Chapter 366: I Deliver the Knockout Punch

Thursday, June 7, 2007 (Continued)

My explosive cargo and I flew northeast across the farmers' fields at a very low altitude. Once I was clear of the base's residential area, I turned north and rocketed toward Canada, only forty miles away, zigzagging to avoid the many missile silos there were in the area.

I stayed VERY low, because - unlike me - five steel-cased W80 nuclear bombs would definitely show up on radar. So far there wasn't a radar beam coming down at me, so if I stayed low I wouldn't be detected by the ground-based systems. I'd stand out like a searchlight if a radar emitter got above me and radiated down, in which case my plan was to stop as quickly as possible to pretend to be a stationary car. Or a stationary truck or stationary combine harvester. I wasn't proud; I didn't care what I was mistaken for. I was reasonably sure that the look-down radar systems used by combat planes would be set to filter out non-moving targets, so the pilots wouldn't even be shown my 'ping'. And even if I was displayed, they should have no reason to swoop down to investigate one stationary metallic shape out of thousands, so they should pass over me and move off to search somewhere else, letting me resume my escape.

If they did loiter in the area, I'd move off at the speed of a car. If that didn't work, I'd put the bombs down and go up to take care of whatever plane(s) were hounding me.

One of the main reasons I'd liked the idea of pilfering from Minot AFB was that Canada was so close. At 500 mph, and some zigzagging to avoid silos, I could be over the border in six minutes. Presumably the US Air Force wasn't allowed to send combat planes over Canada willy-nilly. Maybe they could if they were in hot pursuit of stolen nukes, but I'd arranged for that loss to be hidden for several hours.

I knew I wasn't being tracked by radar yet, and if I got into Canada, that'd be even less likely to happen. I was radiating no infrared upward because the bombs and my sheet were blocking it. The bombs were, theoretically, "hot" (a term that's used about nuclear bombs because the decaying radioactive material does indeed release heat), but my max-sized radio blob couldn't detect any warmth from them since I'd bagged and wrapped them, so no one else would be able to either. The bombs and I should also be impossible to track visually, so I think I had all the bases covered. I had thought of the radiation being traceable either after the event (like a bloodhound) or live (from a satellite tracking system), but I didn't believe either of those were possible.

Other than having to avoid crashing into the sides of silos and barns, the six minute flight to the border was without problem.

My luck continued at the border crossing, because the customs officer didn't ask me what W80s were, so I got through all right (haha).

I flew about 250 miles north into Canada, up the western border of Manitoba (I'd collected a map on the way to Minot, because I could've ended up going in all sorts of directions, depending on what happened). I turned east, flying low across sparsely inhabited areas of Manitoba and into central Ontario.

I passed hundreds of lakes. About mid-trip, I submerged into a decent-sized one for a few minutes. Partly to throw any trackers off, and also to burn the Air Force shirt in a separate NP-box, letting the water wash it away when it was ashes. I played submarine for ten minutes to change my location, then emerged at a different angle to resume my journey across the rest of Ontario, then into southwest Quebec. I curved SSE, and then south. I was aiming to head south between Ottawa and Montreal, then into the US again.

Before I got too close to Canada's more heavily populated areas, I started looking for a good location to stash four of the five bombs. I saw some messed up ground alongside a length of roadwork several miles south of a small town. I put myself in an airtight box to make sure none of my DNA dropped into the area, then headed toward it for a better look.

It appeared suitable for my needs, so I looked around carefully to make sure I could remember this location, as it'd be very embarrassing to forget where I'd put these things. I dropped lower and started digging a deep hole beside the road.

I'd originally intended to bury the bombs in the plastic bags and sheets, but I was having second thoughts. I was paranoid that some sample of my DNA might've somehow gotten into the sheets or bags, despite my extreme precautions. After the hole was dug, I flew the bombs a few miles away then moved them under some thick tree cover. I tore the coverings off four of the bombs, burning the bags and sheets very thoroughly. I made the NP-box the ashes were in very small, then I accelerated it VERY fast up into the air. By the time the box self-canceled, the ashes would be so high there'd never be any trace found of them.

I flew back to the hole with the four naked and one still covered bomb. I placed the four naked bombs into the hole and refilled it, raking up the ground afterward.

With the fifth bomb in my backpack, but still kept separate from all my DNA, I flew to the nearby town to get its name. I was amused to discover that it was called Ferme-Neuve, as there'd been an important early nuclear scientist named Fermi. This was an appropriate place.

I searched for a relatively unpopulated quiet area east of Cornwall, Ontario, finding one about fifteen miles away, crossing back into the US just before 7am local time, about three and a quarter hours after I'd left Minot AFB. I'd originally intended to travel a shorter, faster route, but the fire in the Weapons Storage Area had looked so good and the massive doors so difficult to reopen that I'd figured I had plenty of time, so had chosen a wider, slower route as it'd be safer. Safe was good!

It had been both safe and easy so far, as there'd been very few radar stations to deviate around, very few houses to worry about passing too close to, and the land was fairly flat, which facilitated high-speed, low-level flight. That easy flying continued for the trip down the length of the Adirondack Park Reserve, across a couple of highways, then down the length of the Catskill State Park. My first 250 miles since crossing the border only taking me about three-quarters of an hour.

I found a computer and printer in an empty house outside of East Stroudsburg. I typed up the one-page note I wanted, printed it, then floated it out the bathroom window as usual. I put it in the backpack, again taking extreme measures to make sure nothing from me got anywhere near it.

I also did a little internet surfing to see what the news networks were saying about Minot AFB. The Air Force wasn't giving ANY details yet. They admitted there'd been a disaster there - the explosions had been heard for miles around, with flames and smoke clearly visible, so denying it was a disaster was pointless - but the isolation of the base had allowed the Air Force to deny the press any access. So far they were even refusing to say whether the Guardian Angel had been involved. There was no word about missing nukes and I was sure the Air Force didn't know about that little aspect yet. My attack on Minot had looked so similar to my purely destructive attacks on other bases that although they might worry about their nukes, they shouldn't think that I'd taken any.

When I was airborne again, I sealed myself in an airtight box, moved the backpack ahead of me, then let the wind blow against it to blow any foreign matter away. I removed the letter between two NP-plates, and the bomb from the bag too, letting the wind do its thing inside the bag, and on the outside of the bomb. Then I repacked and re-boxed them.

Travel got trickier after that, as there was a lot more population. I had to fly very low so my bomb wouldn't show up on ground-based radar (America is blanketed by radar, such as the air traffic control network. Fortunately, the vast majority of the "blanket" uses frequencies that go straight through me). I was reaching an area of the country where there was a much greater than normal density of radar signals so I had to make sure I stayed very low, but there were so many houses that I couldn't avoid them all. Flying low over thousands of homes risked someone seeing me, and I obviously wasn't going to get all the way to DC before daybreak, so I might as well land sooner.

I approached the next big town, seeing that it was Allentown. I was intending to locate the bus station, land within walking distance, then get a bus to Washington DC; probably via Philadelphia, I imagined. While looking for the bus station, I saw some men riding big motorcycles. Taking one of their bikes was better than catching a bus because I preferred to keep my helmet on. Their clothes implied they were criminals, but I knew lots of ordinary men bought Harleys and dressed the part. I flew closer and did a quick sight blob search. I stopped bothering after seven knives and four handguns.

It worked with F-15s and helicopters so I'd try it with a motorcycle: I flew low enough to locate and pinch the fuel line of one of the bikes. It was plastic so I had to hold it closed and keep pace while the engine died and it rolled to a stop. I made sure it stopped rolling quickly as I was having to fly lower than I liked.

The bike's rider and his friends stopped and worked on his bike trying to get it going again, with a complete lack of success. I'd been hoping they'd give up, park it, and he'd get on someone else's bike and they'd all ride away, leaving me to steal his bike. I'd put it in neutral and push it all the way to DC with light blobs in the head- and tail lights. Unfortunately they didn't abandon the bike. One of them pulled out a cellphone, made a call, then they annoyingly settled in to wait.

They continued to try to get the faulty bike to start, so while they were making a lot of noise trying to start it, I punched a minimum-sized hole (one-sixteenth inch in diameter) in the underside of the gas tank. A few seconds later, I set fire to the leaking gas. The owner LEAPED off the bike, yelling and beating his jeans. There was a great deal of commotion, especially as the fuel tank ruptured even more and the bike was engulfed in sudden flames, getting everyone's attention and ruining their night-vision. During the commotion, the bike that was parked the farthest away lifted an inch and zipped around the next corner. It even had its keys in it, which was convenient.

Wearing my bomb-containing backpack, I dropped down the opposite side of the building I was sitting on top of, while the bike came around the next corner to meet me. I dropped onto it, then I rapidly flew it down the street an inch above the surface. When I was a couple of blocks away. I stopped, got the bike started properly, and rode quickly away before I had a large gang on my tail. It was a much bigger motorcycle than I was used to, but that didn't worry me because if I lost control, NP would hold it steady and control it for me.