John O'Brien - Awakening

“That’s a good choice,” I say deciding to interject my thoughts. “One, it is the longest and the ground level around here is over 5,000 feet high. You know what that means, right?”

“Longer ground roll and takeoff distances,” he answers.

“Yep, exactly. Plus, with the storms nearby, there is the chance one of those storms can have a downburst. That means strong winds can head this way in a hurry from them. I’d rather be heading into something like that rather than away when landing,” I add. I see the wheels turn quickly in his mind as he absorbs this information.

“Makes sense. We could stall out if it came behind us,” he says after a moment of contemplation.

I’m glad to see him able to work through these thoughts while setting up for a landing as well. It gives me more confidence about our return flight. I give him a pat on the shoulder. “You’ve got this handled,” I say glancing at the overhead panel to make sure Gonzalez, under Bri’s supervision, has them set up correctly. I still remember our near glider experience.

The gusty winds and turbulence make the final approach a tricky one with the threshold of the runway bouncing around in front of the nose, like a drunk trying to fit a key in the lock, but Robert manages to get us down. The turbulence continues into the flare, we rise and then set down a little abruptly but we are able walk away from it so it’s a good landing. We taxi in to where a couple of HC-130’s are parked and shut down. The wind continues to buffet the aircraft as strong gusts blow through the area. I’m not sure if the storms will venture this way during the day or evening but their presence is certainly felt.

We unbuckle and head into the back. There is the unmistakable odor of someone that didn’t enjoy the turbulence much. The 130 is notorious for shaking so I’m not surprised. I open the ramp and, after setting a schedule for the teams to guard the area, tell everyone they are free to loiter outside as long as they don’t venture far or alone. We find a shop vac in one of the open hangars and clean up the mess inside. We even find some of the aromatic “kitty litter” used for such messes. I’m not sure which is worse though, the original smell or the “aromatic” nature of the kitty litter.

The gusts continue to sweep through the area but other than the occasional deep rumble of the storms in the distance, no other sound is heard. Surely there must be other survivors, I think surveying the ramp. After all, we’ve found others in our area. Perhaps they’ll respond to the sound of our arrival.

Although it was relatively short flight, we are all thankful to be outside regardless of the blustery conditions. It’s warm and humid but it’s nice to be out of the aircraft. If the storms alter their direction and decide to pay us a visit, we’ll be confined back in the 130 and all of its “comforts.” Read facetious. MRE’s are opened and we take as much protection from the gusts as the leeward side of the aircraft will allow. The thin air of the high desert is keenly felt. After being at sea level for so long, I feel like I can’t catch my breath. The team on guard splits into teams of two and stations themselves, with binoculars, around the ramp. They should be able to give us some warning of anything untoward.

Sitting on the ramp, I notice just how gritty and covered with sand it is. The desert is slowly beginning to take back what was once its domain. I look across the ramp and notice a wide trail cut through the grit where we taxied in. It’s not something that will affect us greatly at this point but definitely something to keep in mind. We’ll have to conduct low passes at each field to verify its condition. I should have thought about that here but my attention was focused on both Robert and the near thunderstorms. Even sheltered against the wind, the gusts continue to blow bringing more sand with it. I even feel the grit of it in my mouth as I chew.

“Are we going to fuel up here?” Robert asks finishing his meal.

“I think we should be okay. The storms look like they may be building in this direction and I don’t want to be in the midst of fueling if they do. They can move rather quickly when they want,” I answer.

“Makes sense,” he says.

“Sir, we have company,” I hear Horace say over the radio. Blue Team is currently on guard. The call gets everyone’s attention and we stand quickly with weapons in hand; lunches half eaten fall to the ground.

“What do you have Horace?” I ask looking around the area.

“Three people near the end of the runway to the west. Two men and a woman. Armed but not bringing them to bear in any overt fashion. They are just standing and looking our way,” she reports.

I look in the direction reported and contemplate getting the Humvees out for additional fire support and mobility. There are only three reported but there could be others around. I don’t see anything but it is some distance away. I head into the aircraft to grab a pair of binoculars.

“Keep an eye out for others,” I radio the team as I grab the binoculars and head back outside.

I direct the other team members to cover around the other HC-130’s parked on the ramp. This is the only C-130 I see and we’ll need it to carry our Humvees. The move to different cover is to keep any rounds away from our transport in case gunfire is exchanged.

“Any change?” I ask Horace as we settle into our new positions.

“No, sir. They are just standing there watching us through a set of binoculars as well,” she replies.

“They can see you then?”

“I’m pretty sure they can, sir. At least they appear to be looking directly at us.”

“Okay, wave them in. Everyone stay alert and keep an eye on the entire perimeter,” I say.

A moment passes and I glass the area indicated by Horace. Adjusting the focus, three people come into view. It appears one of the men and the woman have hunting rifles with the other man carrying a shotgun. All have a sidearm strapped to their side. I see them talk to one another and begin heading in our direction. They cautiously approach with their weapons ready but not threatening.

As they draw closer, I head over to Horace’s position. Reaching where she and Bartel are hunkered behind a concrete barrier along the edge of the ramp, I see the three have stopped about 100 yards away. I rise and begin walking toward them telling everyone else to stay in position. With my approach, they continue nearing once again until we are standing about twenty yards away from each other. The men appear to be in their late twenties and have the appearance, with their stance and short haircuts, of being either in the military when everything happened or at least have prior service. The woman appears to be middle-aged with dark, curly hair cut to her shoulders. They are all a little disheveled with streaks of dirt covering their faces and stains ground into their jeans and shirts.

“We mean no ill will and as long as you have the same intentions, you’re welcome to join us for lunch and conversation if you’d like,” I call out. They look to each other. One of the men shrugs and they all shoulder their rifles and close in. I shoulder mine as well and have the teams stay on the alert but stand down.

“I’m Jack,” I say reaching my hand out as we come together.

“Thomas,” one of the men says accepting my shake.

“Jeremy,” the other says.

“Laurel,” the woman says with a hint of a Texan accent.

We walk back to the group which has reconvened in our sheltered spot on the lee side of the C-130. Our three newcomers are handed MRE’s which they dig into. They share the story of their meeting during a day scrounging for food and water. Thomas, Jeremy, and Laurel have been holing up in one of the gyms of a high school nearby and ventured our way after hearing our aircraft arrive. They mention seeing a small number of others from time to time but haven’t made contact with them. They heard our 130 fly over and thought perhaps it was a remnant of a military group left over from the calamity. The supplies in the area were getting more difficult to gather with their small group and it was only a matter of time before their place was finally overrun. So far, they had kept the beasts at bay during the night but were worn out from having to do so.