Final Winter

The General cleared his throat. ‘Guys, I’m not going to sugarcoat a damn thing. You’re in a hell of a spot. A hell of a spot due to decisions I made, bad decisions based on…well, that sounds like an excuse, and this isn’t the time for excuses.’

Fucking understatement of the year, Steve thought to himself. The General said, ‘We’ve gotten most of you safely on the ground. But there’s you and two other flights. Guys, we’re running out of time, and you’re running out of fuel. Those are hard facts. I’m sorry. But we’ve got to send you… we’ve got to send you over the remotest area that’s nearby. We’re going to have you head out to the Ozarks… we’re still trying to come to an answer, we haven’t given up yet, but if we don’t have that answer… we’re going to need you to be over the mountains. Do you understand?’

It was Trent’s turn to reply. ‘Sir, we understand. And I need to know something… sir.’

‘Go ahead, son.’

‘Our families. We need to know that our families will be taken care of. Get everything they need. No bullshit or stalling.’

Bocks said, ‘You got it. No bullshit or stalling. My personal guarantee.’

Trent said, ‘Then you’ll see us over the Ozarks, General. AirBox 15, out.’

~ * ~

Hugh Glynn was the captain of AirBox 22, and when the general signed off the air, his co-pilot, Stacy Moore, said, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand that. What the hell was that all about?’

Hugh said, ‘We’re heading for the Smoky Mountains, Stacy. What else do you need to know?’

‘And what are we going to do when we get there?’

Hugh liked Stacy, had flown with her for several months, admired her skill as a co-pilot and her eye for details, but when it came to the big picture… Jesus. Sometimes she was as thick as a plank. He rubbed at his chest. Damned indigestion was coming back again… he was going to visit his doctor later this week but his schedule looked pretty damn full over the next seventy or so minutes.

‘What do you think?’

‘Our fuel is… oh… oh, no… please…’

‘Stacy, we’re heading to the Smokies. Get the charts out, all right?’

No answer.

Hugh looked over. Tears were in her eyes. ‘Stacy, we need those charts.’

He waited. Wondered what she was going to do. Wondered how this was going to end.

And then Stacy went to her chart pack, and for some reason Hugh felt good, even with the discomfort in his chest. They would go out as professionals. Not in a panicked frenzy.

Something to be happy about, at least.

~ * ~

Carrie Floyd of AirBox 107 sat in silence as they continued to go around in circles. For once Sean was silent as well. They had just gotten off the horn with General Bocks himself, and the brief conversation had just laid it out there. Nowhere to go, nowhere to land. But in a while it would be done. No doubt about that.

She looked at the fuel gauges. Less than an hour to go. Some decisions could be put off, some decisions could be put off forever. But the gauges didn’t lie. They were now outbound to the Poconos, and there was a sort of grim sense of humor there, about her and Sean ending up in that honeymoon paradise, no doubt to be spread over a few mountain peaks in a tumble of wreckage and scorched protein.

And all because of fuel. Ah, the gift of fuel. If there had been some way of getting more fuel into their aircraft, they could stay up another six, eight, twelve hours, with no problem. Oh, shit, they’d be cramped and hungry, but at least they’d be alive. Give the folks on the ground more time to figure out what in hell to do with the little canisters of death they were carrying back there. She recalled all the times back in the Navy, flying the S-3 Viking, and the comfort of knowing that there were usually airborne fueling stations out there, other Vikings modified to carry fuel, Air Force KC-135s and KC-10s, all ready to lower a boom and give you all the fuel you needed.

Fuel. A lifesaver.

God, such a lifesaver.

Carrie rubbed at her tired eyes, stopped. Looked out the windscreen. Thought for a moment. Thought again.

Well, she said to herself.

‘Hey,’ she said to her co-pilot.

‘Hey yourself,’ he said.

‘Sean, did I ever tell you about my grandfather, my dad’s dad?’

‘No, Carrie,’ he said, his voice soft. ‘I don’t think you ever did.’

‘Let me tell you about him,’ she said.

Sean shook his head. ‘Sure. Why the hell not? I could use a good story about now.’

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Name was Frank Floyd. Double-F, they called him, when he flew in the Navy. He was in World War Two. Flew Grumman TBMs. Know what TBMs were?’

‘Nope.’