J. Curtis - Calexit - The Anthology

Then to another culvert about two thousand feet past the first one, this one a pair of sixteen-inch tubes, with two sticks each and some gasoline and a propane tank to make things interesting. Then he strung another thousand feet of wire, this time into the brush and up to a path that was passable by the Arctic Cat but not by the trucks. The stream wasn’t much here, but it spread out and made the ground soft. A good driver could get past on either side, but he figured these folks might get stuck. The road wouldn’t be damaged badly by the charge, but he figured they’d go wide of the road, and he hoped they’d get mired.

He needed to buy time and to slow ’em down. He figured he could do that without killing anyone. But he’d deal with that if he had to. If they got to the house and the runway, they might arrest him. They might confiscate his plane. He was willing lose everything else, but his freedom, his son’s safety, and their means of escape… no. He had to buy time until his son returned and they could fly. He wanted to text again, but Jack had said that he was turning the phone off, and he’d already sent the info he had and he’d be here when he got here.

His tablet showed him via the surveillance video that the “Counselor” and his team were starting up the trail again. Best to finish and get ready.

At the bend, he already had holes in the cliff face, easy to push a stick in and the wires were already there too. He’d spent enough time planning for such a scenario, and now he was glad he had. No need for flammables here, the boom oughta get their attention and they’d either have to detour about three miles or climb over the rubble. He set this set of charges with a radio detonator. He only had four, but figured this was a good place to use one. He could bring the face down in front of them or on them, whichever he chose. He made sure via his tablet the camera here was working so he’d have a view of them when they got to the bend at the cliff.

He connected up and moved on.

How far am I gonna take this? He wondered? Will I kill if I have to, to get away?

Yes, he decided. My freedom, and my son’s, are worth it. These thugs may get my stuff but I am flying out of here tonight, one way or another.

Three hours. Maybe four. Figure five to be safe. They’d be flying out of here in a few hours if all went well. If he could keep the “Counselor’s” team away for that amount of time. His son’s report on Don Martin’s arrest made it plain that they weren’t gonna play nice.

And if the “Counselor” and his team didn’t get the message by the time they got to the first culvert… Well, he had lots of dynamite and terrain to play for time. Lots of ammo too, if it came to that.

He pulled out his cell phone and called Diego Riviera back.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Riviera?”

“Yes? Is this Mr. Daniels?”

“Yes. Listen. I can’t meet with you today. It would be better for all of us if you just turned around and came back tomorrow. Please.”

“No sir, today is your scheduled day. I really must insist. My men and I should be there in about an hour. Does your driveway get any better?”

“No, sorry, Mr. Riviera, it doesn’t. It’s actually the State road, if you aren’t to the gate yet, and they don’t keep it up anymore. I don’t use it much. I don’t leave my land often. And when I do, I have a jeep that can travel on it. I am sorry. Please, can we reschedule?”

“No.”

“As you wish then. So be it.”

Shit.

The land had been his father’s and his grandfather’s before that. His granddad had bought it cheap in the early 70’s when the nearest town (Panamint City) had been nearly a ghost town, the town having died when the silver had played out and the mines closed. He’d made it a farm, and had rebuilt the house to modern standards. It had been something special, both to his father, and now to him. He’d made it very comfortable, with a significant solar power and battery setup for amenities like a small AC unit that dehumidified the air (he hated refrigerated air, but the drier air in the summer was nice) and an electrically powered well, plus lights and satellite internet. There had been the possibility of having rural electric installed, but by the time it became available, he really didn’t need it. He had two small streams he’d dammed up for (mostly) year-round irrigation, and micro-hydro power off the dams, and enough of everything else that he was more or less self-sufficient. Neither he nor most of his neighbors had been affected by the events that the Cali Government had allowed to happen in the largest towns and cities. He’d had enough food and energy to not really notice the turmoil going ‘round the rest of the state. Far enough away that no one came around to steal, he’d had no issues.

All righty then, back to the plane:

It was an old DeHaviland Beaver DHC-2, modified by AirTech in Canada with the more powerful 600 HP engine and an in-cabin fuel tank for extra range. It could, if he could stay awake, take him all the way to Jim’s farm in one pass. All he had to do was get his son and get airborne.

He’d taken the precaution of painting the tops of the wings and the top and sides of the fuselage in mottled brown colors, as he was hoping not to be spotted from the air in his trips. He fully expected to have to hide this time, as he doubted Diego Riviera was going to be happy with him. Modern forward-looking infrared could see him at night, but he was surprisingly hard to spot on a hot summer day even with FLIR unless one knew exactly where to look. He had all the tanks full so he should have about 740 miles of flying, maybe a bit less if he had to stay low to avoid detection in the mountains.

Time to prepare the plane for a rapid departure:

He pushed the old Beaver out of the hangar, carefully positioning it in front. He chocked the wheels and checked the oil. Even though he’d checked the avgas earlier, he checked the tanks and then opened the sumps to check for water.

Running the checklist from memory: He set the magnetos for ‘OFF’ and went to the front of the plane. Pulled the prop through five complete revolutions (10 blades) by hand to make sure there was no oil in the lower cylinders. Setting the parking brake, he set the throttle for ‘IDLE’ set the prop RPM to ‘HIGH’, set the mixture for ‘CUTOFF’ set the fuel pump to ‘OFF’, the carburetor heat to ‘OFF’, the flaps for ‘UP’ and the elevator trim to ‘TAKEOFF’, set the fuel tank selector to the middle tank. He reached down and worked the wobble pump until he had 5 psi showing on the gauge, then turned on the battery switch.

He opened the throttle about 3/8 of an inch, checked the propeller speed lever again, set the mixture for ‘RICH’, checked the carb heat was set to ‘ON’ turned on the fuel boost pump, and confirmed the magneto switch was set to ‘OFF’. He pumped the prime lever five times.

Pressed the starter. The prop turned over eight blades, and he turned the mageneto switch to ‘BOTH’, the engine fired twice and died again. Pressing the starter again, the prop turned over four more times, and then the engine caught and ran with a plume of smoke from the exhaust.

He pulled the mixture closed just a bit, and the engine smoothed out and the cloud of smoke decreased. He pulled the throttle closed just a little and set the alternator switch to ‘ON’. Turned off the boost pump. Checked the magnetos.

He had good oil pressure, the alternator gauge showed a charge, and all his instruments showed that they were working. His radios lit up and he set the radio for Guard frequency. He made SURE that the strobes were off and his transponder was disabled by pulling those breakers.