John O'Brien - Chaos

“Otter 39, Lajes approach copy. Squawk 0271 and ident. Altimeter three zero one four, landing runway one five.”

I set up the code in the IFF and flick the ident button. This will create a momentary larger blip on their radar screen allowing for a positive identification.

“Otter 39, Lajes approach, radar contact. Turn left heading 070 degrees, descend and maintain seven thousand. This will be vectors for the straight in ILS one five. State departure point and destination.”

“Lajes, copy that. Otter 39 passing through niner thousand for seven. Left to 070. Departed Lewis McChord. Destination classified.”

I am still astonished and my mind is working overtime thinking about what kind of reception we are going to get and setting up for the approach. Although civilian aircraft do refuel here, I am in a military aircraft landing at a military field. And, oh yeah, I kinda borrowed this aircraft. My worry meter is climbing steadily.

Approach control gives us vectors to the instrument approach and we set up for landing. Passing the final approach fix, configured for landing, with the runway lights ahead of us and the lights from the base to the side, we are told to contact the tower.

“Lajes tower, Otter 39 on final for runway one five with the gear,” I say after switching to the tower frequency.

“Otter 39, Lajes tower, cleared to land runway one five.”

We touch down, reverse thrust, and slow to taxi speed. “Otter 39, Lajes tower. Taxi to the end of the runway onto the taxiway and shut down. Contact ground on xxx.xx leaving the runway for further instructions.”

“Otter 39 copies.”

Taxiing to the end of the runway, I pull off onto the taxiway and stop the aircraft contacting ground on the assigned frequency. “Ground, Otter 39 clear of the active.”

“Otter 39, ground, roger. Shut down there. Security will meet you. Remain on this frequency. State souls on board.”

“Ground, Otter 39 copy. Five souls on board. Shutting down and remaining on freq.”

Going through the shutdown procedure, I pull the prop levers back and the props begin their long, winding journey down. To our right, through the windscreen, multiple vehicles are approaching on the taxiway with blue lights flashing. “Otter 39, ground. Open your crew door and ramp.”

“Ground, Otter 39 roger,” I say and direct Robert into the back to open the door and ramp.

The security vehicles pull up, stopping a short distance away in a semi-circle around the nose of the aircraft. With the sky lighting in the east, signaling the coming dawn, security personnel scramble out of their vehicles; several taking positions behind the hoods and three stepping up by the crew door.

“Otter 39, exit out of the crew door one at a time keeping your hands in sight and unarmed.”

“Otter 39 roger.”

We leave our weapons on the seats with our helmets and head to the now open crew door. Spotlights illuminate the entirety of the aircraft, blinding me as I walk down the door stairs, setting my flight cap on my head. I barely make out three security personnel standing off to one side, silhouetted by the blinding lights. The kids follow me out and down, exiting one at a time. I stop at the bottom and am met by an Air Force Tech Sergeant. “This is your crew, sir!?” He asks in an incredulous manner, stopping in front of me and saluting.

“It is, Sergeant,” I say returning the salute.

“Anyone else on board, sir?” He asks.

“No, Sergeant Watkins,” I reply back noticing his name tag. “This is it.”

He turns and grabs the mic at his right shoulder, “Cressman, take bravo and secure the aircraft.”

Sergeant Watkins then turns back to me. “Sir, I was instructed to bring you to Colonel Wilson. Actually, I was instructed to bring the entire crew, but given the circumstances here, I will escort you and allow, um, them, to remain here.”

“Very well, Sergeant, lead the way.”

Sergeant Watkins turns to a senior airmen standing to the right and behind. “Calloway, notify the tower, base ops, and the Colonel’s office of our situation. Tell the Colonel’s office we are bringing a Captain Walker to him and then meet me back here.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Airman Calloway says and trots over to one of the vehicles.

“Sir, I heard you came out of McChord,” Watkins says as we await Calloway’s return.

“Yeah, two days ago,” I reply.

“How is it back there, sir?”

“Not good,” I answer and he just shakes his head.

“How is it here?” I ask

“I am not sure I’m at liberty to say, sir,” he answers as a security member pokes his head out of the door above us.

“Sergeant Watkins,” the young airman calls out. Watkins turns toward the airman and the airman continues, “The aircraft is all clear. Some weapons in the cockpit and cargo bay which we secured.”

“Okay Jones,” Watkins replies back. “Bring the rest of bravo out and sit with these kids here.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Jones says and disappears back into the cargo bay.

“Yours, sir?” Watkins asks nodding toward the kids standing at the bottom of the ramp, their heads all turned towards us.

“Most of ‘em,” I reply and he merely nods.

Calloway returns a short time later. “Sergeant, I’ll be expecting our weapons back once we return,” I say as Calloway draws up.

“Yes, sir. This way if you please, sir,” Watkins says extending his arm in a sweeping motion, inviting me towards the nearest vehicle.

I climb into the back of the vehicle as Calloway climbs into the driver’s seat with Watkins hopping into the passenger seat. The other airman climbs in the back seat as well and we head down the ramp with the morning sun just poking above the horizon. We drive in silence across the ramp and onto the base roads. Calloway repeatedly looks back at me through the rearview and the airman beside me gives me side-long glances. Sergeant Watkins is focused straight ahead through the windshield.

We arrive at a building a few minutes later, pulling directly up to the sidewalk leading to the front doors, bypassing the surrounding parking lot. “Sir?” Sergeant Watkins says looking back over his shoulder at me.

I step out of the vehicle and walk around in front of it to the sidewalk. Watkins walks ahead of me to the front door with Calloway and the other airman behind me at each shoulder. I remove my cap, sliding it in my right calf pocket. We head inside and up a flight of stairs a short distance down the entrance hall.

“It’s so strange to be in a building with the lights on,” I say as we reach a landing.

“What’s that, sir?” Watkins asks half turning his head around.

“Just that every other building we’ve been in lately has been completely dark. No power or lights. It’s just nice to be in a building that’s lit.”

“There’s no power back in the states?” Calloway asks just behind and to the left of me.

“Calloway, that will be enough!” Watkins states tersely.

“Not that I could see,” I say answering Calloway’s question.

We proceed into a hallway on the second floor and arrive at a wooden door with a translucent glass panel set into the upper half. Entering within, the room opens into a reception area covered with light gray carpeting and wood paneling. A large dark, wooden desk sits in the middle of the room with chairs against the wall to our left fronted by a coffee table. The walls have prints of the base and aircraft on them with the usual chain of command photos on one wall. Two wooden doors with the same translucent glass panes set into their upper halves open off the room and we head over to the one on the left. Written on the glass panel in black lettering is ‘Colonel Frank Wilson’ with ‘Vice Commander’ in print below it.