Operation: Ski-Bird

Chapter 1 The dense cloud of dust, kicked up by the speeding jeeps, rose slowly into the late afternoon sky casting an eerie tan pall across the dimming sunlight. A small band of extremist insurgents had seen the large C-130 Hercules transport plane swoop gracefully down from the sky. The group’s mercurial leader viewed the planes arrival as a fortuitous event. Almost unnoticed by his cohorts, the placid countenance of the leader swiftly changed into an evil, opportunistic leer. Rapidly, he arranged an impromptu assault on the military aircraft that proudly bore the red, white and blue image of the United States of America. It was a shame that this unexpected circumstance would only serve to validate the co-pilots cynical outlook on life…that is, if the crew lived. * * * “Atlas-315…Atlas-315, this is Wadi Air Base, over.” “Wadi Air Base, this is Atlas-315, good afternoon, over,” Robert returned the greeting. “Atlas-315,” spoke the air traffic controller. Comfortably, the man sat in a small, air conditioned, second story room in a small office building of the desert air base. A large window overlooked the runway where he could easily see any aircraft approaching from out over the Mediterranean. “Atlas-315, we have a situation here. Please approach with all caution.” “Wadi Air Base, what seems to be the problem?” Robert inquired, now emotionally on high alert, even Levi became dead serious as he too listened to the transmissions. “Atlas-315, be advised that our communications are likely being monitored by local insurgencies. There is also a high probability that your plane has been seen, and will be attacked.” “Wadi Air Base…attacked? On the tarmac?” “Atlas-315, these local groups are extremely volatile in their actions. It is not beyond them to launch an RPG at you on final approach,” the tower advised, and Robert and Levi just turned somewhat intolerant looks on each other. “These locals really need to get a hobby,” Levi muttered, keeping his attention keenly focused on their current situation, as well as the surroundings down below. “Wadi Air Base, is our cargo ready to load?” Robert asked, speaking into the microphone as he banked the plane slightly to port on final approach to the miniscule landing strip. “Atlas-315, yes sir. The moment you brake to a stop, the cargo will load. Keep your engines running, we will fuel your tanks while cargo is loaded. We’ll have you back in the air within ten minutes.” “Wadi Air Base, this is Atlas-315…we’ll hold you to that, you know.” “Atlas-315, we’re good at what we do, our word is good,” the Tower confirmed, and Robert just grinned, approving of the tower personnel’s confident and gung-ho attitude. With the landing gear down and locked in place, Robert lowered the flaps and then throttled back on the C-130. Losing the required air speed and altitude, the plane rapidly closed the vertical distance between itself and the hard-packed runway. Within minutes, Robert set the plane down. Applying the brakes, the pilots slowed the lumbering aircraft. Then making a sharp U-turn, they rapidly taxied back to the Quonset hut that served as the Bases only hangar. Now completely stopped, the engines were kept running as the ground crew dashed out to fuel the plane. Heavy chocks were firmly put in place around the wheels to prevent the plane from rolling as the able-bodied ground crew serviced the plane. At the rear of the C-130, Sergeant Greg Renfroe operated the controls to lower the ramp to accept the cargo. Always thinking of how he could help make life…and work, a bit easier for the men, Sergeant Gene Jacquez grabbed several bottles of cold water for them. It was a good thing too, for when the ramp began operation the men were suddenly assaulted by the searing, one-hundred-thirty degree breeze that rushed into the plane the moment the ramp began to descend to the pavement. From the cockpit, Robert and Levi watched expectantly, fully anticipating a truck or two to emerge from the hangar with the palletized cargo. But that never happened. The cargo…in this instance, actually loaded itself as a platoon, consisting of forty-five Marines, ran from the hangar toward the rear ramp of the Hercules. Knowing time was of the essence, the platoon, with full packs on their backs, and rifles held tightly in hand, dashed quickly across the sun-heated tarmac at a full run. Without slowing, they ran up the ramp and into the welcoming depths of the C-130. Fortunately, the interior sides of the bulkhead were fitted with fold down seats. With the capacity to transport seventy-two, fully-equipped soldiers there was plenty of room for each Marine to take a seat, and eagerly await take-off. These men had seen quite a bit of action, and had been airlifted out of a warzone…just in the nick of time. This plane would get them back to the States where they would catch another transport that would get them home to Camp Pennington in Oceanside, California. These Marines had successfully done their job and were battle weary, ready to head out, and eager to get home and be reunited with their families. The ground crew had just finished refueling the plane when Robert and Levi seemed to notice that the men had begun moving with even faster determination. Within seconds, they had checked to make sure the plane was secure, had stowed their equipment, and then hurriedly scurried off toward the relative safety of the hangar. “Where are they goin’ so fast?” Levi asked, though his muttered comment was purely rhetorical. “Maybe they’re union,” Robert chuckled, “and the lunch bell just rang.” Abruptly, Robert’s countenance seemed to cloud over, and he suddenly turned serious as his intuition took control. “Major, are we ready to go?” “Just about,” Levi answered. “We need confirmation that the exterior is all buttoned up, and that the ramp is up and locked.” “Sir!” Sergeant Randy Kirton gasped, when he suddenly poked his head into the cockpit, and just then the radio crackled to life as well. “Atlas-315, this is the Tower, over!” “Sir, we have a problem!” Randy, the crew’s Loadmaster stated, determined to have his say. But Robert held up a staying hand to the Sergeant, opting to communicate with the Tower first as he spoke into his microphone. “Wadi Air Base, this is Atlas-315 over.” “Atlas-315…take off! Take off! Go! Go now!” Came the nearly hysterical, and heavily accented, plea from the air traffic controller of the small Base. “There are many heavily armed insurgents approaching up your six! Go! Go now!” Robert was well aware that ‘up your six’ made reference to the rear of the plane. Instinctively, he turned around to look out the cockpit door. The portal of course, was open, but obviously he couldn’t see all the way out the back of the plane where the ramp remained open. “Sir!” Randy stated, his youth currently over-shadowing his rank and position as Loadmaster of the large aircraft. “Bad guys!” He explained, or tried to by also sharply hooking a thumb over his right shoulder, indicating the direction in question. “Sir, there’s at least ten, well-armed jeeps streaming across the desert, headed straight for us!” “Well, tell Sergeant Renfroe to get the damn ramp up!” Robert shouted over his shoulder. “He’s working on it sir, but I’ll relay your message anyway!” Randy stated as he quickly ducked back out of the cockpit. Running for the rear of the plane, his goal was to reach the ramps control panel where Sergeant Renfroe was pulling every trick in the book to get the jammed ramp to operate. “Major, help me get her off the ground, now!” Robert ordered, turning to his co-pilot.