Turning Point (Book 1): A Time To Die

by Wandrey, Mark

  Andrew came to attention and saluted. The general looked to be in his sixties, but fit as a teenager. He was tall with close-cut black hair. He looked up from his field desk and eyed the new arrival for a second, before tossing back a quick salute.

  “You would have done us a good turn if you’d got that gunship here in one piece,” the general grumbled.

  “Sorry sir, it barely made that one pass to save the colonel.”

  The general huffed and dismissed the issue with a wave of his hand. “The colonel radioed you aren’t qualified for the C-17.”

  “No sir, I’m not. But I landed an Airbus A380 a few days ago, and managed to do it without killing everyone aboard.”

  “What happened to the passengers?”

  “The plane was overrun with creatures,” Andrew explained. “I rescued these two men and a dozen others from another plane in Monterrey. We’re all that survived when the gunship went down.”

  “Regardless, glad to have you. I can’t order Air Force personnel to assist, but since I have contact with zero Air Force units, I’m asking for your help.” Andrew nodded his assent. “Excellent. You’re the third pilot I have willing to stick a heavy transport. One’s qualified on the C-130…”

  “Wish he’d been with me in Monterrey,” Andrew laughed. The general grunted and went on.

  “And the other flew the C5 Galaxy back in the ‘90s. He was here in Hood, visiting his son, who’s in my command.”

  “That looks like your transport commander,” Andrew said.

  “Agreed. He’s in the operations ready room, next door, along with the other pilot. Get together with them and go over the literature we have on the Globemasters. I’m working on a way to get to them through that collection of Mad Max rejects out there.”

  “More like Dawn of the Living Dead,” Wade said quietly. The general heard him, and gave him a withering glare that made the gamer take a step back and examine the floor.

  “What about copilots?” Andrew asked.

  “We have a couple of extra junior helo pilots with some stick time in fixed wing. About the best we can do,” the general explained.

  “I’ll take Chris, then. He’s worked with me, and I trust him. And Wade can handle the engineering board. He’s a computer geek, so he’ll learn quickly.” The general made a dismissive gesture.

  “Fine by me, dismissed.” Andrew tossed him a salute and left with his friends.

  “Is he worth the trip?” Rose asked Cobb.

  “I hope so,” Cobb replied, then shrugged. “The man seems pretty unkillable, if you ask me. You weren’t there when he swept in with the Spectre and started gunning down those zombies. I’ve seen more than a few gunship runs in my day. For a guy who’d never flown an AC-130, he did a fantastic job.”

  “Yeah, then he crashed the damned thing and killed most of his crew.”

  “He said they were down an engine before take-off. That bird had major maintenance issues, by the sound of it,” Cobb said. “I’d say he saved some of his crew, instead of killing most of them. Remember, they were all civilians, and were probably not properly strapped in. He figured he was simply flying to a base and hadn’t planned to go into combat.”

  “Well,” the general said, looking at the board with the names, “he’s all we’ve got to fly that third transport.” Cobb glanced at the board. The huge list of names had lines drawn in various places. The lines indicated cut-off for transport capabilities. There was a red line about one-third of the way down. They couldn’t evacuate any of those below that line, if the C-17s weren’t available. The general looked at the map board.

  “What do we do when we get to LA?” Cobb asked.

  “Link up with whoever is holding the city,” the general said, “and fight.”

  * * *

  Andrew met the other pilots, and they spent an hour going over the one set of manuals they had for the C-17. The older Air Force pilot had more hours in the air than Andrew, but they were in the out-of-date C5 Galaxy. They prepared with a sense of urgency; an ever-growing number of infected was surrounding the airfield.

  The pilots learned all they could, then someone showed Andrew and his friends to cots and hot food. Later, Andrew didn’t remember eating the food, and he was asleep the instant his head hit the inflatable pillow.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 27

  Tuesday, April 25, Morning

  Andrew woke up, surprisingly well rested and hungry once again. He pulled on his boots and went looking for food. He found Wade in the cafeteria, with the C-17 manuals spread out next to a nearly-empty plate of mystery lasagna.

  “You been up long?” Andrew asked.

  “An hour or so,” Wade said, and highlighted something in the manual.

  “What time is it?”

  “Just after 2:00 a.m.,” Wade replied. Chris walked in a moment later, yawning and following the smells of food. Andrew and Chris got some of the lasagna and joined Wade, who continued to study the manuals.

  “You keep that up, and soon, you’ll be able to fly it,” Andrew said, pointing with a fork. Wade snorted and kept studying.

  “Oh,” Wade said, looking up suddenly, “that general dude wanted to talk. He said the op starts at 3:00 a.m. They were about to come get you up.”

  “Got it; thanks,” Andrew said. He shoveled a few more bites into his mouth and left for the general’s office. An aide waved him in.

  “Get some rest, Lieutenant?” the general asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Andrew replied. “I understand you have a plan?” The general nodded and showed him. Andrew wasn’t thrilled.

  Later, he left with Chris, Wade, and the other pilot/copilot teams. Unlike when they’d arrived, they all wore clean uniforms and had modern gear. Wade and Chris wore army UCP camo jumpsuits with jackets, battle harnesses, and backpacks for other gear. Everyone sported new, modern Kevlar helmets as well. Chris had a new M4 carbine with a dozen magazines; Wade carried the same M9 pistol, but in a proper holster with four extra mags in pouches. He’d passed on a rifle. Andrew wore the same Air Force flight suit, though his underwear was fresh, and, like the others, he’d grabbed a quick shower.

  The rain had relented to a steady shower as they walked out into the chilly April morning. As they approached, a Blackhawk began spinning up its rotors. Chris and Wade stopped.

  “Are we really doing this?” Wade asked. Chris looked apprehensive.

  “Yes, we are,” Andrew said as he jumped up into the helicopter. “All these people are counting on us. It won’t be as bad as you think.”

  “Yeah,” Wade said. “It will probably be much worse.”

  Inside the helicopter was the same team of operators who’d been with Cobb when he rescued Andrew and his friends. As soon as the three boarded, the crew immediately began assisting the new arrivals with the complicated-looking harnesses. They had to step into the leg and cross sections, slip their arms in, then pull straps across their chests and waists. Andrew had worn the harnesses several times before and was familiar with the constricted feelings they caused, especially in the nether regions. Chris and Wade were not. They looked like dogs in too-small collars.

  “How bad is this going to hurt on the cable?” Chris wondered.

  “It won’t hurt, sir,” one of the operators said as he adjusted the fit, “as long as these straps are in tight against your thighs.”

  “Be sure you have them right,” one of the other operators said, giving Andrew a wink. “I jumped out once, had a nut under a strap, and figured I’d been shot. It hurt that fucking bad.”

  “Give it a rest,” Cobb said as he hopped in. “This will go by the numbers.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Andrew said, “you’re not jumping.”

  “Actually I am, but it’s not jumping.” The helicopter’s engine began to roar, and the helo lifted from the tarmac. Four other choppers lifted at the same time. Elsewhere, a dozen more Blackhawks were warming up, though none of them had passengers.

  “Close enou
gh,” Wade said, his eyes wide with fright.

  The helicopters climbed to about 100 feet and headed west across the sea of ravening zombies. Two fell in with Andrew’s helicopter, two others angled away in their own formation.

  It was a very short flight, only about 1,000 yards, to a series of huge hangars. The helicopters singled out three of those hangars and split up, each one hovering over a different building. In the brief flight, the four operators and Cobb put on their own harnesses. They did it much quicker, having done it countless times before.

  “Listen up,” Cobb said as the helicopter started to slow to a hover. “Rappelling isn’t as easy as it is in the movies, but it also isn’t hard. Like I explained, hold this snugly,” he held up the friction break, “and relax your grip a little, not a lot, and down you go. If you’re going too fast, just squeeze, and you’ll stop. Got it?” Wade and Chris nodded. Andrew had done this several times before, including during SERE training.

  “Just land on the fucking roof!” Wade whined.

  “Can’t,” Cobb said. “It’s not designed to take the weight. It wouldn’t be pretty.” They hovered about 25 feet above the hangar’s roof.

  “Nice short rappel,” Cobb said as the operators grabbed both doors and pulled them open. Wind buffeted them, and rain swirled inside. With quick precision, they brought eight bags forward. Each one had a D-ring which they snapped into a clip on the floor. Then they tossed the bags out the doors, four to a side. Heavy duty climbing rope trailed out until the bags smacked onto the roof, one after another. “Take it slow,” Cobb said as he slid the rope through his brake and calmly stepped out into the night.

  “Jesus,” Wade said and carefully leaned out to look down. Cobb was already on the roof.

  “Come on, Stay Puft,” one of the operators said, taking hold of Wade’s harness. Without asking, he threaded the rope through the friction brake, turned Wade around, and put his hand on the brake. “Easy peasy,” he assured him.

  “Sure,” Wade replied. On the other side, the remaining three operators disappeared out the doors, the helicopter rocking slightly as they exited. A moment later, they were on the roof, and the vehicle rocked again at the decrease in weight.

  Andrew decided he was of more use on the ground than waiting for the two first-timers. He hooked up and went over the side. He almost used too little pressure. The 25 feet went by in a flash. He squeezed hard and came to a stop a foot above the roof, then gently set foot on the sheet metal. To an observer, it looked like a masterful rappel.

  It took quite a bit of encouragement and patience to get the other two down. Chris went first, even though they’d hooked Wade up before him. He followed the instructions and inched his way down to the roof.

  “It’s easy!” he yelled over the rotor wash.

  “Sure,” Wade said as he closed his eyes and went over the side, forgetting to squeeze and plummeting 25 feet to the roof. He hit the metal like a sack of wet cement. The roof buckled violently, and Andrew feared the whole thing would collapse, but it rebounded like a giant gong. He quickly went over to Wade to check on him.

  “You okay?”

  “Forgot to squeeze,” he gasped hoarsely.

  “Ya think?” one of the operators asked as he and Cobb got him to his feet. The roof had given a lot, and the battle helmet had protected his head. Other than some bruises and a severely traumatized ego, the big gamer was unharmed.

  The helicopter climbed to an open area a few hundred meters away and hovered again. Once it was farther out, they could again hear the moans of the afflicted, a constant roar as loud as the chopper. It almost drowned out the gunfire from the airfield over half a mile away.

  “Ladder is over here!” one of the operators called. He already had the lock broken and the hatch open.

  The operators went first, holding their hands on the outside of the ladder, sliding down it in seconds. They carried night vision gear so they wouldn’t have to use flashlights, in case any of the monsters were down there. The infected didn’t appear to be able to see in the dark. Cobb waited topside until he got the all-clear from below.

  “We’re good,” he said finally. The others looked at him, skeptically. Cobb pointed at his ear where a tiny radio was visible. “Really, we’re good.”

  The climb down was a lot further than the rappel had been, and it was almost completely dark inside the hangar.

  “A little light would help,” Wade complained, about halfway down.

  “Pop some light, boys,” Cobb ordered. An instant later, they could hear strange crunching sounds, and from all over the hangar yellowish light began to glow brighter and brighter, until the interior was visible, though not in detail.

  It was enough to calm the group, and they finished their climb. It also showed the massive C-17 parked in the middle of the hangar. Lightning flashed outside, casting the interior of the hanger in stark, flickering relief. In a minute, they were all standing on the shiny concrete floor.

  Wade took a sheet from his pocket and started giving instructions. “That APU over there, grab it and pull it up here by the fuselage.” He pointed to an access hatch on the underside of the plane with yellow warning labels. “Find a couple of access ladders.”

  The operators looked at Cobb who chuckled and nodded. “You heard the man, get going!”

  Once they found two access ladders, Wade supervised as they wheeled the APU into place and hooked up the cables while Andrew used one of the access ladders to open the lower crew-boarding hatch. It dropped open, and a ladder automatically slid down, clanging on the deck. Andrew grimaced at the noise. A second later, the APU came alive. Basically a huge generator on wheels, its diesel engine roared to life, and it started feeding kilowatts of power into the huge transport.

  “Stealth was never an option,” Cobb yelled to Andrew as he quickly climbed inside. “Get this thing running; we have work to do.” Cobb collected the operators and ran toward the massive hangar doors.

  Andrew moved from the nose of the main cargo bay. Red standby lights cast an eerie glow as he headed aft and found the crew deck ladder. He climbed upward again, feeling like he was heading back to the roof they’d just scaled down from.

  Emerging at the rear of the crew deck, he found what he’d expected after studying the manuals. A dozen rows of four-wide seating, often referred to by grunts who had to ride below as ‘first class.’ There were two bathrooms and four small bunks for the crew to sleep in on long flights. All the way forward was the entrance to the flight deck. The door wasn’t locked, which was something he’d been concerned about. The doors into a military transport flight deck were a lot more robust than those on a commercial aircraft.

  Inside, red lights lit the flight station. A few switches glowed here and there. He pulled the flight manual from his bag, removed the M4 carbine, racked it in the cockpit gun rack, found the overhead master power switch, and flipped it.

  The cockpit came alive as the computers booted up and energized the systems. A few status alarms beeped, but became silent as the sleeping plane readied. He grabbed the overhead handle, pulled himself over the central console into the seat, and then slid his legs into position. Releasing the window, he slid it back and stuck his head out.

  “How we doing?” he yelled.

  “APU operating at maximum,” Wade yelled over the diesel engine. “Charge telltales say you should be go for internal startup!”

  “Roger that,” Andrew called back, then yelled even louder. “CLEAR ON NUMBER ONE!” He found the #1 engine control, flipped the fuel and power routing controls, and stabbed the prestart. Glass cockpit controls, predecessors of those on the A380, came alive as he heard the familiar high-pitched whine of a turbine startup sequence. The pressure climbed. Deep inside one of the giant Pratt & Whitney turbofans, a single spark plug ignited the fuel, and the engine came alive with a roar that instantly eclipsed the noise of the APU.

  He knew Wade would never hear him over the engine, so he flicked the landing lights once as they h
ad agreed, when the engine started as planned. The “External APU” light went out, indicating Wade had disconnected the machine. He was on internal power. A moment later Chris came into the cockpit.

  “Holy fuck this thing is big!”

  “Damn straight,” Andrew said. He pointed at the overhead handhold and the right seat. “You grab that, so you don’t step on any switches.”

  “There must be a million of them.”

  “Probably close,” Andrew agreed.

  “What is that thing?” Chris asked after sitting, indicating a bracket that held a green-colored glass reticle above his controls.

  “Heads up display,” Andrew explained. “Kind of a dumb version of what I have in a fighter. When you’re busy flying, it displays vital information like flight path, air speed, and other data, so you don’t have to look away from the window.”

  “Cool!”

  Andrew nodded. He watched the gauges as the turbine he’d started reached optimal idle RPM and pressure. Once he was sure all was good, he used that engine’s power to start the others, one after another, in sequence. Soon the hanger was vibrating with the roar of the four massive turbofans and rapidly filling with jet exhaust.

  Andrew grabbed his headset from the hook over his head and settled it into place. Spinning the radio dials to the prearranged frequency, he keyed the radio.

  “Air Force 44 Foxtrot calling Fort Hood control, over.”

  “Fort Hood control,” came back a reassuring woman’s voice. “Go ahead 44 Foxtrot.”

  “We are nominal. Ready for Stage Two.”

  “Roger that. Both other birds have reported in. We were starting to get worried. Stand by one, we’re initiating Operation Donner Pass.”

  Andrew hated the name from the moment he saw it on the general’s notepad. But a lieutenant doesn’t argue with a general about an operation’s name. Enduring Freedom was pretty stupid, too, and that one had supposedly come from the POTUS.

  “Acknowledged,” Andrew replied. The sound of gunfire made him look up in surprise, afraid the crazies were invading the hangar. To his relief, it was just the operators shooting out the high windows. It seemed wasteful, but it did let out a lot of the fumes.