John O'Brien - Reckoning

That evening, I study the new photographs that Frank provided of the exit tunnel building and surrounding fields. There is, in fact, only one camera over the door guarding the approaches. I spot numerous undulations, shown by the shadows, which I will be able to use on the fence approach. I prepare the camera systems that Bannerman has supplied and practice, both with the fiber leads and coaxial.

Over the next several days, Phase Two training ends and we assign them into teams. More supplies arrive, Lynn spends the day training with the teams, and I continue to orient Robert and Craig to flying low level at night, complete with them doing numerous night approaches and landings into our little field. Lynn also spends time with Tim as he’ll be in charge of base security with five additional teams. The nights are spent hitting the night runners on the southern fringes and commencing night low-level training. It is days of endless training filled with periods of rest only to start again the next day. At the end of the fifth day, we are ready.

We opt to take an extra day in order to rest and recuperate. We go through the same motions as the previous days so as to not interrupt our routine, which is most assuredly being watched. However, it’s only motions, and most of the day is spent relaxing. The afternoon is spent loading the gear that we’ll need into the trucks housed in the vehicle hangar, including a copious amount of ammo. Bannerman, in all of his genius and magic, has managed to acquire all of the supplies I asked for, which will make my task much easier.

We spend part of the evening going over the plan with the teams again; covering scenarios, signals, and other ‘when shit goes wrong’ eventualities. We forgo the meeting, and the others drop by at times to wish us well. At first light, we’ll be on our way to Portland where hopefully, the hangars will provide enough security that we can hole up for a couple of days before we embark. That will give us more time to train and run through the scenarios as a whole.

Morning arrives. As I lace my boots, I feel that familiar pre-mission anxiety take over. All of our gear is already loaded. The only thing we need to do is grab a quick bite to eat and be on our way. While addressing our small group of survivors the night prior, I pressed that we needed to keep the morning activities as they were the previous days so, there wasn’t to be any farewells or waving of hankies. We needed to keep it business as usual.

With my boots laced, I meet the other teams gathered in the cafeteria dining room. The smell of bacon, eggs, and toast waft from the large kitchen area. Oddly, as I fork eggs into my mouth, I find myself staring at the floor where I killed the female night runner when we took this facility. I remember vividly the look of her eyes as she gazed upward. Severely injured and wracked with pain, she stared at me with eyes filled with agony. I see clearly the look of welcome relief that flooded through them just before I fired.

Lynn nudges me in the ribs, shaking me from my remembrance. She merely looks at me before returning to her plate. Our early morning breakfast is conducted in almost complete silence as each team member is lost in their thoughts. There is only the sound of forks scraping across plates or a glass being set down. It’s not a solemn atmosphere, nor a depressed one. It’s more one of serious intent.

Finishing with our meal, we make our way downstairs. Despite my saying something to the contrary, most of the group has gathered downstairs to see us off. There isn’t any cheering or heroic speech. There are just a few pats on the back as teams members file past, with a few words of quiet encouragement thrown in. I walk past Robert and Michelle embracing near the front doors and out into the early morning light.

Cold air sweeps across the lot, and the light of the dawn touches the pavement. I was never one to look back and wonder if it was the last time I was going to see a certain place, but that thought momentarily enters my mind. This isn’t going to be a walk in the park and, when we return, we’ll still have thousands upon thousands of night runners north of us to deal with. Mostly, my mind is on the teams and feeling nervous for their safety. I know I have a couple of days before we set out in the 130 from Portland, so the cold nature of an impending mission doesn’t fully descend upon me as yet. I just hope we’ve done our homework and the assumptions we had to make prove to be true ones.

The light of the dawn grows as we walk across the field toward the vehicle hangar. The silence we experienced in the dining facility matches the quiet with which we march through the brown grass. The only sound is the stalks as they rub against the pants of almost a hundred legs and the sound of that many boots marching across the hard soil. We gather in the hangar and loiter for a while, trying to simulate the same thing the teams have done every day for the past six days. It will be difficult to conceal the trucks leaving but hopefully, if the other group is watching, they will see that it is only a supply run when the trucks return this afternoon. The hope is that they will miss that the seven teams marching into the hangar don’t return.

After an hour, we load into the covered supply trucks. Three of the trucks will be taking two teams apiece with a fourth taking myself, Red Team, Robert, Bri, and Craig. Red Team will be going in light on this with Robert and Bri having to fly the 130.

The truck lurches forward out of the hangar. Even though we have a couple of days before heading east, the jostle signals that the game is on. Up until I first put my boots on the ground, we aren’t necessarily committed and can pull back, but, once that happens, we’ll have no choice but to move forward—or at least I won’t. With the exception of a few shared words, we maintain our silence during the trip down, our bodies only occasionally jostled while our thoughts tumble incessantly.

In the back of the truck, as we make our way south, I can feel the nervous energy emanating from those riding with me. Of course, it could just be mine.

Will the hangar provide enough security for us to stay two days, or will we have to embark when dusk arrives?

If we have to leave this day, then it is what it is, but it will feel rushed. From the moment our wheels leave the ground, we’ll be continuously engaging from one phase to the next. It would be nice if we had a little break before we set out. That will enable us to have more training and gear the mind better toward what we are propelling ourselves into.

Part of me worries about my end of things; whether I’ll be able to circumvent the security measures that I run into. I have an idea of what I may encounter within the facility; I’m drawing from previous experiences, but it’s only a knowledge of usual security measures. This could easily end in one giant clusterfuck.

Being stuck in the enclosed back end, it’s difficult to gauge our location. We have the back panels closed so I can’t see any of the familiar landmarks. The drive seems to be taking forever. I’m surprised when we finally pull to a stop and I hear the crews riding in front hop out. Soon after, I hear the sound of what I assume are heavy hangar doors opening on their metal rollers. The truck doors shut and we start forward once again, driving into the hangar.

Once we’re given the all clear, we quickly scramble out, quick being relative as my knees don’t seem to want to straighten again, and unload our gear. Quickly looking around, the hangar seems like it will provide a secure location for us to hole up in. There are only the large doors and one other exit leading into the building. Thick paned-glass windows rest high across the main doors and along the upper sides of the hangar. They are out of reach of any night runners, unless they’ve developed the ability to fly, which I wouldn’t put past them at this point.