts up to the cockpit, laying the ones for the first leg on the nav table and stowing the remaining bags under it. I sit and contemplate the options; leave now and try a night landing with night vision goggles thereby gaining a day but at substantially higher risk, or wait until morning.
I walk out of the aircraft and hear a noise that I have not heard in days; the sound of a vehicle and its noise shatters the stillness we have become accustomed to. It sounds as if it is coming from farther in the base. I look over at the kids and see they have all turned to look in the sound’s direction; Robert and Michelle stand alert and tense. The sound is nearing. I pick up the pace and trot over to our nice outdoor patio where I have left the M-4 sitting by my chair. I pick it up as a red car pulls out onto the ramp. It stops for a moment and then turns towards us, slowly approaching our position.
Stopping about thirty feet away, a man in his mid-twenties steps out, dressed in jeans and a blue Old Navy t-shirt. White tennis shoes poke out from the bottom of his jeans. Turning toward us, he is holding something and smiling from under his short, wavy brown hair.
“Lose something?” He calls, waving the wrench we threw overboard and walks over.
Setting the M-4 back down, I smile and take the wrench offered in his hand. “Yeah, we kinda dropped something back there,” I say nodding in the direction of the mall. “Much obliged to you for bringing it back.”
“You made a pretty big dent on that BMW. It’s pretty much scrap metal now. Impressive though,” he says smiling back.
“Did you hit a car with that?” Robert asks putting the current dialog and my previous ‘ouch’ comment together.
“Um, yeah, kinda,” I answer.
“I’m Jack,” I say reaching with my hand toward the young man.
“Andrew,” he says, shaking mine in return.
“Have you seen anyone else around?” I ask after introducing everyone else.
“I saw a couple of cars heading down my street yesterday and a few people in some windows but no one as yet today. Heard lots of those things screaming and hollering last night.”
“So, what’s your story Andrew?”
“Well, I’m a biology student up at ‘UW.’ At least I was until this whole thing started. I’ve been holed up in my apartment for the most part but ventured out to see if I could get some supplies then I saw you guys and your note, and, well, here I am. Are you in the Air Force?” He asks looking my flight suit up and down.
“Um, yeah sure, I guess so. Well, I was some time ago. My girlfriend is over in Kuwait and we’re heading over there to pick her up. You’re welcome to join us if you like.”
“Well, I’m actually going to head over to Spokane to look for my parents. But thanks anyway. It’s just good to know that there are actually others around.”
“We’ll be back in about six days. Why don’t we just check in here around noon a week from now and we’ll hook up then.”
“Sounds good. I wish you luck then,” he says holding his hand out again.
“And to you Andrew,” I say shaking his hand goodbye. He gets back into his red Acura and retraces his route; the sound of his car diminishes in the distance until the sound of silence embraces us once again.
“Okay guys, I’ve been thinking, yeah, I know, a dangerous thing, but I’ve decided we should start as soon as possible.”
“What about wanting daylight for landing?” Nic asks.
“Well, if it’s clear and we can find the airport, which should be simple enough with GPS, then we’ll hopefully pick up the runway with the landing lights clearly enough. If not, then we always have night vision available but that’s the iffier solution. These things seem fairly rampant and a day could make all of the difference.”
“What about the chairs and stuff?” Bri asks standing up with the others.
“Just leave ‘em. I don’t think there’s anyone around to mind.”
“Michelle, you’ve been awfully quiet. Feel free to speak your mind if you have any thoughts or input.” I say as we arrive at the aircraft.
“Okay, um, Jack. Will we need the cart from the back?” She responds.
“No, we’ll make this start on battery.”
Closing the crew door behind us, we step in and buckle up in the same seats. I turn the electrical systems to battery and let everything warm up. The aircraft has two navigation systems. One is operated by equipment located on the center console and at the nav station receiving their input from the various ground navigation systems throughout the world. The other is a separate GPS/inertial navigation system getting its information from satellites. It’s a complicated system with many very nice features, such as the ability to input any coordinates and create an instrument approach anywhere. It’s this system I plan to use as the ground nav systems will most likely be inoperative. With the system warmed up, I test it and ensure the coordinates shown are identical to the ones stenciled on the ground by our parking place. The next twenty minutes are spent inputting our route coordinates and setting up approaches to mimic the instrument approaches at the various fields we will be landing at, showing everyone the basic functionality.
Starting the aircraft up, we taxi to the runway and take off into the early afternoon sky. “Okay, it’s 1300 so we should expect to arrive around 2230 East Coast Time,” I say turning the aircraft on an easterly heading of 075 degrees then reach up to set the pressurization system. “Let me know if you have any problems with your ears.”
We climb with the sun overhead, the mostly forested hills of the Cascades float below. Mount Rainier slides by to the south of us, its snowy peak still reaching up above the horizon. At 16,000 feet, I raise the nose slightly and retrim the aircraft to 160 knots from the 180 knots we were climbing out at; the steady roar of the engines reverberates throughout. There is not a car moving on the few roads and highways that thread their way through the high, desert plains of eastern Washington below us, growing smaller as we continue our climb.
“Set altimeters to 29.92,” I say as we pass through flight level 180 and reach ahead to make the setting,
