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Jack turned to Igor. "Russia was our prime target in all of these areas of attack against a people's self-development, especially their freedom to exist. I guess someone had had enough of it. Whoever did this had probably been screaming for years, for change, and no one was listening. I know exactly what that feels like."
As I looked up from my breakfast plate that was almost spoiled by Jack's ranting, though I agreed with everything he said, there was another background emerging that bothered me more at the moment. A large black streak had appeared on the horizon.
"We should think about getting into Alaska?" I interrupted Jack. "This must be the front that Gander had warned everyone about."
Jack shrugged his shoulders again. "I've seen those storms before," he said.
"Then Alaska must be your old hunting ground. SAC used to be big up there," I said to him and grinned. "Then you probably know this place better than I do."
"Every little hill," Jack replied with a grin.
"In this case, you better take control. I don't have much experience flying in the North without a flight control system to guide us."
"I'd be honored to take us in," said Jack. He made himself comfortable as he took the controls. As he did, he turned around to Igor and grinned; "Did you hear that Igor? Didn't I just tell you about extensions, that they take away from a person's life? Even our distinguished captain has just admitted that he has lost some vital skills in his homage to the god of automation." Jack turned around again and grinned and faced the instruments.
The coastal mountains were completely hidden as we approached the coast, visible only on radar. Beneath us, below a white carpet of clouds that now spread from horizon to horizon, Jack assured us, lay an inhospitable world. As we descended, we encountered layers of heavy smog such as I hadn't seen before. "I have been trained for such situations," he said and grinned. "We were trained to cope with the chaos we were trained to create with our bombs. It was all a part of the package."
We barely saw the beginning of the runway as we touched down. We were almost flying blindfolded. Thank God we had Jack on board! At least one of us was familiar with the place.
"The weather is worse down south," the tower explained when I commented on the bad conditions. "Still, the pilots manage to get in and out. A hundred and fifty flights have gone in so far, all told! That's not bad for a highway outpost."
"I agree!" I radioed back.
Once our short introduction was over, the tower was busy with other flights. Two planes requested landing instructions, and five others were lined up for takeoff.
"Go to the right of the terminal and park behind the Pan Am," the tower called back to us. "And wait there! I have some buns for you and your passengers, with sausages from Germany. I'll also send you a tanker to fill your belly up. And one more thing, guys, don't take all day! Make it snappy!"
It started to rain as we requested departure clearance. By the time we got the go-ahead, the rain had increased to a downpour. The windshield wipers hardly made a difference. Was this an indication of what was to come?
We began to roll. I could barely make out the centerline of the taxiway. It was hard enough to recognize other aircraft, let alone some narrow strip of paint on the road that guided us to the runway. The rain and mist blurred everything. It was no different once we were on the runway. The strip of concrete barely stood out from the muddy grass on either side, but soon it didn't matter anymore as we rose into the gray sky and into the heart of the storm that had drenched us.
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Stories about
Love
from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche
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