John O'Brien - Reckoning

He reaches out to the stronger presences he’s felt from afar, feeling each of them stop in their tracks as his thoughts reach them. Sensing each of them turn in his direction, he sends out a call for them to attend him. Several are hesitant, being nearly as strong in terms of presence as he; but in the end, they all turn toward him.

Throughout the night, although we hear faint shrieks continuously—some drawing closer—there aren’t any night runners that approach and test the hangar’s integrity. We stand down after a while, turning the safety of the teams over to the watches set by Lynn. Before finding my sleeping bag on the hard floor, I ask Robert if he has the ability to see in the dark. Removing his NVGs, he glances around and tells me that he can see just as well without them. As he’s not used to it, it’s a little disconcerting for him at first, but he quickly catches on. I don’t know why with having this ability, that we aren’t sensitive to the light; but I’m thankful that’s the way it is.

We further test his hearing and smell and find that it has been enhanced as well. Once we return home, I’ll have to check this out with the others. And, I’m sure there are others like us that we haven’t run across yet. It may be that we have to incorporate this aspect of opening up when we are out in order to find them. They may have shut down their senses by this time, but it’s worth checking out nonetheless.

The next two days are spent with training sessions and reviewing the plan, however, that really doesn’t encompass much time at all. For the most part, it’s spent in boredom with card games taking up a majority of the time. There’s only so much boredom that will cure though. Spread across the concrete floor, team members lie on their bags willing time to pass. We have imposed a radio blackout, so we haven’t had any contact with the compound.

By the late afternoon at the end of day two, we’d pretty much walk unarmed into a dragon’s lair to break the monotony; anything rather than to have to spend another day in the shelter. As the day winds down, the listlessness turns to activity as we gather our gear together, checking our packs and weapons. Other than our M-4s and various grenades, Lynn has brought several M-240s along, one for each of the teams that will be holding the security forces at bay within the hallways. We would have used them before, but they are a touch unwieldy in close quarters. We also have CS grenades with gas masks just in case.

The tedium prevalent during the two days has vanished, replaced by mounting tension, and, one might say, eagerness. Luckily for us, the 130 is parked near the hangar so it won’t be too much of a dash across open spaces. Outside, the cloud cover that began rolling in a couple of days ago is holding. It hasn’t brought but a few showers but it’s a thick cover which will help conceal us.

Hoisting their gear, the teams gather near the large hangar door, which we sealed shut. Removing the lock, they crowd together.

“Everyone ready?” Lynn calls across their heads.

“Hooah,” they respond en masse.

With a last look over everyone, Lynn and several others push the door open just enough for the teams to pour out. I join in the exodus, running across the grit-covered tarmac, hearing the sound of a hundred boots pounding on its hard surface. There is only that, the sound of hard breathing from those nearby, and the slight rattle of equipment. We flow across the gray pavement toward the 130 and, before we know it, we are racing up the rear ramp, the heavy footfalls changing to the ringing of boots on its steel surface.

Staying behind to shut the hangar doors, Lynn and her team are the last ones to enter. We were outside for nearly fifteen seconds and I hope that any attention on our encampment was directed elsewhere. Within the cargo compartment, there is a din of noise as gear is laid on the deck to be tied down and the soldiers find places to sit on the red nylon seats. Robert, Craig, Bri, and I make our way through the tangle of legs and packs on our way to the cockpit.

We don’t have much time as I want to be airborne while we still have the heat from the mid-afternoon. The clouds overhead have warmed the day and I want as much heat around us as we can get. The engines are going to push out a tremendous heat plume and my desire is to minimize that to any extent we can.

With the rear ramp closed, I do a quick start of the inboard engines. Thankfully, the engines come to life and we have a full tank of gas. I’ll taxi with those two and start the remaining two when we reach the end of the runway to minimize our heat signature. I flew past many of the checklist items after starting, so we are all knees and elbows in the cockpit getting the aircraft ready. Craig is crowded beside Robert busily inputting our route into the NAV computer.

I speed us along the taxiway to the end of the runway which is conveniently located next to the guard base. I would assume it was planned that way so the F-15s based there could make a quick takeoff.

Our dog and pony show continues right up to the runway threshold. I barely get the other two engines online as we pull onto the dirt-covered surface. Through the windshield, dark gray pavement stretches ahead, partially visible under swirls of dust. Without slowing, I push the throttles up and we start down the runway, the power of the engines vibrating through the fuselage. Pulling back on the controls, our front wheels release their grip on the runway, followed by our main gear shortly thereafter. We are airborne and, three hours from now, it will be go time.

Staying low over the city, I bank to the east. The clouds are still high above us but, across the landscape, I see the dark gray of showers connecting some of them with the earth. We really couldn’t have asked for better conditions, well, other than wishing for things to go back the way they were.

I bring us over the Columbia River, watching for the high-voltage power lines that I know stretch across it in places. I have those heavily circled on my map. It’s only a matter of minutes before we find ourselves in the Columbia Gorge; steep, forested slopes rise sharply from the edges of the wide waterway. This will keep us hidden until we break out onto the high desert plateau of Central Oregon and Western Washington.

Shooting at a hundred feet over the Columbia River and close to the southern line of hills, the turbulence bounces us like a paint shaker. Being the only real pass through the Cascades, the winds coming through the narrow defile are usually strong. In the past, they’ve had to close the highway to semis due to the winds.

Lynn had hooked into the intercom upon her entrance.

“How’s it going back there?” I ask, knowing it can’t be very comfortable for the soldiers.

“How much longer is this going to be like this? Too much longer and we’ll be worthless when we get there,” she replies.

I guess that’s my answer for how it’s going.

“Not much longer, but we’ll be hugging hills all of the way so I have no idea how long it’s going to be bumpy,” I state.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were doing this on purpose, Jack. Oh, and I’m not cleaning up the mess back here.”

I chuckle and tell her that she can send the worst cases up to the cockpit. Being able to see outside will help and, perhaps more importantly, they’ll be facing forward.

Although it may be a different story for those in back, it doesn’t take us too long to navigate through the gorge. Emerging out on the other side, I turn us south to keep close to the rough terrain of the Cascades.

Thirty minutes later, at a point midway between the cities of Redmond and Madras, still bouncing through the mountain waves as the westerly wind pours through passes and across the slopes, I turn us eastward. Here is the narrowest point between the Blue Mountains and the Cascades. From this point, I guide us through a long ravine that cuts through the Blue Mountains and drops us into the head of a valley just north of Boise.