John O'Brien - Return

“Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve been saying?” She asks loudly causing many on the ramp around us to look our way.

“We can’t go back! We were lucky to get out of there in one piece!” She continues on, her voice and anger rising.

The looks from the soldiers change from wonder to amazement on hearing her and wondering if they made the right choice in following me. That I would consider something like that after what they had been through is most likely making them think I have gone off of my rocker. The air could not have been more still and I am pretty sure time has stopped in this particular moment.

“I didn’t say we,” I say in a low voice.

“What!? You can’t possibly think you’re going in there alone! What are you thinking, a small team?” She asks with her eyes narrowing.

I know that narrowing of the eyes. That is a danger signal. When she does that, it is time to shovel the dirt back into whatever hole I have dug. I see her heels almost literally dig in.

“No, just me,” I say bringing more dirt out of the hole rather than shoveling it back in. “You know one person can get in sometimes where a host can’t.”

“That’s just plain nuts,” she says but her voice lowers in both volume and intensity. “And what happens if you get caught in there?”

“I’ll be fine and Robert can fly the plane if something does. He’s become quite proficient at it,” I say trying to alleviate some of her anxiety.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass. You’re not going in there alone!” She retorts. “If you’re going on with this fool scheme, I’m going with you.”

“Yes, I am. And no, you’re not. If it’s there, we need that info so we can better prepare for our survival,” I answer back.

“We don’t need a fucking report. We know what they’re capable of without it,” she says knowing me and that I am not likely to back down but trying every avenue nonetheless.

“What we need is to get over to the base to refuel. Will you see to it that everyone is loaded up please,” I say knowing we will be standing here long after dark with this conversation. She continues to stare, no, glare at me for a very long moment before stomping off toward the aircraft.

“Fool of a man,” I hear her say while she is still within earshot, fully intending for me to hear.

“Everyone, load up!” Lynn hollers across the ramp. “We’ve just been enrolled in Jack’s fantasy camp.” Several chuckles, some nervous and others genuine, come from the soldiers as they grab their gear and start up the ramp, disappearing inside.

We get started and taxi out with Robert at the controls. Close to the horizon, the sun has settled behind the tall trees across the ramp and road, shining through the gaps, the beams of light catching dust particles and insects in its rays, giving an announcement that we are about to close out another day. Another intense one and I do not think the intensity will be settling down anytime soon. I am sure Lynn is gearing up for round two and I am not looking forward to that. Robert conducts a stellar takeoff and I take the controls after cleanup for the quick hop over to Dobbins. The sun is directly ahead of us, glaring through the windshield, reminding us that our time needs to be short. We will be once again spending the night at an airport like a family vacation gone awry.

The runway for the base is aligned directly with our line of flight so we are already on a final when we level off. It is one of those gear up and then gear down immediately flights. The base is rather small with the airfield and ramps taking up just under half of the base itself. Ahead, I see several C-130’s on the ramps to either side of us. A quick glance to the ones on the left, with a large maintenance hangar behind them, tells me that fuel will not be found there. I am really hoping there is a fuel truck parked near the ones by the right. Most facilities have underground fuel lines leading directly to the aircraft parking allowing for refueling without the use of trucks.

The engines approach idle as the wheels gently bump onto the runway. Slowing and taxiing off close to midfield, I ease over to and pull up next to the other 130’s parked silently on the ramp. Shutting down, we join in their silent vigil.

“Robert, take Red Team and see if you can find a fuel truck,” I say as the large props come to a standstill.

“Okay, Dad,” he says, opening the ramp, getting out of his seat and walking to the rear.

“You know this isn’t over,” Lynn says behind me, poking her head into the cockpit and then disappearing just as quickly so as to not hear any argument or comeback I might have.

“What isn’t over, Dad?” Nic asks looking in the direction Lynn disappeared to as if seeing her through the bulkhead and really wanting her answer.

“Never mind,” I say climbing wearily out of my seat with a heavy sigh.

I know what I am proposing is the right thing to do. I know that Lynn is worried but I have done similar things in the past. Sneaking through guarded buildings in search of information, documents, or various other articles. I feel confident I can make it there or, at minimum, know when my route is being closed off behind me and get out before I am discovered. But I have not faced anything that can detect by scent or apparently see in the dark. At least I can match them for seeing in the dark , I think heading to the back of the aircraft.

Walking outside to the light, gray concrete that covers the large area on which we are parked, I look for Robert and group, seeing them as they near a large hangar next to what appears to be a squadron or base operations building. They disappear around the corner. I see Lynn occupying herself by looking through our supplies but know that it is just busy work and she is merely biding her time for the right moment to continue our “conversation.”

“I don’t see a fuel truck anywhere,” Robert’s voice calls in the radio I donned on exiting the aircraft.

Our habit is to don our vests and radios anytime we venture outside, charging the radios off the aircraft electrical system when enroute. The Hercules has many nifty aspects to it like that. I turn to see Lynn now refilling and checking her mags along with the rest of the team members who accompanied her just a short time ago.

“Okay, come on back. We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” I say to Robert before walking over to Lynn.

“I heard,” she says in a brisk manner.

“Want to talk,” I say looking down at her as she kneels at the back of the aircraft thumbing shells into an empty magazine.

“Don’t you have an airplane to fly?” She asks looking up to the soft click of a shell being deposited.

“We can stay here for the night,” I respond.

“Okay,” Lynn says standing and putting the now full mag in one of the mag pouches on her tac vest.

We inform the others that we are staying here for the night and for them to eat before darkness sets in. We then walk in silence a ways out onto the ramp so as to not be overheard. I glance quickly back over my shoulder to make sure everything is in order before devoting my attention to the conversation about to happen. Robert and the rest of Red Team are walking back across the ramp. The other soldiers grab items from our supplies before sitting in small groups on the ramp and enjoy a little conversation of their own with their meal.

“You start,” I say leading off the conversation.

“You know it’s not a good idea to go back in there. There are too many of them,” Lynn says looking into my eyes.

“Look, I wouldn’t risk it if I didn’t think we could get some vital information. And you know that right?” I say.

“That I do know but I don’t agree that the information is vital enough to warrant the risk,” she says countering.