John O'Brien - Chaos

The sun climbs higher into the blue sky, warming the air further as we start across the ramp towards the other parked aircraft, our hands full with tools, and the ladder. The M-4 is slung over my shoulder and I keep an eye out for movement. Off to our right and behind us, on the edge of the gray ramp, lay the remains of last night, scattered about and looking like someone just dumped their trash.

We arrive at the P-3 at about the same time that Robert and Michelle pull up. An easterly breeze has sprung up. This is once again the type of day where we would normally be outside getting the Jeep or bikes ready for a day in the sun, listening to the first lawnmowers crank up and the smell of fresh cut grass, to be followed by throwing some burgers on the BBQ. The wafting breeze carries the morning smell of the trees and plants.

“Dad, I’m hungry,” Nic says as we drop our tools and ladder by the front of the P-3.

“Me too,” Robert says.

“What? I fed you yesterday,” I say. “I feed you once and now you expect it every day. Is that the way it’s going to be?”

They all smile as this is an old one between us. “Okay then, let’s finish this up and then we’ll grab a bite.”

It takes a while to find the batteries as I don’t know this aircraft. However, several panel removals later, I find their super-secret location and manage to remove one. It takes both Robert and I to actually lift it out of the aircraft. “Have Michelle help you take this one over and set it in the truck,” I say after we finish with the first one and start in on another.

“How many are we going to take? I thought only one was broken,” Robert asks seeing me reach in again.

“We’re going to take them all, just in case.”

The last one is finally removed and loaded onto the truck. “Meet us over at the aircraft,” I say to Robert, putting the hatches back on and we all start our journey back across the ramp. The sun has now climbed almost directly overhead.

“You guys go get something to eat,” I say once we are all back at the 130. “I’m going to start working on the bad one.”

“You aren’t hungry?” Bri asks.

“No, babe.”

“I suppose that means you aren’t fixing anything,” Robert says with an exaggerated sigh.

“You are perfectly able to fix your own food.”

“I know, I’m just kidding,” he says back.

“Oh, and the pantry won’t be available so you’ll have to use the packaged food.”

The day presses on. They eat and we get the new battery in place and hooked up. We should’ve been a few hours in the air already , I think reattaching the panel. I head up to the cockpit and check the battery reading. The indicator jumps up to normal. Thank god .

“Okay, let’s get it fueled up,” I say as we stow the tools and ladder away. I look at my watch, “It’s almost 1500. Let’s try to be off the ground within the hour. Looks like we’ll have another night approach and landing.”

I am a little more worried about this one as our airfield is in the middle of the Atlantic with very few options available should something go wrong or we end up not being able to find it. We do have enough fuel to make the coast of Portugal or Spain so that might be a second option. However, if we lose the GPS or it is a little off, we could end up searching endlessly and only find water. The only thing I truly don’t like is not being able to see the weather visually from a distance as you can during the day. I don’t want to have another evening like last night.

Fueled up and with the cart and extra batteries stowed away, we take off with the afternoon sun wending its way over the blue sky behind us. Climbing out on an easterly heading, the coast of Maine fades away beneath us, eventually becoming a dark smear on the horizon. The sparkling blue of the Atlantic spreads out around us in all directions. The skies above us are clear with only a few scattered clouds high above as we level off at flight level 250. Far to the south, only the very tips of cumulus clouds appear, covering much of the southern skies, obviously part of a very large storm system. Ahead of us though, the skies remain clear. The only interruption of our flight is our intermittent calls on guard frequencies and the switching of fuel tanks. I keep an eye on the electrical system but everything seems to be operating smoothly.

I let everyone take turns on the controls from the right seat, only getting out of mine to stretch and get the blood flow back into my legs. I venture to the cargo compartment once to change flight suits as my current one is starting to offend not only me, but I am sure those around. The others eventually venture to do the same. We drone ever eastward with nothing but the blue of the ocean below and the skies above to keep us company. The blue skies above change to a deeper blue as the sun sinks to the horizon behind, transitioning in the east to a dark blue, merging with the ocean below.

We continue on into the dark, dialing up the interior lights to watch our instruments by and have dinner in the cockpit, the food having been heated in the pantry with Michelle graciously doing the honors. We replace water bottle after water bottle at our sides as the dry altitude air sucks moisture from our bodies. Outside, we are flying in a dark void with only the stars shining brightly above us; the only indication of our movement is the mileage on our nav instruments slowly counting downward as we drone ever closer to our destination.

About 250 miles out from Lajes Field, I pull the throttles back and start a gradual descent. “Okay guys, if there is anyone left there, it’s the same as we talked about before. As far as you know, I’m on a mission to pick up some soldiers in Kuwait. I picked you up and we headed out. Don’t lie about anything other than the mission you believe I’m on. And let me do the talking .” I’m really going to have to come up with a good reason why I have brought kids along on a military mission. I mean, you can’t just plop your family on a military aircraft and head off any time you want. That would be very much frowned upon. I rack my brains trying to come up with something but nothing plausible emerges . I guess I’ll just wing it if I have to .

“Okay, Dad. Do you think there will be anyone there?” Bri asks with a twinge of both excitement and worry in her voice.

“I’m not sure, hon.”

“What about me?” Michelle chimes in. “Am I supposed to be yours as well?”

“Hmmm, haven’t thought about that one. I think we’ll need to keep it as real as possible so our stories match up and are believable so you’re Robert’s friend that we picked up on the way.”

Descending through 10,000 feet, I set up the instrument approach on my nav while maintaining the enroute plot on Robert’s. The stars still glitter above us and the weather looks clear. The nav system shows the wind out of the south at about twenty knots so I set up the approach I designed for runway 15.

A little over 15 minutes out, I switch over to the UHF guard. “Lajes approach, this is Otter 39 on UHF guard.”

To my absolute astonishment, I get the following reply back, “Otter 39, Lajes approach on guard. Contact Lajes approach on xxx.xx,” Uh oh , I think. Someone’s home and there’s going to have to be some quick explaining. Can I hide the kids? No, that might even be worse if they were found. Surely they know the situation and will understand. I’m going to go with that for now.

“Otter 39 roger. Lajes approach on xxx.xx.”

I switch the radio. “There’s someone there?” Bri asks.

“Apparently so,” I answer and key the mic.

“Lajes approach, Otter 39, an HC-130 100 miles west descending through one zero thousand. Request vectors for the straight in for the ILS runway one five.”