A New World: Untold Stories (20 page)

Huh, that could work
.

“Kilo one, Kilo three. My PJs have arrived and are assessing the situation,” Jim radios. “I’ll call back when I know more.”

“Copy three,” I reply.

I quickly return to scanning my area and put the excitement on the other side of the perimeter to the back of my mind. I have my own section to guard and my guys are both professionals who know their jobs well. While I am concerned for their safety, I have to trust them to do their jobs; to not give them that would be an insult. It’s kind of like a parent letting their kids go out on their own. You can’t hover over them, but you still worry.

The radio suddenly crackles in my ear, sending an electric jolt through my body from the build-up of tension. “Kilo one, Papa ground, your relief is on its way out.”

I glance at my watch and see it has been four and a half hours since we set up shop. I look over my shoulder toward the east and see the tell-tale glow of an approaching dawn.

“Copy ground. I’ll relay to Kilo three,” I reply. “Any word on the contact?”

“Affirmative Kilo one. Report to the com station when you get in,” he answers.

After a few brief moments, Oefje suddenly perks up and swivels his head to our rear at the sound of someone approaching. I grin knowing it was one of my super stealthy PJ counterparts trying to sneak up on me. I let my dog know it’s okay and continue to look outwards while he watches my back. I hear a low growl emanate from his chest and I know my relief is near.

“Come on out, I’ve got him secured,” I whisper in the general direction my dog is looking.

After a few moments, I see Miller making his way to my spot with a look of disappointment on his face.

“I was downwind of you. How did he know I was there?” he asked.

Pointing at my dogs head, I reply, “You forget about his built in radar dishes. He heard you coming before you even started my direction. Next time wear sneakers.”

Miller shakes his head and places himself in the hide Oefje and I just vacated. We head to the command center. Once back, I secure Oefje on his stake chain, and then give him his chow and some water. I verify Jim has returned and make my way towards the makeshift command center where I meet up with others from the PJ team that I haven’t met yet.

Lieutenant Dunham is the ranking officer, but he is hardly in command. It’s not a lack of respect, it’s about time in the field. These guys operate differently than the rest of the Air Force; rank doesn’t mean anything until you’ve proven yourself in the field. For this mission it would seem that I’m reporting to a Master Sergeant Brady.

“Morning, Sergeant,” I say, extending my hand. “Staff Sgt. Pete Collins, Lead handler.”

“Morning. Call me Skip,” he says, returning my handshake. “I have that report you wanted on the contact your handler had last night. It would seem we’ve had an audience. From the looks of things, he had been there a day or two before you guys showed up and pointed him out.”

“Glad we could be of service. Local or someone more nefarious?” I ask.

With a look that says he is less than pleased, he says, “Seems to us that he was in for the duration. We found a notebook with our observation locations and how many of us are here. It doesn’t appear that he has relayed any of this to anyone as he didn’t have a radio, and we saw no signs of anyone else having come to visit. Right now, he looks like an opportunist looking to make a name for himself with the local warlords.”

Reaching into his cargo pocket, he pulls out a map of the area. “Our next priority is to get twenty five hundred feet of hard packed dirt marked out for our new runway. To do this, we’re going to need to expand our perimeter out to about three thousand feet to the north and south. For now, we can keep our east and west lines, and extend those when the forty fours get here. The sooner we get this strip secured, the sooner we get more feet on the ground. Right now it looks as though we’ll have the strip laid out on paper by mid-day. After that, we’ll take you and your teams out with us to secure the area and clear out the structures here and here,” he indicates on the map where a small abandoned village stands near what will be the north end of the runway. “If all goes well, and Murphy doesn’t show up, we’ll have to sit watch tonight and our reinforcements will be here in a hair over twenty four hours. At least that’s the plan.”

Looking over the areas on the map, I can see what will become Uncle Sam’s newest airbase marked out. It will be cozy, but it’s only temporary, operating long enough to set up a new forward operating base for the Marines. This could all be done with cargo drops and choppers, but that takes longer and the jarheads are not known for their patience. This also allows for more building material to be brought in at the onset to create what passes for a secure camp in these parts.

“Unless you have anything for us between now and the clearing phase, I’m going to have my teams rest up and get ready for it,” I say still looking over the map. “If anything changes give us a holler and we’ll check in.”

Nodding his head he says, “Sounds good. See you this afternoon.”

I leave the command center knowing we have a long day and night ahead of us. Luckily, we have a few hours of downtime. Arriving back at our campsite, I secure Oefje and begin to fill in Steve and Jim.

“Right now we have some time before we go out again; probably this afternoon. The PJs are working on setting up the runway and will be calling for us to secure some buildings near the north end once they’ve got them inside the perimeter. After that, we’ll come back here, wait for nightfall, and head out again. Steve, you’ll be with me for the building searches. Jim, I want you here on reserve and ready just in case something pops up. Tonight it will be you and Steve on the perimeter and I’ll start the clean-up process in preparation for our relief tomorrow. Oh, and Jimmy, I might have volunteered you for some point work once they start working their way to the north end near the village,” I say with a sheepish grin.

With a light hearted groan, Jim gets up to check his dog who is lounging a dozen or so feet away from us. After he leaves, I look over towards Steve who is doodling in the dirt and ask, “What’s on the menu for this evening, Cookie?”

Reaching into his ruck, he pulls out a brown MRE package and tosses it at me with a grunt. “Looks like ravioli in meat sauce, bon apetit!”

“Thanks. Check on Marco, get some grub, and then catch some rack time. We still have a ways to go and Lord only knows what these PJs have in store for us later,” I say.

I really have to give the MRE folks some credit. They are a lot better than they used to be. I remember when there was no chemical heater in them and they came in your choice of five flavors. At least now they don’t taste too bad warmed up.

After checking on Oefje again, and making sure he’s been fed, watered, and secured properly, I head over to my patch of dirt and try to get comfortable. With the rising sun, the temperature starts to climb, making sleep difficult. The good news, if you want to call it that, is this is autumn so it shouldn’t get much above ninety in the shade.

It seems as though I just drifted off when I’m nudged awake by one of the PJs with a serious look on his face. “Brady wants you and your guys at the command post ASAP. We think we have a situation brewing.”

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I nod. “We’ll be there in five or less. We need to get the mutts around.”

With a nod of his own, the PJ is up and making tracks back to the command center. As he goes I lean over and wake Jim. “The PJs have something and need us. Wake Steve, grab your dogs, and meet me over there.”

Before standing, I look over toward the dogs and see that all three are on edge for no apparent reason. Watching them for a moment, I can tell there isn’t a real focus for their attention, they just seem to be sensing something we can’t. I really hate it when they do that. It usually spells more trouble than I care to deal with. I scan the horizon once more, then retrieve Oefje and head to the meeting area where Skip is prepping the briefing.

“My handlers will be here in just a moment. What’s up?”

Rubbing his tired eyes, he says to me, “We don’t know. We’ve been given the order to pack up operations and bug out. The choppers are supposed to be here in two hours to pick everyone up.”

“Damn. I was kinda looking forward to checking out those ruins too. Any indication about the what-fors?” I ask.

“Nothing. All we’ve gotten is a message to pack up and prep for pick up. Whatever it is, they want us out fast if they aren’t even going to wait for nightfall. As it stands right now, we’re just as in the dark as you,” He states while watching the other dog teams approach behind me.

Turning toward my handlers, I motion for them to take up positions where they can hear the briefing and still be able to watch the surroundings. I don’t like the way the dogs were acting and I’m not taking any chances. Maybe I’m just paranoid, but I learned the hard way as a young handler to listen to what your dog tells you. It was a lesson that damn near cost me my life.

Looking about the area, Skip takes a silent headcount to verify that everyone is here that should be, then begins the briefing. “Gentleman, about twenty minutes ago we received a com telling us to pack up our toys and go home. I tried to get a clarification and received nothing further other than a pick up time when the helos will be here to haul us away, and an abandon in place order for anything non-essential. It seems they want us out with as little fuss as possible.” Pointing to me he says, “You guys pack light anyways, but don’t bring anything you can’t live without. If it doesn’t fit in your ruck, leave it.”

At this exact moment, for some reason, Oefje turns and looks straight at him as if he understands what was just said.

“Well, I suppose you can bring the dogs if you want,” he says while returning my dogs gaze with a half grin. “I’d ask if anyone has any questions, but I have no answers to them, so just get to it. Our ride will be here in about an hour.”

Briefing over, I turn to my handlers. “You heard the man, let’s get packed up. I don’t know how packed the choppers will be so just stow the body harnesses and we’ll put them in on leash. Pack up our trash and meet back here. I’ll stay and watch the command post, then grab my gear when you get back.”

With a nod, both men and their dogs turn, and jog back to our campsite.

I’ve been playing this game for a fair number of years now so nothing should surprise me, but I also know Uncle Sam has a hard on for completing missions. That paranoid tingle is beginning to flare up as I stand watch over the command post. There is absolutely nothing I can gain from worrying about it, so I stand and try to forget the fact that I really need to pee. Glorious isn’t it? I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on things and all I can think about is how I didn’t take a leak when I first got up.

About ten minutes into my newfound hatred for anything wet, the guys return with their gear leaving me to fetch mine, but not until after making a pit stop first. Bladder relieved, I head over stow my gear. Oefje is lying near me, watching my every move as though I have a third eye or something.

“Yeah I know partner, we just got here and you didn’t even get to chew on anybody yet. Well, the day is still young, and we have a helicopter ride coming up so maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Always the chatty one of us, he yawns and lays his head down on his paws.

“Yeah, thanks for the help packing. You didn’t break a nail or anything did you? No? That’s good. You are such a bitch when it comes to your pedicures. C’mon, let’s hit the puppy potty again before we head out. I don’t want you whining that you have to pee half way there,” I say as we make our way to the latrine area.

Gear packed and ready, I head back to the command center to await the extraction. This is almost as bad as the jump. On the way down, you worry about what’s going to be there when you land. On the way up, you are worried about getting shot down before getting out of Dodge. The good news is, all indications are that nobody knows we are here to begin with, so it should be smooth sailing. Should.

The sound of approaching choppers clears the foggy monotony of waiting. To say they were almost on top of us before I noticed them would be an understatement. Two gorgeous black, streamlined, and nearly silent Ghost Hawks were setting down about twenty five meters away. I’d heard of them, but never seen one before, and now I’m getting a ride in one. I really shouldn’t be so excited, after all, it’s not like I didn’t know they existed, but I can’t help grinning at of all the tinfoil hat clubs that have been speculating on the reality of these birds. Ever since Osama bin Laden went down, armchair techies have been trying to figure out what they look like. The whole thing reminds me of a story I heard from an old sergeant I know.

***

November, 1983: 0107 hrs. Local Time

Tonopah Test Range Airport, Nevada

Senior Airman Jack Koch stands at the ready; he knows the Flight Sergeant is doing post visits with the squadron commander. Koch looks over his weapon, an M-16, with a hard eye, looking for anything that could warrant a second look by the Colonel. Next came the beret, dark blue they call it, but it’s as black as night with a hard metal flash in the crest. Airman Koch is assigned to the 4450
^th
Tactical Group which is a part of the Tactical Air Command (TAC). With this assignment, his beret crest is that of an inverted sword in front of a pair of golden wings. After giving the beret crest a quick buff on the leg of his olive drab utility uniform, he places the beret back on his head, making sure to center the crest over his left eye. Looking down, he notices his boots are slightly scuffed from his rounds around the hanger he had been assigned to. No sooner had he rubbed his boot tips against the back of his pant legs when he sees a vehicle approaching.

Stopping in front of the Airman, the jeep kills its headlights and the engine stops abruptly. Noticing the dark smudges on the passenger’s collar, Airman Koch snaps to attention, mentally preparing himself for the post briefing he expects to give.

“At ease airman,” Colonel Matte says as he approaches from the passenger side of the jeep.

As airman Koch presents his smartest salute, Colonel Matte returns the courtesy before turning to Master Sergeant Hemmingway.

“Tim, give me the clipboard,” he says as he turns towards the driver.

Reaching back into the jeep, the Master Sergeant retrieves the beat up wooden clipboard from between the seats and then silently hands it to the Colonel. Looking down at the paper on the board, then back up at the airman, the Colonel turns the clipboard to give it to Airman Koch.

“This is a list of people who are going to be coming to this hanger tonight beginning around 0200. If their name isn’t on this list, they don’t get in. Understood?”

“Yessir,” Koch replies. “Is there an end time on arrivals or will I be turning this over to my relief in the morning, sir?”

“I don’t have an exact time, but the activity will be done by shift change. If anyone not on this list gives you any hassle, you take them down. If they resist, shoot them.”

As if to emphasize the importance of this order, the Colonel nods to Msgt Hemmingway, then returns to his seat in the passenger side of the jeep.

After returning the Colonel’s nod, Msgt. Hemmingway turns to Senior Airman Koch.

“Listen Koch. If you didn’t have what we needed in a cop for this assignment, you wouldn’t have been given your security clearance. Don’t fuck this up.”

With this, he climbs back into the driver’s seat of the jeep, cranks the engine over, and then pulls away leaving only his tail lights to be seen in the darkness.

Looking at the clipboard for the first time, he notices some names that he recognizes; heavy hitters on this small base. He knows there is something secret kept here at Tonopah, but he doesn’t ask questions and, quite frankly, he doesn’t want to know. He sees the A-7s parked outside the hangers when he ventures out during the daytime, but doesn’t think much of them; this is an Air Force base.

As if a magical clock had struck two a.m. somewhere, the first person arrives at the checkpoint. After checking the Second Lieutenant’s I.D. against the list, Koch allows him entry through the small walk-in door cut into the hangar’s main retractable doors. After a few moments, the lights are switched on inside giving a little bit of extra light around the front from the frosted windows set about ten feet off the ground. Within minutes, more officers and some enlisted arrive. Luckily, all are on the list and nobody has been shot.

Thankful for small favors, Koch looks over the list to find all the names have been checked in. With this bit of knowledge in the bag, he approaches the small walk-in door to ensure it is secured from the inside, and then begins a walk around the hangar to check all the other doors and windows. Once completed, he stands guard in front of the two massive sliding doors. Normally he would stick to the shadows where he wasn’t as conspicuous, but with the activity in the hangar, he wants to make sure they know he is out there should they decide to check.

After what seemed like hours, Koch suddenly hears the motors on the doors behind him begin to whine and strain with the weight of the heavy doors. Not wanting to turn around and possibly expose himself to classified material, he stands watching outwards as the sliver of light between his feet from the opening door becomes a sidewalk, then a road, then a super wide highway.

Koch is just about to make his way to the side of the hanger when a male voice calls out from inside.

“Hey you! Rock pounder! We could use a hand in here for a minute hooking up this tow tractor!”

Still not looking into the hanger, Koch replies over his shoulder, “I don’t know if my clearance grants me access!”

“Bullshit son. If you are posted here outside of MY hanger, you are cleared. Now get your ass in here, Airman!”

This time he immediately recognizes the voice as that of the installation commander, who he let in less than an hour ago.

Not wanting to piss off the base commander for obvious reasons, Senior Airman Koch turns towards the open hanger doors and nearly trips over his own jaw. Before him sits an aircraft unlike anything he has ever seen, or heard of for that matter, outside of a sci-fi comic book. With its triangular body, faceted shape, flat black coloring, and lack of visible engines, it looks like a UFO. Getting over the initial shock, Koch steps into the hanger; his life forever changed.

***

Present Day

I have always gotten a chuckle thinking about what it must have been like for old Chief Koch. Of course, we all know now he was looking at an F-117 getting prepped for a test flight, but at the time, stealth technology in that form was new, and he had no idea that was even in our inventory. Now, as I start making my way towards the second Ghost Hawk, I get a better understanding of the awe he must have had in that cold, dark Nevada night way back then.

Even though there is still plenty of room in the first chopper, Hal decides he wants to hop in with us. Looking over at Steve, I say into the headset, “Look who’s decided to hang with the cool kids.”

Looking over at Hal, Steve laughs and waves. Hal didn’t have the communication in his helmet plugged in yet, so he didn’t hear the light hearted exchange between Steve and me.

Hal finally gets his coms plugged in. Looking from me, to Jimmy, to Steve, then back to me again, Hal asks, “What did I miss?”

Grinning from ear to ear, I tilt my chin toward Jimmy and reply, “Jimmy here was just saying you look sexy with that scruffy beard, but you smell funny.”

As the rotors whine up to power, Hal lifts his one arm, then the other, and sniffs at his armpits. Satisfied that he doesn’t smell enough to be offensive, he shrugs as our ride slips the surly bonds of Earth on its way to wherever we were picking up our next orders.