A New World: Taken (34 page)

I trudge outside and the bright day, with a sun that has just crested the mountains and is sending its warm rays down, doesn’t help my head at all.
 
It seems a little overly bright and I have to squint in order not to become blinded or have my head explode.
 
I’m sure that might ruin many of the others’ morning; watching my head pop.
 
Then again, maybe not.
 
They may in fact cheer and strike up a week long party in celebration.
 
Maybe even make it a national day of celebration in the future.
 
There could be an effigy placed in Times Square with C-4 planted inside the head and set off at the appropriate time.
 
Of course, it’s going to be a long time before Times Square can ever be used again.

Fuck I’m tired,
I think realizing the thoughts coursing through my head.
 
I would shake my head to clear the thoughts if there wasn’t the real possibility of my head just flying off.
 
Plus, my neck muscles vote against the idea of moving.
 
I think maybe I should take a day off flying but the idea that there are others out there possibly needing help keeps my feet moving across the sunlit, paved surface.
 
I join the other teams as they form up to train but I’m mostly a bystander on this one.
 
They take off on a morning run but my feet remain firmly planted where they are.
 
Lynn turns to look at me as they take off but doesn’t say anything.
 
My training today will involve me practicing my ‘going to a sitting position.’
 
This is a mostly overlooked but important training maneuver and I decide to practice it.
 
And it’s a good thing too because I don’t execute it with form and grace but it’s more of a plop.
 
I see I’ll have to work on this maneuver much more in the future in order to get it right.

I sit on the warming asphalt cradling my head until the others return.
 
I decide I am quite skilled in standing and don’t feel like I need to attempt that particular maneuver so I remain sitting as they run through contact drills.
 
They finish at the firing range before going through a quick debrief of the morning.
 
I haven’t budged.
 
The break up and head inside.

“Good training with you this morning,” I say as they walk in groups toward the entrance.
 
I of course call out quietly.

“Are you okay?”
 
Lynn asks squatting beside me.

“Yeah, I think so.
 
I feel like I’ve been hit by a meteor though,” I answer.

“Maybe you should just rest and take it easy today,” she suggests.

“No, I’ll be okay,” I say rising.
 
Apparently I do need standing practice as this maneuver isn’t conducted with any semblance of grace either.

“Jack, you can’t fly in this condition,” Lynn says.

“Well, it’s not like I can really fly anyway.
 
Seriously, I’ll be okay,” I say kissing her and walking over to the helicopter.

I climb in and sit in the seat for a moment.
 
I honestly think about getting back out but, with a sigh, I start the checklist.
 
The headache has diminished to a degree and I don’t have to squint nearly as much.
 
The rotors begin spinning up and my thoughts turn to flying.
 
I push the aches to the back of my mind and focus on setting the panel up for my flight north.
 
I watch Robert and Bri emerge from the building and they wave.
 
I wave back and the skids go light as I twist the throttle and pull up on the collective.
 
I swing the tail around and head north gaining altitude.

Each task seems to take an extra effort.
 
Even reaching for the rotary switch for the outside speakers seems to take every ounce of energy I have.
 
It’s not entirely that I feel exhausted, although there is that, it’s more just a rundown feeling.
 
Every one of my joints feels like someone stole the lubrication from them.
 
Even my teeth hurt and I’m pretty sure teeth can’t feel shit.
 
The pounding inside my head isn’t as strong as before but I still feel like my helmet is the only thing holding the pieces of my skull together.
 
Maybe I shouldn’t have gone up today but here I am and I might as well make the best of it.

The Interstate intersects Tacoma and I concentrate on the southern part west of I-5 marking the areas I cover on the map for Frank to update.
 
Nothing moves below except the occasional swaying of the tree tops as gusts blow through.
 
I am concentrating on the ground below and almost take out a flock of birds flying through the area.
 
I know I’m thankful we missed and am pretty sure they are as well.
 
I don’t think either of us would have appreciated the end result.

I finish broadcasting over the area and stop to refuel before heading home.
 
The refueling seems to take forever.
 
I stand in the silence of the tarmac with the wind blowing through.
 
The buildings stand without the slightest bit of interest in what I’m doing.
 
It’s just me on the ramp in the midst of nothing.
 
The breeze feels refreshing to an extent and I feel some of the aches depart as if swept away.
 
The only sound is the wind blowing around the corners of the structures and my clothes flapping.

A high pitch whine begins to intrude into the silence.
 
At first it’s just a little here and there as if riding on the currents.
 
Then it begins to pervade the area as if quickly approaching.
 
I know that sound and look to the skies around.
 
The large hangar buildings prevent much of a view toward the horizon to the south and I don’t see anything aloft.
 
The buildings also make it hard to identify exactly where it’s coming from but, with the sound and my familiarity of it, I keep my attention focused to the south.
 
I touch my M-4 hanging off my shoulder as if to verify it’s still with me.
 
A pat on my vest pouches assure me there is ammo if needed.

Soon enough, the white shape of a larger business jet materializes from behind a far hangar on final for McChord.
 
I watch it as it lowers itself toward the runway to the north; its gear hanging down as if groping for the earth.
 
With a touch of excitement, tempered with a bit of caution, I walk toward the Kiowa that is patiently awaiting my return, jump in, and begin the start procedure.
 
I hear the faint roar of thrust reversers just before my own turbine lights.
 
Lifting off, I gain altitude and head north.

I hover behind a tree line with the camera focused on the jet that has taxied in next to the pair of C-130’s we parked earlier.
 
The caution that underlies the excitement has me making sure of what actually just touched down, well, I know what but my concern is who.
 
I see the nose gear compress as the brakes are applied on the biz jet.
 
Still watching, I think about making a radio call to base but, if this is who I think it could be, I want it to be a surprise.

The jet door lowers.
 
I zoom in and see a man walk down the flight of steps.
 
He turns at the bottom and apparently says something to someone still inside.
 
With that, he turns and heads over to the 130’s walking completely around them.
 
Apparently either finding or not finding what he is looking for, he heads to the base operations building.
 
I zoom in farther and see he isn’t armed; at least not that I can pick up on the camera.
 
I lift the helicopter over the trees and the nose drops as I start forward.
 
The man turns as the sound of the heli reaches across the ramp.
 
He shades his eyes and, seeing me slowly approach, trots back to the jet.

This move doesn’t exactly give me warm fuzzies as I suddenly envision a large group of mercenaries lying in wait inside the aircraft.
 
I pull back to a hover at a distance over one of the taxiways as he reaches the steps once again.
 
I see another person come to the doorway.
 
Zooming in again with the camera, I see an older woman wearing a large brimmed hat at the top of the stairs also shielding her eyes as she looks in my direction.
 
Well, so far so good
, I think starting the Kiowa ahead again.
 
I don’t see anyone else and
if I can’t take care of one guy and an elderly woman then my usefulness has come to an end.

I mean, granted, if there are others, then the game changes but I just don’t get that feel.
 
The thought of a radio call strikes me again and that would be the right and safest thing to do; bring teams up here for support before contact is made.
 
But when have I ever done the right thing.
 
That’s another reason I am so grateful for Lynn; she keeps me real and grounded.
 
But she isn’t here and I find the helicopter moving forward almost of its own volition.
 
It’s not like I’ll just step out and lie down on the ground with my back to them, but I’ll set it down close and stay in with the rotors turning.

The woman climbs down the stairs and they both look over at me.
 
We are both on the ramp staring at each other.
 
Well, this is going nowhere
, I think as I reach over and shut the helicopter down.
 
If they were going to try something, they would have by now
.
 
The rotors wind to a stop and I exit.
 
The sun’s rays are pounding down on the ramp warming the day up substantially.
 
Wait, that’s my head that’s pounding.
 
The sun’s rays are merely streaming down.
 
I place my helmet on the seat fully expecting a greater portion of my head to still be in it.
 
I walk over to where they are gathered by the stairs.

As I draw near and, as best as I can having to squint with the brightness of the day, I recognize Lynn’s mom under the hat.
 
She recognizes me as well and runs over to give me a hug which I return but feel my joints and muscles squeal in protest.

“I assume you’re Jack,” the man says sticking out his hand.

“You’d be correct and I’m guessing you’re Craig,” I say returning his shake.

“The one and only,” he replies.

“Well, I have to say you’re going to make Lynn’s day,” I state.

“She’s here!”
 
Lynn’s mom exclaims.

“She is,” I respond.
 
Craig has to grab her arm as she almost buckles at the knees.
 
Tears begin to stream down her cheeks.

“Where is she?”
 
Craig asks looking around.

“We’re set up a little to the south.
 
Getting you two there could be interesting though,” I reply.

“How so?”
 
Craig asks confused.

“Well, I haven’t radioed in your arrival so we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” say.

“Okay, just curious, what’s the hard way?”
 
Craig asks.

“The helicopter only holds two so I fly you down separately,” I answer.
 
I think about us walking or flying over to pick up a vehicle but my pounding head vetoes that idea.

“And the easy way?”
 
He asks.

“There isn’t one,” I answer.

“I guess that makes the choice a simple one then.
 
Why don’t you take Mom down and I’ll lock up here,” Craig suggests.

“Sounds good.
 
Are there any cats to transport?”
 
I ask.

He laughs, “Nah, they didn’t quite make this trip.”
 
I want to ask about their story, about the length of time it took for them to arrive, but time is pressing and I’m sure I’ll hear about it later.
 
Right now I want to get back and get the teams north to see if my broadcasts reached any ears.

“I guess that’s a good thing because I suck at herding cats.
 
Shall we?”
 
I ask extending my arm for Lynn’s mom.

I crank up and turn south for the short flight to base.
 
I can tell Lynn’s mom is eager to see Lynn but I can also tell she is very exhausted.
 
Dark circles line puffy eyes.
 
Part of the puffiness is due to her tears I’m sure but whatever ordeal they’ve had to endure the past months have also taken their toll.
 
I’m just glad they made it and am eager to deliver them to Lynn as well.
 
She needs an uplift.
 
She hasn’t mentioned it but I know her family hasn’t been far from her mind and she’s been fretting about them.
 
This only strengthens my resolve to search for the families the soldiers families when we can.