Mrs. Wang timidly came out of the aircraft and walked over to stand next to General Allen.
“Mrs. Wang, please tell them that we are on a peaceful mission around the world to find out if everybody is in this unfortunate condition, and that we want to find out who is to blame for this madness. Tell them that I come directly from the President of the United States and have a message for their Head of State,” explained the general. Mrs. Wang translated and waited for a response. The soldiers discussed the situation among themselves and the two still seated in the jeep prepared to drive off. “Before they leave, Mrs. Wang, I need permission to refuel my four aircraft. I can do it myself. I only need their permission and the closest outlet pipe or a fuel tanker.” Again she rapidly spoke to the men. They pointed to an old fuel tanker, gave her a rapid reply, the two men got back in and then they all drove off.
“They said to wait and that they would give your message to the government in Beijing 20 kilometers away. It will take them one or two hours to get back, and by that time, it should be dawn,” Mrs. Wang told him. “They said that all of Beijing was dark and they thought it was the Americans who had turned off the lights. You can help yourselves to any fuel you can find. He stated that he thought that the fuel pumps don’t work.”
General Allen shouted orders for the lights of the aircraft to be turned on and the nearest cover underneath the dark wing of the 747 in front of them was opened to connect them to the underground fuel pipes. The HC-130 tanker, with two of her engines running again started her transfer pump and got in as close to the rear of the 747 as possible and then pipes were run from her to the underground system. If the storage tanks were close by, then she could suck the fuel out of them, but if the storage tanks were far away, she had no chance. Much of the piping and fuel worked on a gravity-feed system assisted by electric pumps, and hopefully nobody had closed the tanks. It had only been a week since the problems had started and the underground tanks and pipes were all one inch-thick steel.
Her main pump was connected and slowly the fuel began to flow. Her incoming pump did not have as much power as the larger pump generators airports often used to fill large aircraft, but she managed to draw 100 gallons a minute into her half-full tanks. At this rate, it would take two hours to fill the three gunships and another full hour to refill the tanker.
The three gunships taxied in close to her and again pipes were brought out. She could pump fuel out at a much faster rate with her second pump into one of the three waiting for fuel. They were not empty. The flight from South Korea had left them with third-full tanks, but they still needed to get to Moscow, which would be another 3,600 miles, or 12 hours of flying time nonstop, and the tanker would need to refuel the other three aircraft. Fortunately, they still had the soft bladders to help with range and another hour of fueling would have those full as well.
Nearly three hours later, they had just started filling the extra bladders when three vehicles drove into the airport. They were old, black Russian-looking cars, like something out of the 1960s. They had flags waving above the headlights and the sun, now rising just above the horizon, made the scene of the old war birds and black cars look like something out of an old movie, if one didn’t turn around and look at the modern 747 behind them.
Three men in black coats and hats got out of the cars. Each one had a younger man with him—an interpreter, Pete thought to himself—and they walked up to him. One of his men went back into Ghost Rider and brought out Mrs. Wang.
“Good morning,” greeted General Allen. “Do you take Amex for fuel?” One of the younger men started translating to the three men and they smiled. “I have just flown in from South Korea, via Japan. I’m here on a peaceful mission from the President of the United States to find out who caused this catastrophe worldwide and tell China and Russia that the United States did not do this horrible deed.” The same translator did his job and the three older men listened.
“I am the Interior Minister,” the translator began after listening to the man in the middle. “My colleague on my right is the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and the colleague on my left is from the Ministry of the Environment. By the age of your aircraft and the danger you have placed yourself in to fly these aircraft around the world we understand that the United States of America is not to blame for this catastrophe. We do not think that Russia is to blame either, but of course we would like verification of that. Unfortunately, we have had no communications outside of Beijing since the first day of this year.”
“Do you know that there is a Chinese invasion force at this moment sailing across the Pacific?” asked General Allen. “It is an invasion force of soldiers, Chinese soldiers, and they are intent on invading the United States in a week or so.”
“My apologies,” replied the Interior Minister. “Unfortunately, this invasion force you speak of has nothing to do with the current government of China. Taiwan, of course is another matter, but we know nothing of any Chinese army or invasion force. We have no information at all.”
“So, Mr. Minister, your government does not mind if we blow this invasion force out of the water?” asked General Allen, looking at Mrs. Wang to translate it for him. She did so. The three men looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and the Minister of Foreign Affairs responded in rapid Chinese.
“We do not know of any invasion force, General,” Mrs. Wang translated for him. “If you believe there is one, then you must do what you have to do to defend your country. We are still on friendly terms with the United States of America and do not wish to invade your country. We do not want our country invaded either and I’m sure the perpetrators of this horrendous crime will come up against the wrath of your United States of America, and many other countries. We would like to be included in any form of international communications you may have, so that we can at least communicate between our two countries since it looks like this problem will not be solved overnight.”
“I agree, and thank you for your diplomacy,” replied General Allen. “I will be able to get a communications device to you if you allow us temporary landing rights at this civilian airport, and we could also bring a homing-beacon on our next flight to allow our aircraft to guide themselves in after that. As you see, we do not have very modern aircraft anymore. Just like your pilots, our pilots do not have satellite navigation,” Mrs. Wang translated.
“We would appreciate a communications device and will allow you landing and refueling rights at this airport. We will also make sure that we have equipment and power available to keep our runway clear and make our landing lights operational. It will still take us a few days. You may have our fuel in exchange for any communications devices you can give us. We need to set up new engineering establishments in our country to begin manufacturing new parts for new telephones,” he ended, smiling.
“I expect to have an aircraft here in a few days, and the pilots would appreciate good landing conditions. I am leaving now for Moscow and will hopefully have the same meeting with members of their government,” ended the general, shaking hands with the three men, who solemnly got back into their old limousines and drove off.
The Chinese army still hung around, hoping for more American chocolate and or cigarettes, General Allen believed—the same they had been given an hour earlier—this time, they received a case or each. They thanked the Americans by smiling and then drove off, leaving the General and his men totally alone in the middle of China.