Chapter 7.
We worked every day that week, everything in our equipment case was inspected (by a DOD ordinance engineer) and by Saturday we were ready for our next big adventure.' Our equipment testing was actually done in a special bunker on White Sands, it was the only time each year we were more than eight miles from our case. And there was a transfer of call to our back-up team in Omaha until the case was returned. Transfer of the case to a total stranger was a very complicated task and often took place with all of us at gun point. It sort of resembled a Mexican Standoff' done inside a prison. We felt vulnerable after our case was taken away, and neither of us would dare speed on the highway!
Every summer we had some annual qualifications to do. We were scheduled by one of the Army schools on Fort Bliss to attend their sessions on McGregor Range, which was south of Orogrande and Highway 54 about six miles north of the Texas/New Mexico state line near the Otero County Jail (aka: The Desert Gentleman's Club). We re-qualified on pistols, M-16 with grenade launcher, 12g shotgun, and various shoulder fired projectiles including the Stinger. Our personal 9mm automatic weapons were inspected and passed. David and I took maintenance of our weapons very seriously. Sometimes we sat outside on the patio on a lazy Sunday afternoon and cleaned them just for something to do. Ours had thin plastic caps on the end of the barrel to help keep them clean. A friend of ours made plastic barrel caps on his 3D printer, he was into automatic weapons too but his were all from World War-1. They replaced the firing pin in David's pea shooter because of wear, but mine was fine.
The Army used large hollow dummy rockets for target practice, long hollow aluminum tubes with fins and three foot long solid rocket motors, ignite the fuse and watch it fly several miles towards the mountains. We stood on the firing pad and shot them down with Stingers, which was a passive IR seeking, self-guided missile capable of supersonic speeds, it's like a miniature Sidewinder missile. We always qualified and enjoyed doing it too, but some Army guys didn't like us because we didn't salute, and used names like: dude and man instead of Sergeant or Sir.
I think many of them knew we were married, rumors traveled fast in the military. Anyone that made wisecracks about us being married gays we often addressed as Soldier Boy. We called those officers: Sergeant and those NCOs: Lieutenant. Sometimes we'd salute them like the Brits back in the 1930s and call McGregor Range: Camp McDonald. They always started the shit, we always flung it right back at them. Most of them rolled with the punches and sometimes it turned into a good laugh, sometimes an apology.
We practiced don't ask-don't tell but the Army staff practiced: Spread rumors and make shit up. From our own informal survey about 7%-12% of the modern US Army was secretly gay or bi. I think it's higher in the Navy, our favorite tease for sailors was reminding them of their own saying: It's not gay when you're underway. I told David some Christmas I was going to have a Navy flag made for him with that saying boldly embroidered across the bottom. He could hang it on the basement wall.
That afternoon we left McGregor Range and cruised the speed limit back to town, about half an hour back down to Transmountain Road on Railroad Drive, we both liked the drive out to the range.
On the way home David kept looking at his phone, something grabbed his interest, I kept glancing at him since I was driving his truck.
"Wow, look at this," he declared and held out the cell, but I couldn't see it so I snarled at him, he should know better.
"It says here: Moody Rudy stars in `Rudy Checks Her Pipes,' two hours of hardcore action as the plumber satisfies another customer, starring Rudy Valenz, a hot 18 year old Mexican satisfying his tenth lonely California homeowner." He laughed out loud and thumbed through a series of still photos from one of Rudy's films.
"Wow. I gotta show you these, he looks hot! And she looks like she's 45 trying to look 20. I don't remember him being that big, so maybe they're using a dick-double but he pounded her in both holes, like he can't tell which was which. Holy smokes! We gotta see this one! Oh wait, fuck me! I ain't paying that much for a pay per view 90 minute porno flick! Screw that!" He set the phone down then picked it right up again, "What did I say the name was?" he asked me staring closely at the display.
"Rudy checks her pipes, I think." And he turned the phone up and spoke into the microphone hole, `Rudy checks her pipes.' The phone beeped and he scrolled sideways and then read out loud, "Rudy checks, the tenth in the young Mexican Plumber series, 90 minutes, color, rated X, DVD and Bluray, new $49.99 with free shipping, gently used for $29.99 with free shipping and a discount coupon for half off your next purchase."
The truck bounced as we drove over the lump in the highway when we crossed from New Mexico into Texas at the tiny town of Newman on Highway 54. Traffic was building and I was watching the road but was curious to see the photos. I tried to recall how he looked when I held him in my hand, but I didn't recall him being unusually long or thick. He was about the same size as David as I recall, maybe slightly longer and he had a curve that some women liked, `the better to press your buttons with, my dear.'
I guess I really didn't pay that much attention to it, because my hand was wrapped around it, I was watching his face and his body, that baby smooth brown flesh and his marshmallow tits, his lips were nice too, turned out almost like African lips, big and luscious. The problem with Rudy was not staring at his face. He was strikingly attractive and an odd combination of good looks, innocent face, and with him naked and, and, I could go on. I think Rudy was the first un-cut boner I held in my life.
I told David to buy a used Blu-ray and we could watch it on the downstairs projector some weekend with pizza and beers, have a party in his honor. It was safe to assume he was still behind bars somewhere, and probably very popular too.
"Is it in English?" I asked him.
I swiped through pages to locate that info and finally started scrolling vertically then said, "Ninety minutes, color, Spanish or English, with subtitles and multi camera angles, Region 0, DVD or Blu-ray, slo-mo and pause, with interviews with the stars and behind the scenes footage."
"Sounds neat, order one." I commented, but David was still hypnotized by images on his cell.
As I turned off Railroad Drive onto Wren Avenue I told him now he was going to see ads for sex shops near Houston's 610 Loop Highway. We both chuckled at the idiocy of the online ad business. We turned left onto McCombs and went south a few blocks and turned into our neighborhood called Tobin Park, which was new back around 1952.
Crime was low, noise was low, taxes were cheap, and utilities were reasonable. I think we paid about $100 a month for electricity and $25 for natural gas and we used a lot of hot water. Our hot tub was electric but the heater only ran for half the year.
Our next alert came two weeks after the life boat incident. Before I forget, I should tell you we both received $900,000 for saving the ship, crew, and passengers. It was paid in fifty dollar bills, nine hundred thousand for each of us. That's eighteen thousand vacuum packed fifty dollar bills delivered in two boxes by armed courier to our front door. Two tightly wrapped boxes on a two wheeled cart he dropped off just inside our front door, then we both signed. We put them on the closet shelf in the tac-room and let them sit. That money was off the books and tax free because it was an insurance settlement. Part of the reason the cruise line owners were so happy was the truth about what happened was kept out of the media.
Five days after the cash arrived we were alerted during the day. This time we were needed in Minnesota (David called it: Mini-soda) and had twenty five minutes to get to the airport with our gear. It was alerted as a 7/10 which meant life threatening with weapons and was slightly controlled but could escalate. We jumped off our treadmills when the little alarm box started screeching upstairs on the kitchen counter. David and I were in the basement on our treadmills running and watching hiking trail videos near Asheville, North Carolina. We grabbed our stuff and jumped into his truck after I pushed the button on the home automation system and pulled the front door shut.
Our front door was partially automated, if you walked outside and kept your hand firmly on the door knob and held steady pressure after five seconds it would set the (3) dead bolts. Of course if you really wanted to break in all you needed to do was pick up a rock and throw it throw it through a living room window and... you know the rest.
David kept his truck on the driveway, aimed toward the street so it was ready to go when we got alerted. We had trees in the front yard that shaded it every afternoon, but the glass was mirrored which helped a lot during the summer.
When we went to ELP we used an employee parking lot and entrance, we shared the lot with people that worked on the tarmac, like fuel truck drivers, luggage cart drivers, security, airline mechanics, and building maintenance people. So our two ATVs would be safe sitting in the back of his truck, no worry about them being stolen from that lot.
Nineteen minutes later we arrived at the El Paso International Airport (ELP) and walked to the security office beneath the west concourse. We swiped our ID badges to open an unmarked door and walk down the hallway to our office where we swiped badges again. There was one tech in the office at the control desk (our office was supposed to be staffed by no less than one person 24/7). She said our transport was en-route from Missouri and should be here in ten minutes, the fuel truck and the pushback tug were already called.
We carried our gear to the ready room near the doors that exited out to an area often occupied by some National Guard jets, helicopters, and CAP planes. Our taxi should be the F15E Strike Eagle, it was the fastest transport for civilians in North America. If you needed anything faster you had to call NASA. She said we were going to Minnesota near the twin cities. I knew from memory there were several targets near the Twin Cities, like a nuke plant and a coal plant and there was a rural airfield near them or we'd land at the MSP International Airport. The Minnesota nuke plant had no tunnels because of the ground water situation. They supplied energy to Minnesota and surrounding states and into Canada too. The plant sat on a branch of the Mississippi River and had what I felt were some significant security shortcomings.
They've had problems in the past at those facilities with protests, often by Native Americans over treaties and pollution. There's a lot of Indian communities in Minnesota and all over Canada too. David was part Indian too, he said it showed up in the census records but his percentage was low, like 12%. His mother's grandmother was 100% Atakapan Indian, from near Houston and was one of the last survivors of her tribe. Most of the Atakapan died from diseases carried by Spanish and French explorers in the late 1700s.
David once told me that Atakapan translated into English to meant, `people that lived near the coast.' All of his ancestors were from the Gulf Coast region, most of them were fishermen.
We got changed into our suits and stood outside to watch the jet land on runway 22. It quietly landed and taxied to the terminal and shut down, just the front canopy opened and the pilot climbed out before someone could roll the thin metal stairs over. The fuel truck was ready and waiting as well as a military aviation repair tech. The pilot and him spoke briefly while the fuel guy got set-up to fill the tanks, we had a 1100 mile flight to a small municipal airport about fifty miles northwest of Minneapolis which would put us about thirteen miles from the nuke plant. This was the fastest way for us to get there, but there was no mention of how we'd get home. The security officer said we were expected at the site, until then they were trying to contain the situation and not let things get worse.
There was a municipal airport in Monticello with a 5200 foot concrete runway, but the pilot needed to confirm it was thick enough to land his (37,000 pound, weapons and a modified cockpit for 3 seats with ejectors) jet, it could take off and land on a carrier or short runway but weight and fuel availability was a concern. He ended up in the airport airman's office and determined the runway was suitable if the weather was good, but there was no fuel so he'd have to fly to Minneapolis to re-fuel after dropping us off in Monticello. The airport was about four miles south of town, out in the boonies, way south of the Wal-Mart at the edge of town.
Due to the extra pilot work we were delayed by twenty minutes but we'd surely make up for that en-route. After a brief discussion with the pilot we had to wait until the fuel truck cleared the area. Even though we'd flown on this jet before the pilot closely watched us board and pack our case. The Strike Eagle was the fastest jet in the US military and this particular one was used to shuttle VIPs around the country but it only had two back seats and minimal space for luggage. No drinks were allowed and we had a basic flight screen to watch in front of the forward most seat, which was also the lowest one in the plane.
With some coaching (it's been almost eight months since the last time we rode in this jet) we got hooked up to the intercom and masked for oxygen. The pilot got in and waved to the tug driver for a pushback to turn us around and tow us away from the terminal building.
Once we were away from all those huge glass windows he lit the engine and closed the canopies and we felt the compartment pressurize, it hurt my ears briefly. David was in front of me, his lower back was between my knees, both of us had minimal side views out the canopy so we watched the screen ahead of us.
He got clearance to depart on Runway-04 and less than one third of the way down the runway we were up and retracting the landing gear before reaching the 4-22 taxiway. At first he flew to around 100 feet and retracted the gear and once they were locked and closed he nosed-up and we climbed straight up to 39,000 feet in about twenty seconds then leveled off, next stop was Monticello. The sonic boom happened over the mountains east of Fort Bliss. The pilot said it would sound something like a faint rumble over the northeast side of El Paso. He spent about ten minutes talking to military air traffic control to have them telephone the airport at Monticello so they knew we were coming and would need local police to meet us outside the terminal building. The idea that we could fly from west Texas to northern Minnesota in less than thirty minutes was truly amazing. As he pressed the throttle forward we were pressed into our seatbacks with tremendous force, I couldn't even raise my arms. We went from stopped on the runway to 1,600mph in less than five minutes, and part of that was flying straight up. I could see parts of Juarez by looking straight up at the canopy, I've never seen behind myself before by looking up!
This variant of the F15 was the F15B, a training version that had been modified for two (tightly packed) back seat passengers. Since all the weapons were removed and the fuel capacity increased it could carry two adults and a few small carry-on cases. The range was increased to 1950 miles, and the avionics were simplified to similar to those found in a passenger jet but with satellite comms still available. Our pilot called it an F-15-HST variant, for High Speed Transport.
This variant was modified so the back seat passengers could climb out without the use of stairs or a ladder, but it took good physical strength, flexibility, and some training. At the end of the climb down you had a three foot drop to the ground. You could climb up into the plane alone if you were in good shape and could to a few chin-ups.
Twenty nine minutes later we arrived in rural Minnesota, he dropped altitude and circled at 1,000 feet to eyeball the airport and try to make radio contact but got no reply. Using the standard 122.7mhz Unicom channel he called our approach and landing, he found the windsock and picked the runway and called his intention to land, and that's what we did.
Like a little Cessna-175 we putted into the airport just above stall speed and touched down and came to a stop near the darkened airport terminal, but the outside lights were on. Then the pilot said he saw a cop car racing down the highway, which could be our ride. He parked near the terminal building but left the engine running or maybe it was an APU. He stood up on the front seat and watched us climb out without a ladder, David got out first and I dropped our case down to him and while I climbed out. The pilot just stood there watching us, he immediately sat back down and shut the canopy and left as quickly as he could. I mumbled to David that he must have left home with dinner on the table and a rental VHS tape paused until he got back.
The cop shone his spotlight on us so we waved and grabbed our bag and walked to the patrol car and got in the back seat, he introduced himself as the County Sheriff and said he was instructed to drive us to the scene commander at the power plant, he was damn glad to see us, David asked him to turn up the heat in the back seat.
Before we left the airport we all stood by the patrol car and watched the jet leave. It went so fast, he rolled about 1000 feet down the runway and lifted up to about 50 feet and retracted the landing gear, then flew vertically to about 1000 feet and turned towards Minneapolis and then blue fire blasted out of the jets and he accelerated out of sight in a few seconds, but he never made a sonic boom. At his speed he'd be landing in Minneapolis in about three minutes for fuel.
We had about a thirty minute ride with the roof lights flashing into Monticello then left on interstate I-94 towards the power station. David whispered that the ride across their county look longer than our 1100 mile flight.
He asked what we were wearing, because we had our suits on. He said they looked like underwater gear and we told him they had Kevlar, like his vest but no plates. To a civilian the suits looked somewhat shiny in direct light at night but during the day they looked dark grey and were textured and reinforced in places where they had special joints, like shoulders, hips, neck, ankles, knees, elbows and wrists. They could change appearance to blend into the surroundings, if activated. Since David and I were both rather slender people said they made us look like the aliens in the movie `Signs.'
We watched out the windows as the dark landscape of northern Minnesota flashed by and cars got out of our way. It was sad to see how many people didn't see us in their rear view mirrors and the sheriff had to blast the siren to get them to move over.
The Sheriff explained the two young men were supposedly part of the Shakopee Sioux Community and claimed the nuclear plant was on their land and they had ancestors buried in that spot.
We exited the interstate at 120th Street and took County Road 75 west a bit, we both smiled when we saw the name of our turn-off was called Control Rod Drive. The sheriff said he could not update us but the site commander would, the nuclear plant was really not within his jurisdiction.
He turned on the FM radio to show us it was not in the news but he said a private team (hired by the owner of the power plant) from the twin cities was also en-route. After flying 1600mph his speed of 70mph outside of town seemed painfully slow. In the dark back seat we quietly held hands and listened to the Sheriff Department radio chatter. Everyone sounded on-edge.
Note: contact the author borischenaz gmail
Your comments and suggestions are welcome. If you see contradictions or flaws in the story I appreciate hearing those too.
If you've been in a situation like the ones in this story I'd love to hear about it, I might be able to use it as a situation for these two reluctant heroes.