A New World: Return (32 page)

Reloading, I then start towards the door leading to the hallway to give the night runners a departing gift.
 
Opening the door, I am met with a din of shrieks and roars from within the darkened recesses of the hall.
 
I bring my M-4 up and begin delivering my farewell present of steel, firing into the middle of the hall and at the fleeting shapes I see either milling or running about.
 
Screams of pain join in the general uproar letting me know that my gift is being received.
 
The shapes in my field of view dissolve and the shrieking instantly goes silent.
 
I fire until my mag runs dry.
 
Only a few soft slaps of feet on tile remain and then nothing.
 
An eerie silence settles.

“Are you okay?”
 
I hear Lynn call on the radio.

“Yeah, just saying goodbye,” I respond.

With the office now silent, I gather the rope and begin looking for a place to tie off.
 
There are not any good places that are immediately obvious.
 
Yeah, the desk or conference table might hold but I would also just as likely be pulling them down on top of me.
 
Hitting the ground from fifty or sixty feet up only to have a heavy desk fall on me is not on my top ten list.
 
The only thing that I see that will work is the steel beam on the outside of the building that was previously holding the sheet of glass.
 
Ideally, a tie off should be slightly inset from the drop off point to allow one to stabilize with the rope in front.
 
Oh well, you do what you have to sometimes
. I scrape the remaining glass attached to the steel beam with the butt end of my knife assuring that there is not anything left that will be able to cut through the rope, again with the intent of trying to avoid that sudden drop.

I tie the rope off and lean back in the office testing the strength of the beam.
 
Assured that the beam will not follow me out of the building, I remove the tape and clamp a sturdy D-ring onto my vest.
 
Feeding the rope through the D-ring in a double loop, I toss the rope out of the window opening, peering over to ensure that the end reaches the ground.
 
The suck factor would be getting to the end of the rope while still in the air.
 
The flight gloves I am wearing are a bit thin for this type of operation so I will have to take it a bit slow on the way down.
 
Rope burns are a bitch!

I stuff the folders inside my vest, making sure that they are tightly bound and not likely to slip out.
 
I then put my M-4 over my head with the strap under my opposite arm and tighten the strap; effectively securing it to my back.
 
Over by the window again, I grab the long end of the rope in my right hand in a reverse grip putting that hand in the middle of my back.
 
That will be my braking mechanism.
 
My left hand will be my guiding hand.
 
Turning backwards to the window, I edge out to the ledge adjacent to the tie off point.
 
Setting the toes of my feet on the ledge, I lean backwards and feel the after effects in my shoulder from my wall and door crashing.
 
I set my right foot out against the building so that I am centered on the tie off point; letting the rope slide between my hands and gripping with firmly with my right hand when I am leaning back at the correct angle.

I look down, searching for any obstruction that will impede my progress, and immediately rethink my decision; thinking that maybe a dash to the fire door would not be so bad after all.
 
Not a fan of heights!
 
I kick outward releasing some of the tension on my braking hand allowing me to fall, making sure I keep my angle.
 
I sure would hate to do a face plant on the side of the building with an audience watching.
 
Well, anytime for that matter.
 
Squeezing slightly with my braking hand, my descent slows and I am brought in toward the building.
 
I bend my knees and kick off again just as soon as the soles of my boots contact the glass panes that form the outer building.
 
I soon reach the ground with the rope burning my hands through my gloves.

“Not bad for an old man,” Lynn says as she and the rest of the group walk up as I try to undo myself from the rope.

“Very funny,” I say freeing the rope from the D-ring.

“Get what you came for?”
 
She asks.

“Yep,” I answer withdrawing the folders from inside my vest.

I suddenly feel so exhausted.
 
Completely drained.
 
The downside to and the other side of an intense adrenaline rush.
 
Coupled with the heat and humidity of the day, I feel like laying down on the cool sidewalk here in the shade.
 
I gaze up overhead, the time spent inside already becoming surreal, my mind close to not believing it actually occurred.
 
The broken window mars the otherwise perfect mirrored side of the building as if the secrets it had been hiding behind the perfect illusion of its facade have been revealed to the world.
 
I shake my head trying to clear the memory of it from my mind.

“So are you going to tell us what happened in there?”
 
Lynn asks looking at me, knowing what I had been through having been through a similar ordeal less than twenty four hours before.

“Well, we should be getting back but here’s the skinny,” I say giving them a rundown of what happened inside.

“Let’s get out of here and head back,” I say wearily after finishing with my story and stuffing the folders once again inside my vest.

I hear a faint murmuring among the troops as we walk out from the shadow of the building and into the sunlight on our way back to the trucks parked a distance away.
 
The heat commences an immediate assault on us as the sun beats down on us, draining my energy even further.
 
I can’t believe we have to fly all of the way back
, I think stepping across the pavement, feeling the heat radiate through my soles.
 
Perhaps I’ll let Robert fly while I look through these notes and rest
.

Some of the murmured words find their way to my ears much to my embarrassment, “That was some bad ass shit he did,” one voice I do not recognize says.

“Yeah, no kidding. That was Spiderman and Superman put together.
 
On crack,” another says.

Oh come on
, I think trying to hide my embarrassment.
 
Lynn is walking beside me and looks up at me from the side.
 
She knows how I feel about this kind of talk and how embarrassed I get when I hear anything remotely like it, especially when it is applied to me.

Looking over and gazing up and down my back, she says out loud, “I don’t know, your cape looks a little tattered to me.”

This brings a smile to my face.
 
She really knows how to make things better.
 
The soldiers behind chuckle at her comment but I notice the murmurs stop.
 
Well, at least along those lines.
 
We climb into the trucks and retrace our route back to the airfield, eventually driving through the gate and stopping off to the side of the aircraft.
 
I notice with pride that the start cart is positioned and set up.

The day has not yet passed the half way mark as we all trudge into the aircraft once again; the heat inside the metal-skinned giant is almost unbearable.
 
Robert, Nic, and Bri are all in the cockpit, apparently running through the pre-start checks, as I climb wearily into the cockpit.
 
Their heads turn in my direction as I reach the top step and walk into the cockpit proper; their faces lighting up seeing me arrive.

“How did it go?”
 
Robert asks.

“Not too bad,” I say pulling the folders out once again and setting them on the nav table.

Nicole’s and Brianna’s eyes grow wide with disbelief.
 
See, whereas Robert had an idea of what I did and what I could do, I did not share those parts of life much with the girls.
 
I guess it is part of a father’s protection of having daughters.
 
The thought that I could bring something back when a force could not is completely foreign to them.
 
Not the concept, but that it I had those skills.
 
They knew I was okay in the woods and knowledgeable about the outdoors but not in this way.

“What do you say we get this thing cranked up and get out of here?”
 
I say.

“Sounds good to me,” Robert answers.

“I thought of a name,” Little Robert pipes up as he and his mother Kathy climb into the cockpit and take their seats on the bunk with our rather large canine friend in tow.
 
Kenneth joins them on their perch.

“Oh yeah, what is it?”
 
I ask looking back over my shoulder.

“Do you mind if we call him Mike?
 
That was my dad’s name,” he answers with his eyes beginning to water up.

“I think that would be a great name,” I respond.
 
Mike hops up into the cockpit and sits down on the steel cockpit floor next to Bri and behind me.

“Sir,” Kenneth says timidly getting my attention.

“Call me Jack,” I say turning to look at him over my shoulder.

“I feel out of place and want to help,” he says, alternating his looks between the floor and me.

“Don’t worry about it Kenneth, there will be plenty to do when we get back,” I say trying to alleviate some of his concern.

Bri reaches up and turns the various switches as we proceed through the startup checklist and sequence.
 
Robert calls out that the inboard prop is turning on his side – the number three engine – as we begin our startup, the first signal of our impending departure from here and the beginning of our last leg home.
 
It seems like months since we were there yet it has been less than a week.
 
One more surge and then we’ll be home.
 
Not to the comforts of home as we would have thought about a scant week ago but I am ready to be out of the aircraft and stop this constant moving about.

The outboard engine starts up successfully and I tell Nic and Michelle to wrap things up with the start cart, noting their entry back in the aircraft before starting the engines on my side.
 
Everything looks good as the four engines roar and vibrate in synchronization.
 
I think this will be our last visit to the south and east in a good long while as I am sure the nuclear power plants are in full scale melt down right now.
 
Most of the plants are located in the eastern half of what used to be the United States beginning just about in the middle of the continent.
 
A vast majority of them line the entire eastern seaboard.
 
It is a lucky thing that the prevailing weather is west to east although I do wonder if it could spread across the entire world in sufficient quantities to be a danger to us on the west coast.
 
Not much we really could do if it did except to try and find a safer location.

“You have the aircraft,” I say to Robert after completing the checks.

“What!?”
 
He asks looking over from his seat.

“I said you have the aircraft.
 
Take us to Dobbins.
 
You are the pilot-in-command for this hop.
 
I’m just your co-pilot so tell me what you want done,” I say answering his incredulous question.

We start rolling forward and out to the taxiway.
 
I can tell he is nervous by the way he corrects with sharp, jerky motions.

“Easy and relax.
 
Small corrections and anticipate,” I say in response to his control inputs.

He nods and I notice the corrections become much more fluid.
 
Pulling up to the runway, he stops the aircraft and looks out checking for anything coming in.
 
Pushing the throttles up, we start rolling and turn to align with the centerline.
 
The engines roar louder as the throttles are advanced and we pick up speed.
 
Robert’s corrections are right on as we rotate; first the nose wheel lifts off followed a short moment later by the mains.
 
He goes through the clean-up and levels off quickly.
 
I see his head moving side to side as he tries to pick up Dobbins and the runway.
 
I have it in sight already but wait to say anything wanting him to be in complete control.

“Oh,” I hear him say to himself.
 
Evidently he has found the runway.

“Hard to find sometimes aren’t they?”
 
I ask knowing exactly what he is going through and feeling.

“Yeah,” he responds.
 
His mind is on a thousand things and having a conversation is not on the top of his list.

He begins going through the checks and I can tell he is a little behind the aircraft, trying to maneuver for final, get the checks done, and get the aircraft configured for landing.
 
This is evidenced by the fact that the runway is growing larger in our screen yet we are not close to being configured to land.
 
I can tell he wants to begin descending but we are not ready for it.
 
He does edge down a little lower though; more a subconscious action than from any conscious decision, knowing we need to descend in order to land.
 
He gets further behind and frustrated as he tries to speed things up to get configured but only manages to actually slow down the process by his anxiousness.