Sergeant Blackwell began climbing into the pilot’s seat and strapping in. The copilot grabbed his chart book and handed it without looking to Blackwell. “Here, find me the closest airport in northern Taiwan. We need to land — right now!”
Blackwell, never before behind the controls of a C-17, was, nevertheless, immediately at home with the familiar navigational chart book, “You got it, sir!”
Having provided the copilot with some relief, Dan decided he could risk one more interaction with the stressed-out flyer, “Major, do you have any idea if the other two aircraft are still with us?”
“No, sir. But if I know Collins and Shaw, they’ll be right behind me, at least making sure I’m okay.”
The Major addressed Sergeant Blackwell, “What’s the nearest airport?”
“Taipei Sungshan Airport. It’s Taipei’s domestic airport on the northeast side of the city. Its runways are 9 Left and 27 Right. They’re 7,000-foot runways. The tower frequency is 87.5. Taipei control is 127.3. The runway is about 20 miles to the west of the coast.”
Following standard procedure, the Major tried to reach Taipei Control, Taipei Tower, and Okinawa Control. He had no idea if his calls could be heard by anyone. It was possible that he was transmitting and not receiving, or that Taipei had already been knocked off the air and couldn’t hear him or respond.
The Major swung the military cargo aircraft around to the right and began his approach into Taipei Sungshan Airport. “I hope they know we’re not bad guys.”
Dan looked back at Sergeant Green and Private Perez, his eyes trying to adjust to the relatively dark interior of the unlit cabin. They were beside the limp body of the loadmaster. Green looked back at his battalion commander, the whites of his eyes burning brightly behind his dark black face. Green just sadly shook his head. “How’s the Colonel?”
“I think he’ll make it, sir,” Green responded.
Dan slapped his hand to his forehead and said, “Damn! Everyone get to MOPP-4, right now!” He ran back to the cargo hold and began taking the cargo netting off of their stowed personnel gear. He found his rucksack and began tearing into it, breaking out the new charcoal-lined chemical suit from its plastic container.
He pulled on the jacket, then thought twice and took it off. He reached for his Kevlar vest and donned it. Dan told his four tankers to leave their flak vests off. Then he put on the chemical jacket and the pants. Another soldier automatically helped him button the three snaps in the back that completed the seal. He pulled on the rubber booties over his combat boots and laced them up, pulling the pant legs down over them to prevent chemicals from getting inside his boots. He and his men would now be protected from many of the most unsavory aspects of modern warfare—when in doubt…
Dan made his way back to the cockpit. He was surprised to see the runway only a few miles off. An aircraft sat dead center in the middle of the runway. Sergeant Blackwell looked back and was startled by Colonel Alexander’s chemical suit and mask. Dan yelled through the voice meter, “Get yours on as soon as we’re down. I’ll have someone break it out for you.”
“Thanks, sir. You better strap in. The runway looks short today.”
“Right.”
“Sir, what the hell are we getting ourselves into?”
“Sergeant,” came the muffled reply out of the mask, “I’ll let you know when it’s over.”
Lieutenant Colonel Dan Alexander saw it at the end of the runway: a Soviet-era four-engine cargo aircraft with its ramp down. A few uniformed men milled about the Iluyshin-76. His old Cold War paranoia activated. He thought of the last hectic 15 minutes. One C-17 and a KC-135 missing and presumed down. A complete loss of communications. Almost total electronic and electrical failure, including the surge of electricity into LTC Giannini’s headset resulting in his near death. Now a suspicious-looking Il-76.
Images from the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979 popped into his head. He had just completed his basic training at Ft. Jackson, South Carolina — a brand new private in the dismal days of American military retreat. He vividly remembered the TV shots of the Soviet transport aircraft in Kabul — the Soviets had seized control of the airport and simply flew their troops in to the heart of the country. President Carter declared a grain embargo and boycotted the Moscow summer Olympics in protest. Private Alexander went off to his Advanced Individual Training, Armor School at Ft. Knox, Kentucky. From there he went to West Germany where he served in a cavalry unit in the Fulda Gap. He cut his military teeth expecting to face the Soviet military in the World War Three that never happened. Seeing Soviet-built military hardware caused an unavoidable, reflexive hostility in him. His rational being knew it wasn’t fair. He just hadn’t been deprogrammed yet.
The C-17 touched down. The brakes thankfully slowed the crippled aircraft to a crawl just short of the two-engine commuter aircraft that blocked the runway. The copilot swerved the C-17 into the grass to give the aircraft behind him more room to stop. The C-17, designed for short and unimproved runways just roared on, plowing over the grass. He gunned the engines and pulled back onto the runway.
They taxied to the west end the of the runway about 100 meters to the left of the Il-76. Dan noticed most of the military personnel around the Il-76 were wearing protective masks. A few of the personnel milled about aimlessly. Others appeared to be gesturing wildly at the wandering soldiers.
Dan shuffled over to his troops, the large rubber chemical suit booties making maneuver in the cramped aircraft tough, “Peña, Jones, Hernandez! Get in the tank. Perez, take my place in the TC’s position. Button-up. Power-up. Take your masks off. Prepare for combat. We have unidentified troops out on the tarmac. Watch me through the periscope.” The men immediately climbed into the tank.
“Sergeant Noreiga, get the rest of the men to cut the tank free, right now! When you’re done, get your personal weapons and take up positions covering the ramp area. There are troops out there and I don’t know if they’re friendly!” Dan took a big draught of air. Yelling with a protective mask on was exhausting.
Dan made his way back to the cockpit.
Just before the C-17 came to a full halt, the copilot turned the aircraft to the left 90 degrees. He excitedly pointed to his left, back up the runway. “They made it! I see two Globemasters! Hot damn!” His smile was so wide Dan thought he’d crack his face.
They were stopped, on the ground and in one piece. Lieutenant Colonel Giannini stirred, mumbling. Dan took a deep breath and spoke loudly through his protective mask, “Thanks for the safe landing. Joe’s in bad shape. I’ve got to get off the aircraft. I don’t like the welcoming committee. You stay here.” He turned toward the door. “The loadmaster is dead. Can you lower the ramp from here?”
The copilot turned in his seat and began unstrapping, “No. Power to the ramp hydraulics is out. I’ll have to climb in the back and let it down manually.”
Dan followed the copilot to the back of the aircraft. His men had just finished unhooking the tank. The copilot released a safety latch and turned a few hydraulic valves. The cargo ramp slowly descended. The light from outside the aircraft fairly blinded them. They heard the whine of the other jets coming down the runway. Two seconds later, they saw more than a dozen masked soldiers surrounding the aircraft with submachine guns and light anti-tank weapons (LAWs) leveled on them. “Whoa! Don’t shoot! Americans! We’re Americans!” the copilot shouted as they both raised their hands skyward.
Dan looked up at the tank. He hoped his men grasped the delicateness of the situation. The copilot was wrung dry. His ability to think and react, especially with an unexpected ground situation, was limited. Dan had to do something fast to avoid bloodshed. Perhaps the fact that they hadn’t been immediately attacked meant that these soldiers were not the enemy. Dan remembered they had all sewn the American flag high on their right sleeves. Unfortunately, the chemical suit covered it up. The troops outside shifted nervously. Only five seconds had passed since the ramp lowered. His hands held high, Dan walked down the ramp and into the sunlight. He slowly reached one hand down to his mask and removed it. He hoped his blue eyes and closely cropped blonde hair would show these men he was an American. “American. We are Americans!”