John O'Brien - Return

Calling for gear and flaps, we claw for altitude. I split my concentration between the instruments, which seem to be behaving, and the land disappearing beneath us. The base and housing vanish behind our wings giving me a melancholy feeling. I look down thinking there are trials and hardships for those alive below us; that they have their own life going on without regard for those overhead. I used to get that feeling every once in a while during other flights. I would think about each light below me and that it signified a story; that each would have love and fears and joys and hardships attached to it. That people might be having dinner at that very moment or watching a movie with loved ones; wrapped in their own little bubble of their life and completely oblivious to the life passing by overhead.

Trees and hills now pass underneath, wrapped in the twilight shadow of the end of the day. We climb higher and out over the now darkened water, yet we are still bathed in the last of the sun’s rays. The dark blue sky overhead is clear and promises a beautiful starlit flight; for the next little while at least.

“Nic, warm up and turn on the weather radar if you would please,” I ask making sure the cabin pressure is working as our altimeter climbs through 12,000.

I check the flight plan in the nav computer to ensure I had input it in correctly and validate it with our charts. Heading over open water doesn’t allow for landmark updates and heading in some random direction for hours over the endless ocean does not make for the ‘white horse and sunset’ ending. If we were to make a mistake in our route and coding into the nav computer, we would just be slowly traveling to the scene of our own accident. We continue our uphill journey until leveling off at flight level 200 — 20,000 feet. Bri is switching our fuel tanks as I flip on the autopilot, unbuckle and wait for either the sound of sputtering and silence or the continued drone of a constant fuel supply to the engines. She has her stuff down cold and the engines continue their uninterrupted speech.

“You have it,” I tell Robert. “I’m going back to check on things and to the little boys room. We’re on auto pilot.” He merely nods. In the darkened cockpit, his face is lit by the glow of the instruments with the sun having already said its goodbye in its usual, splendid fashion ahead of us.

I step down into the cargo compartment feeling the vibration of the engines through the soles of my boots. The aircraft is lurching to the side slightly as we pass through some mild turbulence. One of the bonus features of the 130; it tends to shake a bit but there is not a more rugged aircraft built. The cargo area is lit by interior red lighting making it easier to see but giving it a cave-like aspect. Lynn is sitting on the lower bunk talking with Drescoll, Bannerman, and Wilson. The rest of the soldiers are sitting on the red nylon troop seats against the fuselage talking quietly in small groups. Well, talking quietly being relative above the constant roar of the engines. Another bonus feature of the aircraft.

“How are the supplies?” I ask walking over to Lynn and the small group around her.

“We have enough water for several days and food to last us a couple of weeks. Plenty of ammo even considering the expenditure today. Water’s going to be our most critical but we have enough with our current consumption to get back and last for a bit,” Bannerman responds.

“Good. We’ll be in Brunswick in a few hours. Again, it’s just for a quick refueling stop and then to Atlanta, hopefully getting there in the afternoon sometime. That should give us enough time to get into the facility and find some information. We’ll have to assume that the building will be occupied in some capacity and take it slow. My guess is that the best place to find something will be in the director’s office. No clue where that will be but I’m hoping it’s on the main level and not on one of the upper floors or down below,” I say remembering the lovely time I had in a much smaller medical facility at McChord.

“According to the charts, there’s a small airport just to the northwest of the CDC so we’ll have to find ground transportation in order to get to the facility. We’ll do a flyby along the route to give us an indication where we need to go and what we’re looking at,” I continue.

“You’ve never been there before?” Bannerman chimes in shaking his head slightly.

“No, there’s never been a reason for me to visit there,” I respond back furrowing my brows and tilting my head slightly to give a hint of confusion with his question.

“Oh, I guess I was just assuming you’ve been there given that we’re going there,” he says back.

“No, I just figure that’s where any hard evidence will be, especially considering how quick everything came down. The government would’ve quickly passed this off to them. It would’ve also been passed on to the Army’s medical research facility but I would think they would have been working alongside the CDC. I also figure it would be easier to get into the CDC. I wouldn’t bother with the risk if we didn’t need to know what we’re up against and perhaps find some strategy to use against it,” I say. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see Michelle standing behind me.

“Jack, Robert asked me to come get you. He says there’s something coming over the radios,” she says.

I am incredulous and hope for some additional contact. I quickly climb back up the stairs to the cockpit with Lynn and the group right behind. I settle into my seat, plug back in and hear a faint but perpetual beeping coming through the radios.

“That’s not good,” I say listening to the high-pitched beeping.

“What is it?” Robert asks.

“It’s an ELT. An emergency location transmitter. And it wasn’t there when we crossed before,” I answer.

“What do you think it’s coming from?” He asks turning his head towards me.

“I don’t know but it can’t be a good thing being this far out in the ocean,” I answer. Looking back at him, I also see Lynn standing by my shoulder looking on quizzically.

I reach over and turn the radio and intercom over to the cockpit speakers. The faint beeping is now echoing it distress signal throughout the darkened cockpit, growing louder and more intense as we progress further to the west. Lynn shrugs her shoulders indicating she doesn’t know what she is listening to.

“That’s an emergency beacon transmission. The kind of signal from a downed aircraft or survival radio. It’s being transmitted over the emergency channel,” I shout to make myself heard over the droning of the engines and the beeping.

“Oh,” I see her mouth move but cannot hear the word.

“Well, let’s see where it’s coming from,” I mutter but my voice comes over the intercom and cockpit speakers as well.

Reaching down, I dial in the emergency frequency to the NDB — a non-directional navigation instrument that can locate radio signals. The needle points almost straight ahead. I then couple the autopilot to the NDB and feel the nose swing a couple of degrees to the right. The aircraft will now fly to the source of the transmitter. We’ll only have to wait until the needle swings around 180 degrees, pointing behind us, to get an exact fix. There is not really much we can do for anyone in trouble at this point as we are out over the ocean. Wave perhaps but that is really about it. We might have some emergency drop equipment complete with small rafts and supplies provided it was loaded onboard.

“Will you have someone go back and find red bags with numbers on them? They should say “life raft”, “ASRK”, or “air sea rescue kit” on them. We may need them if we find someone out here in trouble. They should be in the rear of the aircraft. Just set them by the ramp door if they find them,” I shout back to Lynn. She nods and I see her speaking with Drescoll, who then heads back into the cargo area.