The visibility wasn’t too bad so I sent my wingman to chase. This is basically a loose formation where the wingman flies about a 1,000 feet behind and to the left or right of the lead aircraft. This position lends to a flexible position where I could maneuver easier and the wingman wasn’t constantly adjusting the throttles giving a better fuel consumption rate. I looked at the fuel gauge again. Not good! I dialed in the navigation aid at Altus (TACAN) and looked at the DME (Distance measuring equipment. This tells how far from the nav aid you are). Once I locked on, I saw the DME which will also give you your ground speed. Looking at that and at my airspeed indicator, I realized we were also battling a 40 knot headwind. “Aw fuck, of course! Why not?” I said into my mask.
I was actually beginning to get a bit nervous and worried at this point. Peeling my glove back, I used the flight calculator on my watch, setting the ground speed on the distance. I then looked at the fuel flow rate which gave me the fuel required. I compared that number with what I had on my gauge. Uh oh. Those numbers were damn near the same. Totally not good. That was to just fly to the airfield and didn’t include the fuel required to fly an approach which would most likely be required there. I had one ace up my sleeve and that what was called and enroute descent. That is a fuel saving request where you start your descent into the airfield from a farther distance out. This allows a shallower descent path allowing gravity to work on your behalf for a longer period of time. Normally about 100 miles out. Still, it did not save that much fuel.
I continued to calculate the fuel. The fuel required and fuel onboard differential kept shrinking. I had serious thoughts that I would have to bail out; to the point of going through the controlled bailout checklist. The thought of bailing out didn’t exactly please me. It would be a long silk ride down through some very cold clouds. There was also the chance that the chute could freeze up with ice and cease being a parachute and more like a large piece of cardboard. Plus, there was the inquiry that would follow. See, the Air Force severely frowns on planting their aircraft into the earth. I knew I could probably skate on this one but still, not a pleasant thought. I liked my companion even more now!
The fuel differential finally became a negative one. I should have declared an emergency much earlier on but I always hesitated on doing that. “DenverCenter, Otter 39 flight, declaring a fuel emergency at this time,” giving out particulars with regards to position, fuel remaining and intentions, “request enroute descent into Altus for the PAR runway 35.” (Precision Approach Radar. An approach option for military aircraft whereby the controller guides the aircraft in with very precise headings and altitude corrections).
“Otter 39 flight, DenverCenter, copy emergency. Turn left heading 125, descend and maintain 15,000 at your discretion.”
About 100 miles out, having furiously checked and rechecked calculations, I signaled my wingman back into fingertip formation, completed our approach to field checks, and we started down towards Altus. During my numerous fuel checks, I would also inquire as to my wingman’s fuel. We were about on par with him being a touch lower.
I called Denver Center as we began our descent. We were handed over to Fort Worth Approach and received vectors and clearance for the approach. I was still constantly looking at the fuel gauge and calculations. We had gained a measure of fuel savings on the descent and, after switching to approach, they gave us short vectors to the airfield. The cloud ceiling was considerably higher here and when we broke out, approach asked us if we had the airfield in sight. I answered in the affirmative and we were given instructions to circle to land runway 17 which basically gives us the freedom to maneuver to and align ourselves with the runway.
We touched down in formation and taxied to base ops. My fuel gauge read zero; I mean absolute zero while taxiing. I was pretty hot and furious and stormed over to base ops to give Mr. Know It All a pretty big piece of my mind after shutting down. As I walked in, the DO walked in behind me. I think he felt the mood and swept his arms wide and said, “My friends, at least we all made it.” That put a pretty good perspective check on me and settled my mood considerably. He was pretty good with stuff like that and it made an impression on me. Always keep things in perspective.
Pulling my mind back to the present, I make a U-turn and retrace our route. We ride back mostly lost in our own thoughts after Robert shares our plans for tomorrow. Michelle seems to take it in stride only mentioning she doesn’t have a sleeping bag with her. “We have some extras,” I tell her. Those being only words I say as we drive through town and back down the highway towards home still thinking about the watch, maybe later.
On the drive back, I am lost in my thoughts about various aspects of the planned flight out; gathering some supplies on the way back and putting another to-do list together. I think about asking Michelle where she thinks her parents might be or what happened to them. I also want to ask Robert what happened that he, Nic, and Bri ended up in the basement but the time doesn’t feel right. I feel they all have to sort things out in their own minds before reliving those experiences.
“We should probably gather up some supplies for tomorrow,” I say as we turn off the highway by the gas station with the white F-150 still in the lot.
I pull into the gas station and park in the same location as before with the Jeep running. I pull out the duct tape sliding the tube onto my left arm like a bracelet.
“That’s just like the .45 I used to have,” I say nodding toward the gun at Robert’s side. We used to go off into the woods periodically to target practice so he knows how to shoot, “Remember, it has a lot of kick so make sure you refocus the sights on your target before squeezing off the next round. It may be a semi-automatic but that doesn’t mean rapid fire.” He merely looks at the gun and nods.
“Let’s take a walk around,” I say grabbing my gun and walk towards the store. Both of them do the same and follow.
The store itself is your standard stop-and-rob gas station store built with cement blocks. The cream-colored building has double entry glass doors with a door-sized window to either side. It also has two additional large glass pane windows, one on the facing corner to the left of the doors and another just around the left corner that looks into the checker stand. Both Robert and I know the interior well from the many, many times we have stopped there for soda or the occasional Subway pizzas or sandwiches.
Just inside the front doors, the double register check stand sits to the left with a counter to the right holding automated coffee and other drink machines. This then opens up into the main store. Refrigeration sections line the walls to the rear and right of the store with the Subway station situated against the front right. The middle of the store is comprised of several food and sundry shelves with the aisles angled toward the front door. To the right, between the Subway station and the refrigeration unit to the right, I remember a door leading to the outside with the kitchen part of Subway just before this exit door. A bathroom is located on the left between the check stand and rear refrigerated section with a hallway extending to the rear of the building. I assume there is an entry into the refrigeration unit, a stock area and such, and a rear door.
Outside, to the rear of the building, I see the beginnings of a chain link fence with wood slats in the links common to dumpster areas. We head in that direction checking the surrounding area out. The warm summer breeze gently stirs against my red Jeep t-shirt and jeans; my shadow extending slightly to my left across the pavement. I see two other shadows behind mine as Robert and Michelle tail behind. We round the corner to the rear of the store remaining alert to anything that might be there. A green dumpster shows through the reddish brown slats in the fence verifying my previous assumption. I want to check out every place to make sure. Minimizing surprises is a good philosophy to live by.