AMERICA ONE - NextGen (Book 5) Page 7
“You should do it easy in 1,600 feet,” added Jonesy from above. “Just don’t blow those tires Bob, I’m sure they don’t have any C-5 spares at the local Libyan car repair shops.”
“And Doug, I’ll tell the tanker crew to come in and land behind me on the field. I’ll need to steal what they have left to take off again. I’ll be watching to see how your Aussie pilots can perform short landings and takeoffs,” smiled Bob.
Heading straight down the line of the Tropic of Cancer, the second tanker came up to feed the Dead Chicken. Bets were placed on the landing of the C-5 from all directions.
The total flight distance from Nevada to the Pig’s Snout was 7,450 miles. Just in range for Martin flying Jonesy’s aircraft, but out of range for Ryan’s. Three hours before Bob Mathews saw the second tanker come into view, Ryan had diverted northwest to the Azores to refuel. It was touch and go whether the older Gulfstream 500 would have made Lisbon, Portugal, and now it didn’t matter how long they took to reach the Sahara. They were out of danger.
The C-5 had flown through a day, a night, and a second day, and the sun was now behind them as their systems showed the aircraft fifty miles west of the new airfield. Bob had brought the aircraft down to 12,000 feet a couple of hours earlier. The crewmembers in the rear had been on oxygen for twelve hours now, and there wasn’t any need to fly high and cold. In warmer air, and with the oxygen masks put away, his crew flew on, cruising through the turbulence of the desert below them stretching as far as the eye could see in all directions. Bob had been asleep in one of the loadmaster’s chairs for four hours when his crew woke him.
“Descending through 11,000 feet, forty miles from touchdown, about fifty minutes to an hour of daylight left,” said Beth.
“Thanks, Beth,” replied Bob. He headed straight for the coffee machine, and then into the left seat for landing.
“Bob to Doug, have the crater dead ahead. Airfield not yet in sight, am descending through 9,000 feet. What do I need to know, over?”
“Runway altitude, 2,220 ASL. Tarmac length, 2,770 feet. Temperature, 33 degrees Celsius, about 92 Fahrenheit, wind absolutely zero. Zero hills or ground rises within five miles, only that volcanic crater thirty miles west, the one you are about to head over. I suggest you come straight in on long final, new runway nine,” said a Royal Australian Air Force pilot.
“Roger that, heading low and directly over the volcanic crater, and we are dropping through 6,100 feet,” replied Bob.
One of the girls climbed down to the cargo bay, got the crew in the rear to use the seatbelts or to tie themselves down, telling them that the landing will be short and sweet, and headed back up into the cockpit.
Five minutes later, Bob could see the short runway area ten miles ahead. As he closed, it was certainly short, and he could see three C-17s on the side of the short strip and getting closer. Jonesy’s Gulfstream was also parked on the dirt at the side of the runway, next to three half-built buildings.
He set up the giant bird for an extremely short landing he hadn’t practiced for many years. Jonesy offered advice from above, until Bob kindly asked him to get off the air.
Like a floating bird, the aircraft came in. Several dozen men manning tarmac equipment well off the blacktop watched as the rear tires smoked just yards from the beginning of the tarmac. Bob let the nose come down, then hit full engine reverse thrust, opening the air brakes to maximum and pushing the tire brakes as hard as he dared.
The C-5 could have landed on dirt. It was designed to use dirty runways, but not fully loaded, and any weak ground could have given way under the excessive weight.
Without popping one tire, the aircraft came to a halt, and Bob, with his eyes, measured the runway still remaining ahead of him.
“I reckon about 1,550 feet,” said Jonesy, now directly above the runway and looking through SB-III’s powerful cameras.
“A little better than I expected, Jonesy. You crapping about blown tires cost me at least 150 extra feet,” laughed Bob, relieved that the aircraft was in one piece. He loved his Dead Chicken. His right-seat crewmember turned the aircraft, blowing dust as she brought it around 180 degrees. There was a lot of room, and the copilot returned the massive plane to the narrow blacktop to taxi back to where the parking area was.
Captain Pete told Ryan, staying overnight in the Azores, of Bob’s successful landing an hour later. Ryan decided to celebrate with a fine dinner with Portuguese wines. There was no rush anymore. He just hoped that the American forces now on his base would not find his underground cavern. At least he had his important crew and supplies safe on this side of the planet. He hadn’t achieved Martin Brusk’s desire for two container ships yet, but he could do that once again from space, and when he had time. On Ryan’s suggestion, Martin had already told his employees to halt production, container everything and be prepared to move.
Michael Pitt, above in SB-I, had watched as the U.S. forces attacked the Nevada base five hours earlier, and had gone in weapons blazing. He reported that they hadn’t managed to kill any of their own colleagues. Air Force One had just taken off in the direction of Nevada, and so had several small jets from Nellis Air Force Base, Creech airfield, the NSA headquarters in California, and to Captain Pete thirty minutes later, the CIA and FBI out of Langley and California.
All Ryan’s security forces and staff were long gone, travelling home with their memories. They had been paid well over the years, and did not need payment from Astermine anymore. They all just did what Ryan asked for, for the hell of it.
Chapter 5
The Sahara
Ryan landed on the short runway twelve hours later. He was surprised to see how hard and fast the couple hundred Australians were working on the runway and buildings. The living quarters would be habitable within 72 hours.
He had studied the Pig’s Snout, flying over it on long final runs into his new base, and it looked like a steep volcanic crater, towering up at least 3,000 feet above them. He had studied it for a couple of minutes. Inside it indeed looked like the snout of a pig. It wasn’t massive, but being the only blemish on the horizon in all directions, certainly stood out tall and strong.
Twenty minutes after Ryan landed, an Australian C-17 arrived with more supplies. Food and water and materials for the tarmac-making equipment to lay more runway. Only the shuttles coming in to land needed the complete 10,000 feet of blacktop. Taking off vertically, they didn’t need more than a 30-foot-square piece. Only Commander Joot’s craft used vertical landing capabilities, and nobody, including the commander, knew how his aircraft actually worked. He was only instructed in flying the machine.
Bob told Ryan after landing that his Australian contact Doug, who was about to fly in for the second time on the next day’s flight, had ordered a C-17 once a day out of Perth with 40 tons of bitumen cement for black asphalt. With ten percent of the mix being flown in, and the balance in abundance in the desert around them – small stones and sand – the 10,000 foot runway would take a few more weeks to complete. The C-17s, with a payload of 55 tons out of a maximum of 85 tons, only needed one air refueling between Perth and the new runway, a flight distance of 7,550 miles. The most important part for the mix, water, had still not been found in the area, and 12 tons of the C-17’s daily cargo were pallets of the valuable liquid. A couple of tons of each load was building equipment for the hangars, accommodations, and food for the men.
The supplies for Ryan’s whole crew had been removed from the C-5. Sleeping bags on cots were strewn around underneath the aircraft’s wings for their second night, and Ryan’s first. With its open-walled roof hangar nearing completion, the Dead Chicken could move into its cool daytime desert shade in about 48 hours’ time.
A small Libyan jet arrived just before nightfall. On board was somebody Ryan had hoped to meet: his friend, the much older-looking former President of the United States, who had been on his side all along. The former President arrived with the new Libyan leader.
Ryan and all the crew were introd
uced to the leader of their new country. A fresh overnight camp was made beneath the massive wings of the Dead Chicken for the VIPs with two small but luxurious tents coming out of the Libyan jet’s small hold. Ryan noticed that these guys certainly knew how to live well in the desert.
The Australians had even brought along a few tons of firewood, and with good Aussie beer and wines, over 300 people celebrated a fine starlit night in the desert. There were bottles of cold liquid aplenty, and two freezers of Ryan’s had been left in the shade that whole day, open and defrosting. Ryan wanted to know if the prime ten-year old vintage beef was still good. It was, and excellent, and only the Libyan leader, his two bodyguards and two pilots did not drink any alcohol.
For Ryan, it was the first time he had enjoyed being back on Earth. For the children, who had never seen such desert beauty, it was certainly a night to remember.
Saturn Jones told Mars Noble, Lunar and Pluto Richmond that someday she would return from Mars to see more of this beautiful planet and enjoy its wonders. The young Noble and the Richmond daughters agreed. It was certainly a beautiful sight. They were chatting in the group of youngsters, and with the young new recruits, the Martians getting as much information as they could out of the new kids about Earth. The Earth children were doing their best to get the information about their new home they hadn’t seen yet, but much was still confidential.
The large fires, meat sizzling on “barbies” the Aussies had brought, the beautiful black and starry night, and being able to see their friends and crewmembers glint across the sky high above them every few minutes made this night memorable for all. Captain Pete certainly wasn’t letting down his guard in orbit, and for Ryan and all the others, there was nothing to see moving up in space except for his own craft.
After a cool night’s sleep, the sun came up far earlier than in Nevada. Captain Pete radioed in at dawn to say that there were no troop movements within 1,000 miles of them, and he hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary anywhere. All the aircraft had just left the Nevada base and it looked desolate and empty of people once again. Ryan breathed a sigh of relief.
After breakfast, the runway crew got back to work, the building crews started work to complete the hangar, and Ryan had a private meeting with the new leader of Libya.
What actually had surprised Ryan after landing in Nevada a week earlier was that diamonds were still as valuable as when he left. He had thought that the tons of asteroid diamonds brought in from DX2014 a decade earlier would have devalued the diamond price to next to nothing. It wasn’t so, and all he could think of was that much of the supply sold into Amsterdam and Antwerp had been sent to cutters in Israel, had maybe stayed in Israel, and possibly was used for other purposes. Now was time to visit that area of the world, and Israel wasn’t that far away anymore, off to the northeast.
The meeting with the Libyan leader wasn’t long, only forty minutes, but Ryan purchased the 600 square miles of mostly empty desert around the crater for twenty uncut diamonds, 100 kilos of gold and the same amount of platinum. The diamonds were all smaller than the one he had given the American government, with each most probably worth about half of the billion dollars the American diamond was worth once cut. If it was an overpayment for nothing more than a lot of sand and one volcanic crater, he didn’t mind. Monetary value meant little to him anymore.
Astermine, Ryan’s international company, was given the right to do whatever he wanted with the land. He could even make a new country, and the Libyans offered military air and land protection around his area. Ryan did mention to the leader though, that destruction would befall any international aircraft entering his new airspace without permission, and the leader immediately understood. It wouldn’t be his aircraft, unless permission had been granted first. Now his base had a 150 mile safety barrier around it, not the mere twenty miles of Nevada.
The Libyan jet took off with its precious cargo. Ryan had an official bill of sale, even with melted red wax seal on it, and his old friend the former President had decided to stay to watch any new proceedings. Canada was a great place, he said, but he needed a vacation, a long warm one.
Ryan still didn’t want to let out the news of the Matts. His crew had been cautioned to remain silent about why they were here, as he didn’t want to create interest in the Pig’s Snout yet.
That day, the C-17 arrived with forty tons of asphalt cement, a small caterpillar earthmover, a few tons of water and fresh fruit and vegetables. Ryan had organized trucks of water from the nearest supply with the Libyan leader. There was a large Libyan army base with a large underground water supply 200 miles to the north, along the same road the airstrip was being built, and permission had been given for the water trucks to enter.
Doug, the Australian Premier, arrived with the day’s flight, and Ryan was surprised that his old friend the former President knew Doug well and had met him on several occasions. He was after all Australia’s Prime Minister.
It was getting hot in the desert, all this brass coming in from all directions, and again that night a second barbeque was held, this time with fresh Australian beef and red and white wines cooled to perfection. Of course most of the Aussies drank beer, gallons of the stuff, and Ryan really felt sorry for poor Jonesy currently orbiting Earth and missing all this spontaneous partying.
Ryan had thanked Doug for his help, gave the man the same amounts of gold and diamonds he had given the Libyan leader, and an added potion of rare earth metals, and over a good meal and drinks in the beautiful desert the men, including Bob Mathews and Martin Brusk, talked business.
“What do you think is the most likely scenario for this planet for the next century?” asked Ryan of the Prime Minister. The man thought for several moments before replying.
“Ryan, that is sure a big question. I would like to answer it and then let your former President answer it as well. Maybe he has a different opinion. Then I think it should be left open for anybody to give their views. I think your children should be part of this discussion, or argument. You never know, they might be the ones to return to this blue planet one day.” The children were told to suspend their discussions and move toward the adult’s fire.
Once all were congregated with over a hundred people, Ryan asked the younger members to just listen and let the Prime Minister continue. Many of the Aussie crew weren’t that interested in world affairs and went to bed. They had done a hard day’s work, and they had another hard day in the morning.
The Prime Minister began. “I will be short. The biggest threat to this planet is politics from the three most powerful nations on the planet. How we haven’t had World War Three, I just don’t know. The U.S., China and Russia are now alienated, sorry for the pun Ryan, from us, and much of the rest of the world. Without world trade, nobody can feed the current population of Earth. This has been seen by drastic population reductions in the old Third World countries. We believe that Earth’s population has decreased by one billion in the last ten years, especially in countries who had difficulty in feeding its own before 2015. Desert, lack of water, overworked farms and soil, and several other factors, mostly natural, have decreased many country’s populations. For example, many areas of Africa below the Sahara.
“We in Australia were lucky, for we had enough virgin land to increase farming, and we have doubled our output in the last decade. Not only do we feed our own population, but we help feed the population of countries around us. These cannot often pay cash for what we give them, and repay us with barter. Ninety percent of the world’s large ships have been mothballed or destroyed by other countries, mainly the “Big Bad Three” we call them, or North Korea or Iran, and for the last six or so years only cargo vessels of less than 5,000 tons have managed to slip across the oceans unseen. Much like in World War Two in the North Atlantic, there are so many of these smaller, faster ships that it is impossible to destroy all of them.
“Because all the larger cargo vessels became useless, over twenty shipbuilding countries now produce these sma
ller 4- to 5,000-ton, low in the water, powerful vessels with cruising speeds of over 20 knots. We in Australia send out 200 of these vessels every month, containing a combined one million tons of food, to countries within 1,000 miles of us. In return we get the ships back carrying other supplies as payment. Canada, five countries in South America, three countries in Asia, Australia, New Zealand, the whole of Indonesia, and seven countries in the Middle East, our partners, do the same. Many countries cannot provide food. The Middle Eastern countries, of which Libya is one of them, supply us crude oil for transportation in return for frozen food and produce.” The Prime Minister took a swig of his beer.
“Sounds like a good partnership,” said Ryan.
“An excellent system, Ryan. Money is hardly important anymore, and we still deliver to small, high density places, even though their returns are minimal. Many of the large and small islands around the southern hemisphere are pretty much self-sufficient in food, but need fuel, and this makes our seven countries in the Middle East so important. Australia and Canada have abundant quantities of coal and natural gas, and both countries now have several dozen new natural gas container ships on the high seas. The reason I am describing these important factors first, is that the raw oil and coal supplies in the “Big Bad Three” countries are diminishing, and they will start looking further afield for new sources of raw materials within five to ten years. Then the bullying is about to start all over again, so we are preparing for this.”
“Electric cars and hybrid ships are the way to go,” added Martin Brusk.
“Are they thinking of joining up against you and your alliance?” Ryan asked, looking at his old friend.
“We have heard rumors between the U.S. and China, but you know from a decade ago that has about as much chance as Israel and Iran holding hands, or South and North Korea,” said the former President. The Aussie Prime Minister nodded at all the suggestions.