AMERICA ONE (17 page)

“Actually, between my work here at the bar, Mr. Butch Cassidy, I’m an organic food and space biologist; everything served in this bar—beer, wine and potato vodka for the Ruskies—is made here in Hangar Nine, the hangar I am second in command of. Apart from these bottles of beer, you see behind me, which happen to be your beers, and reserved for you for this coming Saturday night, everything else is in kegs or barrels. Now, can I offer you gentlemen a soda or maybe a chocolate milkshake? Everything is free.”

Jonesy wasn’t happy and stormed out, not waiting for VIN, who ordered a favorite of his, a chocolate milkshake.

“Mr. Cassidy not happy with the arrangements?” asked the bartender with a smile a minute later as he handed over a large milkshake glass to VIN.

“I’m sure any naturally-born, self-indulgent, and proud alcoholic wouldn’t be very happy with the arrangements. His name is Jonesy, and you can call me VIN, short for Victor Isaac Noble.”

They chatted for a while and the bartender was happy with normal conversation, but as usual quickly clamed up when VIN asked him about Hangar Nine.

The next morning they were aroused by an interesting wakeup call. At four-thirty the buzzer sounded, and a voice stated that everybody get into their jogging clothes as it was time for the Wednesday exercise routine.

VIN met Jonesy outside his door in a tee-shirt, shorts, and track shoes, and VIN was dressed the same.

“Feels like the same damn Air Force fitness schedule we used,” Jonesy remarked. “Can you run with your legs, kid?”

“Nope, but I’m sure they will allow me to walk, and I’m sure I can walk faster than some of those old alcoholic scientists we’ve see around here.”

It seemed that the wives and school children didn’t have to join the employees who were gathering on the apron in front of Hangar Three. Everybody was dressed much the same, and now looked slimmer and fitter than they did wearing their white coats.

VIN was surprised to see Suzi ready to go, wheelchair and all, and as soon as she saw him, waved him over; he left Jonesy in the middle of the pack. Orders were shouted and the whole group got into a loose formation anybody in the military would remember. VIN stood with Suzi and followed the exercises, Suzi doing the best she could being helped by her crew out of her wheelchair.

First they did twenty deep knee bends, then twenty knee squats and twenty push-ups. Then they were ordered to do the same again, and again.

For Jonesy, it was tough; the recent period of heavy drinking was taking its toll. He had been fit for most of his life and even though he sweated more than anybody else, he was actually enjoying it.

Then the order was given to run east along the left edge of the runway, around the outer tarmac, return along the right side, and back to the apron. The run would cover about 10,000 feet, since the apron was in the middle of the length of the long runway. A whistle was blown and the 300 or more people jogged out.

VIN noticed tall Ryan in the front, leading the way at a good pace. Jonesy on the other hand took a while to pass him.

Even Suzi was far in front of him, her wheelchair moving much faster than he could walk. He had often tried running, but the doctors had told him that these legs weren’t made for anything but walking, which he managed pretty fast. Jonesy finally passed him in last position at the first end of the runway.

“How far is this run?” Jonesy asked, the sweat pouring off him.

“Suzi said two miles, but the one on Friday is the whole of the runway which is about three and a half,” replied VIN as his partner trundled past looking very unfit for a pilot.

VIN was last when he entered the apron about a hundred yards behind a very tired looking Mr. Jones. Ryan, in the lead, had headed back on the other side long before either of them had reached halfway to the first end. Suzi was only a couple of hundred yards behind Ryan and trying desperately to catch up, her arms spinning the chair’s wheels as hard as she could.

It was the first time VIN felt really useless, not having real legs. In his Force Recon days he would have been a lap ahead of everybody; but he kept to his own pace, entered last, and was a better man for it. Also, he now realized why the bar was only open one night a week. He would hate to be flown into space by somebody as unfit as his partner.

Suzi came up to him, one of the few who knew, or had noticed, he didn’t have legs and shook his hand. “You are not as fast as the Superfraülein in a wheelchair, but with new legs, you might keep up to me, no?”

“With those metal legs, I could probably do the run in one leap, but I enjoyed the exercises,” he replied.

“Wűndabar, Herr Noble! We do the shorter run on Mondays and Wednesdays, and the whole runway on Fridays. It plays hell with the drinking in the bar on Saturday evenings. You will buy me a beer this Saturday, Mr. Noble?” He nodded that he would as Ryan walked up to him, a towel round his neck and wiping off the sweat.

“Mr. Noble, can I trust you to leave our airfield and not tell anybody about what you have seen here?”

“Of course, Ryan,” he replied.

“Or I will never speak to him again, and he will never see his new legs, ever!” added Suzi.

“I have your trust, Mr. Noble?” Ryan asked.

“You have my word as a marine, Ryan,” VIN replied.

“Good, I need you to take your Audi, not mine, and head south to Creech Air Force Base. You drove right past it on the way here.” VIN nodded. He remembered the base north of Las Vegas. “There is a Colonel Sinclair who you are to pick up. I know nothing more, but he is the replacement pilot for the one we drove down there yesterday. It seems the Air Force doesn’t want to miss out on our action and has given me a replacement within twelve hours of getting the last one back. You will leave after lunch, as I want you to spend a few hours with Suzi after breakfast going over what you can expect from us in the prosthetics department. Mr. Noble, Suzi does not work in the prosthetics department, she is like you, a guinea pig for our space-walking program, and I’m sure glad to have both of you to work with. Suzi, for your information only, is Head of Hangar Nine, our biology department.”

“OK!” replied VIN. “I got a chocolate milkshake last night from the bar.”

“I see,” replied Ryan. “So you and Mr. Jones have already tried to purchase your beers back, and met Mr. Rose, Suzi’s number two,” Ryan replied smiling. “Check with the security guards at the first gate after lunch, they have your car keys, and get the gate commander to call me when you have returned to the outer gate with this Colonel Sinclair. I’m off to shower and breakfast.”

VIN looked around; the sun was just about to climb over the low horizon. It wasn’t even daybreak yet!

It felt to VIN as he sat in his car for the first time in forty-eight hours, that a whole month had passed since he had last sat there. His body was stiff from the beating his lower limbs had taken during the walk and the tight seat felt like heaven. He started the car, reversed it out of its newly built carport, and the gates opened for him to pass.

The dusty road was soon swallowed up and he turned south on the highway and gunned the car to see if he could blow the dust off the silver paint job.

Most of it was gone by the time he hit the top of the first rise at ninety, there were a couple of miles of open desolate straight road in front of him, and all he could see was a lonely truck coming towards him three to four miles away. He floored the accelerator, hit 175 miles an hour before the truck, one of the ones he had seen driving to Ryan’s base, approached rapidly flashing its lights which, for some reason made him reduce his speed to close to the speed limit as he passed it by.

He waved at the driver, eased off the throttle and a mile later passed a police cruiser waiting for him to come over a brow in the road. He was only a few miles an hour over the speed limit and the policeman, apart from watching him pass, left him alone.

He reached Creech Air Force Base an hour later and turned left onto the base.

“I’m here to pick up a Colonel Sinclair,” stated VIN at the gate.

“You’re expected. Why don’t you civilians just fly in, instead of driving your fancy cars? We do have a runway just like you guys,” stated the gate sergeant.

“It’s a little cheaper on fuel than bringing the C-5 down to pick up one colonel, Sarge,” VIN replied smiling. “And faster!”

“Are you military?” the sergeant asked.

“Former Lieutenant VIN Noble, Marines, why?”

“I think I’ve met you before. Weren’t you that Force Recon guy in that Humvee explosion a year or so ago?”

“Could be,” VIN replied.

“I flew out with you on the C-17 back to the States.”

“That’s right! I met you at the coffee machine,” replied VIN. “I knocked your coffee over, trying to walk on these new legs at about 35,000 feet.”

“That’s right, Sir. All of us guys wanted to help you walk, but you were doing all right yourself. It seems you have a better pair of silver legs now. Pull in past the guard house, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” VIN did.

“The sergeant came over with a steaming cup of coffee. “The colonel will be about twenty minutes,” the guard said, handing him a cup of coffee.

“Do you think my dog tags will get me into the store? I want to buy a couple of beers for a friend of mine.”

“No problem, sir. I’m on break right now. Give me some cash and I’ll get a six pack for you.”

VIN unlocked the car’s glove compartment and found a roll of bills he had put there for gas. He peeled off two twenties and gave it to the sergeant. “Get me a case of whatever you can, and a small bottle of Jack,” he asked. “The change is yours.”

Fifteen minutes later the sergeant returned with the goods and VIN placed them in the small golf bag sized compartment behind the seats. He covered them up with the soft lose carpet in the bottom of the compartment, and thanked the sergeant.

“You guys dry up there?” the sergeant asked showing VIN the change, over ten bucks, and pocketing it nodding his thanks.

“Yep!” he replied. “As dry as any forward base in Iraq.”

“Look after yourself, Sir. Thanks for the cash. I have to get back to the gate,” and the happy sergeant returned to his post.

A few minutes later a tall female officer with a pack slung over her shoulder and carrying a garment bag came towards the gate; she wore an Air Force uniform showing the rank of full colonel on her tunic. She approached the gate, whistled at the car, signed herself out, and walked over to VIN.

She was older than he, VIN noticed, about ten years older, but she was tall, as tall as he was; her striking eyes instantly captivated him as she looked directly at him in his fancy car.

VIN instinctively leapt out of the car and saluted, forgetting that he was now a civilian and didn’t need to. “Waiting for Colonel Sinclair, Colonel,” he stated looking back straight into those big green eyes.

“Well you just found her soldier…civilian, whichever,” she replied. “And I’m supposed to get into this mafia-looking car with a complete stranger?”

“Lieutenant Victor Noble, Colonel. United States Marine Corp, retired,” he stated still standing at attention.

Not bad, Lieutenant,” she replied smiling. Can you show me where I can load my stuff into this thing?” VIN took the garment bag holding her uniforms and placed in the front compartment. The pack was the same size as a set of golf clubs and he placed that on the carpet to hide his purchases behind the seats. He held the passenger door for her and she nimbly slid in.

He waved at the guard as they exited the gate, turned right onto the dual lane highway, and headed north. VIN hadn’t expected a female pilot, and remembering what Ryan had said earlier, nor did he.

“Do we have far to go, Lieutenant?” she asked.

“About an hour’s drive, Ma’am,” VIN replied driving at the speed limit.

“Cops on the road?” Maggie asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“You have a car that looks like an F-16, and you are driving it at the speed limit. That’s why I asked.”

“I saw one an hour earlier about forty miles ahead,” VIN replied.

“Well, that means we have thirty miles of open road, Lieutenant. Show me what this thing can do.”

VIN smiled, knowing the road pretty well by now and floored the accelerator. He felt her stiffen as they were pushed back in their seats and the speedometer quickly hit 150 and kept climbing. There wasn’t another vehicle in front of them for the next couple miles; the dual highway extended in front of them, and for the first time, he let her go all the way.

The speedometer slowly climbed over 180 before he felt a light hand on his arm and he eased off. The end of the dual highway was rushing up a mile or so in front, and another truck was about to get in their way. Also there was the “black and white” in the middle where the two lanes joined, and as he approached, now adding braking to slow the car, he was relieved to see it was still facing the other way.

“Not bad for a jet without wings, Lieutenant. You may now drive at the speed limit,” the colonel said to him as the cop watched them pass. It was the same cop he had seen on the way south.

For the next hour they talked about what they did. The colonel, as VIN knew, was a C-5 pilot and he found out that she had flown since she was a teenager. He told her about Iraq and how he had been discharged because he had been wounded. She asked about his unit and was impressed with the five medals he had been awarded.

“Most of us don’t get a chance to meet a three-time holder of the Purple Heart, Lieutenant. Well done! And I’m sorry to hear about your legs.”

They reached the turnoff, and he explained the drill she was to expect at the gate.

The car, now known to the guards, was allowed in through the outer gate. VIN was asked to leave the colonel at the inner gate after he reminded the guardhouse to phone Ryan. Without anybody looking inside the vehicle, he took the colonel’s gear out and handed it to a guard and was allowed to drive back to the carport. The guard had ordered him to return the keys to the inner gate, so he “forgot” to lock the vehicle, returned the keys, and went back to hand them in.

An hour later, looking very innocent, VIN walked towards Hangar Five where he was hoping that he would find Suzi. He saw that the C-5 had been pulled out of Hangar Three and continued on past it, walking across the apron underneath one wing. It was a darn big aircraft.