Final Winter

Monty slapped the sweating doctor on the back. ‘Sure as hell, and there’s nobody out there. Nobody.’

Victor turned to him, eyes bright. ‘There must be other bases. Am I right?’

‘Shit yes, if there’s something this country is full of it’s military bases. Get me a phone and I’ll starting making calls to that Northern Command general. If we’re lucky, doc, we’ll start getting these aircraft on the ground, no fuss, no muss, and no civilian casualties.’

Randy and Brian and the General looked like they were family members at an ER ward, suddenly being told that the body in the morgue wasn’t their dad but somebody else.

Monty looked back up at the screen, looked at the icons, and then saw one little triangular light that was orbiting over a part of Georgia.

His hands seemed frozen. In front of him a serious-looking young man was tapping at a terminal that had a miniature display of the wall screen. Monty bent down to him and said, ‘Son?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You know where those jets are, the ones shown up on the screen?’

‘Sure.’

‘The one in Georgia. Can you tell me — is it anywhere near a town called Miller’s Crossing?’ Where his aunt lived. Where Charlene and the two girls were staying.

The guy worked the keyboard, shook his head. ‘Nope, it’s not near it.’

‘Oh.’ The relief going through him made Monty feel giddy.

And the feeling lasted only a moment.

The guy said, ‘The damn jet’s nearly orbiting on top of it.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

General McKenna of Northern Command hung up the phone and looked across to his adjutant, Colonel Madeline Anson. ‘We might have a solution.’

‘Sir?’

‘Cross-check with the information we’re getting from Air Traffic Control and AirBox. Get the locations of those aircraft, their fuel states, and see what airbases we have within flight range of the aircraft. I want a listing of airbases in abandoned areas, old airstrips, anything and everything that can handle those aircraft types. Hell, even if it’s a stretch of highway in a remote part of Texas or Oklahoma or South Dakota…’

Colonel Anson got up. ‘I see. If we can land those aircraft in unpopulated areas…’

‘Then we’re good to go. The anthrax gets sprayed out and nobody gets hurt.’

‘Some of these places, our personnel might have to get into MOP suits. And the decontamination process afterwards…’

McKenna said, ‘A hell of a challenge, I know. But a better challenge than trying to explain to NBC or CBS or ABC how we came to shoot down civilian aircraft when we had a better option. Get to it, colonel.’

‘Yes, sir.’

~ * ~

Victor Palmer pulled General Bocks aside and said, ‘Your crews. To protect themselves, they need to wear their oxygen masks as they land.’

‘Got it.’

‘Oh. One more thing. How good are your pilots?’

‘Most of them are ex-military. Lot of hours flying fighters or transport aircraft. Why?’

‘I’m not familiar with the language of the flying… but it’s important that they land in a way that minimizes the release of the anthrax.’

‘In what way?’

Victor said, ‘I’m not the flying expert, General. All I know is that if you can get them to land… well, in a way that they wouldn’t normally do. I mean, they usually land straight on, right? That means the anthrax is spread out in a wide stream. But if they can land… well, tight, like a corkscrew… it means the footprint of the anthrax contamination will be that much smaller.’

Bocks said, ‘It’s tough flying. Most of them haven’t maneuvered a jet like that in years. And never in a transport aircraft.’

Victor said, ‘I know, General. But it could mean a better chance of reducing the area of contamination. Can it be done?’

The General rubbed at his face, and Victor felt a sudden burst of sympathy for the poor man, whose aircraft and entire company had been hijacked by a cruel fate.

‘Yes, it can be done,’ he said.

~ * ~

Aboard AirBox 101, which had been orbiting south of Imperial, Texas, Pete Renzi, a former Navy pilot, saw that his co-pilot, Jack Shaefer, already had his oxygen mask on. Pete said, ‘Ready to land?’

Jack was sweating. ‘Shit, yes, let’s put this damn piece of metal on the ground.’

Pete donned his own oxygen mask and glanced once more at the ACARS message that had come across a half-hour ago. Proceed along such and such a course, arrive near abandoned Army Air Corps base, and land this lumbering cargo jet like a stunt pilot flying an acrobatic machine. He hadn’t flown like that for more than ten years… it was going to be a hell of a thing.

‘All right,’ Pete said. All right, we’re over the field. Let’s get ready to start this abortion.’

‘You got it.’

‘Very good.’