Читать книгу Delta G - David J. Crawford - Страница 13

Just as the harness was being removed from the shell, Dan got on the radio, “Vince, get up here ASAP. Better bring the pilot with you. Hurry up. Got a hit on the scope. Unscheduled inbound from the north. Whatever it is it’s huge.” Vince, Dave, and Rick hit the ice running. Climbing the three flights of stairs at nine thousand feet above sea level winded them all even though they were all in excellent shape.

The console room door was open. Major Boop and Vince rushed up to the scope. What they saw blew them away. “What the hell is that?” Vince asked. Dan replied, “Not sure. But it’s at maximum range and moving this way at seventy knots.” Boop responded, “Shit, they’re on to us. They’re sending in a chopper. A plane wouldn’t fly that slowly.”

Dan responded, “I don’t think you understand, Major. I’ve set the scope to the two hundred mile range; this blip is showing a return that is over a mile wide.” All four of them were quiet for a few seconds. Dave had a flash back to when he was eight years old watching a Godzilla movie on a Friday night with his brothers and sister. Everyone knew Mommazilla would always come back looking for her kid and she was usually very pissed off.

“Are you sure?” Vince asked. “Dead sure, Vince.” Rick quipped, “Poor choice of words, Dan.” Vince glared. Dan looked back at the scope and said, “At this rate, whatever this thing is, it will be here in a little less than three hours.”

“What’s the altitude?” Boop asked. Dan switched the setting on the console and again shook his head in disbelief.

“This thing is at 20,000 feet,” Dan said, “and it’s definitely not a chopper. It couldn’t fly that slowly at that altitude. The air is too thin.”

Dave asked Boop a few very calm and calculated questions. “What do you want to do, Major? Should we fly out of here now? Or should we go check this thing out?”

Boop replied calmly. “No, we don’t have the fuel to fly half that distance. We can’t get out of here. Face it Captain, no place to run and hide up here. This is going to boil down to a waiting game.”

Vince then threw in his two cents, “As site commander, it’s my responsibility to look out after my crew and site. This is getting out of hand fast. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. I’m notifying NORAD right now. Dan, dial up Cheyenne Mountain.” Dan picked up the hotline. There was nothing but static on the line. “Shit, guys, we’re up a creek. The tropo is down.”

“Damn it to hell,” Vince said. “Okay, I’ll try to radio over to DYE-2. He picked up the headset and keyed the mike, “Sob Story, Sob Story calling Sea Bass…Sob Story, Sob Story calling Sea Bass.” Vince flipped the frequency selector over to the emergency frequency and tried again. Still with no response from either DYE-2 or DYE-4. “Is that thing jamming us?” Boop asked. “Looks like it, Major.” Vince replied in frustration.

Dave offered another option, “Set off the ELT in the plane. That should get someone’s attention.”

Vince replied, “Not sure of the range up here. They might be able to pick it up out to DYE-4. They received the same ELT that we picked up last week. What do you think, Major?”

Boop paused for a moment and then asked, “How long do you figure we have before anyone realizes we’re offline?”

Vince replied, “Good point, Major. We have to do a com check every two hours with the adjacent DYE sites. We’re due for one in forty minutes. They’ll start wondering when we missed that window. But they won’t send anything up this way from Sonde for hours. By that time whatever this thing is will be on top of us.”

Boop had to make a command decision, “Okay, you’re sure this thing is for real. It ain’t a radar glitch?”

“It’s a real bogie, Major. I checked both primary and secondary scopes. However, if they’re jamming our UHF radios and tropo, why not jam the radar?” Dan asked.

“Simple,” Dave said, “They want us to know they are coming.”

“That makes about as much sense as anything, I guess,” Vince replied.

Vince asked Dan if there was any commercial traffic overhead. This was the great circle route from Europe to Chicago and planes flew over Greenland all the time. “The last track was a DC-10 out of Copenhagen for Chicago about an hour ago. He’s long gone. We usually have a daily track of something coming out of Brussels for Chicago. It might show up in an hour or so.”

Vince added, “The radios are out, but it’s a clear day today. We’ve got plenty of flares. We can flag somebody down.” Boop replied emphatically, “That plane will be 25,000 feet over our heads. He’d never see a flare pop. However, we could get their attention with a fire. We’ve got plenty of diesel fuel up here. There’s plenty of trash, pallets, and plastic to burn to make dark smoke. That should show up on the icecap from 35,000 feet.”

Dave then busted all their chops by pointing out the obvious, “Excuse me, but what are they going to do if they do see the smoke? We’re talking about a passenger jet. He’s not going to come buzzing down here for a look see. He’ll try to get a hold of us and the radios will be out. He’ll simply report that fact along with the smoke and fly along his merry way. It’s impossible for him to land and pick us up. He can’t save the day by rolling in on the bogie for a strafing run and drop napalm like John Wayne. Bottom line is, what’s the point?”

Boop and Vince agreed and acknowledged that panic mode was creeping in. “We can’t run. We can’t hide. We can’t even yell for help. How about we play dead? Assuming that thing has radar and can see us, let’s hop in the Raven, take off to the north and let them ping us good. It’ll look like we’re heading for DYE-4. They don’t know our fuel situation. We can then circle back low level and come up from the south and let the DYE site mask our approach. One of two things will happen. They’ll either turn to the east to follow us or they’ll continue on their current track. Everyone is speculating that this thing is here because of what we dragged up to your front door. Maybe they’ll take it and leave.”

Right in the middle of all this beautiful logic, Glenn burst into the room. “Major, we’ve got a problem with the aircraft. Number two and four are starting to overheat. We’re down to less than an hour’s worth of fuel at this rate.”

Boop pounded the console and responded in the pilots’ universal language, “Shit. Okay, get the bird moving; taxi her back to the south side of the complex. Maybe they haven’t pinged us yet. When they do, maybe they’ll lose it in the ground clutter. Stay close to the complex. Once you are on the south side, get the nose pointed directly to the complex and tuck her in as tight as you can. Maybe we can hide her both visually and from their search radar until they are on top of us.” Dan spoke up, “No sign of them pinging us yet.”

“Dan, did you tell anyone else on this site we got a radar target?” Vince asked. “No, after I checked the secondary scope in the equipment room, I got a hold of you right away.” Vince turned to Boop and asked, “How about your crew, Major? Think they’ve told anyone?” Boop replied, “No, they’ve been too busy worrying about the aircraft. No time for small talk.” Vince responded, “Okay, let’s keep it that way. No use letting panic spread throughout the site. I’ll be having enough trouble keeping from crapping my own pants. Let’s all take a step back and figure this thing out.”

Dave had an idea and tossed it out for discussion, “We have only enough fuel on board for us to fly halfway to DYE-2 or DYE-4. How about we load up the snowcats then fly out to the maximum range and then take the tracked vehicles the final distance. They have a range of seventy-five miles or so, more if we strap diesel fuel drums to the roof.”

Major Boop again pounded his fist on the console and this time without the profanity. “Dave, you may have hit on a possible way out. Diesel fuel is the answer. We can burn diesel in the C-130. They have no aviation fuel stored here, too volatile to have around. Fumes don’t evaporate up here. However, we can burn diesel fuel in an emergency. I’d classify this as an emergency. The engines won’t operate at peak efficiency, but it just might get us airborne. We can stay low and slow and just hop the drifts. I think DYE-4 is our best bet. It’s all downhill to the east.” Vince’s face lit up, “Yes. We can pump the diesel into your wing tanks.”

Boop scrambled to grab the handheld, “Change of plans, Carl, we’re not going to hide our head in the snow like some arctic ostrich. We’re going to be sensible and make a strategic retreat.” Carl came back on the radio, “Does that mean you figured out how to get us the hell out of here, Major?”

“No, our good Captain up here figured it out. We’re about to fill her up with diesel, good buddy.” Carl understood, “I’ll pull her up to the pump.” Boop replied, “Negative, continue around to the south side, no time to jerry rig the pumps and plumbing from the bunkers. We’ll drop a hose to you from the generator room. There’s a few thousand gallons in the day tank stored there.” Carl responded, “Roger, I’ll nose her in as close as I can.”

The C-130 made a big sweeping turn around the south side of the huge complex. Vince, Dave and Rick ran off toward the generator room. The site had six huge twelve cylinder White Superior diesel generators. The generators burned a tremendous amount of diesel and there was a huge emergency storage tank at the back of the generator room for day use. Boop figured they’d need about a hundred feet of hose to make it to the plane. The most likely source would be fire hose. Boop ran to the fire hose cabinet. There was only about fifty feet in this one. Dave ran up to the next level and pulled another fifty foot section. He dragged the heavy hose down the stairwell. He nearly tripped over Olga coming up the stairs. “What’s going on?” she asked. “We’ve got to refuel a C-130. Come help me.” She gave him a quizzical look but grabbed up some of the hose and followed him into the Generator Room.

Vince grabbed the Generator Room technician by the shoulder and startled him. It was noisy in the room and he was wearing ear protection so he didn’t hear him coming up behind him. He pulled him inside his small office and started to explain the situation to him. A minute later the technician was pillaging through some storage bins and smiled as he held up a short piece of pipe. He ran over and grabbed the end of the fire hose and spun it on the threads. He grabbed the other fire hose and attached the two pieces together. Vince grabbed a wrench and broke out a window behind the storage bins. He snaked one end of the hose down to Glenn waiting below. The other end was being plumbed onto the day tank.

Vince got on the handheld, “Carl, don’t contaminate the fuel in the wing tanks with this diesel. Keep it separate. Put it in the empty under wing tanks. We may need the good juice once we’re out over the east coast. I’d prefer to burn the good stuff over the mountains.” Carl acknowledged.

Glenn had gotten under the wing and was now in position to run the hose into the pylon tanks. Vince turned the valve on the day tank and diesel began to flow.

Boop grabbed Vince and yelled into his left ear, “Get your people together. We’re going to pull out of here ASAP.” Vince ran into the office and got on the PA system. He hit the fire alarm. This would get everyone moving. He turned the klaxon off and told everyone to meet again in the gym.

They all rushed out of the generator room and made their way into the gymnasium. Most everyone was there already. Vince wasted no time telling them about the radar target heading their way and their plan for evacuating the complex. He didn’t tell the crew that the target was a mile wide.

It took the crew about fifteen minutes to gather survival gear, and get suited up. Boop agreed to load one of the snowcats on board, just in case. He didn’t want to deal with the weight and balance problems of loading all three.

The fuel was flowing smoothly into the plane. But at this rate it would take about forty-five minutes to drain the day tank. Dan got on the PA. He was still in the console room. “Target bearing 360 relative, range 120 miles, speed seventy knots, altitude, 10,000. ETA ninety minutes. Tropo and UHF radio still out.” Vince appreciated the update and was glad Dan didn’t announce on the PA that this was one big MF and to run for your lives. Chalk one beer up for Dan if they ever got out of this.

Dave grabbed Jorgen, the drilling technician, and ran down to the shell with his video camera. The radar energy was affecting the video but he wanted to get some proof they really had this thing. He got video from every angle imaginable. He even had the presence of mind to try and scrape a sample of the material off for positive proof and analysis. He thought to himself, “Damn, this shit was bullet proof. Nothing’s going to make a dent or a scratch.” Then he had another brain storm. The drill bits for the bedrock core sample experiment were diamond impregnated. He could use one of the ice augers to try and cut a piece of the shell out. He had Jorgen drag one of the augers over to the shell. He attached the cutting head to the auger pole and started the motor. He dragged the auger onto the lip of the shell and engaged the drive gear. He hit the feed lever and they both watched as the cutter head started scratching into the shell’s outer surface. Dave thought, “Holy shit, I think this is going to work.”

Just then Boop ran over. “Captain, we’re done pouring fuel in the bird. What the hell are you doing? Let’s get out of here. That thing is fifty miles out.”

“Major, we’re making some progress here. I think I can cut a piece of the shell out.”

Boop responded curtly, “You’ve got fifteen minutes, Captain.”

Boop ran off towards the plane. He could see men clambering down the access stairs and heading over towards the plane following him. The crew chief was directing one of the crew members up the ramp with a snowcat. Dave figured it would take a few minutes to secure the plane, crew, and machinery. He gave the thumbs-up to Jorgen and continued on with the drilling. The bit was doing its work. It was biting into the shell. The shell was about a quarter inch thick. The hollow drill bit was about four inches in diameter, designed to take rock core samples. Whatever they were drilling through was tougher than any rock Jorgen had ever encountered.

Both men looked up in time to see the ramp of the C-130 being sucked up off the ice and clam shell doors shutting. A couple of minutes later the engine propellers changed pitch to full reverse. The big C-130 was backing away from the complex. The C-130 had the capability to back up under its own power and was doing a good job of it now. Just then he heard the rpm of the auger speed up as the auger punched through the shell. A metallic clanking noise was heard as a four inch metallic disk fell out of the drill bit and onto the lip of the shell. Dave grabbed it and they both spun around and raced towards the moving C-130. The plane had backed off from the site about one hundred yards. Running in snow at nearly two miles above sea level was a very hard thing to do. The side door was open and Dave crawled in followed by Jorgen. Several crew members helped pulled them inside.

Glenn was standing in the flight deck doorway. “For crying out loud, Dave, the Major was serious about leaving your asses out here.” Dave just smiled and held up the disk shaped piece of metal like some kid who’d caught a home run ball. He made his way to the cockpit to show off his trophy. Boop turned around and said, “Way to go kid. Now strap in. The chief has been busy, too. He’s only had time to hook up four of the JATO bottles. This might give us a running start. Probably won’t get us airborne but it’ll save a few hundred gallons of valuable fuel by getting us airspeed for liftoff.”

Just then the plane made a hard turn to the left and taxied to the end of the skiway. It made a 180 degree turn into the wind. Boop applied full throttle and pitch. Carl called off the V speeds and once rotated, Rick hit the JATO switch. There was not as big of a kick in the ass as with the six bottles from the last time, but it still got your attention. The crew in back did not have ear protection and were deafened by the noise. The plane leveled off at a couple hundred feet and accelerated.

Boop clicked his mike, “Okay, we’re going to level off at two hundred feet and hug the ice, no sharp turns. How are the engines, Glenn?” The copilot replied, “We’re burning JP-4 now. Ready to switch over to diesel on your command. We should see some rpm drop. Better be prepared for the power loss.” Boop acknowledged, “Roger, change tanks now.” Glenn turned a switch on the engineer’s panel and watched as the fuel flow meter started to click off. “Major, watch for the power drop in both inboards in about ten seconds.”

“Roger that, Glenn.”

The expected power drop happened on cue. The rpm surged and then dropped. “How are the engine temps?” The copilot responded with a cool tone, “Actually the temps have gone down. Must be the air flow around the cowlings. All in the green. We are twenty knots over stall speed.” “Roger that. Maintain heading one one zero and an altitude of two hundred feet. If we lose an engine or start torching one, we’re going to have to put her down fast.”

Something caught Rick and Dave’s peripheral vision at about the same time off to the north. An orange streak was racing at them from the left. It was coming from a huge flying wing shaped like a boomerang about thirty miles to the north. Rick knew immediately what was heading their way from his days over the Hanoi trail. Somebody was firing a missile at them. “Shit, missile inbound, nine o’clock, ten miles. We’re too low and slow to take evasive action.” If Boop had turned the plane sharply, chances were he’d lose airspeed, dip the wing into the ice and cartwheel into a fireball. No choice, but to keep her straight and level. Boop also noticed that the missile was overtaking them. It was a good sign that there was some relative motion to the orange ball of fire. This was not the proverbial golden BB or object that just keeps getting bigger and bigger as it comes straight at you and smacks you between the eyes. Rick knew it was going to miss well in front of them.

But “miss well” was a relative term. The missile struck the ice about a quarter of a mile in front of them. A huge plume of ice and snow shot up in the air. The plane flew straight into it. The windscreen was cracked by several large chunks of ice. The prop blades spun several large chunks completely through the fuselage with a loud bang. Luckily, no one had been sitting near the red line bulkhead. The plane had been pelted with a thousand snowballs doing over 200 miles an hour.

“That damn thing just shot a warning shot across our bow.” Just then another orange streak raced in on them. The same thing happened only a little closer. Carl calmly reported, “Flameout in number two, rpm drop in one. We have no choice, sir. We’ve got to put her down.”

Boop feathered the props on the dead engines. Just then the fire warning lit up on number one followed immediately by number two. “Hit the HALON, Carl. Left engines only.” Carl flipped up the switch guard and then toggled the fire extinguisher on the number one and two engines. Both port side engines were dead now. The plane was losing airspeed fast. Boop put the plane in a shallow nose down attitude to maintain airspeed. He had the right rudder peddle pushed halfway through the floor board to compensate for the adverse yaw. He told the crew chief to prepare the passengers for a crash landing. He was stating the obvious. Bob was way ahead of him. However, Bob had been too busy arming the JATO bottles. He didn’t have time to secure the snowcat. If the plane crash landed, the 10,000 pound vehicle would smash through the flight deck like a Mack truck through a Pinto. There was about one minute of flight time left. He threw the pallet straps over the vehicle. Luckily one of the DYE site crew members knew what to do with it on the other side and clipped the hook into the floor anchor and started cranking it down. A second strap sailed over the vehicle and another crew member secured it as well.

Boop had his hands full with the control yoke. They were down to fifty feet. The stall warning horn was going off. Carl was on the radio calling, “Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. Raven One going down two zero miles east of DYE-3.” Boop lowered the nose more and yanked back on the yoke just a few feet off the deck. The front ski bit into a drift. The nose gear was now bouncing back into the air. The main gear skis hit the ice and the plane ground to a quick halt. Bob was thrown forward along with the other two crew members into a mangled heap of bodies and cracked bones up against the front bulk head. Luckily, the snowcat held in place.

“Carl, Glenn, get back there and see if everyone is okay. Dave, grab the fire extinguisher, exit the plane and hit the left inboard.” Dave opened the flight deck door and sprayed the contents of the fire extinguisher into the intake. There was no visible fire just a lot of smoke and steam hissing as ice was tossed onto the engine cowlings. Glenn came back up to the flight deck. “Bob and a couple of guys are busted up pretty bad; a few broken ribs, arms and legs, nothing compound and not much bleeding. Not sure about internal injuries. All three are conscious, but in a shitload of pain. Props on one and two are gone, with a massive hole in the left side of the aircraft. Could have been much worse.”

Boop didn’t have to hit the ELT. It went off automatically. He just hoped DYE-4 could hear the Mayday and pick up the ELT. He doubted it. They were below the mountain crest on the east coast. They were too low for the Mayday. The radio was strictly line of sight.

Just when everything seemed hopeless the radio crackled to life. “Raven One, Raven One……request you change frequency to 121.9.” Boop keyed the radio, “Who is this? We’re down on the ice, crash landed, two zero miles east of DYE-3, several injuries.” A reply came back calmly and with a bit of a Canadian accent, “Roger Raven One, change frequency now to 121.9.” Boop changed frequency, “Now, who the hell is this? We need help up here ASAP.”

The other end of the transmission responded. “We know. We forced you down.” Dave and Rick looked at each other. Rick was pissed now. “Who the hell do you think you are? You just fired on an unarmed United States Air Force aircraft.” The response was unexpected, “We know Major Boop. This is the Delta G Airship Nautilus, now twenty miles off your left wing. Please stand down and prepare to be boarded. I assure you we mean you no harm. If we’d wanted you dead, our aim would have been more exact.”

Major Boop grabbed the handheld radio, unbuckled and raced to the back of the plane. The rest of the cockpit crew followed suit.

Looking out a door portal window, Dave saw the boomerang shaped airship looming over the horizon about five miles out. The radar signature did not do it justice. It was a mile wide, but it was also a quarter mile thick in its center. Details were now visible. It was closing in on the helpless crew. The temperature was plunging inside the cargo bay. Major Boop had thrown blankets over the injured men to keep them warm.

Just then the handheld crackled to life, “Major, this is Admiral Scott Dukes, commander of the DGA Nautilus. What is the status of your injured crewmen?”

Major Boop put the handheld to his lips and pressed the key, “We have three men down, broken ribs, legs and arms, in severe pain, treating them for shock.”

“Roger that, Major. I am sending a medical team to your location. ETA is fifteen minutes.”

Major Boop was still pissed, but still looked out after his crew and passengers. “You damn near killed us all and now you’re coming over to patch my crew up? I suppose you’re going to fix my broken airplane and then send us on our merry way, too.”

The voice on the handheld simply said. “It’s much more complicated than what you think, Major. We did not intend to hurt anyone. I’ll talk to you once you’re aboard my ship. Follow my crew’s instructions to the letter, Major. Is that clear? This will be our last communication. Out.”

Dave was still standing in the doorway peering out through the porthole. The small portal window was starting to ice over. He pulled a credit card out of his wallet and began scraping the window. The object was now directly overhead. There was absolutely no sound whatsoever. The shadow of the airship was covering several acres of ice. A few minutes later a pair of snowmobiles showed up outside the doorway. The men dressed in white arctic camouflage opened the door. There were four men. The first thing out of their mouths was, “Where’s your injured mates?” in a thick Australian accent. They were carrying a medical kit.