Return anw-2

by John O'Brien

  “They’re coming down the stairs from above,” Lynn shouts in Drescoll’s ears. “We’ve got to move out now.”

  Drescoll merely nods his acknowledgement as he continues to concentrate and focus his attention on keeping the night runners at bay and out of the stairwell, their only route out of here. The rest of Black Team has passed and are on their way down to the lower landings as Lynn passes behind Drescoll and continues her way down. Drescoll and the other Green Team member folding in behind her, delivering their rounds through the open doors as long as possible on their trek down to the third level close on Lynn’s heels.

  The overall plan is to fold back in sequence as each landing is passed. The ones guarding those landings and entryways folding in behind those who have passed, becoming the next rear guard. In this fashion, the rear is still protected without the team members bunching up on the stairs slowing the entire retreat and making them more vulnerable. Reaching the third floor landing, Lynn sees the same scene being repeated here as at the fourth level, Jordan and another soldier holding fast as the night runners try to force their way in. The bodies of those slain blocking the doors open. Strobes from their weapons firing bounce off of the walls. Luckily, this version of the night vision goggles have a quick, automatic response to lighting changes or they would all have been blinded by the first rounds sent outward from their M-4’s.

  “Follow Drescoll down,” Lynn shouts to Jordan on her passing behind him.

  “Roger that, First Sergeant,” he replies without taking his eyes or rifle from the open door on his side. “Hurry though. We won’t be able to hold here much longer.”

  “Lynn, this is Jack. I’m overhead with three teams. Need any help? I think I can set down on the main road,” Lynn hears over the din prevalent in the stairwell.

  “I think we have it but standby,” she responds to Jack.

  Lynn looks back up the stairs quickly to see Drescoll and the other soldier fast behind her, still covering the stairs to prevent the night runners from blind siding them. Looking back down the stairs, she notices an absence of gunfire. The area below is void of the strobe affect. A panic sets in. Have they already broken through there? I may have spoken too soon. She thinks stepping quickly but cautiously down the stairs.

  Rounding the intermediate landing, she notices the two soldiers still guarding their posts. Relief immediately settles in her. We’re almost there. She holds up on the second floor landing with the two other soldiers and waits for the others. Drescoll and his teammate immediately appear on the stairs descending quickly.

  “Keep going,” she yells as he draws near and slows.

  They both pick up their pace once again and descend toward the first floor. The two soldiers guarding the third floor landing appear, traversing backwards and delivering rounds upwards before turning suddenly and running down the stairs toward her. They pass quickly by her following in Drescoll’s path.

  “There’s movement and sound on the other side of the door but they haven’t tried to come in as yet,” one of the soldiers guarding the second levels says.

  “Okay, you two, go!” She tells the two still with her. “I’ll cover.”

  They immediately begin descending downward. The sound of gunfire has vanished and Lynn can now only hear the shrieks and roar of the approaching night runners, a multitude of feet on the stairs as they descend quickly toward her. Lynn starts down as the first of the night runners appears on the intermediate landing above her, shrieking even louder upon discovering her there.

  Lynn fires a burst into the crowd, three bullets leaving the barrel of her gun and striking the lead night runner across the chest. Blood spots blossom on the front of its torn, dirty white t-shirt with a large bright yellow smiley face as it tumbles, first backwards, and then forwards due to the push of the night runners behind it. Night runners behind trip on the body tumbling down the stairs, sprawling face first and sliding down the remaining stairs. Lynn rushes down the stairs two at a time, a few feet of separation gained.

  Yelling down the stairs for anyone remaining in the stairwell to get into the lobby, she rounds the corner of the intermediate landing. The horde tramples over the bodies in their desperation to get to her. One of them is down for good, its chest riddled, and the others that tripped are out for the count. The first floor landing is empty with the exception of two soldiers in the hallway waiting for her; one holding the doorway and the other on his knees, weapon pointed at an angle down in front of him but in a position ready to raise it should he need.

  Tearing out of the door with the mass of night runners closing, Lynn darts to the left heading for the safety of the sunlit lobby. She sees a line of soldiers facing her and the hallway she is heading down. Running across the glass shards littered on the ground, scattering some across the tiles, she raises the goggles and turns to face the night runners she imagines are fast on her heels. Jack’s right, they’re fast, she thinks in mid turn.

  She spins around dropping to her knees, ready to both fire and retreat further if necessary. The door to the stairwell is closing slowly, slowed by the pneumatic lever. Nothing enters the hallway. The door is about to shut when a massive shriek sounds out, muffled by the closing door but reverberates down the hallway. Click. The door closes. The last tinkling of glass kicked across the lobby from their quick exit comes to a halt. Silence ensues. The only noise is her heavy breathing and that of the soldiers lined up next to her. Breathing hard from the adrenaline and fast run down the stairs. Adrenaline though still courses through her but slows as her body and senses recognize the danger receding. She checks her watch — 18:27. They were in for a little over an hour. The time seeming both longer and shorter.

  “Everyone alright?” Lynn asks glancing from one soldier to another. Each one does the quick pat down and nods that they are fine.

  “Let’s head outside and head back to the airfield,” she says in a deflated tone and feeling bad that they did not find what they came for.

  Walking out of the open entrance door, Lynn hears the drone of an aircraft overhead. Looking up, she sees the 130 in a shallow left turn a short distance to the west, passing over the sun sinking close to treetop level.

  “We’re out, Jack,” she calls over the radio.

  “You okay?” She hears him ask.

  “Yeah, we’re good,” she answers knowing he is asking about her personally and the group. “We’ll meet you back at the airfield.”

  “Okay, see you there,” he says.

  She watches the aircraft reverse its bank and heads back north towards the airfield, its gear dropping shortly thereafter as it begins a slow descent. Walking slowly to the lead pickup, the sweat not drying from her fatigues due to the still humid air, she sighs with both frustration and exhaustion. The tension slowly leaves her body and she wants nothing more than to lay down in peace.

  * * *

  The CDC campus appears promptly off our nose, the buildings rising high into the air. I do a quick flyby looking for a spot to land if needed. I only need a little distance but the problem will be width. It is certainly not going to help anyone if I manage to clip the wings off. That would make it very difficult to get aloft again. Well, plus the massive explosion that would most likely ensue. Confident that I can set it down on the main road, I bring the aircraft around to circle the campus area in a shallow bank, not sure of which building they are in.

  Several vehicles are parked here and there but I don’t see the pickups Lynn and her group were riding in earlier. Perhaps in that large parking structure near one of the buildings closest to the entrance. Circling around to the west, I finally make out the three pickups parked in front of a large, multi-storied glass building. I circle the building a distance out, keeping it in sight at all times and aware that the radios have been silent for some time.

  “Lynn, this is Jack. I’m overhead with three teams. Need any help? I think I can set down on the main road,” I say keying the mic.

  “I think we have it but standby,” I
hear Lynn respond.

  I continue my slow circle, anxious with not knowing what is going on inside but knowing something big is going down from the previous calls over the radio. Worried that my plan to gather information may result in casualties or, the spirits forbid, something happening to Lynn. I know how she cares for the troops under her and the risks she will take for their well-being. Knowing she will be in the thick of whatever is going on.

  “Dad,” Bri calls over the intercom.

  “Yeah,” I say looking back over my shoulder at her.

  She is leaning upward tapping the fuel indicator, the tap asking if we have enough fuel to get back to McChord. She is a quick learner and knows how much fuel we burn over time. Our total fuel weight indicator is almost down to the half way mark. Our flight down from Brunswick and the subsequent flight training has taken its toll on our fuel. I knew we would burn a bit of fuel doing the touch and go’s but felt it important to have someone else able to get everyone home in case something happened to me. Sure would hate to go to that big sleep at the end knowing I left people stranded.

  “Thanks Bri. We’ll do a flight plan check when we get back to the airfield,” I say acknowledging her tapping finger. She is doing her job well and flawlessly.

  I want to ask for a situation report but know that I would only be interfering. The lack of radio calls increases my anxiety and I want to set it down to disembark and help. There is not much room width-wise on the road so the risk is great, really only something to do in an emergency and if requested. We are here if Lynn needs us but that does not ease my anxious feeling. She can handle it and will call for assistance if she needs, her not being one to do the ‘I can handle it on my own’ business if it truly gets messy and help is needed. Flying to the west once again, I start to see soldiers exiting the building to my left and below. I count them as they exit and the numbers equal the amount that went in.

  “We’re out Jack,” I hear Lynn call over the radio, seeing her on the ground with her hand to her shoulder pressing the transmit button.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah, we’re good,” she answers. “We’ll meet you back at the airfield.”

  “Okay, see you there,” I say turning the aircraft around and heading back.

  The turn places us almost on a direct, long final with the runway. We are already to set up for a landing, my having gone through the pre-landing checks ready to plop it down on the road with a moment’s notice.

  “You take this one in,” I say to Robert and pass control of the aircraft to him. Nothing like giving someone the aircraft on final and saying ‘go’ to see if they have a handle on landing.

  He starts a little behind the aircraft but quickly catches up and we touch down just a little long but still one of his better ones. We taxi in and shut down, letting the others out while I sit and go through the charts with Bri and Robert, figuring our fuel requirements for the flight back. We will need some but herein lays my quandary. This is a civilian field with only civilian aviation fuel. The fuel differs slightly in content with military fuels in that the civilian ones have additives to prevent fires and explosions. We can use it but only for a one-flight scenario. The civilian fuels tend to burn hotter in military jet engines requiring maintenance at the end of the flight. Adding that into our fuel tanks will effectively ground our aircraft on arrival. Not a big deal given that this will be our last hop but it sure is handy having this aircraft available due to its range.

  I sit thinking about our alternatives. We could fly to a nearby military base to fuel up, fly back to Brunswick, which I almost immediately discard as I do not want to run into the marauders we let loose, or fuel up here. Pulling out the charts, I find Dobbins Air Force Base a scant fifteen miles to the east.

  “Okay, that’s our plan then,” I say absentmindedly.

  “What is?” Both Robert and Bri ask in at the same time.

  “Dobbins Air Force Base is about fifteen miles east of here. We’ll do a quick hop over there for fuel and come back. We should have enough daylight left for that,” I answer looking out the side cockpit window at the sun sitting lower in the sky, early evening setting in.

  “What do you mean come back?” Bri asks. “Aren’t we supposed to leave tonight?”

  “Let’s wait until Lynn and the others get back before making any decisions,” I say getting up and walking outside to wait for Lynn’s arrival.

  The wait is not long. I just step outside in the cooling air of the coming evening when I hear vehicles along the road adjacent to the airport. The pickups come into view shortly thereafter and make their way through the gate and onto the ramp, stopping a short distance away from the aircraft. The day is cooling down with the lowering of the sun. It is still humid, but cooler. Eighteen weary souls emerge from the cabs and beds of the trucks, step onto the ramp, and walk slowly towards me, their slouch evidence of their exhaustion. Firefights and the intense adrenaline rush will do that to you.

  Lynn walks over and gives me the rundown on what transpired inside the building; the discovery within and the fact that they were apparently “smelled out.” That little tidbit, along with the news that they can apparently open doors now, does not bode well.

  “We were basically shot out of there,” she says finishing. I stand for a moment in silence taking in all she said.

  “Do you remember if the doors were latched or not?” I ask.

  “I don’t believe they were,” she answers.

  “So they can open doors but perhaps not operate the handle.”

  “Maybe,” she says looking on questioning as to why I am focused on that. For that matter, I am not sure either but I lock that away for future reference.

  “Well, you did a great job getting everyone out and back,” I continue closing this particular conversation.

  “We need fuel for the last leg. There’s an Air Force base about fifteen miles east of here. I’d like to get over there, fuel up, and get back before dark,” I say after a pause.

  “What do you mean come back? Why don’t we just leave from there?” Lynn asks mimicking Bri with her questions.

  I just look at her and her eyes widen with dawning realization of what I mean and intend to do.

  “You mean to go back in there, don’t you?” She asks accusingly.

  “I was thinking about it,” I respond and back up anticipating the onslaught.

  “Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve been saying?” She asks loudly causing many on the ramp around us to look our way.

  “We can’t go back! We were lucky to get out of there in one piece!” She continues on, her voice and anger rising.

  The looks from the soldiers change from wonder to amazement on hearing her and wondering if they made the right choice in following me. That I would consider something like that after what they had been through is most likely making them think I have gone off of my rocker. The air could not have been more still and I am pretty sure time has stopped in this particular moment.

  “I didn’t say we,” I say in a low voice.

  “What!? You can’t possibly think you’re going in there alone! What are you thinking, a small team?” She asks with her eyes narrowing.

  I know that narrowing of the eyes. That is a danger signal. When she does that, it is time to shovel the dirt back into whatever hole I have dug. I see her heels almost literally dig in.

  “No, just me,” I say bringing more dirt out of the hole rather than shoveling it back in. “You know one person can get in sometimes where a host can’t.”

  “That’s just plain nuts,” she says but her voice lowers in both volume and intensity. “And what happens if you get caught in there?”

  “I’ll be fine and Robert can fly the plane if something does. He’s become quite proficient at it,” I say trying to alleviate some of her anxiety.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass. You’re not going in there alone!” She retorts. “If you’re going on with this fool scheme, I’m going with you.”

&
nbsp; “Yes, I am. And no, you’re not. If it’s there, we need that info so we can better prepare for our survival,” I answer back.

  “We don’t need a fucking report. We know what they’re capable of without it,” she says knowing me and that I am not likely to back down but trying every avenue nonetheless.

  “What we need is to get over to the base to refuel. Will you see to it that everyone is loaded up please,” I say knowing we will be standing here long after dark with this conversation. She continues to stare, no, glare at me for a very long moment before stomping off toward the aircraft.

  “Fool of a man,” I hear her say while she is still within earshot, fully intending for me to hear.

  “Everyone, load up!” Lynn hollers across the ramp. “We’ve just been enrolled in Jack’s fantasy camp.” Several chuckles, some nervous and others genuine, come from the soldiers as they grab their gear and start up the ramp, disappearing inside.

  We get started and taxi out with Robert at the controls. Close to the horizon, the sun has settled behind the tall trees across the ramp and road, shining through the gaps, the beams of light catching dust particles and insects in its rays, giving an announcement that we are about to close out another day. Another intense one and I do not think the intensity will be settling down anytime soon. I am sure Lynn is gearing up for round two and I am not looking forward to that. Robert conducts a stellar takeoff and I take the controls after cleanup for the quick hop over to Dobbins. The sun is directly ahead of us, glaring through the windshield, reminding us that our time needs to be short. We will be once again spending the night at an airport like a family vacation gone awry.

  The runway for the base is aligned directly with our line of flight so we are already on a final when we level off. It is one of those gear up and then gear down immediately flights. The base is rather small with the airfield and ramps taking up just under half of the base itself. Ahead, I see several C-130’s on the ramps to either side of us. A quick glance to the ones on the left, with a large maintenance hangar behind them, tells me that fuel will not be found there. I am really hoping there is a fuel truck parked near the ones by the right. Most facilities have underground fuel lines leading directly to the aircraft parking allowing for refueling without the use of trucks.