larryfulkerson
Posts: 39932
Joined: 4/17/2005
From: Tucson, AZ
Status: offline
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Here's the minimap view of the moves for turns 20 thru Axis 25:
excerpt from "Spectre Gunners":
Soon they are turning off the active. The two outboard engines are shut down. Powered by only the two inboard engines, the plane turns onto the taxiway.
Everybody gets up, he flips the bench seat down flat, somebody turns the overhead lights from dim red to bright white. Strapped behind each of the two rear guns is a fire-engine-red, work weary, 55 gallon spent brass barrel. As all five gunners start unstrapping barrels, the IO lowers the cargo ramp. They wrestle the heavy barrels to the rear of the plane. He feels like he is standing in the noisiest, most expensive bus in the world, watching the blue taxiway lights pass on the left and right. The rear overhead interior light casts a large semi-circular arc on the moving concrete.
After the plane comes to a stop in front of the revetment, the remaining engines are shut down, and the whole world stops. A profound, quiet stillness is almost palpable.
Everybody in the back rounds up their parachutes and flight bags, and they jettison the plane by jumping off the cargo ramp. Nobody has much to say. They are moving slowly, tired as spent brass, to the sides of the revetment. Several lay down flat on their backs, spread eagle, their gear between their legs. Fidler sits down, removes his helmet, and scrubs his hair with the fingers on both hands. Five hours is a long time to wear a combat helmet, not be able to scratch an itch. He wipes his forehead with his sleeve, removes his ear plugs, stores them in the small clear plastic container in his upper right zipper pocket, and rolls his sleeves up above the elbow. It's warm and moist even at this time of night.
Fidler watches as a pickup truck comes into the revetment, drives behind the plane, and backs up next to the cargo ramp. Three guys were riding in the back. They and the driver dismount and board the plane. They dump both barrels into the truck bed. Spent brass spills out loudly. They strap the barrels behind the guns with large canvas straps, remount the truck and depart. A different ammo crew will soon be here to re-arm the plane with fresh ammo. This plane will be airborne again in about an hour with a different crew.
A yellow fuel truck pulls up in front of the plane. The driver starts to pull out a long, thick, black, rubber hose. Then the air-force-blue school bus pulls around the corner of the revetment and comes to a stop. They get to their feet and load up. When they find a seat they sprawl into it. Fidler goes all the way to the back. He ignores his surroundings, dismisses conversations, is unaware of the passage of time.
Plugger pulls on his sleeve until Fidler stirs, awake again. He stumbles into the armory, turns in his .38 special, his survival radios, and his parachute. He hangs up his parachute harness, combat vest and helmet. Throws his flight bag in his locker. Grabs his wallet, keys, pack of cigarettes, and patches. Locks his locker.
He finds himself outside, at the bus stop by the front gate, hardly knowing how he got there. He shows his ID to the guard at the gate and leaves Ubon airbase. He hires a pedicab to take him home. Fishing a joint out of the cigarette pack, he lights it, smokes it. The pedicab stops and he dismounts, pays the guy.
"Saw wah dee, cup. Thanks."
When he discovers himself standing in the quiet darkness, in his apartment he is almost surprised. Secure. Safe. Another day, another thirty dollars.
< Message edited by larryfulkerson -- 10/4/2006 5:13:38 AM >
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Printable Version
FitE Red Army turn 21 - 
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