John O'Brien - Sanctuary

I maneuver around the airfield incrementally testing turns and such before setting it back down with a thump. Yeah, I’ll have to work on my landings some. The others gather around and we eat a bite with the sun climbing toward its zenith casting warm rays of sunshine on our shoulders.

“Anything on the radio?” I ask Gonzalez as she and the rest of Red Team draw near.

“Nothing much, sir,” she answers. “Just teams reporting in and the drivers calling out their locations.”

“Good. Let’s finish up with lunch and enjoy a moment. I’ll refuel and then see if I can get this beast back to Cabela’s,” I say. “Before we leave though, I would like to pop into one of the squadron buildings and see if we can find some manuals.”

“Can I go with when you fly down?” Robert asks as we open our rations and lean against the Humvee together.

I’m glad to see he has the same adventurous spirit as I do but I also know that he wants to take every opportunity to learn. He is a lot like me in that way. He always wanted to try new things and never hesitated when I suggested something where he thought he would learn. I feel stuck here though. The feeling stems from the great sense of loss for Nic and knowing I could never go through that again. Even though it’s been a short time, our situation has forced some of those deep grief feelings down inside. On the other hand, I want him to have experiences and I have to balance my protective nature against his need to learn. This seems to come up too many times and I still don’t have the right answer.

“Okay, you can go,” I say.

We finish with our meager lunches. Robert and I head off for one of the fuel trucks parked adjacent to one of the open, brown hangars. The fact that we’re toting M-4s in our hands is really the only surreal thing I feel at this moment. The quiet of the fort and surrounding area doesn’t seem as unreal as we walk across the light gray pavement, feeling the warmth rising from it. I’m sure that feeling will rise again in some instances but with the progress we’ve made and our days spent in this new world, I seem to be getting used to the quiet. My mind is no longer telling me that there should be a tremendous amount of noise associated with what my eyes are seeing.

We drive the truck over talking about the day and other ordinary topics with Robert wanting to know what is was like flying the Kiowa. Describing the differences I noticed, we set up the fuel line and refuel. He asks questions trying to fit the answers within the frame of reference he has with the 130.

“In a way it’s very similar but is touchy as anything,” I say as we finish up.

“Kinda noticed,” he says with a small smile.

“You too!?” I ask.

“Well, it was pretty funny. That’s of course after we figured out you weren’t going to take out everything else around you,” he replies with a chuckle remembering. “You took off to the side like you had a rubber band attached.”

I chuckle imagining his perspective. There’s an apprehensive tone to our conversation because we subconsciously realize we are about to enter an unknown building. I know if we have to penetrate too far in, I’ll just call the whole thing off. The info within is not as important as the info we needed from the CDC. I’m hoping we can find something just inside the building. We’ll be able to use the helmets we took from the HC-130 so I don’t need an equipment room but who knows where I’ll be able to find a manual without going deeper inside.

I stand at the Humvee with the others after dropping the truck back at its location. Shading my eyes from the overhead sun, I glance around at the various buildings. I know the Air Force bases put the squadron buildings next to the ramp and I’m hoping the Army did the same. That way we won’t have to play “find the building” as well. The glare from the sun prevents me from reading any of the signs by the tan buildings.

“None of you would know which would be the squadron or wing building would you? Well, I mean the battalion or regiment building?” I ask the others while still facing the buildings as if the answer will shout forth from them. I’m actually studying the buildings to see if I can denote which one it could be.

“No, sir,” they all respond.

“Well, let’s go have a look,” I say picking one likely candidate.

We check our gear and make our way across the ramp towards the nearest building. The day is becoming quite warm, the kind where the stillness and warmth lends itself to a peaceful day spent lying on a bed of grass near water; napping and lazing the time away. I notice an aviation battalion sign outside of the first building we come to so I’m drawn to explore this one first. The first story building is the usual concrete block building found on most bases and forts and is painted in the familiar light brown. It features one large window on the left, with the blinds pulled down, and a set of darker brown, double doors near the center. The rest of the building is just the featureless concrete block.

Pulling up to the doors, I peek inside a small window inset into them. There isn’t enough residual light inside so whatever is behind is hidden from sight. I test the door on the left and find it swings open a touch with a light pull. Henderson and Denton have taken up a position in front of the doors and slightly off to the side with their weapons, while not quite to their shoulders, ready to be brought up quickly. Gonzalez and McCafferty stand ready by the far doors and Robert stands behind me.

I swing the doors open not really expecting anything to come rushing out, at least in the form of a night runner, but our readiness stems from our need to be constantly alert for anything. It’s good to keep in that mode regardless of the situation and it helps to reinforce the training as well. We are becoming closer as a team and little exercises like this, even if necessary, are important in that regard.

Nothing comes rushing out but our ears are peeled for any sound. In times prior, there were instances of shrieks or movement with the opening of doors, giving us a clue that night runners were inside. We are attuned to listening for those first sounds of surprise as we intrude upon their domain. The building radiates the same quiet inside that it shows outside. The light penetrates through the open door showing the first few feet of a cream-colored linoleum floor.

Sunlight catches particles of dust disturbed by the opening of the door and they dance just above the surface of the floor. Radiant light casts a deep gloom past the doorway fading to a deep black further in. Air from the cooler interior brushes lightly against me as it seeks the outside. The air carries a musty odor but it is only the scent of disuse rather than the stronger body odor of any night runners. The tiled floor has a light covering of dust on the surface and I can’t discern any tracks or other marks.

Within the gloom, I barely make out wooden equipment racks with helmets resting on top of locker-style cabinets below. Stations to test the helmets reside just inside the door to the left and right. The room appears to be fairly open with the lockers occupying most of the space. A wall to the immediate left extends about twelve feet into the room with the room opening more to the left past its end. The room also opens up to the right directly from the door. It’s pretty apparent this is an aviation equipment room. I’m hoping there is an operations desk somewhere inside with manuals. I would check the lockers close by but I never kept the actual manuals in my equipment locker so wouldn’t expect others to either.

I am hesitant to even go inside as it is darkened and the possibility of night runners looms large. There aren’t signs that there are any but that doesn’t mean there isn’t. The items I would like would be a benefit but aren’t vital.