Nuclear War Club: Seven high school students are in detention when Nuclear War explodes.Game on, they are on their own. (40 page)

“Heads or tails?”

“Tails,” said Doron.

It was tails, so David headed to the right seat.

“No, I won. That means you are the pilot in command,” said Doron. David had a palpable, physical hunger to be the command pilot in the left seat. He grabbed it quickly without even a pretense of hesitation.

“But why?” asked David.

“You have superior reflexes and motor skills. Your Dad was a pilot and probably you learned things about flying you don’t even remember learning around the table at home,” Doron said.

“But most importantly, the Captain has to go down with the ship, while I can bail,” smiled Doron.

David also knew Doron was a speed reader and if they got into trouble he could scan the Flight Manual while David flew, but not vice versa.

David started the engines and started the preflight run up, using the checklist. He set the altimeter at the ground level indicated on the map. When the run up was completed, he
released the left brake as the plane rotated right. When the plane was aligned on runway eighteen, he scanned the skies for other planes like the book said. He smiled at the irony, what were the odds ? He moved both throttles forward and released the brakes.

The DC-3 lumbered down the runway, slowly gaining momentum. David carefully watched the airspeed indicator, then gently pulled back on the yoke, and eased the nose level. They were about midfield. David felt the wheels clear the runway. Doron immediately began the wheel retraction, following the procedure in the training film.

He eased back on the yoke, carefully watching the airspeed. The plane quickly gained altitude. He flew straight and climbed to 9,000 feet until they crossed the I-25 and I-70 intersection. This DC-3 was a powerful, well balanced, stable aircraft. He banked left and tried to maintain the same altitude during the turn, but gained altitude, overcompensated and then lost altitude.

“Watch the level gauge and tell me if I am maintaining altitude during the turn,” David said. He practiced making S turns across I-70 as the book required, then reduced power and dropped to 7,000 feet indicated while trying to keep airspeed constant.

“Your turn,” David said. “Climb to 9,000 indicated.” Doron increased power but pulled the yoke too quickly and airspeed dropped.

“Point the nose down a little,” David said. Doron practiced turns across I-70, then said “Your plane, let’s see if you can land.”

David spotted the field and tried to enter the pattern on the downwind leg, while adjusting his altitude. He practiced patterns around the airfield. They were wobbly, and sloppy, but he had the altitude right. He then turned left on the base leg and Doron began lowering the landing gear.

As David turned onto final approach he lowered the flaps and checked his airspeed. He wanted to be fifty feet over
the numbers at the end of the runway, but he was high, probably one hundred feet. A landing is a stall on the runway, his Dad had said. He cut the power, and nosed the front down. Carefully keeping the airspeed above the stall line on the airspeed indicator, he reduced the power as the DC-3 sank. Before he expected, the tires hit, they bounced, and he killed the power. He had not compensated for the upward angle of the DC-3 when landing.

It was not pretty, but plane and crew were unharmed. And they had at least another fifty feet of runway left when they stopped.

At dinner, Samuel was playing with his toy airplane, and when he landed, he bounced the plane. Doron thought it was hilarious.

“It was a nice hop. It’s called the kangaroo landing maneuver,” Doron dead panned.

“Actually Samuel, the plane is not supposed to bounce. That’s something I will get better at. The plane should land like this,” David said, demonstrating.

Doron and David had taught themselves to fly a DC-3, and had taken off
and
landed. The Nuclear War Club was proud. He didn’t show it, but David was even more impressed, bounce and all.

119.

Karen had demanded ten take off and landings before David and Doron could fly with passengers. Today they would finish the last three. She was beginning to think David and Doron could do this.

Both David and Doron could take off and land from both seats. The landings were smoother, and slower, as they became proficient in using flaps. More importantly, they both began to have a feel for any unusual flight conditions. David told her they knew what the plane was supposed to feel like.

Doron had rigged up a manual pump, and fuel filter using white sheets. They filled empty five gallon containers with fuel and topped off the tanks.

“Tomorrow we will fly south on I-25 until we get to New Mexico, then turn left, which is East, on I-40,” Doron explained at dinner, using his Rand McNally Road Atlas.

“If the weather gets bad we will land on the interstate or preferably a secondary road or airport,” Doron continued.

“How much can we each carry?” Karen asked.

“No more than one hundred pounds per person per adult, fifty pounds per child. Zeke has set up the scales here.”

“Remember we have to carry our guns, ammunition, tents, backpacks, and one motorcycle. I need everyone to bring their binoculars and look out the windows as we fly. And we can get more supplies if needed when we arrive,” Doron said.

Chloe and Karen cooked all the food as tomorrow most of it would be left behind.

“Now a special event. Doron and Ashley’s wedding!” David announced.

Karen watched but did not see, or hear, as her mind raced back to her wedding.

120.

David’s mind ran the training film checklist over and over. He could not sleep. He quietly left Karen, and sat against the hangar looking at the DC-3 in the moonlight. Zeke walked up and neither said anything. David remembered that night in the sewer tunnel when he and Zeke talked about going to find Le Shawn and Monique. It seemed so long ago.

“What’s with the binoculars?” Zeke asked.

“We are going to fly more than 5,000 feet above ground level, but we are not bullet proof. If you see someone shooting at us, let me know,” David explained.

“You know I get airsick. Bad.” Zeke continued.

“That’s why you stay out of the cockpit until everything is up and out,” David laughed.

“We will do fine,” David said, resisting the overwhelming impulse to climb onboard the DC3.

“Please God, don’t let me foul up with passengers on board,” he prayed when Zeke left.

Diary of Liu Nguyen

A sleepless night, the sun will soon rise
.

Tomorrow I fly with the Nuclear War Club to Alabama in a DC-3, a rebuilt propeller plane from WW2. It will be flown by two self taught 17 year old high school students; David Phelps, and Doron Cohen, who never had a flight lesson, much less a pilot’s license
.

A plane too old, flown by pilots too young. But they are very smart and they read all the flight manuals. I watched them survive take off and landings ten times
.

We will follow the Interstate to Alabama, so we can crash land on the road if the engines blow up
.

It’s dangerous and we may not make it
.

Everyone realizes the risk. It’s quiet and somber in the camp. I could hear all night that I am not the only one unable to sleep
.

But I embrace the risk knowingly, voluntarily
.

We have few other options
.

Each firefight brings home the harsh reality death can come at any minute with an ambush. Every day has been a gift, after the attack. A present millions of Americans never received
.

We survived, we adapted, we overcame. Not bad for a high school class in detention. I would have been dead long ago without the Nuclear War Club. Looking back, the best thing David Phelps did as our leader was make it clear we could and
would survive. Then he recognized, nurtured, and encouraged the best talents and abilities from each of us. He made us a team, and instilled and demanded group moral values. I now realize how easy it would have been for this group to have embraced the darkness
.

These are good people, especially my best friend, Mrs. Karen Wilson Phelps, and my nephew, Samuel Phelps
.

And Sarah, the child who never had a chance, but who enriched my life
.

I am leaving my diary here because I have no husband, no children, no one to notify if we die on the plane. I want us to be remembered
.

Here is the list of the Nuclear War Club members who will fly on the plane this morning:

David Phelps, Pilot in Command, Combat Commander

Doron Cohen, Co –pilot. He is an incredible genius, his inventions and adaptations including Doron’s Deathmaster have save our lives repeatedly
.

Zeke Brown-Our best combat warfighter

Ashley Kensington Cohen (wife of Doron Cohen, I don’t actually know if she is using his last name. They just got married)

Mike O’Hara and Chloe O’Hara (married, older couple who were rescued by Karen, Zeke, and Doron enroute)

Brad O’Hara, son of Mike and Chloe

Cheryl O’Hara, daughter of Mike and Chloe

Samuel Phelps (adopted son of David and Karen Phelps, and my adopted nephew)

Karen Wilson Phelps (wife of David Phelps) Our best Sniper. Unbelievably skilled
.

K-Bar (Karen Phelps’s combat dog, and our beloved group therapy pet)

Liu Nguyen (signed)

121.

The weather was perfect, not a cloud in the sky. A slight steady wind blew straight down the runway. Doron sat in the co-pilot seat while Zeke helped each passenger board. David stowed their duffle bags and backpacks, checking their weight, keeping a running total o his clipboard.

David motioned to Zeke, who climbed up into the plane. Then David removed the wheel chocks, and checked again around the plane for any debris, and scanned the runway with his binoculars. He then climbed onboard, and shut the door.

“Start engines,” David said to Doron. This was the plan to minimize time on the ground. Doron had told him they were most vulnerable when everyone was in the plane before takeoff with no ground security.

Both propellers started to turn, then quickly sped up with a reassuring hum.

As David walked to the cockpit, he could sense absolute terror among the passengers. It was dead quiet. Everyone avoided eye contact. Many had been crying, their eyes were red. Chloe hugged her kids. Mike’s hands shook, as he looked out the window with his binoculars. K-Bar seemed to sense the fear, he crouched low by Samuel, ears up, alert.

Karen alone smiled, facing him. He could tell she was faking it to help him feel better, because her eyes were not smiling.

He tried to act and move confidently, counting the passengers again to confirm that everyone was onboard. Then he marked that on his checklist. Dad always told him a commander makes
sure
he never leaves anyone behind.

“Engine warm up complete,” David said, with the cockpit door open so the passengers could hear. Maybe that
would calm them down, give them confidence, he hoped.

Doron read the preflight checklist, and David confirmed each item.

David moved the throttles forward, released the brakes, and the DC-3 quickly became airborne.

David was stunned by the noise from the cabin. The passengers erupted, crying and clapping with delight and relief at takeoff. He realized they had
very
low expectations for him. If they did not die in a fireball, they would think he was the greatest pilot ever.

David climbed to 9,000 feet indicated, about 5,000 feet above ground level as the passengers quieted down. He set the trim for level flight following I-25 south.

Soon they passed Pueblo, and were in New Mexico. David wanted to head directly south to I-40 east, instead of tracking out of their way to I-25 west to Albuquerque. But Doron shut the cockpit door and told him, “David the passengers are a little anxious. If they can’t see the Interstate out their window, they will go nuts. Follow the Interstate, that’s the plan.”

Psychologically, David realized that the passengers could more readily adapt to this as just a normal road trip at 5,000 feet in a large SUV, as long as he followed the Interstate.

At Albuquerque they picked up I-40 east and soon entered Texas airspace.

“DC-3 this is the Texas National Guard, state your intentions,” the radio blared.

Doron had tuned the radio to the emergency channel, David could see two intercept jets.

“We are VFR following I-40 east, heading to Alabama,” Doron quickly answered.

“Are you claiming Texas sanctuary as Americans?”

“No, we are going to Alabama,” Doron said.

There was a long pause.

“Did you say you were following I-40 east?”

“Yes, we are student pilots, not good at navigation,”
Doron replied.

Another long pause.

Doron could see one pilot waving at the passenger windows behind the cockpit.

“DC-3, this is the Texas National Guard, you will soon be out of Texas airspace. Stay on the north side, that is the left side, of I-40 until you reach Oklahoma. We will monitor and confirm your exit out of Texas airspace.”

“Roger that,” said Doron.

“Do not , repeat do not, try to land in Texas or change your altitude, or heading without advising us first.”

“Understood,” Doron replied.

The jets peeled off to the left and right, then climbed swiftly. They stayed with them until they reached Oklahoma.

“Good move with the radios,” David said.

“Good old analog emergency radio,” Doron replied.

122.

The steady drone of the two engines quickly lulled Samuel to sleep, and no one talked as they climbed to 8,000 feet, following I-40 East.

They crossed the Mississippi River at Memphis, then the Tennessee River. David elected not to follow I-40 to Nashville, which had been nuked heavily and was identifiable only by the Interstates entering and leaving in five spokes around the city. He cut south and followed the Tennessee River to I-65 South at Decatur. He now had more credibility with the passengers who were not alarmed when they saw the Interstate disappear from view.