Chapter 6

The big Air Force EC-135 called Looking Glass rumbled through the sky far above the prairie and way above the clouds that concealed our wrecked airplane in the field somewhere below.  A young pilot, a Colonial, sat at the control and stared into the starry sky that rose limitless above him and extended off to the horizon.  They were on the last leg of their mission and would be landing at Andrews in a few hours. 

The intercom crackled:  “Flight Deck, comm,” came the voice in the pilot’s headset.

“Go ahead, comm,” the pilot replied.

“Hey, Sir,” came the voice of his communications chief coming from somewhere back behind him, deep within the electronic bowels of the plane.  “Message just came over CTAF from Lincoln Flight Service.  They say they’re missing an airplane somewhere in the sector we’re approaching.  A small civilian one.  Last heard from by Minneapolis around seventeen thirty hours.”

The Colonial looked at his watch.  It was creeping up on 10:30. 

“Roger that comm,” he replied.  “Go ahead and monitor the emergency frequencies, and report all contacts.”

“Roger, standby,” The airman said back. “Out.”

The airman rotated his seat to face the emergency radio, which monitored the 121.5 MHz frequency, the international civilian emergency locator transmitter frequency, switched it on, then fine-tuned it in.  All was silent so far.

The fuselage of the EC-135 resonated with a steady vibration from the four big engines that the airman had long become accustomed to.  He was hardly even aware that he was in a plane at all anymore; he’d been at this job for so long.  This airplane had become a second home to him.  These flights were good duty. 

The mission of the Operation Looking Glass was simple:  To have airplanes in the air at all times that were equipped and capable to electronically direct missile bases on the ground whose control centers were destroyed or otherwise inactive to launch their nuclear tipped ballistic missiles anyway.    Pretty sneaky, actually.  It was all part of the mutually assured destruction of the Nuclear Cold War. 

Take that, Ivan.

            The big plane wasn’t ugly, but definitely not the sleekest thing in the sky, for sure.  Lots of Air Force planes were sexier, what with their maneuverability and high-speed weaponry and such, but Looking Glass crews never took too much static at the E-club.  The airman always laughed at the fact that although they carried no actual weapons on board, the big Looking Glass planes were simply the most deadly things in the sky.  So to hell with the jet-jocks, with their little guns and rockets – this was real power.

He settled back into his seat sedated by the drone of the plane and rubbed his neck.  They were flying back to Andrews and some time off.  He closed his eyes and was lost in his thoughts of some future drink, or a girl, or just the sleep he’d get to catch up on.  He stayed like that for a long time.

In the meantime, far below, dad had gone back to check on mom two more times.  He had sat beside Chris for a very long time in silence after he returned to the plane from finding her the first time. But he was agitated and after awhile had convinced himself that he had missed something somehow.  He convinced himself she may still be alive, that he hadn’t checked her breathing or pulse.  She was still warm, after all.  Besides, he didn’t want to tell Chris his mother was dead until he absolutely knew for sure. 

He made his way back to her and examined her once more.  Nothing had changed.  She was dead. 

He had come back to the plane after that and after some more rummaging found a small blanket.  He returned one last time and covered her head and upper body with it.  He certainly didn’t want Chris to see her like that.  To see what dad had seen and dream about for the rest of his life, like dad knew he would himself. 

He touched her once more that last trip and she was cold.  All doubt and hope he may have still had for her was erased.  It was just us now.

He returned to the plane once more but stopped outside the constricting barbed wire perimeter.  He was curious to see what shape the plane was in, in case it had to remain their home for awhile.  He slowly walked around it, taking in the extent of the devastation for the first time. 

The wings on both sides were gone, just past each engine.  The fuel was in the wings.  When they had been ripped off, the fuel must have drained before they hit the ground, before it could be ignited by a tiny spark or sufficient friction which would have caused us to become a rolling fireball as we advanced across it.  We all would have been immolated with no chance of survival, he thought rather matter-of-factually. 

The rest of the plane appeared to be fairly in tact, except for the huge hole where mom had been sitting.  It was a wreck, and was buckled and bent, but had held together.  It held them in…mostly.  He pulled himself back in the plane and slumped down to sit by Chris. 

He still didn’t tell Chris about mom.  He wasn’t sure how.  It didn’t matter now, anyway.  And judging by his reaction, Chris already had figured it out.  Dad sat in silence and tried to think. 

He had to figure out how to get out of there.  He looked up and let his blurry eyes scan beyond the horizon - and was suddenly heartened.

For the first time he noticed that the cloud layer had risen significantly, and the cold air seemed to have begun to break up the layer that covered the sky above us.  At first he thought that the pressure was merely rising slightly and the elevation of the thick cover had just increased a little, but then dad became aware of the twinkling of stars through what had really become a thin grey veil as it dissipated. 

Slowly, the slight overcast began to disburse into several large thin sections that then began to float apart in dull gray clump and gradually evaporated into clear, frozen air.  Dad and Chris watched it go in silence, and stared at the widening swath of dark sky beyond, twinkling with bright stars. 

The clearing sky heartened him.  He had been worried that it might start to rain or storm, and that would make life, and living, very hard.  This was a very good turn.    

However, the frustration caused by the distinct lack of rescue was still heavy on dad’s mind.  It had been hours, for Christ sake!  How could they not have found us by that point?  He fumed and wondered bitterly.

He looked over at Chris.  The boy sat staring out the cockpit window at the fresh field stars.  His arms were wrapped around himself and he looked cold.  Dad wished he could do something for him.  The kid was a real trooper.

            “They’ll be looking for us by now,” he said trying to reassure them both.  “It just takes a little time, that’s all.  The worst is over.”  He thought about that and hoped it was true.  He gently rubbed his side and hoped his spleen would hold.

            Chris didn’t say anything.  Dad figured he was deep in shock over this all and didn’t press the issue.  They had to be ready to spot the rescue team and help them find the wreck once they got close, and he didn’t want to depress the kid and make him useless.  Dad knew he needed him.  He turned his head to look back out the hole in the plane, into the night towards what he now knew was the northern sky.  He lifted his gaze to the star field and scanned it for any sign of hope.

He suddenly locked his body as his eyes saw just that hope, blurrily twinkling across the dark sky.

 “There!”  Dad exclaimed excitedly, and pointed to the high northern sky.  Chris pivoted to look and adjusted his stare toward the area of sky at which dad pointed, high over the distant horizon.  At first he saw nothing but low dark clouds and patchwork clumps of stars, but then his eyes locked onto it; a tiny pin dot of red, thousands of feet up and many miles away.  It appeared at first to shimmer like a star in the sky, but then it was obvious that it was moving in a straight line across the night.  It wasn’t shimmering after all, he suddenly could see.  It blinked.

For the first time since realizing they were alive, dad felt a flash of hope.  It was a big plane way up, probably around 25,000 feet.  It didn’t matter because it would pick up their beacon, even at that height!  They would have to report the location of the bacon and then we’d be saved! 

Dad and Chris watched the light move until it began to hide behind the remaining puffs of clouds, and eventually disappeared.  Dad was heartened.

“They will see us, son.”  Dad said with more confidence than Chris had heard all night.  “Help is on the way.”

The Looking Glass communications airman bolted upright and lifted a hand to cup the headphone on his ear and push it tighter to his head.  He intently concentrated on the slight sound coming into his head. 

At first it was like a static surge over the dead silent airwaves, but it began to materialize and melted into a distinct tone, like a ghost materializing from the ethereal plane of radio space. It sounded like it was barely there at all.  He adjusted the frequency knob on the radio and suddenly the tone filled his head much louder, with a distinct woo-woo siren kind of call which he recognized immediately.

An ELT signal.

His heart began to pump a little harder.  He hadn’t expected this!  Missing planes almost always turn up somewhere safe.  He certainly had never actually found one.  He toggled the switch of the microphone extending down from his ear.

            “Flight deck, comm.,” the airman said.  “I am monitoring a weak signal on 121.5 MHz, sir!  I’ll bet you it’s the distress signal you were looking for.”

“Roger that,” the pilot replied.  “See if you can lock it down.  I will advise Scott.” He said, in reference to the Air Force Rescue Coordination Center in Scott, Illinois.  After a few moments the Captain came back on.

“Scott is advised.  Do you have a fix?”

“Standby,” the airman said.  He made some calculations, then pulled out a map of the landscape below and poked around at it for a few moments, trying to get an approximate location based on the signal’s direction and intensity.  If he could get them close, the ground teams would find it no problem. 

“It appears to be somewhere southwest of Lincoln, sir” he said.  “Near the…Lancaster County line, maybe fifteen to twenty miles from the Lincoln airport..?  I don't see any airfields in the vicinity...this one could be for real.”

“Roger,” the Colonial said.  “Scott is rolling the CAP.  We’ll stay on station awhile and see if we can help out, over.”

“Roger that,” the airman said. 

He took off his headset and rubbed his eyes.  He stared into the red glow of the interior of his plane and thought for a moment about the source of the signal.  Someone down there was having a bad night, for sure.