surrounding the parking lots and stretching to the trees in the distance. I make a mental note to talk with Bannerman about putting an overhang over the edges so the night runners can’t scale the sides. I still don’t know how they managed it but I put nothing past their abilities anymore. I’m sure there will be more surprises in store and I hope we’ll be able to meet them.
The shadows of the evergreens in the distance spread across the fields below us marking the slow transition of day towards night. I think about the lots below us filled with night runners as the night envelops us. I wonder how long they will continue coming to this building if they aren’t able to get in.
The sun slides down behind the mountains sending a last ray across the orange-lit horizon. The ray signals that our time of the day has gone and the time of the night runners has begun. We stand as one and bid the day farewell, each in our own way. After sealing the doors closed, we head to the restaurant for dinner. I pass by Bannerman mentioning the roof edges. As with the nights before, our evening meal becomes momentarily interrupted by the first of the attempts by night runners. The resounding echo reminds us that we are far from being out of danger.
The night passes like the others. The noise from the night runners, as they slam into the doors, has almost a rhythm to it; rising and falling as if the rhythm itself were alive. Several louder ones startle me during the night but I’m able to get a semblance of rest.
The next day starts like the last one. I rise and see Lynn going about the teams, waking them for their morning training. I’m tired but don’t have the exhausted feeling I’ve had on prior mornings. Lacing my boots up, I wonder just how long I’ll be able to put up with these cots. After rubbing the sleep from their faces, everyone gathers their gear and heads down the stairs. With the morning training complete and a bite in us, I gather up Red Team. Lynn catches me just as we are leaving.
“Jack, would you mind heading to the aircraft to see if, well, just see if the note is still there?” She asks taking me aside.
“Of course, hon,” I say pulling her close and holding her tight. There’s so much more I’d like to say but we understand each other and there’s nothing more to be said.
We begin our journey north for a repeat of yesterday, well, hopefully not an exact repeat. The day is an almost complete replica of the day before with the exception that a few, high wisps of clouds sweep across the blue background. Those high, innocent wisps indicate a front trying to move in. It may mean our test to see how clouds affect night runners may be coming soon. Or maybe the high pressure over us will win out and we’ll be blessed with more warm, sunny days.
The helicopter sits on the ramp where I left it, or some might say deposited it, yesterday. It sits as if inviting me to another round. I gather my things and trudge over in order to make another attempt to master my skills. Going through the check list once again, the rotors overhead respond as if accepting a challenge. I feel a touch more comfortable but still feel hesitant remembering some of yesterday’s lovely experiences. I roll the throttles up and feel the vibration increase. Lifting up, I feel the skids go light like the many times before only this time I don’t go shooting across the ramp.
Working my way through pedal turns and some forward and back moves, I lift higher off the ground and work on other maneuvering. After a point, it’s better to have altitude for maneuvering to give a little more margin for error. Of course, if I was to make an error requiring said altitude then I’m pretty screwed anyway. I get the hang of it after a bit, using the term “getting the hang of it” liberally but I find I can maneuver. I practice turns, climbs and basic maneuvers.
I maneuver around the airfield incrementally testing turns and such before setting it back down with a thump. Yeah, I’ll have to work on my landings some. The others gather around and we eat a bite with the sun climbing toward its zenith casting warm rays of sunshine on our shoulders.
“Anything on the radio?” I ask Gonzalez as she and the rest of Red Team draw near.
“Nothing much, sir,” she answers. “Just teams reporting in and the drivers calling out their locations.”
“Good. Let’s finish up with lunch and enjoy a moment. I’ll refuel and then see if I can get this beast back to Cabela’s,” I say. “Before we leave though, I would like to pop into one of the squadron buildings and see if we can find some manuals.”
“Can I go with when you fly down?” Robert asks as we open our rations and lean against the Humvee together.
I’m glad to see he has the same adventurous spirit as I do but I also know that he wants to take every opportunity to learn. He is a lot like me in that way. He always wanted to try new things and never hesitated when I suggested something where he thought he would learn. I feel stuck here though. The feeling stems from the great sense of loss for Nic and knowing I could never go through that again. Even though it’s been a short time, our situation has forced some of those deep grief feelings down inside. On the other hand, I want him to have experiences and I have to balance my protective nature against his need to learn. This seems to come up too many times and I still don’t have the right answer.
“Okay, you can go,” I say.
We finish with our meager lunches. Robert and I head off for one of the fuel trucks parked adjacent to one of the open, brown hangars. The fact that we’re toting M-4s in our hands is really the only surreal thing I feel at this moment. The quiet of the fort and surrounding area doesn’t seem as unreal as we walk across the light gray pavement, feeling the warmth rising from it. I’m sure that feeling will rise again in some instances but with the progress we’ve made and our days spent in this new world, I seem to be getting used to the quiet. My mind is no longer telling me that there should be a tremendous amount of noise associated with what my eyes are seeing.
We drive the truck over talking about the day and other ordinary topics with Robert wanting to know what is was like flying the Kiowa. Describing the differences I noticed, we set up the fuel line and refuel. He asks questions trying to fit the answers within the frame of reference he has with the 130.
“In a way it’s very similar but is touchy as anything,” I say as we finish up.
“Kinda noticed,” he says with a small smile.
“You too!?” I ask.
“Well, it was pretty funny. That’s of course after we figured out you weren’t going to take out everything else around you,” he replies with a chuckle remembering. “You took off to the side like you had a rubber band attached.”
I chuckle imagining his perspective. There’s an apprehensive tone to our conversation because we subconsciously realize we are about to enter an unknown building. I know if we have to penetrate too far in, I’ll just call the whole thing off. The info within is not as important as the info we needed from the CDC. I’m hoping we can find something just inside the building. We’ll be able to use the helmets we took from the HC-130 so I don’t need an equipment room but who knows where I’ll be able to find a manual without going deeper inside.
I stand at the Humvee with the others after dropping the truck back at its location. Shading my eyes from the overhead sun, I glance around at the various buildings. I know the Air Force bases put the squadron buildings next to the ramp and I’m hoping the Army did the same. That way we won’t have to play “find the building” as well. The glare from the sun prevents me from reading any of the signs by the tan buildings.
“None of you would know which would be the squadron or wing building would you? Well, I mean the battalion or regiment building?” I ask the others while still facing the buildings as if the answer will shout forth from them. I’m actually studying the buildings to see if I can denote which one it could be.
“No, sir,” they all respond.
“Well, let’s go have a look,” I say picking one likely candidate.
We check our gear and make our way across the ramp towards the nearest building. The day is becoming quite warm, the kind where the stillness and warmth lends itself to a peaceful day spent lying on a bed of grass near water; napping and lazing the time away. I notice an aviation battalion sign outside of the first building we come to so I’m drawn to explore this one first. The first story building is the usual concrete block building found on most bases and forts and is painted in the familiar light brown. It features one large window on the left, with the
