Heavier Than Air Read online

  JP was looking straight at him, eyebrows raised in a silent question. After a moment John explained.

  “My son Eric will be here in two days. He is going to start combat training right here. I can’t believe it is happening so soon.”

  JP looked quizzically at the letter. “Ain’t he a bit early to be finishing? ‘Thought he was set to finish in June.”

  “He says he finished two months early.” John left the rest unsaid. Erik must have done exceptionally well to finish that early. John wanted desperately to see him. It had been over six months since he last had last seen his children. Amy’s funeral had been the last time.

  His thoughts went back to Eric. His son a combat pilot. His son being shot at and potentially killed every day.

  “Damn, I’ve lead him right into my nightmare. I’ve been fighting this cursed war for eight years to try to save a life for my children, and look what I’ve done. Eric’s headed right here, right between the cross hairs.”

  JP wasn’t having it. “Look John, can’t blame yourself for your boy coming in harm’s way. War did that, not you. Wouldn’t matter where the hell your son went. Everyone of his age is in it up to their asses. Blame the Gengon, blame the diplomats, blame anyone you like, but don’t blame yourself for this one.”

  John knew that JP was right, but it still felt terrible. He had the responsibility to protect his children, and it was not happening.

  * * *

  John was one of the last pilots to enter the briefing room. “Briefing cave” was probably a better description, since it was two levels below ground. The seating was made up of old fashioned school seats, with a table section built into each chair. The walls held topographical maps of the surrounding area, plus a large-scale map of their base. These were difficult to see in the dim greenish light used to illuminate everything underground. The CO, Major Walters, was already standing in front of the blackboard with his trusty pointer in hand.

  The pilots did not have assigned desks, but ritual seemed to place everyone in roughly the same seats each day. The more senior pilots, led by John, were in the front left near the CO. Ranked pilots filled the remaining desks. The non-ranked trainees took standing room in the back. Time and casualties tended to move individuals towards the front of the room over time, but there were always fresh faces in the back to fill in the gaps.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen” Walters began. The room fell immediately silent. “I’ll give the sit rep, Barbara will go over the forecast, and then I’ll hand out the assignments. As usual, ask questions if you don’t understand what is being presented, or have ideas to contribute. The assignments won’t be final until we leave this room, so your input is welcome.”

  Major Walters drew an imaginary line on the map with his pointer. “Intel reports sporadic small arms fire in this region, suggesting that the Gengon are again raiding small farms and villages. IR scans from yesterday’s reconnaissance flights suggest several burned housing complexes. We figure the Gengon are running low on food again, and doing their usual rape and pillage food runs.”

  “More alarming are persistent reports that the Gengon are massing a force over 200 men in this area, near the eastern ridge. We’re not sure what they are after, but there are several potential targets they could go after. One is the ancient nuclear site located outside of Centerton, just inside our territory. There is nothing really hot left in there, but plenty of contaminated metal that is still pretty deadly. They could be making dirty radiation bombs or radioactive bio agents. The perimeter only has 20 men guarding it, but they have put in a lot of mines and anti-personnel booby traps, so they might be able to hold out for several days. One of today’s objectives is to see if we can find thermal traces of the 200 men to see if we need to send reinforcements to the Centerton plant now. South group has very few men to spare, so we won’t do it unless we have to.

  One of the other senior pilots, Tamara Cole, raised her hand. “Major, I flew over that area two days ago, and there appeared to be traces of camp fires about 50 miles north-west of the plant.”

  “I saw that in your debrief report Lieutenant Cole. Your notes, plus the info. two of our ground agents got from locals are all we have to go on at this point. I suspect you are right about those having been camp fires, but we need to verify today if we can.”

  You could see Tamara’s face glow after this simple recognition from the CO. A few well-chosen complements went a long way to build moral. The CO knew what he was doing.

  “The other persistent rumor is that the Gengon have plans on a major terrorist attack against our civilians in the near future. We get all sorts of speculation as to what they might do, but no confirming facts. We did get some recent Intel that suggested that they might already have a dirty bomb. They could fly it down to this area or further south when conditions favored long flights. Today is just the type of day they would be waiting for.”

  The Major paused, and then clarified.

  “For those of you from the Madrin suburbs, a dirty bomb is a conventional bomb surrounded by radioactive material such as high grade radioactive waste. When the bomb goes off the radioactive material is dispersed into the air, contaminating a huge area. One well-placed dirty bomb can kill everyone in a large city.”

  The CO cleared his throat. “Let’s hear the weather briefing before we go into how to respond to this new threat. Barbara, you may begin.”

  Switching on the weather display, Barbara Combs took over the front of the room. Barbara was officially a civilian, but had served this unit from the moment it was formed. She was a striking woman, which helped keep the male pilots glued to her presentations. Barbara had gone to school with John’s late wife Amy, so John and Barbara went back a few years.

  “We are only getting sporadic feeds from some of the more northern stations, so there are some gaps in our data. What we know for sure is that the cold front that went through last night has left us with clear cold air over this entire region. We are expecting a few bands of high cirrus, which will cut solar heating in a few areas, but in general it will be clear skies and strong heating.”

  Barbara flipped up another chart. “Here are the upper air temperature soundings from the 6am balloon release. This cold air means any ground temperature above 15 C should give off a thermal, which should happen about 11:15. I’m expecting the ground to get up to 18 to 19C by 14:00, so thermals should be climbing to over 8,000 feet over low ground. Expect the thermals well over 12,000 feet over the higher terrain. Cloud base will start at about 10,000 feet and raise to 12,000 to 13,000 feet by mid afternoon. Most thermals should be marked by cap clouds today, and expect cloud streets straight north-south over the mountain ranges.”

  “One other thing. We have a high-pressure area centered right over us, so expect very calm winds for most of the day. Winds will be picking up from the west by evening, and tomorrow is expected to be pretty windy.”

  “Thank you Barabara.”

  Captain Walters took back the pointer and returned to the map. “These conditions provide the Gengon with an ideal day for running a dirty bomb down here and dropping it on our heads. We think the Gengon will use a single plane to do this type of attack, as that would minimize the chance of detection. Expect that plane to fly in cloud as much as possible for the same reason.”

  “Our best chance of intercepting a lone bomber is to circle in the areas facing gaps between long lines of continuous clouds – ‘cloud streets.’ The Gengon plane will have to make the jump in open air at some point. Unfortunately, there is no way to see the intruder from within a cloud, so those of you on watch will need to stay in open air well below cloud base to spot him. Once you see him you will need to signal your team mate via IR and do your best to intercept.”

  “Because of there is so much at stake, if an intruder gets past the 50 mile radius line, you are authorized to open up a radio channel to communicate the course and altitude to flight ops. We will then launch everything we have to attempt an interception.”


  On of the younger ranked pilots, Lieutenant Lawson, raised his hand. “I thought we were under strict radio silence orders sir. Wouldn’t a transmission instantly give away the location of the spotter aircraft.”

  “Correct on both counts son. Unfortunately, we just can’t put the whole area at risk to radioactive poisoning. If you make a radio call, get the hell out of there fast, as any other Gengon planes in the area will have a fix on you.”

  Some shuffling of feet could be seen around the room. They had trained hard on how to operate in complete radio silence. This was no small change in procedure.

  “I’ve got your assignments up on the board. Those of you on forward observation will launch first. Those of you in reserve will circle at this location waiting for an intercept. That will serve two purposes. First, it will get you in the air well in advance of any Gengon getting close. Second, it should be a great day to teach the new recruits thermalling, communication, and interception techniques.”

  “Any further questions?” The CO did not get any, so the room began to empty. John was surprised to see himself assigned to local training and interception rather than forward observation. He walked back to Major Walters to find out why.

  “I was expecting to be up front today Major. Why the training assignment?”

  “John, I held you back today because I want you to take a look at one of the recruits. Adams is about to send him back to the trenches. Says he just does not have the coordination to make a pilot. I’m not so sure, so I’d like you to check him out. The recruit’s name is Hermandez. Gabriel Hermandez.”

  “OK Major. I’ll see what the kid can do. By the way, my own son will be here in two days.”

  “I saw that John. Congratulations. I’ve seen his reports. Sounds like he takes after the old man.”

  “Damn shame about that. I’d rather he were back deep in the supply lines rather than up here. Would you mind if I took him for a check ride when he comes in?”

  “No problem with that, but I’ll get Henry to do the official check ride to sign him off for solo combat. Regulations prohibit family members for vouching for each other.”

  “No problem Major, I just want to see for myself how well Eric handles a plane.”

  * * *

  John walked back towards his quarters to brush his teeth and gather his flight gear. Barbara Combs was waiting for him outside his door. She had both fists against her hips and seemed to be doing her best to look like a drill sergeant. John and she were pretty good friends, so he knew what was coming.

  “You’re coming to my quarters for dinner tonight John Young. No arguments allowed. 18:00 hours. Be there.”

  “Barbara, you know I’m not ready for this. You’re a great friend, but I just can’t right now. My son’s coming in a couple of days and I feel like I’ve got to get my head straight.”

  “Damn it John, you’re coming. I’m sick and tired of you living the life of a monk. You will be in my quarters at 18:00 hours. No if, ands, or buts!” With that, Barbara turned around and walked straight off.

  John was left scratching his head. “I guess I’m going to Barbara’s for dinner tonight” he mumbled under his breath.

  The two teenagers looked too small for the guns they were carrying. Anne-Marie and Claude each carried a heavy barreled rifle on their back, in addition to a small pack. They were dressed mostly in animal skins and walking quietly through the forest. The ground was partly covered by patches of fresh snow that reflected narrow beams of sunlight as they passed. The air was dead calm and very cold. Each breath they exhaled stayed in the air like a small cloud, a ghostly trail marking their progress.

  Anne-Marie stopped and held an open hand to Claude. Quick hand signals explained: One mink, 25 meters, 2 oclock. Their rule was simple. Whoever spotted the animal took the shot. Anne-Marie moved her rifle slowly from her back to her side and braced her left shoulder against a tree. There was no sound has she took off the safety and gradually raised the heavy barrel to firing position. Although the barrel was large diameter, its thick walls contained only a small opening for the bullet. In better times this would have been a target rifle, but today it was put to more pragmatic use.

  Waiting for the right moment, Anne-Marie’s breathing became shallow. Her finger released the first trigger and then moved back to the second hair trigger that would fire the shot.

  Claude stood frozen where he had first stopped. He could not see the animal that Anne-Marie would soon kill. Although his eyesight was excellent, Anne-Marie’s was in another class. She seemed to be able to pull the image of an animal right out of the camouflage of the leaves and branches that obscured it. She could have dispatched the mink immediately, but both of them took pride in always shooting their pray through one eye. Besides doubling the value of the pelt by leaving the fur undamaged, the eye shots killed the small animals instantly, which made them feel a bit better about their livelihood.

  She waited for the animal’s head to be exposed and still. The rife shot sounded more like someone spitting than that of a normal gun. The heavy barrel contained the tiny 22-caliber bullet until it was perfectly aligned with the target. Traveling just below the speed of sound, the bullet traveled silently from the end of the barrel to the eye of the mink in a fraction of a second. Claude saw the leaves jostle as the mink’s narrow body reflexively straightened and then collapsed.

  Anne-Marie chambered another round, set the safety, and returned the rife to her back. She stopped briefly to retrieve the small brass casing. They might cull the minks, but they did not spoil the forest. Retrieving the mink, Anne-Marie examined the animal. The bullet had gone in one eye and out the other – a perfect shot. The animal was also in fine shape, with no wounds or discoloration to its beautiful pelt.

  “Papa sera heureux” Claude whispered in their native French. Papa would be pleased.

  The money from this one mink would feed them for more than a month, and they were likely to get several more today. Anne-Marie let the blood drain from the animal for a moment and then strapped the animal head-down to the back f her pack. The cool air would quickly refrigerate the tiny corpse, so there was no need to dress the animal here.

  Continuing silently towards higher ground, they came to the edge of a clearing. This time it was Claude that signaled a halt and cupped his ear to indicate that he heard something. At the edge of his hearing Claude though he made out of few words of human speech. No one had lived in these mountains for years, so this was definitely worth exploring. The sound was off to their right. They moved along the edge of the clearing, instinctively crouching to stay below the edge of the brush. The trees overhead left their route in shadows, adding to the camouflage.

  50 meters further along they again stopped and listened. There were several men talking. It sounded like English, which was not a good sign. The few hunters, trappers, and farmers that lived in this area all spoke French. English meant the criminals from the north.

  “Rest ici” Claude whispered. He motioned his sister to stop while he crept closer. Both siblings had excellent hearing, having never been exposed to a machine, loud music, or a gun any louder than their 22s. However, their English was not fluent. Their mother had insisted on teaching them English, along with the rest of a primary education. They had so far had little use for these lessons, but today might prove to be different.

  Claude could now see a group of men clustered around a small fire. Insects buzzed around them, and a few Jays kept watch for tidbits of food from a branch overhead. The men were all bearded and looked filthy. Weapons were scattered around next to them, but only light packs were visible. Where were their provisions? The smoke from the fire was leaning towards him, suggesting a light breeze. Claude got a whiff of their body odor. Mon Deux! They reeked. He listened closely.

  “Man was that bitch surprised when I stuck her. She had it coming though, putting up such a fight.”

  The speaker looked about 20, with face marked by acne. He was fingering a hunting knife with a serrated
blade. Claude shivered just looking at the knife. There could be no useful purpose for such a blade. It was meant for killing.

  Another man across the fire spoke next.

  “You bastard, I never got a turn. You know we all get a turn before we do’em.”

  This one also looked in his 20s, but was slurring his speech. There appeared to be a wound next to his left eye. Claude wondered if a stray bullet had caused some brain damage. He certainly looked damaged.

  “Shut up you lot!”

  A huge shape rose from his position closest to Claude. The man was enormous. Claude could only see the back quarter of his face, but the man looked like a bearded skull. The skin was pulled so close to his protruding cheekbones that the edges looked sharp. His voice was loud and a full octave lower than the other men’s.

  “You’ll get your chance when we hit the next farm tomorrow. Meantime, shut up and pass the fuel.”

  The giant grabbed a canteen and took a swig. He coughed swallowed and coughed briefly, before passing the canteen to the next man. The group seemed to settle down after that, either sleeping or simply passed out. Claude waited, hoping he could get a glimpse of the giant’s face. He felt a strong desire to put a bullet through the top of this monster’s skull, but he knew it would be suicide.

  Claude backed silently and returned to Anne-Marie. He gestured towards the route they had taken to get this spot, and they both moved silently into the darker forest.

  After about a kilometer Claude stopped and spoke to Anne-Marie in French. “Those men are killing farmers to get their food. They drink their fuel too. We can’t lead them back to our parent’s house. We need to cover the trail we left and lead them in another direction.”

  Anne-Marie nodded. She had not heard what they were saying, but the menace in their voices was unmistakable. She had also smelled them, which was enough to make her gag. They smelt of urine and rot and death. How could humans exist like that?