INVASION USA (Book 1) - The End of Modern Civilization

by T I WADE

  It didn’t take long before her screaming aircraft passed Preston, who was still waiting on the apron, and he watched as she took off, brought up her undercarriage, and then slowly turned the aircraft into a left turn. Preston gunned the P-38 down to the southern end at a faster rate, turned her around, felt that both throttles were locked together so that they would both work on the same revs, and opened them up. It wasn’t more than 30 seconds and 1,000 feet of runway before he was also bringing up his undercarriage and trimming his flaps. He immediately decreased his engine revs down from maximum to after take-off power and then turned, gliding the heavy aircraft into the same left turn to follow Martie. He saw her glint in the sun a few miles ahead of him and aimed the P-38 in her direction. The P-38 was pretty light since it only had him and full tanks with no bombs or ammunition, and it moved fast through the air.

  Preston got on his radio at 4,000 feet, leveled off, and asked permission to follow their flight plan. By now, they both were visual on all radar in the area and they were given permission to head west, but to keep below 7,000 feet. He blew Martie a kiss as he banked and passed by within a hundred yards of her, and she took up position a quarter of a mile behind him, pushed her sun glasses up her nose as the sun was now just off her starboard wing, and slowly gained altitude, following him up to 7,000 feet at a little over 300 miles an hour.

  Several minutes later they were away from RDU commercial traffic, heading a little north of Smithfield, and had been given permission to climb up to 15,000 feet. Their current heading took them north and away from the military air space of Seymour Johnson AFB where they were expected for lunch in three hours.

  Military air space was an area where no aircraft were allowed to enter without prior permission. Usually, the air space around a military installation was 20 to 50 miles around the base, depending on the base’s size, and all commercial aircraft had to fly around the no-fly zones. In North Carolina, there were several of these zones, and Preston and Martie were used to them.

  The two old war birds had planned for a flight level of 15,000 feet. At that level, they did not need to wear oxygen masks and it would be a scenic view flying out to the Outer Banks. They had throttled back their aircraft to 60% power and were cruising along at a fuel-saving 275 miles an hour. It was beautiful, and both pilots were as close to heaven as any pilot could get. The sky above them was a much brighter blue than normally seen from the ground, the traffic noise on the radios diminished slightly, and they were like two angels flying closer to God than anybody around them. They did this trip several times a year and loved it.

  The sea came into view and they were 20 miles outside of Elizabeth City when Preston told Martie to get within 300 yards of his aircraft. They were still not in formation, or wing tip to wing tip, but pretty close. They decreased altitude once they were over the coast, and flew out another ten miles before Preston got onto the radio and called in their position. They were turning to head in a southerly direction along the coast and they were descending down to below 5,000 feet. He got the confirmation that traffic control had received his information and that he was to stay ten miles out from the coast and to watch for the military no-fly zones to their south.

  Martie followed him down to 3,000 feet, and at this altitude they were much closer to the calm waters below them. The water was blue on her port wing than her starboard wing because they were pretty close to the Gulf Stream with its warmer currents flowing northwards. It was beautiful and with the sun dancing on her left wing, she followed Preston slightly to his right and a couple of hundred feet below him so she would not get into his propeller wash. They throttled back a little more to enjoy the view, and began heading south at 240 miles an hour—a slow speed for these old war birds. Both aircraft could easily top 400 miles an hour at any time.

  For an hour they flew south following the coast. Once they had passed the military no-fly zones around Cherry Point, the Marine Air Corp Station, the two aircraft headed closer to the coast toward Wilmington, and were only a couple of miles offshore when they passed into South Carolina.

  Charleston came over the horizon 30 minutes later, and Preston asked Martie for a fuel report. They had under-the-wing drop tanks permanently installed on both aircraft, just like Carlos’ and Preston’s P-51s did, and they had only used a third of what they had aboard. Preston naturally had more fuel than Martie, with his slightly larger tanks, but he had two engines burning fuel instead of one. Their cockpit heaters were working well and both pilots were snug and warm under their bubble Perspex canopies.

  They were over Savannah, Georgia when Preston turned gently to port, increased power to 60%, and headed out to sea. Once they had lost sight of land, the two aircraft turned again to port until they headed back to the U.S. coast in a northwest direction aimed directly for Seymour Johnson. The sun shone brightly and the air was as clear as could be as they slowly climbed past 10,000 and then leveled out at 16,000 feet.

  In the world of flying, all aircraft flew at different altitudes in different directions—odd numbers of thousands of feet in easterly directions and even numbers in westerly directions. They were expected at Seymour in an hour, and Preston increased his throttles to 75% power. At the higher altitude, they flew back towards the coast. Preston called Martie over the radio to tell her of any changes he was going to make in headings, altitude, and throttle changes before he did it and all she had to do was to follow suit.

  The happy couple were still over the ocean and had just reached 16,000 when she nudged her silver bird forward and came up to the right wing of the P-38 and blew him a kiss. Then she backed up and leveled off about 20 feet behind him on his starboard wing. They were now flying in formation and this took serious flying, but both pilots were extremely practiced.

  Preston told Martie to tune her second radio, since both aircraft had two, over to the local military frequency used by all military bases in the area, and he called up Seymour Johnson. It took less than a second for the military air control to respond to Preston’s radio call, because they had been routinely watching the pair’s entire flight. Preston continued saying that they were two aircraft flying in formation, 324 miles out from Seymour, had clearance to fly into military airspace and would be coming in at their present angle, altitude, and speed with an estimated arrival time of 58 minutes. Seymour responded that they had them on radar and to stay their current course, speed, and altitude until they reached military airspace 50 miles out.

  Forty minutes later it was time to go down, and both aircraft were given flight instructions to a long final approach into Seymour. Preston contacted Seymour Approach and was ordered to turn to 260 degrees for finals to Runway 26. He was told to decrease altitude to 4,000 feet, and Preston and Martie left their formation flying to become two separate flights again for radio purposes and started their landing checks 20 miles out. At 4,000 feet, they were told that winds were 29512 and that Preston would be second to land and Martie third behind an incoming C-130.

  From this information, Preston knew that the winds were nearly right down the runway at 12 knots and that he had to look out for a military aircraft that was somewhere close in front of them. He and Martie radioed back that they both had the C-130 visual and that the aircraft in front of them was turning into its final approach a couple of miles ahead of them. They could also tell where the military aircraft was by listening to its radio communication. They were then told to leave the runway at Exit B, because there were three F-16s coming in behind them, and they were a lot faster on their final approaches than the propeller-driven aircraft in front of them.

  Preston and Martie landed and quickly exited the runway just as the first F-16 was about to touch down. Seymour Ground Control then told them where to go, and it wasn’t long before they were ordered to shut down engines in front of a large hangar close to an Air Force car that was waiting for them.

  Martie climbed out, ran over to Preston, and gave him a big hug. He always saw the excitement flying gave her in her brigh
t blue eyes and he smiled at the pleasure they had both enjoyed from the fun flight.

  “Been up for over three hours I noticed, Preston. And you must be the flying ace, Martie? Men’s and lady’s bathrooms are in the hangar. Then I want my tour,” said Colonel Mondale as he walked up and shook both pilot’s hands. Preston formally introduced him to Martie.

  “I notice she is a P-38 L, built in the Vultee Plant in Nashville,” observed the Colonel as two, now relieved pilots returned.

  “You certainly know your P-38s, Colonel,” replied Preston. “She did time in France with the D–Day attacks in Normandy, I was told. A few of these P-38L models were field-modified to become two-seat, TP-38L familiarization trainers, and I looked everywhere for one so that I could take Martie up, or even get a chance to give you a ride in it, but I could not find one anywhere.”

  “I see that she has 370th Fighter Group insignia on her sides. Is that original?” the Colonel asked.

  “As far as I know it is, Colonel. She was based out of Britain and took part in several raids in Germany in 1944 before D-Day. I know she did take some damage during the war because two or three areas of her right wing have newer pieces that don’t look like something she was originally put together with. They, I believe, are from a P-38 K model and are not recent repairs, as they have all the original time-line screws and fittings. Other than that, her guns are now operational, even the Hispano I found on the Internet a year or ago from a ground vehicle that had exactly the same gun mountings.”

  “The reason I know about the 370th is that my father belonged to the fighter wing that ended up being re-designated as the 140th Fighter Group and assigned to the Colorado Air National Guard on August 27th, 1946. I was born in Colorado in 1958.”

  “Then your father could have flown this aircraft?” asked Preston, and the Colonel nodded his head and smiled.

  For another hour, the base commander walked around, asked questions, and sat in both aircraft before he guided them off to lunch at the mess. Several other pilots walked up and also inspected the rare birds and both Preston and Martie were given a hearty lunch. A reasonably sized group, including Colonel Mondale, watched them from the side of the runway as they took off and left for home a couple of hours later.

  Once Preston and Martie were airborne, he asked the tower if they could do a fly-over, and Martie followed him as they banked and then went into a steep dive back down towards the beginning of the runway. This was dangerous flying, and Martie backed off slightly as they went into the dive and then caught up with him as they straightened out a mile out and together they screamed along the runway, towards the waving Colonel at over 400 miles an hour and 200 feet above the flat surface. Preston gave the order to go vertical to Martie over the intercom, and they pulled up once they reached the car and both went into a vertical climb under full power all the way up to 5,000 feet, where they carefully leveled off. Reducing their screaming engines back to normal, they waggled their wings and asked Seymour Tower for instructions out of the area.

  “Enjoyed that,” droned the controller in the tower. “Stay at 5,000 feet on your present course until you patch into RDU Approach. You will depart our air space in 90 seconds. Thanks for the visit. The boys enjoyed your show and I’m sure the boss did too. Out.”

  When they landed, they still showed a quarter of a tank left, so they refueled their aircraft and gave them a good wipe down once Preston towed them back into the hangar. There were still checks and preparation to be completed for storage, with chocks under the wheels and attaching the many protective sleeves over the guns as well as the several outside instrument recorders to protect them. That night they enjoyed a quiet meal with Oliver and reminisced about the day’s flying, as all pilots do.

  * * *

  The storm looked menacing as Carlos took off from Hill Air Force Base just a couple of hours before lunch the following Friday. The dark clouds were grey and low and he needed to get over to Denver to refuel for the second, longer flight down to Preston’s airfield. He had already wished the several people he worked with, including Lee Wang, a merry festive season an hour earlier. Lee had told Carlos that his daughter was coming to stay with them for the holidays and he and his wife were looking forward to her visit.

  On the long and winding road down into the valley Salt Lake City and Hill Air Force Base were located Carlos turned on the radio and listened to the 10 o’ clock news.

  “Several large fires have gutted several houses in California in the last two days,” stated the announcer while Carlos thought over his flight plan as he drove his four-wheel drive Range Rover down the steep and winding pass. The road was clear, with mountains of old snow already piled up on each side, but the road was dry with clear driving conditions. He half-listened to the news.

  “Three deadly fires started just after midnight last night in different areas, totally gutted the houses, and two neighboring houses also caught fire. The worst fire was reported in a new Cupertino suburb, where Apple is headquartered, but not close enough to the headquarters to be a concern. The second and third fires were located in the Silicon Valley area. Three families perished in the blaze, all believed to be Chinese-Americans as reported by neighbors. This night of deadly fire follows much the same as the house fires last week, one in Seattle and one in Washington, where again two Chinese-American families perished. A report by the FBI now investigating the fires believes that these fires could be related to Chinese gang violence. The weather for Salt Lake City…”

  “I haven’t heard of Chinese gangs in the States!” thought Carlos and got back to driving down the pass.

  Carlos reached Denver a couple of hours later without incident, and he prepared and refueled his aircraft for the longer stretch into North Carolina. The weather looked good, with strong winds from the incoming storm that would get him out of the Denver area quickly. “I might even beat my record of four hours dead,” he thought to himself.

  Carlos’ voice came over Preston’s radio just under four hours later, and just as the sun was about to set. He was five minutes out and descending to 5,000 feet. Preston radioed back that there was zero wind and that he should get straight onto final approach for Runway 11. Preston had the runway numerals on both ends of the runway for pilots to see. Carlos replied that he was already on a long final, 30 miles out.

  Martie wasn’t home from Chapel Hill yet, and Preston went out with binoculars and a hand-held radio to watch his friend come in. He noticed a split-second glint in the darkening sky and saw the minute spot that was Carlos’ P-51. His friend came in fast and expertly, touching down only yards from the beginning of the asphalt, and swinging in the stop directly in front of Preston. Preston noticed that the aircraft still had that cold and frozen look about it from high-altitude flying.

  “You came in at high altitude?” asked Preston as the propeller came to a complete stop and Carlos opened his Perspex canopy.

  “The tailwind was better the higher up I went,” replied Carlos, stretching and getting out. He didn’t need help as he stepped onto the wing with a small backpack in his hand and walked down a small walk-able area to the rear and jumped off onto the ground. He refused Preston’s hand as help.

  “I’m not that old, Senór Strong,” Carlos smiled before giving Preston a bear hug. “At one stage I was as high as 39,000 feet and even watched a Boeing 747-400 pass by close under my left wing. He was out of Chicago and still climbing through 33,000. He wasn’t that much faster than me. I think I had a better tailwind and was doing well over 450 miles an hour ground speed at the time. I was cruising at 340 as usual and it looked like my tailwind was over 125 mph. The Garmin GPS I installed last year is extremely accurate, and what was the 747 doing, still in climb… around 500 miles an hour?”

  “I’d say 500 is about right,” replied Preston.

  “Martie not home from work yet?” asked Carlos.

  “No, she heard that you were coming in today and left for California,” laughed Preston. “No, she won’t be hom
e for another 30 minutes or so. Go and use the bathroom in the hangar and I’ll unpack the trunk of your rental and get it parked for you, sir,” joked Preston, knowing what Carlos immediately needed.

  “I have everything I need here in my pack and I hope you have washed and ironed my clothes,” Carlos continued heading for the hangar with Preston walking off to get the tractor.

  “Martie has hung your North Carolina wardrobe in the first bedroom on your right at the top of the stairs,” Preston flung back over his shoulder. “Watch your step! We have a new wing, and stairs prepared by Neighbor Joe especially for your arrival,” Preston added tartly, getting on the tractor and knowing that Carlos was in for an improvement shock.

  Preston placed the third P-51 in the crop sprayer’s usual spot in the hangar. The yellow devil, Preston called her, was the one of many aircraft that would have to stay outside for the fly-in. His hangar was not that big and had just enough room for the three P-51s and the P-38.

  “Hey! I like the new digs,” Carlos complimented, returning from his inspection. “I have the first bedroom you say and I think I also heard that Sally will be in the second bedroom, next to mine?”

  “You wish, Carlos,” laughed Preston. “Just to break your bubble of self-importance, Buck and his new girl Barbara will be staying next to you and I had to go and buy an extra set of single beds today for the third bedroom because Sally is arriving tomorrow morning out of Hill, and is bringing a friend with her.” Preston watched Carlos’ smile fade from his face as he heard the news. “You can help me carry up the two new single beds and bring down the queen,” chuckled Preston. “Think about it, you hot-headed American Latino! If it was a lover, I wouldn’t have to change the beds! Her friend is a girlfriend of hers from Yuma, they both just got their F-16 wings.” Preston laughed as the smile and color quickly returned to Carlo’s face.