Invasion USA 3 - The Battle for Survival

by T I WADE

  “What the hell!” demanded Preston, following Martie into the lounge. “We end our two-week vacation and then we get the whole world landing all at once.”

  “Strong Field, Strong Field, this is a Charlie-130 coming in from the air base to your south for troop pick-up. We are three minutes out and it sounds like we have chosen your busy time. Do you want us to come back later?”

  “I suppose you guys want breakfast too, like the rest of the bloody hungry horde out there?” demanded Preston in a gruff manner.

  “Negative, we had breakfast at base,” was the reply

  “Hi, Preston, Sally here. I’m also on long finals from the south and would like breakfast. I’m faster than the rest and can be there shortly after my Air Force colleagues from Seymour.”

  “May I gather that Jennifer is also up there somewhere?” asked Preston.

  “Now how did you guess that, Preston?” laughed Jennifer.

  “Bloody hell! From zero for two weeks to having over a dozen aircraft all incoming at once. We are not a roadside diner here, guys. And Martie cannot feed all of you so quickly, so here is the information you need. The girls will have landing priority so that they can help Martie with breakfast,” replied Preston. “Temperature is 31 degrees, wind, and slight breeze from the north at 1 to 2 knots.”

  “Thanks, Preston,” continued Carlos, “and don’t worry – breakfast is on us. Just put out the red carpet as we have some delights out of Colombia and some fresh coffee beans for you.

  “By the way, Preston, we have eleven aircraft incoming, a bunch of Marines and a few dozen Air Force crew. Preston, we will use the parking area along the runway where the hospital units used to be. It’s now clear and empty, I assume?”

  Preston acknowledged that it was clear, apart from the old barn. The C-130 from Seymour Johnson could already be seen to the south, on final approach and directly over Jordan Lake.

  The pilot, well used to Preston’s field, came in slow and managed to taxi down the runway just as the next aircraft could be seen over the lake. Preston looked at its shape; he couldn’t recognize it and was rather shocked to see his first jet coming in to land on his airfield.

  “It’s an old Super Tweet, a Dragonfly, I hope it has a STOL (Short Takeoff and Landings) conversion,” he said to Martie standing next to him. Sally, now an expert at landing on his field, brought the small twin-engine jet to a standstill at the very northern end of the runway as Blue Moon came in next with Easy Girl behind her. Preston could hear Jennifer giving the pilot suggestions on landing over the radio as Sally taxied off the runway area at the end and waited for the two aircraft to land.

  As they did, Preston was shocked to see another foreign-looking aircraft fly low overhead, another DC-3, but it had military markings much like the Dragonfly at the end of his runway. “What the hell is happening?” he asked aloud.

  “It sounds like Sally is in the little jet and Jennifer is helping another pilot in the Gunship,” suggested Martie.

  Then what the hell is that line of C-130s coming in over the lake? I count seven of them,” stated Preston.

  “Me, too!” replied Martie in wonderment. It was certainly a sight to see and rather pleasurable to observe so many aircraft flying at once.

  Carlos began talking over the radio in Spanish, giving the Colombian pilots the same information Jennifer had given to her colleague. The jet taxied and its engines screamed onto the apron in front of the hangar as the two Gunships parked on either side of the old barn. The first C-130 touched down spewing out dust.

  They came in one by one and Carlos told them to stay in the dirt and park in a line next to the Gunships.

  “Are you done yet, Carlos?” Preston heard Buck over the radio. “I’ve been circling for five minutes.”

  “Sorry to keep you, friend, but parking is always a problem at Walmart, or did Preston say McDonalds? Since Preston isn’t helping with landing procedures, I give Lady Dandy next landing rights from the south. Michael, I assume you are pretty close and need the men’s room, so I’ll come in last.”

  Preston was actually dumbstruck at the use of his runway. The apron was full, the other side of the runway looked like a whole foreign air force had just landed and he still had three incoming. Lady Dandy came in next and then another C-130, in which Martie’s father was learning to fly, got in line for final approach. Jennifer was on the ground and again helping the pilot in. Carlos touched down last in a military-looking Colombian DC-3, which had guns prickling out of holes along the side of the aircraft like a cactus.

  “My poor runway,” Preston commented to nobody in particular. Slowly the engines died. Preston watched as Carlos taxied the last aircraft onto the full apron; it wouldn’t fit and with the only room left directly in front of the house, he spun the D-3 around where Preston was standing with his handheld radio and spewed him and the house with dust as the propellers slowed to a halt.

  Sally was already out of her little jet; she hadn’t turned it around to face the runway as her jets would have caused damage to Preston’s hangar door. She ran up to Martie and gave her a huge hug. Even though she was a couple of inches shorter than Martie at five foot eight, she didn’t care. Slowly, all the aircraft emptied of dozens of pilots and crew members. The rear doors of the closest C-130 opened and a large box was carried out by two men.

  Preston still hadn’t moved, watching as Carlos exited the DC-3 alone. He was the only person aboard. Being closer than the rest, he walked up to Preston and shook his hand.

  “Are those mean-looking machine guns automatically operated? How many are there, three Miniguns? Is that thing a mini-gunship?” Preston asked Carlos as he shook his hand.

  “And a happy good morning to you, Señor Strong,” replied a warmly bundled-up Carlos smiling at his friend’s disheartened expression about his airfield. “What is the use of building such a good runway if nobody uses it?” Carlos laughed. “And yes, you are right; this is my new baby, my very own Gunship. Her regular gun crew is home in Colombia. It’s far too cold to have any crew manning the guns. Isabella is her name and she is an open-air, fair-weather flying Gunship only.”

  “Bloody crazy friends I have,” replied Preston. “And the rest—the whole Colombian Air Force—have you carried out a coup, or what?”

  “No, they are to be turned into Gunships and returned to Bogotá,” replied Carlos. Sally jumped into Preston’s arms and he gave her a bear hug.

  “Sally, I was told to tell you that your parents are safe in your quarters in Yuma. They are waiting for a visit,” he stated to her while getting his hug.

  “Oh, fantastic!” replied Sally smiling. “I was worried, but I knew that they were safe. I’ll try and get down there ASAP.”

  Michael and Grandpa Roebels came up to say hello as the rest of the growing crowd stopped in front of Preston. Grandpa Roebels had been wheeled out of the rear door of the C-130 in his wheelchair looking a little tired and Preston went over to shake his hand.

  “Like my new ride?” Martie’s grandfather asked Preston, with his granddaughter hugging first him and then her father who was pushing the wheelchair. “We slept in there, refueled in Salt Lake City and I didn’t even wake up.”

  “May I assume there is now a Rent-a-C-130 Company in California instead of ordinary rental cars?” Preston joked with the old man.

  Lee and his ladies ran up and hugged Preston and Martie with Buck following. For the next ten minutes and in still sub-zero temperatures, introductions were made. Preston and Martie were introduced to all the Colombian pilots and crew. Others from the U.S. Gunships had been there several times in the last two months and Preston knew many by name.

  “Listen up, guys!” shouted Sally, getting everybody’s attention. “We have fresh and still warm rolls, croissants, and Danish from a lovely bakery on base at MacDill in Florida. They baked them especially for us using their valuable stocks. We have urns of hot Colombian coffee, enough for a hundred people. Preston, I’m sure that we can open your hangar
and set up breakfast.”

  Preston nodded, coming out of his shock. A large portion of all of the aircraft still flying on Planet Earth had just settled on his airfield.

  Sally continued, “We have two hours before the slowest aircraft needs to get going to Andrews for the meeting. Those are the C-130s and Lady Dandy. So let’s have breakfast and converse in the hangar. Preston, it had better be warmer than out here.”

  Martie really enjoyed her special breakfast, as did everyone else. It was certainly a thrill to have such lovely fresh pastries. Just having fresh bread was a thrill.

  “I have a surprise for you,” stated Sally to Martie and Preston. A commercial baking oven was wheeled in from outside by two Colombian pilots. “It can be adjusted for the electricity output here on your farm, Preston. I swapped it in Bogotá for a 105mm howitzer.” Even Carlos was shocked, he didn’t know about the behind-the-scenes dealings that had gone on while he was in meetings with his family.

  “Who did you do the business with and where did you get the 105mm howitzer from? There weren’t any on board when we went out there,” Carlos asked Sally, scratching his head.

  “Lover, it’s a promised 105mm howitzer and I still need to find one. I’m sure there are dozens around here. I did the deal with General Moreno’s base commander at El Dorado while you were in the big, important guys’ meetings. I saw several used ovens in the hangar at the airfield so I asked the guy who was in charge of our meals why they were there. He told me that all the air bases had received new gas ones in December and these had been scheduled to be auctioned off. He told me that they still worked perfectly and could bake anything. After speaking to the base commander and the general, he allowed me to stack them in Easy Girl for the promised 105mm. Carlos, your uncle asked for an artillery version and this breakfast is thanks to the baking oven I gave MacDill’s Officers’ Mess kitchen last night. They had an electronic one that didn’t work. I reserved one for you, Preston and Martie, since we nearly live here, and one each for Andrews and Seymour Johnson. I want to get one set up in Yuma. You guys know I can’t fly without a decent pastry for breakfast.”

  Everybody laughed and Preston suddenly realized that the new world was now a world of bartering, not a world of money. The millions in his bank account controlled by some electronic database were now non-existent.

  Sergeant Perry and his men, good friends with the regular arrivals at the airfield, said their goodbyes and the Marines who had arrived from MacDill thanked everybody for breakfast and filed out for their short return flight to Seymour Johnson. Sally asked the Colombian pilots to deliver one of the four remaining ovens to the C-130 bound for Seymour Johnson.

  Breakfast was a happy affair. There was lots of camaraderie and Preston shouted over to Sally munching on her third Danish, “So you swapped a 105mm howitzer for a Danish. What did you swap for the Super Tweet you are currently flying… the Pentagon?” Everybody quieted down to hear the answer.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “Carlos just told me to get in it and fly it. I will let Lover Boy tell you. I think he has a few very secret and very sneaky ideas in mind.” Everybody looked at Carlos who suddenly blushed.

  “Well… uh… well… I thought that Sally would enjoy a jet, and it’s a good addition to our Air Force here in the U.S.,” he stammered.

  “Bull H Crap!” added Sally. “That’s not what you told me!”

  “OK, OK!” responded Carlos, putting up his hand to fend off her accusations and his friends’ prompting to tell the truth. “It’s an engagement gift from me to Sally.”

  “Bull crap again!” laughed Sally. “I was told that it was a wedding present. Don’t you lie to my friends, Carlos, you are losing face big-time in my book.”

  Now Carlos was in a corner and he knew it.

  “Well?” he asked her. “Isn’t it a better way of asking than tweeting you on Twitter, as we could have done last year? It’s a better Tweet!” Again snickers erupted. Carlos was fighting back, but lamely. “Do you want me to get down on one knee and ask you right now?”

  “Not on your life, lover! I will spend a little time testing your gift to see if it is worthwhile, and then I’ll Tweet you to let you know,” Sally replied walking up to Carlos, giving him a light slap on the back of the head and then giving her man a bear hug. There was much laughter, wolf whistles and applause from the crowd.

  Preston was back to normal. The breakfast was fantastic and there was even enough for Joe and David when they arrived twenty minutes later. Jennifer ran up to David and gave him a massive hug. “Looks like the world’s population is already on the rise with all the romance going on here,” Preston loudly suggested and Martie gave him a slap on the back of the head.

  Little Beth was also enjoying herself, shaking every man’s hand and trying the several words of Spanish she knew. Sally had a special hug for her.

  Time went by quickly and the oven was set up in the hangar by Buck and Carlos. Preston asked Carlos where his father and uncle were and Carlos explained that they had gone directly to Andrews in a 130 that had taken off an hour after they landed at MacDill. Uncle Philippe wanted to get back to the embassy in Washington quickly.

  The Seymour Johnson C-130 had gone and now it was time to fly up to Andrews for the meeting with the President. First Preston had to show the Colombian pilots all his toys and they were very impressed with the beautiful lines of the P-38 Lightning.

  Preston, Martie, and several others wanted showers and by 10:30 the first 130s were lining up for takeoff. Sally had briefed the first-time pilots on getting out of the shorter than usual airfield and they were shown the way with the C-130 out of Edwards taking off first to lead them up to Andrews. Preston suggested that all the aircraft fly in formation up to Washington to show anybody on the ground that there was still a large number of aircraft flying in the United States.

  It took twenty minutes before Sally took off just in front of Preston and Martie flying their Mustangs. Slowly the group came together over RDU, where everybody had planned to circle at 5,000 feet, the eight C-130s, two AC-130 Gunships, the two DC-3s looking pretty next to each other. Sally’s Super Tweet and the two Mustangs got into formation. The Colombian C-130 with its modified engines was at maximum cruise to allow the faster jet to stay in formation at its minimum cruise.

  The entire group flew north to Andrews Air Force Base. Other aircraft were already in the landing pattern for Andrews, so the radio chatter was quite busy for the first time this year. Preston and Carlos recognized the base commander’s voice from Hill Air Force Base, then the base commander’s voice from Edwards. Maggie and Will Smart should be aboard that one if Will had finally overcome his fear of flying.

  They were still half an hour out at 11:45 when they heard the Jumbo Jet call signs also being given orders for final approach into Andrews. It was getting tight but those big jets, using the two runways, were all in thirty minutes later as the Strong formation was given landing numbers and runways for final approach three minutes behind the last two 747s. The weather was a degree above zero and with no wind. They came in directly from the south, three minutes apart. The two long runways swallowed up the fifteen aircraft quickly.

  Base personnel indicated parking positions for Preston and his friends while the Colombian C-130s were directed into another area. The twenty Chinese Airlines 747s and five Airbus 380s were in two long lines on the main terminal area and looked grand, disembarking thousands of soldiers into trucks and old buses waiting to take them to new quarters.

  Andrews was certainly a busy place as a Huey helicopter flew into the midst, which Preston recognized as Buck’s Baby Huey. The President must have commandeered it again. He suddenly realized that Barbara had not been with them earlier; she was flying the President in his favorite flying machine, Buck One, as the President now fondly called the Huey.

  Aircraft and helicopters kept arriving, the choppers mostly from the north and northwest. Preston assumed they carried commanders arriving from the cit
ies. There were certainly a lot more aircraft flying than a couple of weeks ago when he had been here last.

  With the President’s arrival, the large group of flyers and other personnel were guided into a hangar readied for the event. Preston reckoned that well over a hundred people were being ushered into the hangar by Air Force Military Police. A boardroom table had been placed next to a podium at the front of the room and hard military steel chairs in rows of about twenty had been placed in ten rows facing the table. It was certainly a much bigger meeting than any of the last ones.

  He was still with many of his friends when a sergeant asked for his name.

  “Preston Strong and Martie Roebels,” he replied and the sergeant looked at a list.

  “First row, take any two seats, sir and ma’am.” They followed the sergeant’s instructions and found Uncle Philippe already sitting in the first row with Manuel and decided to sit next to him.

  “Good morning, Preston, Martie,” stated both men, standing and shaking hands with the newcomers.

  “Good morning, Mr. Ambassador, Manuel,” Preston and Martie replied, taking seats.

  “Sorry to miss a visit to your farm this morning, but I needed to get back to Washington,” stated the Ambassador. “Please call me Philippe. I think formal address has gone out of the window for the time being. I’m organizing a helicopter to have available for the embassy for food supplies and travel in and out of the embassy grounds. We can’t fly a helicopter from Colombia, the distance is too far, but I’ve had the President working on loaning us one. He loaned me his latest one, an old Navy Sea King, and he asked for Buck’s Huey as its replacement. The embassy has been attacked twice now by mobs trying to get in and we need to travel in and out by air.”

  “There is so much unruliness in Washington, Philippe?” asked Preston.

  “Unfortunately, and it’s getting worse,” replied Philippe. “We flew in more guns and ammunition in one of the C-130s with Colombian food supplies from our country yesterday. An empty American C-130 was flying into Andrews for this meeting and we got our stuff aboard as we couldn’t wait for our aircraft to be refueled. So far we have managed one supply flight into the embassy grounds this morning and we took in only basic necessities, a small amount of what we had brought. We still need several flights in, but we are now safe, resupplied with ammunition, food and good Colombian coffee and will have enough supplies for our personnel until we get more in a month or so. The American soldiers are trying to solve the problems around Washington and do not want our embassy military personnel shooting the civilians attacking us. There is still no police force in our area, or in the whole of D.C. for that matter.”