parachute.
We are soon started up and, with an increase in power, the 130 reluctantly begins to move. It takes more runway than usual but we are airborne and slowly claw our way to altitude. I look across the Puget Sound thinking I may catch a glimpse of the Santa Fe but there is nothing to be seen plowing the waterways. Turning toward the morning sun, we set a course to the southeast and our first stop at Mountain Home AFB where one of the soldiers has a wife and two kids. They apparently chose to reside in their hometown while he deployed to the Middle East.
It’s only about an hour and a half flight to the base so we may be able to launch our search of the town of Mountain Home upon our arrival depending on what we see. I plan to fly over the town to scout it out before landing. The snow-capped peak of Mount Rainier is off to our left and we pass directly over the crater of Mount St. Helens. The warm crater has wisps of steam rising from the dome in the middle. The forested hills of the Cascade Mountains give way to the brown fields of eastern Washington and we are soon over the Blue Mountains of northeastern Oregon.
We pick up Interstate 84 on the other side of the mountains and I begin a slow descent. We will basically follow the highway to Mountain Home. Boise passes off to the left and looks much like the last time we passed by. Mountain Home soon appears on our nose as we edge down closer to the ground. Mountains rise on either side of the brown valley that the Interstate cuts through. Some areas are agricultural with the once green circle pattern of irrigation systems now overgrown and brown. Some others have cattle still roaming about in the fields. Only a few natural ponds exist in this dry, arid land and it’s only around these that the black dots of cattle still thrive.
Leveling off about two thousand feet above the terrain, with a few bumps from the winds blowing off the mountains and still warm land, I put the town of Mountain Home off to my side. The town itself is nestled between two major roads with the interstate branching off to the eastern side. Off in the distance, I see the runways of Mountain Home AFB — our destination.
Slowing, I circle over the city and see that the town is mostly residential. While the trees that line the residential streets are still green, the golf course, baseball and football fields, parks, and yards have turned the same brown as the outlying fields. Other than a few cars parked in some of the parking lots serving some stores, the streets and lots are clear. Cars sit in driveways and the town appears normal with the exception of the lack of movement. It’s like most other towns we’ve encountered and I have a feeling that every town we fly over will be the same. It doesn’t bode well for the soldier in back who I imagine is glued to the window looking out.
“I don’t see anything here. Anyone else see anything?” I ask on the intercom. Craig has risen from his seat at the nav station to look.
“I don’t see anything,” Craig answers.
“Nothing here,” Robert replies.
“Okay, take note of the streets and layout and let’s head over to the base. We’ll do a flyby there and practice a few touch and go’s so you can get the feel for the extra weight,” I say.
I swing us to the southwest toward the small base and line us up with the single, long runway serving the base. Putting runway 30 on our nose, I lower to just a couple hundred feet. I want to do a flyby to check wind direction. The turbulence picks up this close to the ground and we pass a few parked F-15s on the hot ramps. I see a few others parked on the main ramp farther down. The main section of the base is similar to the town, a few green trees with the rest overgrown and brown.
Our low approach shows a moderate wind out of the northeast so our first approach was a good one. I bring the aircraft up and around wanting to do the first touch and go with Robert following on the control stick to get the feel of the heavier response. We circle around and set up. The wheels settle to the runway with a slight jostle and, after resetting the flaps to their takeoff setting, apply power and are soon airborne again. I hand the aircraft over to Robert and monitor his approach. The heavy weight, only slightly diminished with our fuel burn, causes the nose to drop more than usual when he decreases the power. Making the adjustment, he sets it in with more of an arrival.
Setting the flaps for him, I catch a quick glimpse of movement off to the side out Robert’s window. Of course, with the aircraft itself moving down the runway, everything outside appears to be moving. I do a double-take and see a blue Air Force pickup truck speed on the tarmac to our right. Others pull onto the ramp behind it.
“I have the aircraft,” I call out, taking control. I lift off and turn, low to the ground, to the southwest and away from the ramp.
“What? What did I do wrong?” Robert asks, looking at the instruments and then over to me.
“Nothing. We have company on the ramp,” I say, climbing away from that base. I see Robert turn to look back out his window but we are headed directly away and I doubt there’s much he can see.
“Craig, would you go get Greg and have him come up here, please,” I say.
I climb to five thousand feet and circle a distance away. I tell Greg, Craig, and Robert that I spotted four vehicles on the ramp during out last landing.
“I’m not sure of who they are, or their intentions. We weren’t on the ground long enough to see what they may be up to,” I say.
“Could they be Air Force or military personnel?” Greg asks.
“I have no idea. If they do have a presence here still, they may not like us just showing up. Although, if that is the case, they won’t just shoot at us. They’ll most likely let us land and then take us in to interrogate us. If it isn’t military, then all bets are off as to what they’ll do,” I answer.
“Well, what do you want to do? Should we just bypass this and head to our next stop?” Greg says.
“I don’t know. If there are survivors here, and it’s apparent there are, I’m thinking we should at least drop in and say hi,” I reply.
“And if they shoot at us on approach or while landing?” Robert asks.
“That wouldn’t be a good thing,” Craig chimes in.
“We’ll do a flyover at this altitude and see how they respond. This will keep us out of small arms fire range and allow us to have a look,” I say.
“Alright, let’s check it out then,” Greg says.
I turn back ready to dive the aircraft and beat cheeks the best this ‘ol bird can do if I see tracers or smoke trails heading our way. The ‘Herc” can take a lot of damage but I’m not all that keen on testing just how much. I call on the emergency frequencies with no response.
Flying across the runway and base, I look to the ramp below. Five blue pickup trucks are parked in close to the middle of the ramp with tiny figures of people standing around. No tracers or smoke trails reach out toward us. Passing the base, I descend and come back, crossing from a different angle. Several people look upward shielding their eyes with their hands. A couple of them stand off to the side with weapons in their hands but they aren’t pointed in our direction.
“Well, we’re still flying,” I say, heading the aircraft back to the southwest. “What do you think?”
“They weren’t firing or pointing weapons at us. It did appear they were dressed in civilian clothing although those weapons were either AR-style carbines or actual M-4s,” Greg responds.
“Well, let’s see what happens then, shall we,” I say. Greg heads into the cargo compartment to brief the teams.
I do a combat overhead landing and drop it in, stopping on the runway after only a couple of thousand feet with the engines revved and ready to go. My feet get tired of standing on the brakes watching for a response. Robert looks through a pair of binoculars and reports that the people, who he counts at fourteen, gather together in a group with a six of them heading behind the cover of the vehicles. I do not like their actions of folding into cover but I’m sure our actions aren’t making them all that comfortable either. I ask about their clothing and Robert confirms they are dressed in a variety of civilian clothing. The others continue standing and looking in our direction.
“Okay, someone has to break this stalemate,” I say, releasing the brakes and bringing the power back. Greg pokes his head back up in the cockpit.
“I’m taxiing in but parking down the ramp away from them. I want Red Team to be ready to go outside with me. Greg, you and Echo Team get the Stryker ready to go but only take the tie downs off. If we’re attacked, drop the Stryker out and return fire. I’m not overly thrilled with inviting fire toward the aircraft but if others appear and we find ourselves in a precarious position, fold back in and we’re leaving. Robert, I’m leaving the engines running so hop in the left seat and get us ready to go in a hurry,” I brief.
