by T I WADE
Chapter 10
Flight to Alaska
Several hours before the men of the Politburo were getting ready for breakfast on Z-Day 6, U.S. time, General Allen was snoozing in Ghost Rider at 29,000 feet and cruising at 275 miles an hour. The light was going to fade pretty soon and he needed help, and Carlos would need daylight to get a fix on the whereabouts of Anchorage compared to Ghost Rider’s current position. Apart from the two pilots in control, the large crews on both 130s were trying to catch some shut-eye.
The HC-130 tanker was off their starboard wing, about 800 yards away; they were over the ocean and about 200 miles offshore of Juneau when Pete Allen called Carlos. The phone rang three times before Carlos answered.
“Carlos? Pete here. I need to get a fix on where we are in relation to our destination.”
“I’m in front of the screen,” replied Carlos. “Let me just look at my map of your area and I’ll be ready. Okay Pete, turn on your transponder.” The two C-130s both turned on their transponders and Carlos saw a small flicker of light plus a number 1 and 2 next to it. “It looks like you are about 60 miles east-south-east of a vertical line south of your destination. I’m getting out my compass and protractor. Hold on a second, and I’ll give you an angle.”
“We must have easterly winds at about 20 then, as we have been on this course now for three hours,” Pete told the crew with him, as they were doing the same as Carlos was—looking over maps with calculators and protractors getting angles. They waited for Carlos to give them a basic longitude and latitude, as well as a flight-angle to head towards Anchorage.
“OK turn your transponders off,” instructed Carlos, giving them longitude and latitude. “Your angle into Anchorage allowing for a 20-knot easterly wind is 319 degrees.”
“Thank you, Carlos. We are about 500 miles from our destination. Two hours of flying and we’ll be on the ground. We will call you again on our way into Japan in about 14 hours. Out.”
They were about 400 miles out from Elmendorf Air Base when the radio operator managed to get into contact with the base.
“Elmendorf, this is Ghost Rider. Do you copy? Over.”
“You are who?” was the confused reply over the radio. “Are you allowed on this frequency, whoever you are?”
“Roger that,” replied Pete. “We are incoming from McChord, two aircraft, name is Allen Key. Get your base commander on the radio. Over.”
“He’s gone fishing,” was the reply.
“How do you have a working radio?” asked General Allen.
“We borrowed one from a local trucking company and have kept it on the Air Force emergency signal,” was the reply. “Who are you anyway?”
“Have you got fuel and a clear runway for two Charlie-130s?” the general asked.
“I’m not telling you that, whoever you are, until you give me some I.D., Mr. Allen Key. You could be a logger aircraft for all I know.”
“Do you have the blue Air Force book of personnel call signs, radio operator?”
“Roger that, Allen Key, pulling it off the shelf now. What page are you on?”
“Page 1, and look for Allen Key,” replied the general smiling. Alaska was a different world.
“Shit! Shit! Roger, Allen Key. The only aircraft we have operational here is an old 130, ‘Blue Moon, and a couple of helicopters from before I was born, sir,” the radio operator replied.
“Why is Blue Moon with you?”
“She was incoming from Osan via Misawa with a tanker about six months ago when her outer-right engine went down. It’s taken a year to get her reconditioned engine up here and fitted. They finished just before Christmas and she’s waiting for orders.”
“Confirm she is still fully equipped. Over.” asked the General.
“Affirmative, she’s bristling with whatever you want Allen Key.”
“How is your heating situation on base?” was Allen’s next question.
“We have a dozen logging companies around here, enough gas for our gas heaters for about a month, and enough wood for the indoor fireplaces for forever. MRE food stocks are down to three to four months, tons of salmon, and we are doing okay, Allen Key.”
“How are the locals doing?”
“I’d hate to see what’s happening stateside, but we are ready for such emergencies up here,” the radio operator replied. “All civilian houses have some form of wood burning back-up, we can never run out of wood, and we can always eat the polar bears when we get hungry. Hell, I’ve had grilled salmon five nights in a row and would love a burger right now. We have about a ton of frozen salmon on base if you want some.”
“Please give orders to fuel up Blue Moon for me,” continued the general. “Make sure her tanks are filled to the extreme max. She will be coming with me. Also make sure there are two sets of pilots ready to fly her. We are about an hour out and need fuel ourselves.”
“Roger. Runway 34 clear and dry, wind from the north five to ten, temperature minus 21. Radio me and I’ll get the lights on for you. Do you want a welcoming committee, Allen Key?”
“I’ll radio in for high flares when we are closer. Actually, young man, get about two dozen salmon on that grill of yours and I’ll swap you for a couple of cases of frozen burgers, rolls, and cheese so that you can have your cheeseburgers. Out.”
They went in directly from the south onto Runway 34. They were still 20 miles off course to the east when the flares went off and could be faintly seen on the dark horizon through the left cockpit windows.
The weather was cold and brittle as the door opened, and they were surrounded by thick-coated personnel to refuel both aircraft. Blue Moon, three months younger than Ghost Rider, was in the same shape, with the same guns. She was expected to be on show at Andrews and hopefully at the Washington Aerospace Museum, if the funding for the new Air Force museum building complex ever went through.
At least five of the aircraft he had currently flying had been destined for this new complex—to have a display of still-operational Vietnam War-era aircraft. General Allen had been waiting for government funding for three years, but it had never been granted. The display would have been great. He had designed a showing of two F-4s attacking ground units, a third F4 on the ground being rearmed and refueled, and two Hueys being refueled by the HC-130 tanker, which was now flying with him, and Ghost Rider and Blue Moon being air refueled by Mother Goose also at the same time.
A squad of 30 soldiers was in formation as a welcoming guard, and he introduced himself to them as well as the radio operator— a young airman that was six foot ten inches tall and weighed in at a muscular 300 pounds.
“You say the base commander has gone fishing?” the general asked the airman.
“We are looking at all possible ways to feed the 1,200 personnel on base, sir,” the airman replied. “We have food supplies for a couple of months, or until we are resupplied, but it looks like this outage is everywhere. We’ve had no traffic in or out for six days, sir. Is this problem country-wide, sir?”
“World-wide, son,” replied the General. “You guys are on your own until we can get supplies up to you, which will be closer to spring. So tell the colonel that he may go fishing as much as he wants, but he needs to have this base on lockdown until further notice. We believe the Chinese are to blame for this electrical meltdown, and I will know more in a couple of days. I have a satellite cell phone for you with the number for Colonel Mondale at Edwards AFB, who will be your only contact until further notice. You are to call him with a sitrep every 24 hours starting two days from now. Unfortunately, Edwards hasn’t received their cell phone yet. I’ll give you my number in case you need to contact someone before then, and if you see the red number that is listed on the back of the phone come up on the screen, do not answer it under any conditions. That number is the enemy, and they are going to want to speak Chinese and ask you where you got the phone from, understand?” The airman nodded.
“Does Blue Moon still have her fuel bladder?” General Allen asked the tec
h sergeant who had come up to give him a report.
“Yes, sir. She has both her 1,250 gallon bladders from her flight in here,” he replied, saluting. “We have filled her tanks and both bladders for you. She cannot take any cargo or ammo, she would be overweight, and her bladders will give you 1,000 miles at low cruise each. With your tanker being refueled now, General, she has a range of over 4,400 miles and can deliver 3,000 gallons of fuel. You will need 2,500 gallons to get Ghost Rider into Misawa and you’ll have 500 gallons spare, or 45 minutes of extra flying time. Since both aircraft can be refueled at the same time, your engineer can also pump out another 500 gallons from the tanker’s own tanks in yours and increase your fuel reserves to 1,000 gallons.”
“You are exactly correct with your numbers, Sergeant, well done, and we need that extra fuel. We must allow an extra degree or two for wind diversion during our flight,” replied the general. “We will fully arm ourselves once we reach Osan or Kunshan in Korea tomorrow afternoon.”
“One more thing, General,” said the sergeant. “If you don’t have GPS or any modern directional systems aboard, how are you going to find land?”
“We have the infrared locators in the gunships to view islands below us, and as long as the weather is clear, we have a friend back stateside who can give us limited directions. Other than that, Sergeant, we are going to need a lot of flying expertise, and maybe every gallon of gas you pump into us.”
General Allen handed the phone and battery charger to the airman and asked for his dinner of grilled salmon. They ate large portions of salmon and mashed potatoes in the Officers Mess while the aircraft were still being refueled. He also told the ground crew to unload the pallet in the rear of Ghost Rider that contained the hamburgers and frozen rolls and ordered the personnel to load up a pallet of frozen salmon in case the Air Force personnel in Japan needed supplies.
Two hours later, the three aircraft, heavily laden with fuel, took off on their 3,100 mile nonstop trip to Misawa Air Force Base in northern Japan, 12 hours away.
Chapter 11
JFK – Major Joe Patterson
The sun was just rising off the East Coast of the United States as the two specks in the distant horizon slowly grew larger and larger. The first aircraft came in, and Major Patterson saw that it was a modern 747-400ER. It came in slowly, and the Chinese-American pilot, Captain Wong, gave the incoming pilot the information he needed to land. As it touched down, 20 Air Force men and the two Chinese American pilots all wearing the recently acquired clothing and radios went out to show that they had control of the landing area.
Captain Chong, the second Chinese-American Air Force pilot had found ground control aircraft-directional batons and guided the big jet to its parking position, while Captain Wong talked the second 747 down onto the runway. The first big jet parked, facing outwards, and its engines began to wind down. The second one completed its landing and came around towards the terminal. There were only two ladders on the terminal waiting for the aircraft. The others had been hidden by the U.S. troops to control the newcomers getting on and off without being noticed.
A ladder was pushed out to the aircraft and the aircraft’s door opened, guns pointing out from the door in every direction. The major could see communication between his men and the visitors, and Captain Wong asked for the second ladder to be placed on a rear door of the first aircraft as well. The major couldn’t understand why until he watched the second aircraft close its engines down and the large jumbo jet nose of a 747-Transporter began to open.
It seemed that everything was in order to the men inside the aircraft. Captains Wong and Chong stated they had everything under control and started being arrogant, even issuing orders to the men coming down the ladders. The American soldiers hidden everywhere watched as about 200 armed soldiers wearing green camouflage uniforms—certainly not correct for the snowy, white conditions—exit the aircraft.
“That was definitely a bad call on the part of the incoming soldiers,” the major thought to himself. The Chinese soldiers took several minutes to exit, walking down the two sets of stairs and forming up underneath the left wing of the first aircraft. To those watching, it looked like there were two companies of 100 men, each with a commander. Then the engineers, all in civilian dress and some in white overalls, began descending the stairs. The two Chinese-American pilots, Wong and Chong, issued orders to the civilians telling them where to find the equipment to refuel both aircraft.
A couple walked up to Captain Wong and asked him something. He shrugged his shoulders and pointed to a dozen large 9,000 gallon jet fuel tanker trailers that the now dead men had pulled closer with the bulldozers earlier. Then Captain Wong, making his Chinese-made rocket launcher more comfortable on his shoulder, looked around and showed the man the skyline for some reason. The major expected that the engineers had asked for the fuel storage tanks. There were none of the noticeable fuel tanks at this airport. The closest million-gallon tanks were in New Jersey.
Fortunately, being Air Force personnel, the American pilots knew what these guys would need to refuel a jet and had tested everything. The men then went over to an underground fuel outlet connection and a discussion ensured. Captain Wong shrugged his shoulders again and pointed at the fuel truck.
Several engineers then walked over to the second 747, using an elaborate system to lower two good-sized forklifts to the ground.
Major Patterson was worried; he wasn’t a small man. At 5 feet 9 inches tall he had dressed in the dead men’s clothing so that he could also be mobile. It was time for him to take a look outside. Two of his men made sure that nothing showed apart from his civilian clothing and he walked up to the entrance and descended the stairs down to the aircraft area.
As he neared the troops, there was an order screamed by Captain Wong and every one of the 200 men stood at attention and saluted. He very nearly saluted back with an American salute, but thought the best of it and waved a reply to the salute as if he was a civilian head of state, and continued walking to the engineers.
The engineers saw his approach and immediately all stood still and bowed as he arrived. The major, totally puzzled at what his men must have told these people, pointed to Captain Wong and signaled to him to come and talk to him. They moved away as the entire 300-person invading Chinese force stood at attention.
“What the hell did you tell these Charlies?” the major asked.
“I was a little lost as to what to say to these guys, but thought of something that would really scare these Chinese soldiers to make them totally under my control. I told their commanders and their chief engineer as they exited, that you, the Supreme Commander, flew in an hour ago straight from China to see how the landing was going to be handled. I told them that your special jet has been hidden from view in one of the far hangars in case we are attacked, and that you are going to return to China once the two aircraft have taken off. That made all the pilots jittery and I told them to clean up their aircraft and expect company. All became as scared as rats, and then suddenly I was in total control.
“Sir, just act out the scene and I believe we will have these guys refueled and out of here within a couple of hours. I showed him that there were no large fuel tanks anywhere around JFK, which the engineers seemed worried about, but I told them we should have enough fuel out of the mobile tankers my men have pushed forward with the bulldozers. I’m going to get more men to see if there are any more fuel tankers stationed at the other terminals. These birds need about 60,000 gallons each and we are pretty close right now.”
“Tell their soldiers to create a defensive position by the entrance to the Van Wyck Highway and let them freeze to death for an hour,” replied the major. “Also ask them if they have brought the supply of extra cell phones with them. They need to bring them into the terminal building to keep warm, as well as any electrical parts, which can’t handle cold conditions. I will go back and watch from the terminal windows. Give me two men in the captured clothing to act as my bodyguard and then tell
all the engineers that if they do a good job I will give them some gifts before I leave for China. And don’t salute me, soldier, now bow and go!”
“May I suggest you inspect the guard, sir? It might look a little more real,” Captain Wong replied, bowing and running off to the engineers. He quickly spoke to them and then shouted to the engineers in Chinese to pull the tanker trucks up one at a time to both aircraft.
The major then acted like he was God. He walked around the aircraft as two men ran up to protect him. He whispered the plan to them and they acted like they were protecting the president. He got to the troops and they all saluted. The commanders did not look at him, but stared over his head, as did all the troops. He did a quick look at the front row of both groups and then walked back to the terminal as the two small forklifts each brought a pallet of products.
An unoccupied exit door was opened by two other plain-clothes men in the terminal, and the pallets were lifted into the terminal and pushed into the building as far as the forklifts could reach. They went back and returned with two more pallets, the major noticing that the troops were now being deployed between the vehicles and the entrance to the Expressway and out of the way. Captain Wong returned to say that the troops had no more communication devices, apart from small military communication radios, and that they were beginning to ask questions.
For an hour, the fueling went on using both electrical generators and pumps underneath the aircraft wings as one by one the trucks were pushed into position by the bulldozers and the large generators pumped in 500 gallons a minute. It would take them at least two hours to pump more than 60,000 gallons into each aircraft.