John O'Brien - Return

“No, I’m fine,” he responds.

I know he is probably having the time of his life. In control of the aircraft and feeling comfortable with it. Not wanting to give it up for a moment. He is going to need some rest as well but I want to lie down for a moment before we hit the weather up ahead.

“I’m going to lie down for a moment. Wake me for anything,” I say moving from my chair to the bunk to my side.

“Okay, Dad,” he says. I pull off my helmet and lie down on the thin mattress on the upper bunk.

I wake a short time later, the power nap leaving me feeling a touch refreshed. The day outside is winding to a close. The heating of the ground below during the day begins to cool and takes some of the energy away from the thunderstorms that we drawing close to. There are a few gaps in between the towering clouds. Large anvils spread across and fill those gaps on top. I turn on and warm up the weather radar taking my seat at the navigator’s station once again. I would like to get a little more reading finished before nightfall. We are going to be busy enough when we return so I would like to finish going through the files as I may not have time later.

“Guide us between the cells. They are far enough apart that they shouldn’t be a worry,” I tell Robert. “The radar is warmed up and ready in case we need it.”

I see him give me a thumbs up over his seat. I stroll back into the cargo compartment with Mike in tow and let Lynn know to have everyone buckle up if they can or be near something they can hold onto. I inform her that we will be passing through a line of thunderstorms and that it should not be too bad. I let her know it just might get a little bumpy. Back at the nav table, I rub my temples and open the folders once again.

The aircraft jostles around a little as we hit the outskirts of the turbulence making the reading a little more difficult. A lot of the reports talk about the rise of the virus and the attempts to find patient zero — the first one to manifest the virus. Many others speak of vaccine reports and notices terminating the vaccinations. A sudden jolt makes me light in my seat only to slam immediately back down into it, spilling some of the reports on the steel decking. Well, I’m not going to accomplish much like this , I think picking them up and climbing out of my seat.

Walking across the shifting deck, which is threatening to knock me on my can with each step, I tap Nic on the shoulder and point to the nav station. We exchange seats and I buckle in. I do not want to take over for Robert but need to be there just in case. He is doing a pretty good job but flying in moderate turbulence can make the ride quite exciting and nerve-racking. I know I don’t really like it much. And, we are not yet within the line so it is bound to get a little worse. Luckily, we have the last dredges of the sun to guide us visually through. The sun is hitting the western edges of the thunderstorms which are giving us a little bit of a light show. Lightning flashes periodically to our sides in the gloomy and shadowed undersides of the storms with the purples and oranges showing on the sides of the towering cumulus clouds. If they were not trying to throw us out of the sky, it would be quite a gorgeous sight.

Robert continues to navigate us around the line of thunderstorms. Looking up at one of the anvils spread across us miles above, I hope we are not going to be pelted with large hail stones. Flying under anvils is not the best of ideas as it is basically formed as the top of the thunderstorm hits the higher winds aloft; those winds rip the top of the thunderstorm and cast its contents miles outward at high rates of speed. Better than being in it, I think as we are continually bounced from one altitude to another. Not nearly as bad as the line we passed coming over, but it is enough to make you want to check your dental work afterwards.

I look back at Michelle seeing her eyes a little wide but she is coping well. Bri is busy with her panels and so engaged that she is not really thinking about our bouncing around much. Nic is at her nav seat looking absently through the medical files I left there while, at the same time, trying to keep them from spreading throughout the cockpit. Kathy, Little Robert, and Kenneth are on the lower bunk gripping the side rails tightly, trying not to get launched out of their seat. Mike is still behind me but lying on the deck, or trying to. He is being tossed a little into the air on the big bounces only to come back into contact on the reverse side of the bump.

We transit the far side just as the last rays of the day disappear over the western horizon; a faint glow of what was still silhouettes the horizon and the peaks of the mountains ahead. The Continental Divide. The turbulence subsides and we enter relatively smooth air as the vast towers of clouds vanish behind our wingtips. Lightning flashes out from their underbellies in a symphony of light. I hear a click on the intercom as Lynn plugs into one of the stations in the cargo compartment.

“Where in the world did you learn to fly?” She asks both amused and not.

“Oh, are you under the mistaken impression that I ever did?” I ask back.

“Very funny,” she says.

“Everyone alright back there?” I ask.

“Yeah, a few bumps and bruises but you didn’t manage to actually toss anyone out,” she adds.

“And here I tried so hard,” I say unbuckling. “I’ll be back there in a sec.”

Carrying the CDC folders, I head to the cargo compartment leaving the aircraft in the hands of my kids once again. I don’t think the oddity of that will ever leave , I think stepping down the stairs. The next few minutes are spent bringing Lynn up to speed on what I have gathered so far from the reports we brought out of the CDC; having to shout over the continuous thrumming of the engines. In a way, I have come to appreciate the mobility and security of the aircraft even more but am also ready to be out of it. I hand the folders to Frank and ask Lynn to share the information with everyone as I head back up into the cockpit; also letting her know that we’ll be at McChord in a few short hours and will brief on the next day’s activities when we land.

As I climb back up, Robert’s head turns toward me and he shouts. I cannot hear a thing he is saying so I step over to his side.

“What?” I shout into the left side of his helmet.

“You’re going to want to hear this,” he shouts back pointing at the radio. My heart rate elevates a little wondering what it can be. I buckle in and pull my helmet on.

“Anyone receiving this message, please respond,” a voice comes through the radio.

I check our frequencies and find we are on the UHF radio which means either military traffic or someone has found a military radio.

“If anyone can hear this, please respond,” I hear the voice come over again. I swear I heard the sound of gunfire in the background of the last transmission.

“Calling on UHF emergency, this is Otter 39. I read you loud and clear,” I answer the voice.

“Oh, thank god,” I hear in response.

“Calling on frequency, state your name and position,” I call back.

“This is Sergeant Mullins. We’re an Army unit inside the BX at Petersen Air Force Base,” he responds to my query.

“Okay, Sergeant. What’s your situation?” I ask further.

“We have those, um, things all around us. Holding out for now but ammo is running low,” he answers.

“How many are with you and how many of them are around you?” I ask.

“I have twelve including myself and I don’t have an accurate count of the things out there. I would say at least fifty to a hundred,” Sergeant Mullins responds.

“We are a C-130 with a contingent of soldiers aboard and about thirty minutes out from the base,” I say looking over our nav charts. “Can you hold out?”