Return

Tag You’re It

As I climb back up, Robert’s head turns toward me and he shouts. I cannot hear a thing he is saying so I step over to his side.

“What?” I shout into the left side of his helmet.

“You’re going to want to hear this,” he shouts back pointing at the radio. My heart rate elevates a little wondering what it can be. I buckle in and pull my helmet on.

“Anyone receiving this message, please respond,” a voice comes through the radio.

I check our frequencies and find we are on the UHF radio which means either military traffic or someone has found a military radio.

“If anyone can hear this, please respond,” I hear the voice come over again. I swear I heard the sound of gunfire in the background of the last transmission.

“Calling on UHF emergency, this is Otter 39. I read you loud and clear,” I answer the voice.

“Oh, thank god,” I hear in response.

“Calling on frequency, state your name and position,” I call back.

“This is Sergeant Mullins. We’re an Army unit inside the BX at Petersen Air Force Base,” he responds to my query.

“Okay, Sergeant. What’s your situation?” I ask further.

“We have those, um, things all around us. Holding out for now but ammo is running low,” he answers.

“How many are with you and how many of them are around you?” I ask.

“I have twelve including myself and I don’t have an accurate count of the things out there. I would say at least fifty to a hundred,” Sergeant Mullins responds.

“We are a C-130 with a contingent of soldiers aboard and about thirty minutes out from the base,” I say looking over our nav charts. “Can you hold out?”

“We’ll try but the sooner you get here, the better,” he answers.

“Copy that, standby,” I say.

“Michelle, go get Lynn and have her come up here please,” I say in the intercom.

She heads into the back as I pull the various nav and approach charts out of our flight bags. Robert has control of the aircraft as I begin plotting a flight path to the airfield into the navigation computer, further configuring an approach to the main runway. Lynn comes up behind me and begins to ask what is up. I hold up hand stalling her while I finish inputting all of the numbers. A mistake here could be disastrous and we could find ourselves attempting to fly half way across the world. I figure the predominant winds there would be from the north with the season so I plan to use runway 35L. With the inputs complete, I switch the nav system over to the new flight plan. The aircraft begins a gentle bank to the right as I turn to Lynn and shout the situation to her.

“Are we going after them at night or wait until daylight?” She asks not once thinking we would not be going to help the soldiers in trouble.

“I don’t think they’ll make it until daylight,” I answer.

“I’m not overly fond of going in at night. What’s the plan?” Lynn asks.

“We only have twelve NVG’s so two teams. I would say a very small team but I think we’ll need the firepower. We’ll do a flyby on night vision to pick our route and scout the situation,” I say answering.

“Roger that. I’ll brief Black and Green Teams,” she says.

“I’m going as well,” I say.

“Haven’t you done enough?” She shouts in an exasperated tone.

“Haven’t you?” I shout back.

“Okay, fine,” she says turning to head back.

“Am I going?” Robert asks once Lynn has left the cockpit.

“No, someone has to stay here and get the plane ready to go on a moment’s notice. Be setup for a battery start. Don’t worry, you’ll get your share with the state the world is in,” I add taking control of the aircraft, turning off autopilot, and beginning a descent to the base.

The area ahead of us should be lit up by the lights of Colorado Springs and the surrounding towns, forts, and bases with the glow of Denver further to the north. Only pitch blackness shows beneath our nose. It looks as if we are descending into a large, black hole.

“Sergeant Mullins, this is Otter 39,” I say pressing the push-to-talk switch.

“Otter 39, go ahead,” he says with definite gunfire in the background.

“Switch to semi if at all possible to conserve your ammo. We’re going to do a flyby so you’ll hear us overhead in about 15 minutes. We have to land at the airfield and make our way to you,” I say giving an outline of our plan.

“Copy that Otter 39,” Mullins responds.

“Robert, I want you to stay on our ground freq. You’ll be the radio relay to Mullins. Keep the aircraft on battery power but with the lights off,” I say as we continue down.

We don our NVG’s and do a low pass over the base, sighting the location of Sergeant Mullins and his group by the flashes of light from their gunfire. There is a main road from their location directly back to the airfield ramp that we locate on our pass over the area. Lynn is looking over my shoulder in the cockpit as we fly over.

“We’ll have to exit and seal the aircraft up quickly on arrival. We can’t be caught with the aircraft open. Everyone will have to exit through the side door. The ramp is too slow,” I yell to her.

“We’ll be ready,” she says and disappears once again as I fly the aircraft away from the base and set up for the approach.

We will not be using landing lights in this case as I do not want to attract more attention than we already are. Before, we left the aircraft sealed up so I was not overly worried about the attention. Here though, we will be very vulnerable so this one will be on NVG’s alone. Not the optimum solution but one I have done a few times before. And, I have a nice, long, paved runway. The few times this was necessary before was a remote patch of ground in the middle of nowhere. And when I say nowhere, I mean nowhere.

The approach goes well with the interior lights dimmed but I set it down rather hard on the runway. Depth perception is always tough with these stupid NVG’s. We slow down and pull off of the runway. I shut down the engines on the left side as we taxi in so the props will be stopped on that side and we will be able to exit the aircraft quickly. I leave Robert to taxi in as I head to the back and gear up. He also knows to give us the all clear if he does not see any night runners about. I tell both teams to load up on ammo and carry a couple grenades each, remembering my need, or want, of them back in the CDC building. I pack four of them myself, hanging them on my tac vest, making sure the pins are bent.

We all line up inside the cargo compartment, ready to exit the side crew door like a line of paratroopers ready for a drop. Waiting for the aircraft to stop and the all clear to sound. I am in the front with my hand on the door actuator. I will exit first and remain by the door to quickly close it back up. If we get caught outside, I briefed that we will open the door and rush back in but if it looks like the night runners are about to overwhelm us and get inside, the door is to get shut regardless of who is still out there. In this manner and with these thoughts, we wait.

The aircraft comes to stop with a slight forward lurch. Anticipation fills us all. Black and Green Teams will exit immediately behind me and set up a small perimeter. I will seal the door and then we will be silently off; quietly making our way through the base to the BX approximately three quarters to a mile away.

“All clear,” Robert shouts from inside the cockpit.

I lower the door, quickly exiting and turning. Both teams fluidly follow behind and set up around the aircraft. I push the door back up and seal it up. So far, so good. In the green light from our night vision goggles, the ramp looks clear of night runners to the extent of our vision. I hear the far side engines winding down as their fuel source is cut off.

“Robert, tell them we are on our way and to expect us in about thirty minutes,” I say into the radio.

“Roger that,” he replies picking up the lingo.

“Lynn, we’ll head out in staggered formation as before. You take the left, Drescoll, the right. I will be out ahead in the middle. Center on me,” I say.

“Copy that,” Lynn says.

“Yes, sir,” Drescoll responds.

We start off across the ramp, all eyes alert and ready; weapons loaded and ready to fire.

“Mullins just said there are a lot of night runners in the parking lot around them and they are low on ammo,” Robert relays.

“Okay, thanks and keep us informed if he has any more updates,” I reply.

“Okay Lynn, Drescoll, when we arrive, we’ll create a hole for Sergeant Mullins and his group to exit through. Then we’ll beat feet back here in a rapidly folding rear guard action, two soldiers firing half of a clip each on semi and retreating back on the run past the next two in line to take station at the rear. Ten meter intervals. Don’t forget to reload. And no firing except on my command. Questions?” I say and ask.

“Will do,” both Lynn and Drescoll respond.

We head across the ramp and pick up the main road on the other side. I am quite surprised we do not have any visitors at this point as we made quite the entry but am glad of it. The main road is split by a grass meridian between the two, one-way streets; each one with two lanes. Black is on the left behind me with Green staggered behind them on the right. The road passes what looks like a park to my left but I cannot really see that far into it to determine. Silence prevails in the night air; chilly at this high altitude and after spending time in the heat these past few days.

We cross a main intersection with the wide road stretching to our right. I cannot hear any gunshots at this point indicating either we are still a distance away from Mullins and his group or, for whatever reason, they are not firing. The bright stars overhead are the only witnesses to our quiet venture into the night. Tension remains high as we all know the danger of being out at night, especially with this small of a force when there are possibly hundreds of night runners around us. And with the fact that they can locate us quite easily. The one redeeming factor going our way is the slight but gentle breeze blowing from our left to right and away from where the night runners are massed by the BX.

We proceed further up the street and begin to pick out sounds of gunfire and shrieks drifting along the cool breeze. A small copse of trees lies ahead on my left. My nerves are on high alert expecting night runners to appear at any moment. My hope is that we will not have any materialize behind us, cutting us off from the aircraft; our only sanctuary.

I pick out a hint of movement within the trees as we draw silently closer to the BX. The popping sound of rounds being fired mix with howls, roars, and shrieks up ahead and to our left. Suddenly, two night runners break out of the trees and begin running for me, their feet pounding rapidly across the grass. It’s over, I think and am about ready to order our two teams to begin a retreat when I notice that these two are not shrieking their cry of discovery like all of the others had in the past.

“Hold your fire,” I say quietly in the radio as I set my M-4 down and pull out my knife.

I quickly check the area around me assuring myself that these are the only two in sight. If they shriek, then I’ll quickly pick up my carbine and we’re outta here, I think watching them rapidly close the distance. This is not a really smart plan on my part but I want to give us and Mullins the best chance possible at surviving this night. Gunshots will bring the horde upon us making it impossible to help those trapped. Mullins and his group would be in the same position they are in now so firing now would only make things worse as we wouldn’t be able to help them and will endanger our own position.

The two night runners come on staggered, one behind the other, which is extremely beneficial to me. The one in front is almost upon me with its arms stretching out in front of him, its gray skin almost glowing in the green light. I drop to one knee under its outstretched arms and rise quickly, plunging my knife under its sternum and grabbing its shirt with my left hand, using its forward momentum and my rising momentum to lift it up and over me with my knife in its heart. I feel warm blood spurt out, running down my knife haft and hand. All it makes is a grunt as my knife penetrates its shirt, skin and heart. That is its one, only and last sound.

Using my knife as leverage, I continue lifting the night runner over me, giving a slight twist to my knife to assure the kill; lifting it up and over onto its back, withdrawing my knife as it begins its downward journey and lands on its back with a thud. I pivot quickly on my right foot, turning to face the second one and bring my left arm around in a sweeping motion, catching the second night runner’s arms with my forearm, knocking them out of the way. Continuing my pivot, I drive my knife into its neck, cutting through the jugular, cartilage, and gristle of its airway. Blood squirts out from the severed artery coating my hand and splashes on my face and neck as the knife exits out the other side, slicing through the opposite jugular. With a sawing motion towards the front, I pull my knife free hearing the night runner gurgle as blood pours down its windpipe. Its knees give out and it slumps straight down, a small amount of its forward momentum remains causing it to hit the pavement face first with a crack next to its friend.

“You okay,” Lynn asks over the radio as I kneel to clean my blade on the night runner’s clothing.

“I’m good,” I say replacing my knife and picking my M-4 up.

I am still puzzled as to why they did not shriek like the others but will take fortune where it is found. I do a quick check of the area and find it clear. The soldiers behind me to the left and right are rising from their knees where they went down in a ready stance covering the area when the two night runners emerged.

We start up the road again, round a slight bend and the sound of the full fury of what Sergeant Mullins is dealing with comes to us. Shrieks sound out continuously with rapid fire gunshots overriding them occasionally. Howls of pain intrude upon the absolute din breaking over the night. We reach another main intersection and head to our left, across a large grassy lawn adjacent to a building which then opens up to the parking lot in front of the BX.

There must be hundreds, I think looking at the parking lot filled with night runners. Flashes of light appear to the left side, coming from within the building as the soldiers there defend themselves. The night runners are milling in the parking lot for the most part with groups suddenly launching forward with mighty waves of shrieks and roars to attack the building. A true madhouse scene if I have ever seen one.

“Drescoll, spread quietly and slowly out to the right. Lynn, spread out on me,” I whisper in the radio.

“Yes, sir,” they both respond. I can barely hear their replies over the noise.

“What’s the plan?” I hear Lynn ask.

“Not sure yet but we can’t linger long thinking about it. They’ll spot us soon enough,” I say responding.

I study the massed night runners. It should not be all that difficult creating a hole for Mullins and his group to escape through; it is the mass of night runners chasing us down afterwards that worries me. And, with them being faster, it will not be long before they catch up to us, certainly before we get to the aircraft.

“Everyone ready a grenade and toss it in their midst on my command. Break. Robert, tell Mullins we’re here. Have him get everyone up and be ready to run when our grenades go off and let me know when he says he’s ready. Tell him we are off to his right just back from the parking lot edge,” I say quietly into the radio.

“Will do, Dad,” Robert answers.

I do not pull any grenades out as I will need all of them later with what I have in mind. I plan leading as much of them away from the main group as I can after our introduction and announcement to the night runners that we are here. That, I think, will give the group the best fighting chance to get back safely.

“Lynn, get the rest back in the folding retreat we talked about. No firing or engaging here after the grenades go off, you’ll need your ammo. Unless it’s to keep them away from Mullins as they exit,” I whisper into the radio.

“What are you going to do Jack?” Lynn says with an edge to her voice.

“I’m going to lead them away,” I answer.

“The hell you are!” She whispers fiercely.

“Yes, I am, now get ready, Sergeant!” I whisper fiercely back.

“Dad, they say they’re ready,” Robert calls over the radio.

“Okay, Son. See you in a bit. Have the ramp doors ready to lower and raise them back up quickly. I love you!” I whisper back to him.

“I love you too, Dad,” I hear him say in a slightly trembling voice as if he did not understand exactly what was said but knowing it probably was not good. I slink a little way to the left of the lined up teams.

“Now!” I whisper into the radios.

My night vision goggles pick up the movement of arms along the firing line as they arc grenades into the parking lot and among the masses of night runners gathered there. Seconds later, the grenades go off in an almost simultaneous roar. The eleven grenades create one giant explosion of sound and light spreading their deadly payload of shrapnel across and through the horde. Bodies that were close to the grenades are lifted into the air, flailing as they rise, their expressions not yet exhibiting the surprise, shock, and pain that their bodies are undergoing. Severed limbs join the bodies. The greenish glow does not catch the splash of blood, bone and flesh that must cover an area so littered with flying body parts. Those not tossed into the air are thrown sideways from the force of the explosion and shrapnel.

With the loud explosions still ringing in our ears, I see the group we have come to help emerge from the front of the BX and run in our direction. The night runners still left standing, and yes, there are quite a few of them, stand still for a moment in a daze, confused by the sudden noise and the disappearance of so many of their group. Recovery is quick though and they shriek loudly as they spot Mullins’ group dashing across the parking lot to join up with the others.

“Lynn, start back now as planned! Hold your fire as long as you can. I’ll draw as many as I can. See you soon, hon,” I say loudly into the mic.

“You be careful Jack! I love you!” She responds.

I stand from my position and yell loudly, “Come on you ugly shits! I’m over here!”

I fire a few rounds on semi to get their attention, my weapon casting a strobe effect over the area with each round expelled. A few night runners, as they begin their chase towards Lynn and her now retreating teams, drop as my rounds find their mark. Many of the night runners change direction in mid-step and head towards me. I turn and run. The chase is on.

Lynn quickly briefs Sergeant Mullins on their exit strategy of falling back in teams of two. She directs the first team of two to hold as they reach the street. Looking quickly over to the side, she sees Jack run across an intersection and between two buildings with night runners close behind him and closing.

“Be safe,” she whispers into the night before falling back and detailing the next two, arranging the rest quickly into teams of two to provide the covering withdrawal back.

Not a few of the night runners continue after Lynn, deciding to continue after the larger group rather than chase after Jack. The first two team members kneel in the road and begin to fire on semi-automatic at the closest night runners. The soldiers attempt, and succeed for the most part, to keep the distance between themselves and the night runners. Each watches several night runners fall as the steel leaves their barrels in quick intervals and finds targets. Heads snap back and small spots blossom on the chests. Night runners spin, are launched backwards, or fall forward as the soldier’s rounds strike home. They are keeping count of their rounds as they fire rapidly; quickly shifting aim from one night runner to the next. The clink of individual shell casings is barely audible as they bounce across the hard top. Night runners behind quickly take the place of the fallen. Leaving over twenty on the ground, most not moving where they fell; some slowly crawling short distances, the soldier on the left yells “Go!” They stand and run to their rear passing the next two kneeling in line; passing all of the others getting set up and take a position ten meters to the rear of the group, ready to repeat their actions when their turn comes again.

Lynn takes station in the middle of the group with another team member to her right, waiting her turn to cover the retreat back to the aircraft. Drescoll is at the rear, separated so they will still have command in case one of them goes down. She sees the soldiers up front kneel and begin delivering rounds into the crowd of night runners chasing rapidly after them. The flashes of light from their barrels reach her a split second before the echo of their shots. The noise of the night runners and the ensuing rifle fire fills the air around, belying the quietness of the star-lit, night sky looking down. The two soldiers that were at the head of the line soon rush by her on their way to the rear, the action taken up by the next line of soldiers.

A large, muffled explosion comes from her left, carried with the breeze, followed by even more muffled sounds of gunfire being delivered in short, measured intervals, exactly like those now being delivered once again to her front; rapid fire rounds on semi-automatic. Jack’s still alive and fighting, she thinks with a moment of worry. The situation to her front draws her attention back to their fight.

The next two in line deliver their measured rounds in rapid fire fashion but the sheer numbers of night runners closes the distance dramatically. Lynn notices that the night runners are also attempting to run around and circumvent the group on the flanks. She moves up the line and orders the groups of two to fold into groups of four, the outside two to begin firing into the flanking hordes. The groups quickly reform and the volume of fire doubles dropping night runners in their tracks and keeping the distance between the oncoming mass and the retreating soldiers more or less constant.

Lynn does a quick calculation in her head measuring the distance travelled with their ammunition expenditure. She knows it will be close but calculates that they will have enough ammo to continue making the leap frog maneuvering back to the aircraft. Not a lot of room, but enough, she thinks kneeling with a soldier to her left and one to her right. They are next in line.

The line in front of her rises quickly, turns and sprints through the line Lynn is kneeling with. She brings her M-4 to her shoulder and begins sending out her special message-grams; delivered on the tip of her 5.56mm, steel-jacketed delivery system. Aiming for upper body shots, her first round catches one of the night runners in mid-stride, hitting its neck just above the chest. The round tears through the cartilage, hits the spine and the juncture of C5 and 6 with tremendous force, and explodes out of the back after splintering, taking large amounts of tissue and bone with it. The head flops to the side, almost severed, and comes to rest on the shoulder before it flops backwards as the night runner falls forward, hitting the ground. Its head then slings forward and separates from the body with the force of the impact.

Lynn only sees her target begin to drop before quickly aligning her sight with the next, that one spinning to its left as the bullet, fired almost immediately after the first, strikes it in the upper chest, the round splintering on impact with a rib and ripping through the lungs and heart; grabbing handfuls of tissue and severing veins and arteries on its passage through. Ten more fall, spin or are knocked backward from her rapid but carefully delivered fire before she yells “Go!” and runs through the line behind her. They are making progress and able to control the situation so far. Another muffled explosion reaches her ears off to the side; heard above the sound of her boots pounding on the pavement with the other three beside her, along with the sound of the opening rounds from the soldiers she just passed through.

“How are you doing Jack?” Lynn calls as she heads towards the rear.

“Little busy right now,” he responds after a pause.

They make their way back close to the tarmac thirty feet at a time. In what seems like hours, a roadway to the ramp opens behind them. They have dropped hundreds of night runners, the bodies littering the road and marking the path of their retreat. Many other night runners joined the initial mass on their march back but their numbers have dwindled substantially. Lynn passes through the line for the seemingly thousandth time, passing Drescoll along the way.

“Heard from Jack lately?” Drescoll yells above the tremendous noise from the volleys of gunfire surrounding them.

“Not a word for some time,” Lynn answers, slowing slightly with her lips tightened with worry.

“Robert, this is Lynn,” she calls on the radio after taking her station at the rear of the formation.

“This is Robert,” she hears after a slight pause.

“Open up the ramp, we’re coming in,” she says further.

“Okay, it’s opening now,” Robert says.

“Be ready to close it as soon as we’re in,” she says.

“We’re ready.”

“All those not on the line, ready a grenade and toss it in front of the night runners on my command. Run for the rear of the aircraft immediately after,” Lynn bellows, her voice heard above the deafening noise of gunfire and howls.

“Now!” She yells after a moment to give the soldiers nearby time to pluck grenades from their vests and pull the pins.

The last of their grenades arc through the air and land on the pavement in front of the oncoming mass of night runners. Lynn and the soldiers turn and run with everything they have left across the tarmac for the lowering ramp of the 130. The sound of their boots, the clink of slings banging against the stock and rails of their M-4’s, and the heavy breathing of those next to them reach their ears in their flight across the concrete. Seconds later, a series of explosions to their rear drowns all other noise momentarily. The sound of boots on concrete is replaced by the sound of boots on metal as they reach and run up the ramp into the interior.

Lynn runs past Nicole who is standing at the rear of the ramp near the controls. Nicole starts the ramp up as soon as the last of the soldiers have reached the bottom of it. Lynn turns at the top, seeing a much diminished horde of night runners rocketing across the ramp in their direction. The ramp begins its upward travel but is moving in slow motion as compared to the closure rate of the night runners.

“Teams, open fire!” She bellows, her shout heard above the shrieks of the closing mass.

Gunshots echo in the metallic interior and across the ramp as rounds are expelled outward, dropping more of the night runners in their tracks until the ramp raises to a level that they cannot fire anymore. The outside tarmac slowly disappears as the ramp continues upward. A sliver of the outside visible through the greenish glow of their NVG’s, almost there, as a set of hands grasp the outer edge; the fingers gripping the ramp as it rises ever upwards. A scream is heard outside as the ramp closes and seals. Fingers roll down to Lynn’s boots as they are severed by the hydraulically-actuated ramp closing.

Thumps against the side of the aircraft, accompanied by muted shrieks, demonstrate the frustration of the night runners outside. Howling at the closeness of their prey and the frustration of not being able to get at them. Lynn turns and races up to the cockpit. Climbing the stairs, confusion crosses her face as she enters and looks around. Robert is sitting in the co-pilot seat, his helmet sitting loosely on his head so he can hear both radios; Brianna is camped in her usual location in the engineer seat.

“Where’s Jack?” Lynn asks continuing to look around the cockpit as if he could be hiding behind any of the objects or panels. She almost looks under the bunk to see where he is hiding.

“What do you mean?” Robert asks.

“You mean he isn’t with you?” Bri asks worriedly.

“No, but he should have been here by now,” Lynn responds, her look now changing to worry.

“Jack, where are you?” Lynn says into her mic. Silence is the only return over the radio.

Robert looks out of the side window into the darkness that is the ramp around them. Thumps continue along the aircraft as the night runners attempt to find entrance. He lowers the night vision goggles and returns his look outside. Night runners surround the aircraft; some look up and jostle from position to position while others take runs at the aircraft, each run terminating with a thump against the 130.

“How is he going to get through that?” Robert asks in a worried and fearful tone as he continues to stare outside.

Lynn crosses the flight deck to look out the same window over Robert’s shoulder and then moves to look out the opposite window, seeing the same picture. Night runners surround the aircraft. Even if he makes it here, he won’t be able to get through, she thinks looking at the small multitude gathered around.

“Can we start the engines and do like we did in Kuwait? Blow them away from us?” Lynn asks looking at Robert over her shoulder.

“We could,” he says turning to look at her. “But he won’t be able to get in the side door with the engines running and the ramp is too slow considering how many are out there.”

“Good point. Then I don’t know. I’ll go brief the teams to rearm and be ready,” Lynn says disappearing down the stairs.

She heads down to get the teams ready. Ready to exit and take on all of the night runners if need be.

I turn and run, glancing back over my shoulder to verify that I have drawn off a large portion of the night runners as my feet obey my mind and pick up speed. The quick glance verifies that, yep, I indeed have. My feet respond to the sight, picking up even more speed. I exit the parking lot and cross a main road with the sound of shrieking behind me. My initial burst of speed was to gain a little distance as the night runners changed directions but I now settle into a ground eating pace. Sustainable so as to not wear me out instantly but quick enough that the night runners will not be on me immediately. That would kind of defeat the purpose of luring them away.

I head between two buildings, which are rather close together, not worrying about any fencing as there is very little of that on bases for some reason. It would be bad news indeed if I did happen to run up against something like that as the night runners can surmount that obstacle faster than I. Another quick glance behind and I see a mass of them closing. I pull a grenade from the hook on my tac vest, straighten and pull the pin with my teeth as I run, carrying my M-4 in my right hand, and drop it on the ground just before exiting out from between the buildings. I turn to the right down a side street, stopping and turning around just as the grenade goes off. The bright light flares against the side of the building I just ran by moments before the sound wave hits my ears.

Several night runners are thrown from the alleyway between the buildings, their bodies airborne before slamming into the grassy lawn; rolling and bouncing and not rising. The bodies are mixed with shredded arms, legs, and other assorted body parts that land on the grass along with them. Some of the decimated flesh and bone falls out onto the street to my front. A few night runners were ahead of the blast and have turned toward me, the shock and surprise of the explosion slowing them momentarily. I bring my M-4 up thumbing the selector switch to semi, sighting in on the one closest.

My carbine pushes back slightly against my shoulder as my finger tightens against the trigger, finding the trigger release point without jerking the weapon. The bark of the rifle indicating a bullet is on its way to a night runner fully in my sight. Its head snaps to the rear as it absorbs the steel in its left eye. The round cuts through the liquid orb, splattering the contents of its eye on its cheek and side of its nose, before slicing directly into the night runner’s brain. The bullet continues unmolested hitting the back of the night runner’s cranium and mushrooms before exiting out of the back, taking a large amount of skull bone and brain with it. The night runner falls to its knees, resting momentarily in a kneeling position as if in supplication before crashing forward to the ground on its face. The bone, brain matter, and hair-covered flesh cover its comrades behind.

This is only taken in subconsciously as I rapidly aim at the next, again firing as soon as the next round is chambered. The next steel bullet impacts before the first has fallen with the targeted night runner accepting the round in it shrieking mouth, hitting its upper teeth before racing to the back of its throat, deflected only slightly downward by the impact with the front teeth. Slamming into the back of its throat, the round continues through and smacks forcefully into the spine, severing it. Exploding out of the back of the neck, the round disintegrates taking as much of the tissue, flesh and bone as it can grab and take with it. The night runner’s head flops forward and it sinks straight down to the ground.

I continue delivering rapid single shots until all of the night runners, who were ahead of the grenade when it went off, lie unmoving on the grass, sidewalk and street. I turn and run once again, noting that I have half a clip left. I would normally reload wanting a full clip but I know I may possibly need every round and have to conserve. I hear firing in the background indicating that Lynn and her teams are engaged in their own firefight as my feet carry me away from the route that they should be taking on their way back. A glance over my shoulder shows night runners pouring from the narrow space between the buildings. I have gained a margin of space. I also notice that they have hesitated and begin glancing toward the distant firing. I raise my M-4 and fire twice into their midst.

“I’m over here dumbshits!” I yell.

This draws their attention and they start running after me once again. Their hesitation has granted me a few more feet of separation. I turn left through a parking lot feeling my wind catching up with me. I cannot afford to stop so I slow up. My adrenaline and fear are making me run faster than I want yet I still feel like I am slow. I focus my awareness and bring that back under control; feeling my speed and breathing in order to guide me back to that sustainable, ground eating pace.

Before, we would be able to distance ourselves from the opposing forces, losing ourselves in the brush or trees and rest up for a few minutes until taking off again as those forces closed in. The few minutes of breath allowing us to keep a fast pace for a sustained period of time before stopping to do it all over again. In this way, we could cover a lot of distance to an evacuation point and still keep our distance. However, the open areas of the base prevent me from being able to lose myself completely. I have to use changes of direction and the buildings to keep my separation. Plus, I do not want to lose them entirely yet.

I round the corner of the building that the parking lot served as the lead night runners enter into the lot behind me. They have closed the distance by a substantial margin. I am relying on the medical reports I read earlier and hoping that, although they may be faster, that they may tire quicker as well. That may not be the case with their enlarged hearts and lungs but I also cannot afford to wind myself. Once that happens, there is no return and the recovery is longer. There is a point of no return, or a point of a much longer return, with regards to becoming winded.

Ahead of me, two night runners emerge from the side of the building I just rounded. I raise my weapon and shoot twice at the first one; my first round missing but the second one taking it in the chest just below its left armpit. The bullet ricochets off of the rib, splitting the round into several pieces. A larger piece explodes out of its right shoulder after taking out most of the lung along the way with the other smaller pieces of the bullet lodging in the heart and slicing through the aorta. The night runner’s chest cavity quickly fills with blood spurting from the punctured heart and aorta, dropping it forward to the ground. My next two shots hit the side of the chest of the second one in much the same fashion. It falls to the ground close to the first. Hmmmm…Not bad for being on the run.

I continue on, passing the fallen night runners to the left, hearing a sporadic gurgling from the second one as it tries to force breath into its torn and blood-filled lungs. The shrieks behind me grow louder telling me the first of the night runners have rounded the building. I ready another grenade and dart across the street. My plan is to angle away from Lynn and the teams but ensure my route takes me ever closer to the ramp. I will need my last grenades to open up space behind me in order to get into the aircraft. That leaves me with this one to use. I want one for the last sprint to the aircraft and I would certainly like to have one spare just in case.

I turn left, cross another road, and head between two more buildings across the way. I know I am edging closer to the ramp and I want to create some space now in order to make a more direct approach. Plus, the ones behind me are getting a little too close for my comfort. I speed down the space between the buildings getting the grenade ready as before. My breath is coming a lot quicker now and I feel myself edging toward that heavy breathing stage where I will have no choice but to slow down.

The building sides end just a few feet before me. I toss the grenade casually behind me as I reach the corners, not wanting it to go too far but not wanting it to be on my heels either. The buildings shielded me before but this will not be the case this time. I turn to the right once again, keeping my pace up and angling across the street to buildings on the other side. I make it almost all of the way across the street before another explosion rips the night apart behind me. I do not stop to watch the aftereffects but keep going until I reach the side of the building. I then stop, turn, and lean my M-4 against it. There is only a few that made it ahead of the grenade before it went off. I take them down quickly with a few measured rounds. I turn and start running once again. I am really getting too old for this, I think heading down the side of the building in the direction of the ramp and feeling winded.

I do not bother stopping to get the attention of those behind me as I feel I have drawn them far enough away from the other group. It is now a matter of using my brains to gain some separation; even hopefully losing the crowd behind me. I know that is unlikely however as they can find me with their increased sense of sight, smell, and hearing. I run down a sidewalk leading by the side of the building.

“How are you doing Jack?” I hear Lynn call.

“Little busy right now,” I respond back after gaining a measure of breath with which to talk.

The cat and mouse game continues with me darting along buildings and across streets, sometimes doubling back in order to throw them off. They seem to have a hard time finding in which direction I go, perhaps due to the light breeze swirling around the buildings That gains me a little bit of separation each time, but the sound of my boots guides them in my direction every time. If it were not for their sense of smell, I would find a dark hole to climb in and wait the night out like I have done in the past; becoming a hole in the fabric of reality while guards search endlessly for me. I am also on the lookout for a ladder heading up the side of a building. It would have to be the right building without any other way of gaining admittance to the roof but I could hold them off from above if the right building presents itself. That is not the case so far and I cannot really slow down much to look. The sounds behind me let me know they are still on my trail.

I finally come up on the tarmac with the night runners closing in behind and break out onto it alongside a hangar. I pull up short. What the fuck!? I think seeing night runners surrounding the 130 in the near distance. This is majorly fucked up! I was planning on contacting Robert, dropping a grenade in my tracks, and racing to the aircraft. Easy, breezy right!? But that plan is now going to have to change with that major obstacle coming up just as I was about to hit the finish line.

I cannot take too long to decide what to do and I am spent. I could either find a building to break into and hold them off in some narrow hallway, or I can try and get the attention of the night runners around the aircraft, lead them away and circle back. I look quickly up at the starlit sky; Really!? After all of that, this is what I get? I think staring up at the brilliant, twinkling sky above me. Yes, really, they seem to answer back.

I need to think of something quickly or I will be doubly screwed. There are now night runners in front of me with more coming up behind.

“Hey you! I’m over here you stupid assholes!” I yell across the tarmac almost without thinking, making my choice without really analyzing it. Well, I had to make a decision without really having a right decision to choose from, I think taking a deep breath and steeling myself for the next few moments.

The night runners around the aircraft halt in place, stopping immediately in whatever action they were in the middle of and look in my direction. As one, they yell and begin running quickly towards me. I begin running directly at them, the distance between us closing quickly. Running in front to the hangar and reaching the other side, I dart to my left, running down the side to the street and sidewalk in front of it. The chase continues.

* * * * * *

Robert sits in the co-pilot seat staring out across the ramp feeling worried. The night runners continue to surround the aircraft but he is not paying any attention to them. He stares off into the distance across the ramp hoping for some sign or indication that his dad is okay. Nic is looking out over his shoulder having donned her dad’s helmet and sliding the night vision goggles over her eyes. Bri quietly stares out of the same window into the darkness. Lynn is in the back briefing the teams and getting them ready to exit. She wants to go now and find Jack but knows that this would be futile. They would be in running battle from the very get go and put all of them in danger. Pacing up and down the cargo compartment is not easing her anxiety.

Time passes by but Robert is not aware of it as he continues staring into the night and hoping. Wanting to do something but not knowing what that something could possibly be. He is startled out of his thoughts, trying to come up with something, by the sudden, muffled but loud screams from the night runners around them. He looks down and sees them take off as one across the ramp, racing across the pavement away from them.

“Michelle, go get Lynn!” He turns and says quickly over his shoulder, turning his eyes immediately back to the ramp. He would have asked Bri or Nic to go but knows they are staring out and feeling the same worry and anxiety as him.

“What’s up?” Lynn says as she comes up behind Robert.

Robert answers by pointing outside of the aircraft, the dim light from the stars in the clear sky above illuminating the now empty ramp.

“They just left all at once,” Bri says after a brief pause.

Lynn looks out at the empty ramp and hope first swells and then falls. Hope that Jack now has a clear shot to the aircraft and fades because she thinks she knows what has caught the night runner’s attention and where they are headed.

“I’ll be in back with the teams ready to go. Notify me on our ground frequency if you see or hear anything else,” she says stepping out of the cockpit once again.

“Jack, are you out there? Answer me please,” Lynn says over her radio on re-entering the cargo area and notifying the teams to stand ready.

I hesitate before emerging completely from the side of the hangar. I see the street and sidewalk running perpendicular several feet in front of me, paralleling the ramp. My timing is going to be critical here if I can time this at all. I hear the sounds of the night runners coming up behind me on the ramp and know I have just a small amount of time before they close in. My concern is those that were initially following me. Emerging now will allow them to see me and put them far too close, allowing them to catch me before I can get remotely close to the aircraft and safety.

Peeking around the corner, I see the last of the night runners that were in trail behind me crossing the street to my left, following the path I took on the other side of the hangar. I want them all to cross before emerging and continuing on to my right. Plus, I want all of the night runners coming from the ramp side to enter into the route I just took alongside the hangar. If they venture down another path, I will run straight into them. That would not be a good thing and is the last thing I want right now.

The last of the night runners finally pass by and disappear down the far side of the hangar just as the night runners chasing me from the aircraft enter into the space behind me. I drop a prepared grenade by the corner and take off to my right. We are going to play a little loop-de-loop but I need a measure of distance. Plus, I need for those that were chasing me to follow along with the rules of the game; and those rules dictate that they are to stay behind and not try to circumvent me.

I run along the sidewalk lining the street, everything around me painted a yellow-green, well, more green than yellow. What I wouldn’t do for a set of generation 3 night vision goggles right now? I think as my radio comes alive.

“Jack, are you out there? Answer me please,” I hear Lynn say in my ear piece.

“I’m here. Get the side door ready to open,” I say breathlessly into the mic.

“Okay, Jack. Good to hear you,” she replies. “How long?”

The grenade goes off.

“Depends,” I say not wanting to spare breath for talking. I know when I used to run with a group, the others running next to me wanted to have a conversation. It was all I could do just breathe; talking was out of the question. Running and talking just do not mix well with me.

“On what?” She asks.

“On whether these bastards are going to do what I want them to and let me through. Call you when I’m close,” I respond. This last little bit just about expended all of my breath.

I glance behind and see the remnant of the night runners turn the corner and, with a cry of discovery, begin their chase in earnest. More follow behind but I direct my attention to my front and side, hoping that none of them come out in front of me. This merry little chase we have had this evening will come to a quick close if that happens; with me not coming out in first place. I race along the front of the building next to the hangar, planning to cut in toward the ramp when I reach the corner, provided of course that the path is not barred by, say, a horde of night runners pounding down it heading my way.

I ready my last grenade as I reach the corner with the night runners on the concrete close behind me. Turning the corner, I see the route to the tarmac empty of any reception committee and toss the grenade behind me, hoping it will land around the corner a little. I turn my speed up a notch but do not really gain much as all of my notches have been used up. The grenade goes off, sending its deadly shrapnel out into the midst of the night runners chasing after me. My toss must have been true as I am not blown forward nor do I feel the prickling of shrapnel entering my backside.

“Jack, we’re having trouble with the door. We don’t know how to open it,” Lynn says through the radio with a tone of worry and frustration.

“Fuck me! You’re kidding right!? You’d better figure it out and figure it out quickly. I’m coming out onto the ramp now,” I say frustrated at so simple a thing. I would give directions on how but I just don’t have any more wind for it. This last took the final vestige of my reaching down deep away. I am out of grenades, ideas, and options.

I race across the ramp toward the aircraft outlined in green. My boots pound across its concrete surface. Safety is close but seems so far. I glance over my shoulder to see the night runners just now rounding the corner of the building. I have some room and time and distance. They must have had some wariness about turning the corner after receiving so many of my gifts in doing so all night long. I run across the rear of the aircraft and up the left side. The crew door is lowering. I guess they figured it out, I think as the side of the 130 races by, my feet being forced to take the next steps, my legs aching and sore, the lactic acid that has been building all night is now making its presence known.

Just as I get close to the door, a night runner runs around the side from the nose. I am spent and my reaction time is slow as it rapidly closes the distance and slams into me, knocking me backward and to the ground. Where the fuck did that one come from? I think just before the impact.

I slam to the ground on my back, the impact nearly knocking the wind out of me. My M-4 is jarred from my grasp and clatters across the pavement. Using some of the momentum, I bring my knees up and roll over my left shoulder, reversing positions with the night runner. Ending up on its chest, I quickly jab sharply into its throat, feeling the cartilage break under my fist. I continue my stroke all of the way through, punching through its throat and mutilating all of the gristle and cartilage; destroying its capability of breathing.

I scramble to my feet, pick up my weapon lying on the tarmac nearby, and run up the stairs with a multitude of night runners close behind streaking toward me.

“Shut the door! Quick!” I say reaching the top and leaning over with my hands on my knees, panting heavily.

The door closes behind me, the shrieks and howls, once sharp in the night air, become muffled as the handle is turned, sealing the door and aircraft to the nighttime world outside. I try to catch my breath, bent over with my hands on my knees, marveling at the close calls of the night. I guess marveling is not the right word but amazed I made it through.

“Everyone make it back?” I ask once I gather a bit of breath.

“We did,” Lynn answers with her hand on my back.

“Good. What do you say we get ready and get this beast airborne?” I ask standing.

I turn off my NVG’s and take them off to find the cargo compartment darkened, lit only by the reflected glow of the stars illuminating the outside ramp. Sergeant Mullins stands in the gray gloom behind Lynn.

“Thank you both so much,” he says with a weary but relieved tone.

“Glad to help and have you aboard,” I say shaking hands with him.

“What’s an Army unit doing here on an Air Force base? How did you get here?” I ask.

“We’re part of the security detachment for NORAD facility. We headed down here when everything hit the fan figuring any help would arrive at an airfield. We’ve been holding out in the BX since arriving. We found a radio in the control tower yesterday and have been broadcasting on the hour ever since,” Mullins replies.

“And the NORAD facility?” I ask.

“Gone. Completely overrun with those things,” he answers sweeping his hand indicating the night runners outside.

“Why don’t you and Lynn here sit down and you can brief her? Lynn, will you catch him up to speed and brief him on our organization? Introduce them and organize them into squads as you see fit,” I say.

“Will do,” Lynn responds.

“In the meantime, let’s get this bucket of bolts off the ground and head home.”

I climb into the cockpit only to be immediately swept up as Bri and Nic throw their arms around me. Robert looks over from the right seat and nods in both welcome and relief.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Bri says with her face pressed against the left side of my chest.

“Glad you’re back, Dad,” Nic says looking up into my eyes in the gloomy shadows of the cockpit. “I was so scared and worried.”

I stand there hugging them close for a few moments longer before releasing them. Mike is sitting on the deck with what’s left of his tail swishing lightly across the steel. It looks more like he is trying to polish the floor with his rear end.

“Let’s be on our way shall we?” I say heading toward my dreaded left seat but also thankful for the ability to sit down; thankful for even having the chance to sit in that tiresome seat. I am feeling completely, and utterly exhausted.

“Are you okay?” Robert asks as I plug in.

“I’m good,” I say in response.

“Good,” he says. That is his way of saying he is thankful I am back safely and that he was worried.

The muffled thumps persist against the aircraft as we go through the checklists. Those thumps diminish substantially as the first inboard engine starts and the prop begins to turn, tailing off completely as we crank up the others. I verify our GPS coordinates in the nav computer and input the original coordinates for McChord, programming a route home. We taxi out as the moon rises from the east, bathing the vast areas of concrete, grass and dirt in its silvery glow.

The runway, lit by our powerful landing and taxi lights, rushes by in the night as we race down it with the twinkling stars above us, inviting us to join them and welcoming us as our wheels leave the ground, leaving this now desolate, high altitude base behind. We climb into the thin air, struggling for altitude, circling around until we reach flight level 250 (25,000 feet). I want the higher altitude for the mountain crossing. Our cargo compartment is now filled to almost standing room only and we are fortunate that our fuel weight is down somewhat from our trip across the country from Atlanta. Leveling off, we start our last leg home, hopefully. A little over four hours and we will land to begin the next phase of our survival.

We transit over the moonlit snowcaps of the Rocky Mountains stretching upward as if trying to reach out to us as we glide over their pristine wilderness. Each peak and subsequent valley slides below our wing and behind us as we drone to the west and north. Yellowstone passes by off our right wing, no longer inhabited by the summer crowds flocking to see its wonders. The bison and wildlife left to their own without the constant transit of cars and gawkers; the geysers erupting without anyone to marvel in their glory.

The westward side of the great mountain range falls off only to be replaced by the rocky and hilly wilderness of Idaho. The distinctness of the hills and forests lost and replaced by the silver light of the moon shining on the tops of trees and hillsides with the dark shadows of valleys gliding by far below us.

We are still about two hours away when I glance down at the instruments and notice that the turbine inlet temperature gauge on number three engine — the inboard one on the right side — has crept up. Still within limits but each time I look at it, which is about every four seconds, it has climbed slightly higher. Great! What next? I think.

“See that,” I point out the instrument to Robert.

“Yeah,” he says with a bit of worry edging into his voice.

“It’s still within limits but creeping up. Open up your checklist to the turbine overheat section and mark the engine shutdown checklist for quick reference,” I say tapping on the gauge. This is an old aircraft and sometimes the needles can get stuck or move on their own. Rare but I have seen it happen before.

“Are we going to have to shut down the engine?” He asks turning up his map light and thumbing through the checklist strapped to his leg.

“I hope not,” I say opening my own checklist.

“Bri, be ready to shut off the fuel to number three engine when I say so,” I add looking at the fire/overheat indicators on the T-handles centered above us. The red lights within each of them remain dark and unlit.

“Okay, Dad,” she says turning her own light on the fuel system panel. I turn the instrument rheostat up so we can see the indications better.

The turbine inlet continues to rise, approaching the upper limit. I retard the throttle back slightly toward idle, watching the gauge needle fall back and feel the nose want to slide to the right as the thrust on that side is reduced, only to slide back as the autopilot makes its correction to bring the aircraft back to its course. I push the throttle for the outboard engine on that side up to compensate for the nose drift bringing the wings back to level. I reach over and switch the autopilot off to fly manually so I can feel the aircraft.

I descend down to flight level 200 in order to give the propellers more air to bite into. The temperature gauge continues to climb with me pulling the throttle back a little further each time the needle approaches the upper limit, additionally moving the number four engine throttle up an equal amount.

“Why don’t we just shut it down?” Robert asks watching my actions.

“Because I want to keep the engine operational as long as I can. The thrust will help us and every minute we can fly at a higher airspeed gets us closer to McChord. And, I don’t want to find a closer airfield to set it down as once we’re down, we’re stuck there,” I answer.

“Nic, will you go get Lynn please? Robert, go back and take a look out of the window at the engine to see if you can see anything. Look for anything streaming out,” I add turning on the wing light so he can see outside a little better.

“What’s up?” Lynn asks as she arrives behind me.

“It looks like we may be losing an engine,” I answer her. “It shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”

“We can still fly right? Will we have to set it down?” She asks yelling in my right ear through the helmet.

“We should be okay. We can fly on three engines without too much difficulty. I plan to continue on to McChord as we’ll be stuck wherever we land,” I respond.

She nods and sits on the lower bunk next to our other passengers already seated there. Robert returns a short time later, sits and plugs back in.

“Well?” I ask hearing the click of his connection coming live on the intercom.

“I can’t tell for sure but it looks like there might be smoke trailing behind,” he answers.

I nod and pull the throttle back a little further, the lever approaching the inflight idle position. The outboard engine is at full throttle but not compensating fully for the loss of thrust on the inboard engine. Luckily it is the inboard engine malfunctioning or the loss of thrust would be felt more. I have to crab the aircraft a little to compensate for the loss of thrust and subsequent loss of lift on our right side, lowering the left wing a touch in order to keep a straight line of flight. I also pull the throttles back slightly on the left side as another measure to compensate.

My last retardation of the throttle reaches the inflight idle position. Any further action if the inlet temperature climbs to the overheat condition will be to shut the engine down. Right now the engine is not providing any thrust but it is not increasing our drag either. It has become a neutral party to our flight. If I can keep it running in this manner, I will still have use of it in case we need to go around on a bad landing setup or for anything else that may arise.

I watch the needle slowly climb upward while continuing to keep an eye on the other instrumentation. If number four started acting up or the needles for the two engines on that side started going haywire, we would have a completely different emergency. I am concerned with our weight and once again thankful for our decreased fuel weight. I do not want to descend any further if I can at all avoid it as we still have the Cascade Mountain Range to cross. They are not as high as the Rockies by any stretch but there are some tall peaks around.

The needle hits the upper limit of the engine and crosses over it. A blinking red light startles me and begs for attention. I look up to see the number three engine fire handle blinking rapidly at me as the master fire light also illuminates on the instrument panel. It has come time to shut the engine down before it can cause any further trouble. We are only about 45 minutes out from McChord. I have been following along on our enroute charts for possible emergency airfields just in case we do need to set it down quickly but we should be able to make it if we do not encounter any further problems.

I rapidly accomplish the quick reaction checklist items for an emergency engine shutdown — called bold face procedures. I pull the engine condition lever back to its detent position bringing the propeller into its feather mode which means that it is perpendicular to our flight path reducing the drag on the aircraft. With the propellers spinning idly on their own without any thrust being applied to them, they become like a giant plate hanging off of our wing. The drag of that alone would be enough to pull the aircraft to the right with very little we could do about it. That is why we have to make sure the propeller is feathered, so the wind doesn’t catch it and allow it to spin freely. I then reach up and pull the T-handle aft, the one with the blinking red light, for the number three engine. This cuts the fuel off to the affected engine effectively shutting it down. All of the gauges for the engines immediately come down to their zero position or are winding quickly downward verifying that the engine is shut down. The red light vanishes from the T-handle. With the red light going out and the temperature gauge winding down, I do not have to discharge the flame retardant into the engine. I punch off the master fire light.

I direct Bri to turn the generator switch and the fuel pump to their off position for the affected engine. I also have her make sure the fuel cross feed switch is in the off position after verifying that the number four engine is drawing fuel off of the tanks on the right side. We continue going through the cleanup checklist items. I put the throttle into its full forward position and close the oil cooler flaps as the final steps in completing the emergency engine shutdown procedure. I also tell Bri to watch the fuel gauges as the tanks on the left side will drain faster as they are supporting two engines as opposed to one. We may have to cross feed if the imbalance gets to be too much.

“How about Olympia? It’s closer,” Robert asks as the situation stabilizes.

“I want to be at McChord. One for the transportation and two to raid the Special Forces and other armories there,” I answer. “We’ll be fine.”

The mountains of the Cascade Range begin to slide under our nose as we limp every closer to McChord and our destination. I ease us down a few thousand feet. Mount Rainier is off to our right, its snowfields on top glowing brightly, reflecting the moonlight from it icy surface. There is not much snow left but enough to radiate its beauty. Our altitude will give us enough clearance to pass over the hills even though the top of Rainier reaches above the horizon. It seems like a long time since we watched it pass by our wing as we started this journey. It is quite a welcoming sight and it seems to welcome us back too.

I think of this as a homecoming and think on how Mom is doing; hoping she is okay. She has not left my thoughts but events have seemed to come in rapid succession so my thoughts did not stay there long. I will try my cell phone and call when we land although I have little hope of it working. If we had all engines running, I would head over and do a flyby to take a look at the place and, if she is still at her house, let her know we have returned. I am anxious and worried about her as I am sure she is about us. I will head over first thing in the morning if my call doesn’t go through.

Mount Rainier passes off our right wing and behind us as I begin a descent into the Puget Sound area. The roads and highways that I know are there should be lit with the lights of cars and trucks transiting through but everything is dark below us. The moonlight reflects off of the waters of Puget Sound presenting a tranquil scene.

I turn north in a descent as the navigation needle centers on the approach I set up into McChord. I would like to do a flyby to verify a clear runway but a go-around is not an ideal procedure on three engines. I will just have to trust that there is not anything large enough on the runway to impede our landing. It would totally suck to go through all that we have been through and come all of this way only to pile it in on our arrival.

Setting up on the approach and finishing the checks, I bring the aircraft down final with the airspeed a touch higher to give us a margin in case we do have to go around for some reason. Our landing lights reach out into the darkness, searching for the runway. There are no visual references with which to judge our approach so I just have to trust the instruments. Robert is in the right seat reading off airspeeds and altitudes, transitioning to the radar altimeter which gives us our height above the ground. I cannot rely on the actual altimeter for accuracy as we do not have a correct atmospheric pressure to set into it. On down the glide slope we continue.

The runway threshold suddenly materializes out of the dark as the landing lights pick it up. We are coming in with a little crab due to our asymmetric thrust which will slowly vanish as I pull the throttles back. The end of the threshold disappears under us. I begin to pull the throttles back bringing the nose up, reducing the crab as the asymmetric thrust vanishes. The centerline stripes rush past the windshield as I continue to gently raise the nose. The main wheels thump on the runway and the aircraft settles. I lower the nose and let the aircraft slow on its own, not wanting to use reverse thrust as that will create a tremendous amount of reverse thrust differential due to our lost engine and possibly veer us off the runway. I could use just the outboard engines to reverse thrust with but we have a long runway and will be able to slow down without using them. Although the C-130 will do well as an off-road vehicle, I do not really want to experiment with that right now. The airspeed slows and I apply the brakes to slow us further.

We taxi in to the ramp where we started this whole trek across the world, our mission a success. Our landing lights pick up the lunch area outside of the base operations building where we began planning this crazy trip. The table still sits where we left it with a couple of the chairs knocked over on their sides. It all seems very surreal and eerie as if we experienced the flight planning just a few days ago in another life or dream. We have arrived a lot wiser to our situation but the expenditure of energy and lives has been high in acquiring that knowledge and getting Lynn. Too many close calls. Hopefully the west coast night runners are a little more laid back than the east coast ones as the ones out east really did not seem to like our presence. Well, come to think of it, the ones here did not especially seem to appreciate us either.

The drone and vibration of the our three remaining engines decreases as we shut the fuel off to them and the giant propellers begin to wind down in the night air. I turn off the taxi lights plunging the night outside into darkness. The moon is high overhead casting its light on the ramp outside and illuminates the cockpit, which has been our home for the past few days, in a silvery glow. This will be the final resting place for this aircraft which has experienced our journey with us and seen us through safely. I pat the dash lightly and tell it thank you.

I unbuckle and rise with a tired sigh, feeling a touch of melancholy now about having to leave the aircraft here but feeling an anxiety and nervousness about our new journey that will begin with the rising of the sun. I reach into my flight suit pocket and pull out my phone. Flipping it open, I press the start button powering it up. The screen lights up, illuminating my face with its glow. The main screen shows and, there on the top, four bars show. What? I think seeing this. How is this possible? I think along several avenues until I realize there has been a revolution around this area with putting solar panels on a lot of the cell towers and powering them using solar energy. I guess they must have done the same with some of the central offices and the servers so these links are still powered up. Lucky us, I think as my phone vibrates suddenly in my hand.

There, displayed on my screen is a text message. I stare in disbelief at the words printed on the screen:

“Are you still alive? I need help.”