by TW Powell
“Dad, do you think we’ve got everything we need?”
“Son, in every military operation there’s always the unexpected. Just when you think you’ve got all your bases covered, an unexpected screwball comes in from left field and totally screws everything up.”
Inspector Wu snickered to himself, “So now I’m the screwball?”
“Do you think Captain Smith will be pleased with our intel?”
“We’ll know day after tomorrow, after he picks us up. We certainly have some great information, but this is a big operation.”
It was now Inspector Wu’s turn to go fishing, “Who is this Captain Smith and what is this big operation?”
Hooray for Hollywood
“Delvin, Honey, you were up all night in the bathroom. Are you going to be OK today?”
“I think so Alex. I’m never going to eat at one of those desert choke and pukes ever again. I think I got food poisoning.”
“I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to be heading back to Berkeley. A limo will pick you up at 8 a.m. down in the lobby. Give me a buzz later and let me know you’re OK.”
“I’ll give you a call later.”
With that, Member California Coordinator left the building and Hero of The Collective, Delvin Smith, underwent a miraculous recovery.
The Peoples’ News Network had scheduled Member Smith to star in several public service announcements being filmed that morning. At noon, Delvin joined several media types for a working lunch. During the course of their monotonous interviews, Delvin was assaulted with asinine questions. In his sharp, concise answers, Member Smith planted “easter eggs” whenever possible, recognizable only to those in the Resistance. He even managed to give a shout out to Miss Daisy in one of those interviews.
That afternoon, he did some voice over work on some computer games designed to indoctrinate the Young Members. Delvin figured that the day would come when he could publicly shove all that shit right up The Collective’s ass, and he was just the man to do it.
That evening, several news reporterettes noticed that Delvin was not accompanied by Member California Coordinator. They were not bashful in their attempts to grab Delvin’s attention and anything else they could get hold of.
The next day was more of the same. After two days of that crap, Delvin was ready to get the hell out of Hollywood.
Nellis
Team #1 was prepping Puma 1 about the same time that Delvin was preparing to face his second day of Hollywood bullshit. Adam and John had hiked around the northern edge of Vegas and had taken up a position in the foothills of Sunrise Mountain, just a couple of miles east of Nellis. When the blazing Las Vegas summertime sun peeked over Sunrise Mountain, both Puma and Team #1 would be looking the other way, to the west.
“Power is on. OK Mr. John, launch.”
John tossed Puma westward off the hilltop.
“OK Adam, take Puma up a couple of thousand feet and get a good wide angle shot of the entire base.”
“Man, Nellis is right on the northeast edge of town.”
“Yeah, Vegas is a strange town. There are no real suburbs. Suddenly, town ends and desert begins. Nellis is situated where desert begins.
“Looks like we have two parallel 10,000-foot runways running from the southwest to the northeast. There are taxiways and hangars all along both sides of those dual runways. There’s at least a dozen helicopters up at the extreme north end of the airfield and two large fuel storage tanks. Look at all those fighters. At least 30 that we can see. Who knows how many more are inside those covered revetments?”
“What are those three big black planes?”
“Those are B-1 Bombers. We don’t even wanna talk about those.
“Ah so, swing Puma over to the east side of the base, back over this way. See those two aprons shaped like a vee?”
“Mr. John, are those three Warthogs sitting down there?”
“Yep, those two big turbofans on the ass end are a dead giveaway.”
Puma completed her reconnoiter and Adam was bringing his little kitty home.
“Hang on Adam, before you bring her home, take her just up to the north of our position at about 1,000 feet off the deck.
“Focus her eyes straight down. Look at all those driveways about three miles northeast of the base, tucked back in the hills.”
“Yeah, what is that? The roads form a grid.”
“Zoom in real close. Bring her down to 500.”
“Mr. John, those are bunkers. A whole bunch of bunkers.”
“Yep. See how they’re evenly spaced out and covered with earth. Those are munitions bunkers.”
Adam finally brought Puma in for yet another deep-stall landing.
“Adam, every time Puma does that, I can’t help but cringe.”
Adam just replied with a snicker.
Where I’m Going
“Jo, Butcher’s been hit. She’s down there on the highway.” Flipper knew his friend was dead.
“Where was she hit?”
“In the head.”
“Flipper, our friend is dead, and you know it.”
Flipper silently shook his head, “Yes.”
Under her breath, Jo said goodbye, “Shalom Miriam.”
Mere seconds later, Jo and Apache landed the Huey back at camp, near Vine Grove.
“Blaster, Flipper, Katz, this is where you get off. Colonel Jimmy will help you get back over to Paw Paw.”
As Katz followed his two friends off the chopper, he asked Jo the pointed question, “Jo, where are you going?”
Jo replied, “Where I’m going, you cannot follow.”
The Pick-Up
Delvin was heading east on I-10 by 8 a.m. Ninety minutes later, Member Smith was through Cajon Pass and heading northeast on I-15. After another three hours, he arrived at the abandoned golf course near Primm, Nevada.
“How are the Sergeant and Private Jackson doing today?”
“We’re doing great, Delvin. We spent all day yesterday just relaxing under the palms, but the day before, we got some very interesting intel.”
“Tommy, how did our little kitty perform?”
“She performed purrfectly, Captain Smith. Can’t wait to see the Indian Springs and Nellis footage from the other Puma.”
Inspector Wu’s parabolic microphone was also working purrfectly. James was hidden in a ditch amongst a clump of Mediterranean Fan Palms, still surviving without supplementary irrigation. He had camped less than 100 yards from Jacksons and sat there for over 30 hours.
“So, not only is Delvin a Hero of The Collective, he is also Captain Smith, but Captain of what? Why is he addressing his comrades as Sergeant and Private?
“And what is this big operation? They’re gathering intel from Indian Springs, Nellis, and Mountain Pass?”
After Delvin & Company departed the golf course, James pondered the situation as he walked a miserable two miles, under the broiling midday sun, back to his quarters in the former Primm casino resort.”
Meanwhile, Delvin refueled in Vegas, then 30 minutes thereafter, picked up Team #1 at Thule Springs.
On the drive back up to Austin, Tommy copied the video feed from both Pumas onto three 128 GB thumb drives, one for Delvin, one for Porter, and one for the Kingston Team. Just after sundown, the team arrived at the National Café.
Delvin made a slow circuit around the National Café. The back lot was empty, except for Porter’s pickup. Knowing that The Collective was cracking down around Austin, Delvin parked in an empty lot a couple of blocks behind the National Café. Everyone waited in the truck until dark, then Delvin walked alone to Miss Stormy’s back door and knocked.
Vince answered the door and wasted no time shooing Delvin up the backstairs to the second-floor bordello parlor.
“Delvin, your Mormon friend is up in the parlor. You men need to get your asses out of here and don’t come back until the heat is off.”
Delvin had never seen Vince this upset, “Vince, my man, what has you so spooked?”
/> “Spooked my ass! Those fuckers have been in here four times today, asking questions and making threats. They even threatened Miss Stormy. Now you and your Mormon friend get the hell out of here.”
Delvin grabbed Porter and led him down the backstairs.
“We’ve got to make ourselves scarce. I’ll go out first. If the coast is clear, you follow me out the backdoor and jump in your truck. I’ll walk the couple of blocks to my box truck. You follow behind me, then drive on past my truck and park yours’ a couple of blocks further away. Then walk back to my box truck. We’ll meet in the box.”
A few minutes later, the entire team met in the box of Delvin’s truck.
“Porter, your appearance and your truck’s appearance are dead giveaways. Vince just told me that Peoples’ Militia have been nosing around the Café all day asking questions and threatening him and Miss Stormy.
“It’s getting too dangerous around here for any of us. From now on, we meet down in Black Bird Canyon in this truck.”
Porter was flummoxed, but he feared he had caused the problem, “Delvin, what has brought all this heat down on Austin?”
“Three days ago, when I picked up these four gentlemen and the two Pumas at the Café, we were stopped by a couple of Peoples’ Militia. We liquidated them, strapped them back into their vehicle, then pushed it over an embankment a couple of miles east on US 50. They told us The Collective was cracking down on Resistance activities in Austin.
“Don’t worry, you didn’t give us away, but I suggest you make yourself and your vehicle less conspicuous for future visits. Now let’s review the intel and get the hell out of town well before dawn.”
Jo to Slick, CQ
After departing Vine Grove, Jo’s next stop was Fort Leonard Wood down in Missouri’s Ozarks. The southern half of Missouri was firmly under Resistance control, having never accepted the mob rule of The Collective. The area had built up since Ike Johnson’s brief stay back in 1950, but the Resistance stationed here still referred to the place as “Fort Lost in the Woods”.
The two-hour flight to Lost in the Woods was somber and quiet. Jo and Apache both respected Butcher as a fearsome warrior and were deeply saddened by her death. Neither Jo, nor Apache would ever admit, even to themselves, that the same morbid thought kept crossing both their minds, “Better her, than me.”
Jo landed her Super Huey at the small airfield that formerly served as both a regional airport and Fort Leonard Wood’s airfield, “Apache give her the once over and make sure these yahoos fill her to the tip top. I gotta find me the comms bunker.”
The pass that Colonel Cooper gave Jo back in The Bunker was sort of a skeleton key that unlocked all Resistance resources. Jo quickly made her way to the base communications center, stuck her pass in the sentry’s face, then proceeded to sit down at the shortwave.
Jo tuned the transmitter to a frequency reserved for The Bunker’s use, “Jo to Cooper. Jo to Cooper. The word is Roosevelt, I repeat, Roosevelt.
Back at The Bunker, Colonel Cooper was rudely awakened from a good night’s sleep, “Private, what in the hell is so important at 5 a.m.?”
“Sir, there’s a shortwave message from call sign Jo. The message is, “Roosevelt.”
Cooper’s eyes opened wide and he sprang out of bed, “Private, rouse the entire General Staff.”
It was 2 a.m. out in Kingston and Junior was giving Bobby Ray a very late-night shortwave lesson.
“Jo to Slick. CQ, CQ. Jo to Slick, CQ.”
“Junior, is that Ms. Jo calling us from Kentucky?”
“I dunno, Bobby Ray. Let’s find out.” The transmission was coming in over Slick’s assigned frequency and in the clear.
“Junior to Jo, reading you 5 by 5. How’s Miss Daisy?”
“Junior, Daisy is just as God damned ornery as ever. I need to talk to Slick.”
“Slick is out of pocket. Please advise.”
“Damn it Junior, me and Baby Huey are headed your way. Where’s the nursery?”
Junior was momentarily at a loss, then he turned to Bobby Ray, “Skipper go get me that grid map. “
Bobby Ray brought Junior a grid map of the Southwest with coded coordinates.
“Jo, you got your AAA road map?”
Jo barked out at the young radio operator, “Private, I need a grid map, now!”
“Fuck you and the Auto Club, Junior, just give me those coordinates.”
Junior relayed Kingston’s coded coordinates to Josephine. As soon as the Private returned with a map, Jo plotted a course to her destination.
“Ok! Heading your way. Chain up your guard dogs. See you in about 15.”
Jo started doing the math in her head. It would take her 13 to 15 hours to reach Kingston, two hours flight time to Altus, Oklahoma with another hour to top off with fuel, then 10 more flight hours from Altus to Kingston. Even with Huey’s extra fuel tanks, Jo couldn’t quite make it, but that wasn’t going to stop her.
Jo and Apache took turns piloting the Huey. The rugged hilly terrain of the Ozarks offered them ample opportunity to further practice their Nape of Earth flying technique as they cut southwest across the state of Missouri.
“See them lights on the horizon? That’s Tulsa. Once we hit Tulsa, the country will begin to flatten out. By the time we pass OKC, we’ll be out onto the Southern Plains. After we refuel at Altus, we can’t do any of this terrain hugging bullshit. We’ll take her up to 13,000 feet and slow our cruise to 100 miles per hour. That flight profile will offer optimum fuel economy. We’ll need it. Once we leave Altus, it will take us 10 hours to reach our final destination.”
Apache was born in the States, immigrating to Israel at 16. His slight Philly accent was a little reminiscent of Rocky Balboa, “Yo, Jo, that’s 1000 miles without refueling. Even with the extra tanks, we won’t make it.”
“Don’t worry about the fuel, I’ve got a plan.”
Dawn was breaking as the Huey crossed into the The Nations.
“Jesus Christ, Apache look down there.”
As the land flattened out, a scene of abject horror unfolded below them. Burnt towns and villages dotted the landscape. A few areas looked like no-man’s land from back in the Great War.
“My God Josephine, what happened down there?”
“The Collective, that’s what happened. They claim to worship Native Americans, but the truth is, they hate all Americans. The Nations were merely pawns for The Collective. The only real winners down there were those fucking Red Chinese.”
Throughout the entire flight, The Keeper spoke not a word, neither did he sleep. He just sat with his arms resting on The Charters with ‘ol Max by his side.
“There’s our destination, Altus Air Force Base. We’re just few miles west of Ft. Sill, Oklahoma.”
Upon landing, Jo, Keeper, and Apache grabbed some breakfast while the Huey was being refueled. Even ‘ol Max grabbed some chow.
After stuffing down a couple of breakfast sandwiches, Jo enlisted the aid of a Master Sergeant out on the flight line, “Sergeant, I need 20 jerricans of JP-4 and I need them now!”
“Keeper, make yourself useful. Start securing those jerricans in Huey. And, for God’s sake, take Max for a walk.”
“Apache pack us plenty of drinking water, some rations, and ammo for our sidearms. Aah hell, go ahead and grab an assault rifle for The Keeper.”
At 3:13 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time, the few remaining residents of Rachel, Nevada gazed southeastward down NV 375, the Extraterrestrial Highway, as an unidentified flying object approached. It was difficult to discern the exact size and shape of the craft due to the blinding glare of the afternoon desert sun. As the craft neared town, the noise was deafening, and the air was whirling faster than any dust devil.
The Super Huey was running on mere fumes as it touched down in the parking lot of the Extraterrestrial Café. A small crowd slowly gathered around the chopper. When Jo exited the Huey, and those assembled saw the Stars & Stripes adorning her helmet, cheers and applause filled the hot
desert air. The proprietor of the once slightly famous tourist hotspot handed the trio ice cold beers.
“Keeper, Apache, break out those jerricans and give Huey a drink, she’s thirsty.”
Then Jo addressed the proprietor, “Thanks for the beers Mam, would you happen to have any kerosene and gasoline?”
“We don’t sell it to the general public, but I’ve got at least 20 gallons of kerosene and quite a bit more gasoline.”
“Do you think a 1 troy ounce bar of gold will cover these beers, the kerosene, and an equal amount of gas?”
“Holy shit lady, for an ounce of gold you can each have another beer and some sandwiches. Feel free to use the facilities too.”
This was the first time, in a long time, anyone had called Jo “lady”.
“Keeper, Apache, pour equal amounts of kerosene and gasoline in with the JP-4.”
In a few minutes, Huey was fueled, and Jo was ready to roll.
“Ok boys, last potty break until we reach Kingston. ETA 1 hour.”
Meeting in a Box
Adam and John started the meeting off by presenting the highlights of Puma 1’s footage of Creech Air Force Base in Indian Springs, Nevada.
“Porter, that definitely is a Global Hawk. That is a high value target.”
“Yes, it is, Delvin. That’s a strategic asset. Those smaller drones are MQ-9 Reapers. They have more range and carry more ordnance than the Predator. They could wreak havoc on our forces during transit.”
“Then we must take out Indian Springs.”
“Yes, but that attack must be coordinated with a strike against Nellis.”
John spoke up, “If you liked the Creech footage, you’ll just love Nellis.”
Delvin, Tom, and Porter were aghast at the airpower on display down at Nellis.
John continued, “There’s over 30 jet fighters visible. We don’t know how many more are in the hangars and in the covered revetments. Most of what we can see are legacy aircraft, F-15s and F-16s.”