Chaos

in a dark void with only the stars shining brightly above us; the only indication of our movement is the mileage on our nav instruments slowly counting downward as we drone ever closer to our destination.

About 250 miles out from Lajes Field, I pull the throttles back and start a gradual descent. “Okay guys, if there is anyone left there, it’s the same as we talked about before. As far as you know, I’m on a mission to pick up some soldiers in Kuwait. I picked you up and we headed out. Don’t lie about anything other than the mission you believe I’m on. And let me do the talking.” I’m really going to have to come up with a good reason why I have brought kids along on a military mission. I mean, you can’t just plop your family on a military aircraft and head off any time you want. That would be very much frowned upon. I rack my brains trying to come up with something but nothing plausible emerges. I guess I’ll just wing it if I have to.

“Okay, Dad. Do you think there will be anyone there?” Bri asks with a twinge of both excitement and worry in her voice.

“I’m not sure, hon.”

“What about me?” Michelle chimes in. “Am I supposed to be yours as well?”

“Hmmm, haven’t thought about that one. I think we’ll need to keep it as real as possible so our stories match up and are believable so you’re Robert’s friend that we picked up on the way.”

Descending through 10,000 feet, I set up the instrument approach on my nav while maintaining the enroute plot on Robert’s. The stars still glitter above us and the weather looks clear. The nav system shows the wind out of the south at about twenty knots so I set up the approach I designed for runway 15.

A little over 15 minutes out, I switch over to the UHF guard. “Lajes approach, this is Otter 39 on UHF guard.”

To my absolute astonishment, I get the following reply back, “Otter 39, Lajes approach on guard. Contact Lajes approach on xxx.xx,” Uh oh, I think. Someone’s home and there’s going to have to be some quick explaining. Can I hide the kids? No, that might even be worse if they were found. Surely they know the situation and will understand. I’m going to go with that for now.

“Otter 39 roger. Lajes approach on xxx.xx.”

I switch the radio. “There’s someone there?” Bri asks.

“Apparently so,” I answer and key the mic.

“Lajes approach, Otter 39, an HC-130 100 miles west descending through one zero thousand. Request vectors for the straight in for the ILS runway one five.”

“Otter 39, Lajes approach copy. Squawk 0271 and ident. Altimeter three zero one four, landing runway one five.”

I set up the code in the IFF and flick the ident button. This will create a momentary larger blip on their radar screen allowing for a positive identification.

“Otter 39, Lajes approach, radar contact. Turn left heading 070 degrees, descend and maintain seven thousand. This will be vectors for the straight in ILS one five. State departure point and destination.”

“Lajes, copy that. Otter 39 passing through niner thousand for seven. Left to 070. Departed Lewis McChord. Destination classified.”

I am still astonished and my mind is working overtime thinking about what kind of reception we are going to get and setting up for the approach. Although civilian aircraft do refuel here, I am in a military aircraft landing at a military field. And, oh yeah, I kinda borrowed this aircraft. My worry meter is climbing steadily.

Approach control gives us vectors to the instrument approach and we set up for landing. Passing the final approach fix, configured for landing, with the runway lights ahead of us and the lights from the base to the side, we are told to contact the tower.

“Lajes tower, Otter 39 on final for runway one five with the gear,” I say after switching to the tower frequency.

“Otter 39, Lajes tower, cleared to land runway one five.”

We touch down, reverse thrust, and slow to taxi speed. “Otter 39, Lajes tower. Taxi to the end of the runway onto the taxiway and shut down. Contact ground on xxx.xx leaving the runway for further instructions.”

“Otter 39 copies.”

Taxiing to the end of the runway, I pull off onto the taxiway and stop the aircraft contacting ground on the assigned frequency. “Ground, Otter 39 clear of the active.”

“Otter 39, ground, roger. Shut down there. Security will meet you. Remain on this frequency. State souls on board.”

“Ground, Otter 39 copy. Five souls on board. Shutting down and remaining on freq.”

Going through the shutdown procedure, I pull the prop levers back and the props begin their long, winding journey down. To our right, through the windscreen, multiple vehicles are approaching on the taxiway with blue lights flashing. “Otter 39, ground. Open your crew door and ramp.”

“Ground, Otter 39 roger,” I say and direct Robert into the back to open the door and ramp.

The security vehicles pull up, stopping a short distance away in a semi-circle around the nose of the aircraft. With the sky lighting in the east, signaling the coming dawn, security personnel scramble out of their vehicles; several taking positions behind the hoods and three stepping up by the crew door.

“Otter 39, exit out of the crew door one at a time keeping your hands in sight and unarmed.”

“Otter 39 roger.”

We leave our weapons on the seats with our helmets and head to the now open crew door. Spotlights illuminate the entirety of the aircraft, blinding me as I walk down the door stairs, setting my flight cap on my head. I barely make out three security personnel standing off to one side, silhouetted by the blinding lights. The kids follow me out and down, exiting one at a time. I stop at the bottom and am met by an Air Force Tech Sergeant. “This is your crew, sir!?” He asks in an incredulous manner, stopping in front of me and saluting.

“It is, Sergeant,” I say returning the salute.

“Anyone else on board, sir?” He asks.

“No, Sergeant Watkins,” I reply back noticing his name tag. “This is it.”

He turns and grabs the mic at his right shoulder, “Cressman, take bravo and secure the aircraft.”

Sergeant Watkins then turns back to me. “Sir, I was instructed to bring you to Colonel Wilson. Actually, I was instructed to bring the entire crew, but given the circumstances here, I will escort you and allow, um, them, to remain here.”

“Very well, Sergeant, lead the way.”

Sergeant Watkins turns to a senior airmen standing to the right and behind. “Calloway, notify the tower, base ops, and the Colonel’s office of our situation. Tell the Colonel’s office we are bringing a Captain Walker to him and then meet me back here.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Airman Calloway says and trots over to one of the vehicles.

“Sir, I heard you came out of McChord,” Watkins says as we await Calloway’s return.

“Yeah, two days ago,” I reply.

“How is it back there, sir?”

“Not good,” I answer and he just shakes his head.

“How is it here?” I ask

“I am not sure I’m at liberty to say, sir,” he answers as a security member pokes his head out of the door above us.

“Sergeant Watkins,” the young airman calls out. Watkins turns toward the airman and the airman continues, “The aircraft is all clear. Some weapons in the cockpit and cargo bay which we secured.”

“Okay Jones,” Watkins replies back. “Bring the rest of bravo out and sit with these kids here.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Jones says and disappears back into the cargo bay.

“Yours, sir?” Watkins asks nodding toward the kids standing at the bottom of the ramp, their heads all turned towards us.

“Most of ‘em,” I reply and he merely nods.

Calloway returns a short time later. “Sergeant, I’ll be expecting our weapons back once we return,” I say as Calloway draws up.

“Yes, sir. This way if you please, sir,” Watkins says extending his arm in a sweeping motion, inviting me