The chairman regained the podium as the admiral received loud applause. He continued by giving a short speech on how he was looking forward to the start of the journey and each of the Politburo members would each have a specially built stateroom aboard the Shi Lang. He nodded to the band, which started with the Zedong Electronics National Anthem—the Chinese National Anthem from the days of Mao Zedong.
There was silence as they gazed upon the view.
It was a beautiful sight and they would be staying aboard the Shi Lang that very night, but first it was off to a restaurant for lunch and then a tour of the docks on a tug boat to view all ten ships. The suitcases were already on their way to the ship, and the bus had already left to return to Zedong Electronics’ headquarters.
Chapter 10
Flight to Alaska
Several hours before the men of the Politburo were getting ready for breakfast on Z-Day 6, U.S. time, General Allen was snoozing in Ghost Rider at 29,000 feet and cruising at 275 miles an hour. The light was going to fade pretty soon and he needed help, and Carlos would need daylight to get a fix on the whereabouts of Anchorage compared to Ghost Rider’s current position. Apart from the two pilots in control, the large crews on both 130s were trying to catch some shut-eye.
The HC-130 tanker was off their starboard wing, about 800 yards away; they were over the ocean and about 200 miles offshore of Juneau when Pete Allen called Carlos. The phone rang three times before Carlos answered.
“Carlos? Pete here. I need to get a fix on where we are in relation to our destination.”
“I’m in front of the screen,” replied Carlos. “Let me just look at my map of your area and I’ll be ready. Okay Pete, turn on your transponder.” The two C-130s both turned on their transponders and Carlos saw a small flicker of light plus a number 1 and 2 next to it. “It looks like you are about 60 miles east-south-east of a vertical line south of your destination. I’m getting out my compass and protractor. Hold on a second, and I’ll give you an angle.”
“We must have easterly winds at about 20 then, as we have been on this course now for three hours,” Pete told the crew with him, as they were doing the same as Carlos was—looking over maps with calculators and protractors getting angles. They waited for Carlos to give them a basic longitude and latitude, as well as a flight-angle to head towards Anchorage.
“OK turn your transponders off,” instructed Carlos, giving them longitude and latitude. “Your angle into Anchorage allowing for a 20-knot easterly wind is 319 degrees.”
“Thank you, Carlos. We are about 500 miles from our destination. Two hours of flying and we’ll be on the ground. We will call you again on our way into Japan in about 14 hours. Out.”
They were about 400 miles out from Elmendorf Air Base when the radio operator managed to get into contact with the base.
“Elmendorf, this is Ghost Rider. Do you copy? Over.”
“You are who?” was the confused reply over the radio. “Are you allowed on this frequency, whoever you are?”
“Roger that,” replied Pete. “We are incoming from McChord, two aircraft, name is Allen Key. Get your base commander on the radio. Over.”
“He’s gone fishing,” was the reply.
“How do you have a working radio?” asked General Allen.
“We borrowed one from a local trucking company and have kept it on the Air Force emergency signal,” was the reply. “Who are you anyway?”
“Have you got fuel and a clear runway for two Charlie-130s?” the general asked.
“I’m not telling you that, whoever you are, until you give me some I.D., Mr. Allen Key. You could be a logger aircraft for all I know.”
“Do you have the blue Air Force book of personnel call signs, radio operator?”
“Roger that, Allen Key, pulling it off the shelf now. What page are you on?”
“Page 1, and look for Allen Key,” replied the general smiling. Alaska was a different world.
“Shit! Shit! Roger, Allen Key. The only aircraft we have operational here is an old 130, ‘Blue Moon, and a couple of helicopters from before I was born, sir,” the radio operator replied.
“Why is Blue Moon with you?”
“She was incoming from Osan via Misawa with a tanker about six months ago when her outer-right engine went down. It’s taken a year to get her reconditioned engine up here and fitted. They finished just before Christmas and she’s waiting for orders.”
“Confirm she is still fully equipped. Over.” asked the General.
“Affirmative, she’s bristling with whatever you want Allen Key.”
“How is your heating situation on base?” was Allen’s next question.
“We have a dozen logging companies around here, enough gas for our gas heaters for about a month, and enough wood for the indoor fireplaces for forever. MRE food stocks are down to three to four months, tons of salmon, and we are doing okay, Allen Key.”
“How are the locals doing?”
“I’d hate to see what’s happening stateside, but we are ready for such emergencies up here,” the radio operator replied. “All civilian houses have some form of wood burning back-up, we can never run out of wood, and we can always eat the polar bears when we get hungry. Hell, I’ve had grilled salmon five nights in a row and would love a burger right now. We have about a ton of frozen salmon on base if you want some.”
“Please give orders to fuel up Blue Moon for me,” continued the general. “Make sure her tanks are filled to the extreme max. She will be coming with me. Also make sure there are two sets of pilots ready to fly her. We are about an hour out and need fuel ourselves.”
“Roger. Runway 34 clear and dry, wind from the north five to ten, temperature minus 21. Radio me and I’ll get the lights on for you. Do you want a welcoming committee, Allen Key?”
“I’ll radio in for high flares when we are closer. Actually, young man, get about two dozen salmon on that grill of yours and I’ll swap you for a couple of cases of frozen burgers, rolls, and cheese so that you can have your cheeseburgers. Out.”
They went in directly from the south onto Runway 34. They were still 20 miles off course to the east when the flares went off and could be faintly seen on the dark horizon through the left cockpit windows.
The weather was cold and brittle as the door opened, and they were surrounded by thick-coated personnel to refuel both aircraft. Blue Moon, three months younger than Ghost Rider, was in the same shape, with the same guns. She was expected to be on show at Andrews and hopefully at the Washington Aerospace Museum, if the funding for the new Air Force museum building complex ever went through.
At least five of the aircraft he had currently flying had been destined for this new complex—to have a display of still-operational Vietnam War-era aircraft. General Allen had been waiting for government funding for three years, but it had never been granted. The display would have been great. He had designed a showing of two F-4s attacking ground units, a third F4 on the ground being rearmed and refueled, and two Hueys being refueled by the HC-130 tanker, which was now flying with him, and Ghost Rider and Blue Moon being air refueled by Mother Goose also at the same time.