Return anw-2

by John O'Brien

  “Sir,” Kenneth says timidly getting my attention.

  “Call me Jack,” I say turning to look at him over my shoulder.

  “I feel out of place and want to help,” he says, alternating his looks between the floor and me.

  “Don’t worry about it Kenneth, there will be plenty to do when we get back,” I say trying to alleviate some of his concern.

  Bri reaches up and turns the various switches as we proceed through the startup checklist and sequence. Robert calls out that the inboard prop is turning on his side — the number three engine — as we begin our startup, the first signal of our impending departure from here and the beginning of our last leg home. It seems like months since we were there yet it has been less than a week. One more surge and then we’ll be home. Not to the comforts of home as we would have thought about a scant week ago but I am ready to be out of the aircraft and stop this constant moving about.

  The outboard engine starts up successfully and I tell Nic and Michelle to wrap things up with the start cart, noting their entry back in the aircraft before starting the engines on my side. Everything looks good as the four engines roar and vibrate in synchronization. I think this will be our last visit to the south and east in a good long while as I am sure the nuclear power plants are in full scale melt down right now. Most of the plants are located in the eastern half of what used to be the United States beginning just about in the middle of the continent. A vast majority of them line the entire eastern seaboard. It is a lucky thing that the prevailing weather is west to east although I do wonder if it could spread across the entire world in sufficient quantities to be a danger to us on the west coast. Not much we really could do if it did except to try and find a safer location.

  “You have the aircraft,” I say to Robert after completing the checks.

  “What!?” He asks looking over from his seat.

  “I said you have the aircraft. Take us to Dobbins. You are the pilot-in-command for this hop. I’m just your co-pilot so tell me what you want done,” I say answering his incredulous question.

  We start rolling forward and out to the taxiway. I can tell he is nervous by the way he corrects with sharp, jerky motions.

  “Easy and relax. Small corrections and anticipate,” I say in response to his control inputs.

  He nods and I notice the corrections become much more fluid. Pulling up to the runway, he stops the aircraft and looks out checking for anything coming in. Pushing the throttles up, we start rolling and turn to align with the centerline. The engines roar louder as the throttles are advanced and we pick up speed. Robert’s corrections are right on as we rotate; first the nose wheel lifts off followed a short moment later by the mains. He goes through the clean-up and levels off quickly. I see his head moving side to side as he tries to pick up Dobbins and the runway. I have it in sight already but wait to say anything wanting him to be in complete control.

  “Oh,” I hear him say to himself. Evidently he has found the runway.

  “Hard to find sometimes aren’t they?” I ask knowing exactly what he is going through and feeling.

  “Yeah,” he responds. His mind is on a thousand things and having a conversation is not on the top of his list.

  He begins going through the checks and I can tell he is a little behind the aircraft, trying to maneuver for final, get the checks done, and get the aircraft configured for landing. This is evidenced by the fact that the runway is growing larger in our screen yet we are not close to being configured to land. I can tell he wants to begin descending but we are not ready for it. He does edge down a little lower though; more a subconscious action than from any conscious decision, knowing we need to descend in order to land. He gets further behind and frustrated as he tries to speed things up to get configured but only manages to actually slow down the process by his anxiousness.

  The runway disappears under our nose and he looks to the side at me. I do not say a thing as I want him to figure this out and come up with a solution on his own. It’s not like I will let us get into an unsafe situation. I let that happen before and I will not do that again. The memory surfaces of one time I let a student go too far. We were doing a high angle, slow speed maneuver and I allowed the student to get too slow before reacting. The jet flipped over on its back and began spinning toward the ground. My shoulder harness did not latch and keep me in my seat as it should. I found myself pinned against the top of the canopy with the world spinning below me through the canopy’s top. The blue sky that was supposed to be seen through the top of the canopy was now on the wrong side of the aircraft. The student panicked and let go of the stick. That was the absolute worst thing he could have done. I looked down at the floorboard, which was now up, and noticed the control stick free-floating. Looking back outside, the world began to spin faster. We were now in an accelerated, inverted spin; a completely unrecoverable situation in that aircraft.

  We started the maneuver at 25,000 feet and moments later, looking at the altimeter, I saw it rapidly wind through 10,000 feet. We were going down like a brick. 10,000 feet was the minimum safe altitude for bailout for that type of ejection seat in an uncontrolled maneuver and I began to issue the command to bailout. As the first word escaped my mouth, I realized there was no way I would make it out being pinned against the canopy. I would be obliterated with the canopy blowing off and then the seat smacking up against me at close to 35G’s. I thought about issuing the command anyway to let the student escape, but I also instantly realized that, with the way we were going down, the canopy wouldn’t clear the aircraft correctly. He would just end up smacking into it at a high rate of speed and at an awkward angle. I continued to look at the world below me spinning and coming up fast. I remember there was not a hint of fear inside but just trying to reason through the situation. Not a thought went through my mind of hitting the ground; and we would hit hard.

  I reached down and hooked my ankle around the mid part of the control stick and pulled it sharply back with my leg. The aircraft immediately righted itself, slamming me hard down into my seat. Not only that, but we also had flying airspeed. And, we were in level flight. At 2,000 feet. Yeah, WTF right!? I rammed the throttles into afterburner and stood the aircraft on its tail pointing skyward. It was then that I noticed the radios squawking loudly in my ear from the control center monitoring our practice area, telling me that I was off altitude. Really!? No kidding, I thought. I merely ‘rogered’ the call and told them I was on my way back up to altitude. The investigation teams did not believe me when they arrived. They kept asking me how I recovered and I kept telling them.

  “Seriously, Captain,” they would say. “What maneuvering and inputs did you use to recover? In what order and steps?”

  See, like I said, this was supposed to be a completely unrecoverable situation.

  “I told you, I hooked my heel around the stick and pulled it back,” I kept replying. Yeah, something was looking out for me that day and, yeah, I will never allow myself to go too far again.

  The runway continues to pass by below us. Robert carries on through the checklist but more hesitantly.

  “What do I do?” He finally asks.

  “I don’t know. I’m just along for the ride,” I respond.

  There is a slight hesitation, partly from frustration and partly from trying to come up with a plan. The aircraft begins a shallow right, climbing turn.

  “I think I’ll just enter a downwind and re-enter the final from there,” he says in a questioning voice.

  “Whatever you think,” I say but inside feeling very proud as that is the right solution.

  Or, the most right. There were several actions that would have been correct. As I always told my students, make a decision and take an action. It does not matter what the action is because at least you are taking one instead of plowing along doing nothing. That is the only real, wrong thing to do - nothing. We configure for landing and he brings us around, setting it down firmly but not one of the worst I have ever experienced. Some of th
ose worst being my own.

  “Never feel trapped into having to make it in on the first try, or the second for that matter, or forcing it. It’s not a one shot and over deal. If you don’t like the setup, take it around and set up for another. At least you’ll be alive to try again,” I say as he takes the props out of reverse thrust and we roll out on the runway.

  I see him nod his response out of the corner of my eye, not answering verbally and concentrating on keeping the aircraft on the runway. I tell him to park over where we were yesterday. We taxi over to the same location and shut down.

  “What about getting fuel? I didn’t find any fuel trucks yesterday.” Robert asks.

  “We’ll have to manually pump it out of the other aircraft here,” I say looking over at the other C-130’s parked next to us.

  “Bri, will you go over and see how much fuel is in the 130 next to us? Take Red Team and have the aircraft cleared before you go in. The panel should be the same as this one,” I ask rising from my seat.

  “Sure, Dad,” she says.

  “Nic, will you stay here and teach Michelle the nav panel?” I ask.

  “You betcha,” she answers.

  We all stroll out onto the tarmac, the outside better than staying in the oven that is the cargo compartment. Mike follows at my heels and sits when I stop. I notify Lynn of our intentions and have her detail soldiers to get the manual pump and hoses from its storage place. The 130 is designed to be self-sufficient in any environment and operational in every contingent imaginable. There are missions that take it to places where there are not electric pumps or fuel depots so it has to be able to pump fuel from any source.

  “Won’t that take a while?” Lynn asks as I finish explaining.

  “Yeah, but it will take longer getting home if we run out of fuel part way,” I say, still tired from the morning’s events.

  I have Robert climb on top of the aircraft through the overhead hatch and out onto the wing. There are over the wing fuel caps and we will be refueling through those; stretching the hose between the aircraft and operating the hand pump to transfer. It is a lengthy process but I do not see any alternative. It will also throw our time schedule off, like what has not done that as yet, but I would rather not use civilian fuel if I can avoid it.

  Bri comes back and reports that the aircraft parked next to us is almost full. I send her inside our aircraft to operate the fuel panel. McCafferty is on the wing of the other aircraft to open the over-wing caps there and operate the hose on that end. When all is in place, we start the lengthy process of transferring fuel with soldiers taking turns at the manual pump. The heat builds throughout the day, baking us all as we sit under the shade of the wings. This is the kind of heat that makes you feel like you are made of rubber and puts you into that drowsy state.

  Soldiers rotate positions with Robert and McCafferty so they are not stuck in the heat rising from the metallic wings. Heat waves dance across the concrete ramp, making distant objects look like they are under water. We are all soon bathed in sweat in the humidity and lack of wind does not allow the water oozing from our pores to evaporate. Lynn makes sure everyone remembers to drink, cutting into our water supply. Bannerman reports that we still have enough for a few days even with this increased consumption rate for which I am thankful. I have been in enough darkened buildings for a while.

  A couple of hours later, we finish refueling, stow the equipment, and seal the tanks back up. I climb up onto the wing to verify that the caps are put back correctly. Not that I don’t trust anyone, it is just that, as the pilot-in-command, I am the one responsible. It certainly would not do to have the caps open in mid-flight and start having fuel pour out, being sucked out by the flow of air over the wings. The only indication would be the rapidly dwindling dials on the fuel gauges. That would not be cool. If we defuel, I want it to be because we choose to.

  The same dreary restart process begins after we all gather inside our metallic coffin; hoping it does not actually become one. I feel so drained from the heat and excitement of the day. The feeling also stems from the knowledge that we will soon be back in the Northwest where the real work will begin. I may be tired now but wait until then, I think as the engines come to life. I can feel a stupor filling all of us. How tired we all are with what we have all been through lately. My butt is so tired of sitting in this seat but I imagine the passengers in back have it worse. The 130 is not the most comfortable of airplanes to ride in. Nine more hours and home. And of course with a landing at night. These night runners are putting a huge crimp in my planning process.

  The sun is half the way across the afternoon sky as we lift off, forever departing this part of the world. A place it may not be safe to return to even in the air. A Geiger counter is going to not only be handy but necessary if we ever have to venture forth. Those nuclear power plants will continue to leak radiation making this area and others uninhabitable for hundreds or thousands of years. We really tubed this one in the name of progress. We had to play with our new toys without thinking about the long-term ramifications. I guess the good thing is that the night runners will be affected as well. I think they will at least. However, that really does not mean much for us; or humanity if we end up on the extinct list. Right now, we are definitely an endangered species.

  Climbing out, a line of weather appears on the distant horizon. The dry line usually sits along the northern Texas panhandle stretching north this time of the year and can spawn thunderstorms and squall lines. We will have to watch out for those as we will be transiting that area close to nightfall. The weather has been good to us so far and I am hoping that will remain. The nav is set for a direct shot to McChord and I set the autopilot after leveling off at flight level 200 — 20,000 feet. I let Robert take the controls and switch places with Nic at the nav table. I want to read through some of these reports before trying to grab some shut eye.

  I open the first folder and begin leafing through some of the reports noting some of what they have to say. Some valuable, some not making any sense to me, and others filled with the formese that government or government-like institutions love. I mean why write a single word when a paragraph of big-worded jargon exists that means the same. It can be very tiring trying to make sense of what they are actually trying to say. I do note some things from the initial reports:

  …initial studies indicate that the initial Cape Town virus and pandemic has caused an 11% fatality rate worldwide…..further statistics show that the Bauer vaccine has a 71.3% fatality rate. 27.7% percent of those taking the Bauer vaccine have undergone or are currently undergoing alterations within their genetic makeup according to the quick sampling and testing we have conducted to this date. The results and ramifications of this are unknown and merely speculative at this time. Test subjects will need to be located and studied to determine the exact nature of the genetic alterations. Studies indicate that approximately 1% of the population may have immunity to the vaccine and virus. The original….

  A yellow sticky note is appended to the top of this report. Hand written on the note is “Humanity went out, not with a whimper, but a bang. God help us all!”

  …Test results indicate that the genetic mutations caused by the Bauer vaccine are not transmutable by blood, feces, or any other fluid contact….the immunity exhibited in approximately 1% of the population may be familial, however, further testing is needed to establish…

  What the hell! I think reading this. What happened to the soldier at the BX that was bitten? My guess is that it must have been an anomaly of some kind. Perhaps his ‘immunity’ was only a partial one or that the process took a longer time in him and that the bite or trauma kicked it into high gear. Maybe he could have been just a carrier like some can be with Hepatitis. I guess there can be lots of explanations that I cannot even think of. Reading this does give me a sense of relief in that those of us left alive will not turn into a night runner merely by being bitten. I really did not know how to handle that one if it was the case. This one sentence a
lone was worth the risk.

  …The long-term ramifications of such a death toll cannot be fathomed even if governmental institutions survive. Removing the deceased will require more resources than what will be available not accounting for the drastic decrease if not complete fall of institutional services. This will lead to a wide-spread and unchecked rate of infectious diseases arising from the deceased. Keep in mind that, in the aftermath, there will be close to five billion dead worldwide; the diseases of cholera, plague, and typhoid will be prevalent in high density areas. These diseases will also be present in other populated areas but weather, local topology, and size of the population will dictate how prevalent the diseases will be and to what extent their timeline will be. The services….

  We will definitely have to put a priority on removing the bodies. I have thought about this a lot but our highest priority will have to remain building and fortifying our sanctuary and supplies. The fact about having resources to move such a quantity of bodies is so true. But we will have to get rid of them in our local area and soon. We are lucky we still have the summer months which will allow us longer periods of daylight. We will have to watch our travels into any populated area and stay out of buildings that have a large number of dead within. That means hospitals for sure from what I have seen so far. We may have to set up a detail to burn down the neighborhood tracts in our area rather than try removing bodies one at a time. We just will not ever finish in that fashion.

  I flip through other reports and find that they have ‘obtained’ fourteen test subjects. Wow! I think. They had fourteen of these things down there. I do not think I will find too much given the little time they had before the world came crashing down but am still hopeful of finding, or at least verifying, some facts about the night runners.

  I turn to an autopsy report. The top of the report is mainly blank. It says that they are looking at test subject number seven who is a female and approximately 26 years of age. The race type merely says “unknown.”