Quantum Storms - Aaron Seven

by Dennis Chamberland

  “I don’t know what to say,” Winsteed answered quietly.

  “How about telling us where to freshen up,” Seven responded. “Got a hot shower anywhere?”

  Winsteed stood, faced Seven and held out his hand. “Thank-you, Dr. Seven. Thank-you!”

  “No problem, Commander. It’s your people who are doing us a favor here, remember?” Seven responded, tightly gripping the big man’s hand.

  “Call me Kevin, please,” Winsteed said, then dropped his hand and embraced Seven tightly.

  “A hot shower would be sufficient,” Seven said, his voice muffled by the bear-hug.

  “Hell, man, I’ll scrub your back myself!” Winsteed said with a deep chuckle.

  “I think I’ll opt out of that kind offer.”

  “Thank God,” Serea responded.

  49

  Aaron Seven and Serea awoke from their rest period two hours prior to sunset and their scheduled departure from Dutch Harbor. By the time they awoke, the word had already obviously filtered throughout the bunker that everyone was ultimately destined for Pacifica. As soon as Seven and Serea opened their door, they were pressed by every member of the Dutch Harbor contingent with extended hands and smiling faces. Many were openly weeping as they thanked and embraced them.

  “Let’s come to order!” Winsteed shouted, pressing his way thorough the crush. “Let them have some breakfast!”

  Winsteed’s face was pasted with a broad smile and he looked far more rested than on the evening before. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

  “Oh yes, quite,” Seven responded.

  “Ready for another adventure!” Serea responded with a refreshed smile.

  “Living with him, you must have a lot of those,” Winsteed said, casting a cagey eye at Seven.

  “Oh yeah…” she agreed wholeheartedly.

  As they sat down at their table, Winsteed began, “We have everything ready for your takeoff. We’ve given quite a lot of thought to this procedure. To maximize your safety, we’re going to transport your aircraft on the truck five minutes before the ‘safe-window’ actually opens. Because it’ll take the enemy ten minutes more to get within firing distance, that should give us all a decent window of protection for liftoff, even if they have more missiles. Are you willing to take a five minute dose? It is, after all, a minimal sunset dose, so it won’t be too bad.”

  “Did you also calculate the factor of altitude?” Seven asked, referring to the added dosage affected by altitude during the window of sunrise and sunset.

  “Yes, it’ll require a sharp altitude rise on VTOL to stay out of their range, then drop down after you get away. We have all the calculations here,” he said, offering them a page of scribbled numbers.

  “Never mind, Commander… er, Kevin. If you’ve checked it out, then we’ll follow along.”

  “My people – they’re very excited about your offer,” Winsteed continued. “We already have a number of ideas on protecting the resources here.”

  “Good,” Seven answered, gulping down a swallow of scalding coffee and eying the huge plate of breakfast laid before him. “I see you’re not rationing anymore,” he observed neutrally.

  “Not for you, Dr. Seven, not ever,” Winsteed responded joyously.

  Less than half an hour later, they walked to the meager command center and were briefed on the details of their take-off. Seven also discussed their return plans as well as contingency plans.

  “Any word from McChord?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Silent as a tomb,” Winsteed responded. “Are you sure about your plans? When you arrive in McChord airspace your fuel tanks will be dry. You’re not going to have a chance to fly around and look things over. And if that isn’t enough, my weather prognosti-guessers tell me the place will likely be socked in with fog. You’ll be going in on GPS alone, because if McChord has been taken out with a nuke, they won’t be broadcasting any other beacons. The long and short of it: you’ll be landing blind and it may be on a cratered runway loaded with contamination – and if you actually land safely, you’ll have less than half an hour to find deep shelter – if there’s any to be found. For all we know, McChord may be a glassed over, radioactive parking lot glowing in the dark. Once you set down, you’ll definitely not have enough fuel to go looking somewhere else. What I’m suggesting is…”

  “…sounds exactly like my kind of quest,” Seven replied, winking at Serea. “A walk in the park…”

  “Commander, er, Kevin…” Serea responded. “You weren’t broadcasting or answering us either – for security reasons. Why do you think McChord will be any different?”

  Winsteed just shrugged and shook his head. “There’s just no way to know.”

  “Eight minutes until wheels roll,” a thickly accented voice said from behind them. They turned to face a petite, shapely, Latino officer in a tight fitting jumpsuit with brilliantly shined black combat boots that matched her short cropped, wavy hair. She was wearing dark aviator’s sunglasses and reflected that air of confident assurance that all good pilots carried.

  “This is my executive officer, Lieutenant Juanita Juarez,” Winsteed said. “She’ll be driving you out of the hangar this evening.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” she responded with no trace of a smile, then looked directly at Seven over the top of her sunglasses. “Okay, Dr. Seven, here’s the drill. Your ship is now topped off and un-strapped on the rear end of my flatbed truck. I’ll order the hangar doors open. As soon as we can get by, I’m gonna floor it and head out toward the end of runway 12 at top speed. You time your vertical liftoff for the end of the runway. But when I get to the end, I’m ramming the brakes so I don’t skid out into the harbor. I don’t wait for you. You don’t wait for me. For max security, hold off until the last second, but don’t wait too long, got it?”

  Seven nodded his head and smiled at the striking, athletic officer. “Don’t tell me, I’m just a passenger.” He pointed at Serea, dressed in her own well-fitted flight-suit, and added, “She’s flying out. I’m just along for the ride.”

  Juanita’s eyes shifted and fixed on Serea as she lifted her dark eyebrows. Then she took a half-step sideways to face her and said, “So you’re the pilot here today?”

  “Yep, he does the landings but I handle the takeoffs,” Serea answered. “I’m officially the pilot and he’s just along as an observer, you might say.” Then she winked nondescriptly at Juanita.

  “That’s what I’m talking about! You fly sister, you fly!” Juanita said, raising her palm.

  Serea slapped it in the air and they gripped hands tightly. “And you drive this truck like you live, Lieutenant: hard and fast.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” Juanita said, releasing her grip and making an inverted fist with her right hand then pulling it down. “Oh, hell yeah!”

  Winsteed laughed aloud and looked directly at Seven, shaking his head slowly.

  “Hey, it’s the end of the freakin’ world…” Seven responded shrugging his shoulders and slyly looking back at Winsteed. “What’s a man to do?”

  “I suggest you get in, sit down, shut up and hang on,” Winsteed offered.

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Seven responded drolly.

  “Okay, time to exit shelter,” Juanita said sharply, eyeing her large, black watch. “Let’s move it.”

  Two soldiers turned the enormous wheel on the massive steel door and it swung open wide as Seven, Serea, Juanita and Winsteed slid through quickly and started up the eight flights of stairs to the hangar.

  “We managed to return topside and fuel her up right after you got here at sunup, before the levels got too high. Several of our people who haven’t taken any radiation hits volunteered to wear the best protective suits we’ve got and they worked like a relay team, quickly replacing each other to minimize their exposure,” Winsteed said, turning to Seven and Serea as Juanita bounded into the huge flatbed truck’s cab.

  “Well, I don’t think I have to tell you to be careful. Our fate rid
es on yours,” Winsteed added, extending his hand to Seven.

  Seven took his large hand and gripped it tightly as he handed over an unmarked envelope to Winsteed. “Not entirely, Commander. In this envelope are instructions, frequencies and encrypted codes to Pacifica. In the event we don’t return, they’ll enable you to call for a pickup - with or without us.”

  Winsteed looked stunned, then smiled. “Thank-you. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate all you’ve…”

  “Save it, Kevin,” Seven responded. “We’ll have a huge hug-fest together later after we’re all safe and sound.”

  “Right. Yes, right you are,” Winsteed said as his eyes shifted to Serea who had already popped the hatches to the VTOL and was busy flipping switches. “You’d better get in before they drive off and leave us standing here.”

  Seven turned, hooked his foot in the wheel of the truck and leapt up onto its bed. As he slid into the aircraft, its turbines began to whine and the large steel hangar doors opened slowly, revealing the full disk of the sun as it set over Dutch Harbor. He saluted Winsteed who returned his own salute but with a worried smile. Seven then closed the door of the craft and looked to Serea who was busy at the controls.

  “Hand me the checklist,” he offered.

  “Too late, done already,” she responded as her fingers worked over the panel.

  Seven could feel the ship vibrate as Juanita began to pull through the open doors onto the runway.

  “Better strap in,” Serea said. “I don’t know which is going to be worse, her driving or mine.”

  “I got a feeling this is going to be about as bad as your dad’s cave rocket.”

  “I designed that, too,” Serea said, turning to him with a broad smile.

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that for one minute,” he said sincerely, fumbling with the strap and buckle.

  Juanita cleared the doors and floored the diesel truck. Even though Seven held his foot on the brakes, the VTOL slid backward on the truck bed, but it held on. They could see the runway of Dutch Harbor illuminated by the setting sun in detail. This was more sunlight than they had seen since the start of the quantum storms and, even at sunset, the intensity caused them to squint. While Seven knew they were taking a dose of radiation, he also knew it was slight enough not to cause severe illness – just a fatigue that would last a couple of days. Hopefully, the enemy would not take the same chance.

  Seven could feel the vibration of the truck as its speed approached 90 miles per hour on the runway. He could also feel the vibration of the aircraft’s turbines as they approached take-off power. With the wind pulling against the lift surfaces of the VTOL by the motion of the truck, and the craft itself straining to get airborne, they could not afford to make any mistakes on this emergency takeoff plan. If it worked it would boost them out of danger quickly and on an irregular trajectory. But if they made a mistake, they would wind up crashing on takeoff.

  Seven’s mind raced as quickly as the ground passed beneath him. He was calculating the aerodynamic geometry of the unfolding plan. He looked over and sensed that the wing angle was 15 degrees too sharp, and realized that he had only seconds to make a correction.

  He reached up to grasp the wing angle controls, looking at Serea’s face while he did so. The moment she saw it, her hand slapped over his and she violently shook her head. Obviously she had calculated a different angle of attack.

  Seven understood the next two seconds were going to be critical. And now they were struggling over the controls. He had to do something radical.

  “No! No!” he screamed at her above the whine.

  She looked back at him with rage in her eyes and gripped his hand. Then, abruptly, she let go and looked back at the panel, leaving Seven alone to tend to the wings.

  Seven corrected the wing angle and looked out the window. Any instant now, Juanita was going to have to jam on her brakes or run off the strip into the harbor.

  Serea realized this at the same moment and, at that instant, she shoved the VTOL throttle all the way open.

  The aircraft screamed and literally bolted off the surface of the truck and away into the air, just missing the cab as it blasted by. At that exact second, Juanita slammed on the brakes of the huge truck. Seven looked down and behind them and could see the dust and smoke from the tires. The trailer bed began to slide sideways and it looked as if the truck was about to careen out of control and jack-knife on the runway. But then Juanita somehow appeared to recover its momentum and it slowed to a stop just short of the end.

  His hand moved the vertical control shaft deftly, his mind simultaneously calculating lift and thrust. This was not only a critical maneuver for gaining flight momentum, but decisive in catapulting them out of harm’s way from any incoming missiles. The flight and takeoff problem also influenced the amount of fuel they used for this maneuver and the amount of radiation they would be absorbing as their altitude increased. All of these things went though Seven’s mind as he tended the angle of the craft’s wings and Serea’s hand controlled the thrust. Together they wordlessly understood and worked the integrated problem and, at this point, they were not struggling against one another.

  They gained altitude over the harbor and turned the craft to head due east. The moment Seven calculated they were away from danger, he flattened the wings of the VTOL so that they could maximize their lift and throttle back on the engines. Then Serea dropped their altitude to several hundred feet above the waters of the North Pacific as they sped away toward Seattle. Within half an hour and the sun safely setting in the west, she would adjust their altitude back to their cruising level and set the craft on autopilot.

  At last, Serea spoke. “Sorry about the misunderstanding back there. We should have discussed flight roles before the fact and not during.”

  “Right you are,” Seven responded. “But it appears as though we managed to pull it off anyway. By the way, next time someone suggests flying off a flatbed truck, give him someone else’s number.”

  The flight to Seattle was filled with tension. Serea hardly spoke and Seven knew she had invariably begun to dwell on her father’s safety. Seven did not know, or have the heart to ask her, how long she planned to wait in Seattle if Desmond did not show or whether she would consider trying to make it all the way to Tennessee to track him down. He could tell by her silent preoccupation that she would not be sleeping. He attempted on several occasions to engage her in light conversation, but she would not connect beyond a few polite nods and single syllable words. So Seven laid an understanding hand over hers, closed his eyes for a few minutes rest, and fell into a deep sleep.

  gh

  “Middlearth, Middlearth, this is Pacifica flight, do you read me? Over.”

  Seven was startled awake by the voice. It was Serea speaking into her microphone.

  “What’s up? Where are we?” he asked.

  “I thought I heard a piece of a transmission,” Serea answered excitedly. “We’re half an hour out.”

  “What? You let me sleep that long?” he asked in total astonishment.

  “Middlearth, Middlearth, this is Pacifica flight, do you read me? Over.”

  Seven could see that the black ocean beneath them had disappeared and was now covered by a deep layer of clouds illuminated by the brilliant stars hanging above them.

  Then they heard it together. Clearly, they picked up the broken transmission, “This…iddlearth…. Come in…. come in.”

  Serea’s face became radiant as she flashed a broad smile. “They made it!” she cried exuberantly, her eyes glistening with tears.

  Seven returned her smile, equally excited. “Awesome!”

  In five minutes, the line of sight broadcast became comprehensible and they made a clear contact.

  “Middlearth, Middlearth, this is Pacifica flight, do you read me? Over.”

  “Roger, roger, we read you loud and clear, over,” the voice responded firmly.

  “It’s the Commander!” Serea exclaimed. “Middlearth, this is Pacifica f
light,” she continued. “Is my father okay?”

  “Roger that. All okay,” the Commander responded. “Please listen carefully. I have new coordinates for your landing. I repeat: new landing coordinates.”

  “Roger, ready to copy,” Seven responded.

  “There are no IFR vectors available. McChord is gone. You’ll land using GPS and visual. Visibility is zero by zero. Use the landmark and the GPS. Do you understand?”

  Seven looked to Serea who stared back at him with the same questioning expression. “How can we use a landmark in zero visibility?” he asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just glad they’re okay,” she sighed.

  He looked back at her and said bluntly, “You got to take off and fly. Now I get to land her.”

  Serea looked exhausted, yet relieved, leaned far back in her seat and answered, “You’ll get no argument from me, dear. Thank-you. I love you. Thank-you, God…”

  “Just sit back and relax. I’ve got it,” Seven said, his mind now fully engaged as Serea’s eyes closed and she sighed deeply.

  “Your landmark is as follows,” the Commander continued. “It’ll be the Bank of America Tower. It should be sticking out of the top of the fog. Stay high until you reach the landmark and then drop in. Don’t try and fly though the buildings. Drop straight in vertically. Landing Coordinates are: 47.60449 by -122.329721. We’ll set a flare on the street for your landing. Did you copy? 47.60449 by -122.239721. Over.”

  “Roger, coordinates are copied and keyed,” Seven responded. “Autopilot engaged for drop-in landing now.”

  “Roger that,” the Commander responded. “er… the boss wants to know whether that was Serea’s voice he heard before.”

  Seven paused and looked to Serea. “I guess he’s gonna find out in a minute anyway,” she replied without even opening her eyes. “Go ahead, tell him.”

  “Ah… roger that. She sends greetings to all,” he replied into the microphone before announcing to Serea, “Daddy’s gonna be real mad, I guess you know.”

  “Tough cookies,” she responded. “It won’t be the first time, or the last.”