Chapter 11: Year Two: Day Fifty-Seven: Monday

The remainder of the weekend seemed to zip by. Almost before I could enjoy it I found that Kari was shaking me awake at 1:30 AM. Still groggy and with my ass dragging I somehow made my way to the operations area for the brief where I downed my second cup of coffee. The flight we briefed was typical of the responsibilities we placed on our very young pilots. Norma Harrison, not quite 19 years old, had developed into a crack pilot with over 250 hours in the A-10 Warthog. Because of her experience she would be flying the lead aircraft in our two plane flight.

The Aviation Brigade was now composed of two types of pilots. The majority of our pilots were generalists who moved from one aircraft type to another based upon the needs of the moment. Some, such as Norma, were cleared to specialize in a specific aircraft. Those few pilots were expected to become experts and leaders in those types of aircraft. Eventually as the number of pilots increased there would be more pilots who would become specialists but for the moment there were only six.

Norma's specialization in the Warthog was more like a love affair. She was the first specialist because of the natural affinity she seemed to have for this ugly aircraft. This was to the consternation of Mike Eagan Jr., her fiancé. Mike, another member of the aviation brigade, visibly flinched every time Norma made a strafing run at high subsonic speeds. He was just old fashioned enough to want his prospective bride flying safely in large multi-engined cargo or passenger aircraft. Mike knew Norma well enough not to make demands or rehash his feelings too loudly or too often.

Three A.M. saw our two-aircraft flight accelerate past the outer marker of the runway. Almost as soon as our wheels were in the well we each began preparing sensors and data links for a test run. Both aircraft carried specially modified FLIR pods that we would test in a high level pass over Tallahassee. Operations knew precisely where everyone was located in that sparsely occupied city and our hopes were that the pods containing our infrared sensors would send back data that verified those locations.

The FLIR, an acronym for Forward Looking Infrared, was older technology that we had reinvented for this purpose. It had to be reinvented as the old technology mapped locations using GPS signals which were now non-existent. Our reinvented FLIR was limited to working off of coordinates supplied by our aircraft's inertial gyro and magnetic compass in place of those GPS signals. No longer having GPS had made all of the pre-collapse FLIR pods with their racks of printed circuit cards so much scrap. The readings from our reinvented FLIR were only a little less accurate in the end but did require occasional in-flight adjustments. At least that is what the science team had promised us.

These FLIR pods were expected to not only help us precisely locate the renegades and possible survivors in Jacksonville but would in the future allow us to search for survivors at a much higher and thus safer altitude. We envisioned future searches being conducted at night, rendering our search aircraft almost invisible to any hostile forces on the ground below. Another advantage would be that the higher altitude would allow more ground to be covered in a single pass which hopefully would translate into faster searches using less flight time and fuel. This was another example of continuing scientific progress, even if it did necessitate our reinventing or modifying a technology that the pre-collapse world took for granted.

Norma was unusually quiet at the briefing and during the first part of our flight. Hell, during that time we were so busy that we had little time to strike up any meaningful conversation. After a pass over Tallahassee verified the accuracy of the FLIR pods we set up for our planned high-level passes over Lake City and then Jacksonville. Kari had mapped out a precise flight plan that would allow us to completely sweep Jacksonville in just three passes. If all worked as planned we would be able to land for an early lunch and refueling at Blanding and then head home for the evening.

Our flight to Lake City seemed to go by quickly, although I did catch Norma, who was used to flying solo, occasionally glancing back at my trailing aircraft. Soon we were disengaging our autopilots as we began to maneuver both aircraft towards the correct vector and altitude for the prescribed pattern over Lake City. That data was recorded and transmitted back to those waiting at Whiting Field. Our data link technology was simple but effective as we had no need for the tight secure beam earlier military technology required. That was good because without a working GPS a tight data beam would have been almost impossible to achieve.

We received word that there were a few heat signatures showing in the vicinity of Lake City but nothing that was unusual. We flew on towards our rendezvous with the beginning of the search pattern near Jacksonville. That meant that both of our aircraft made a sweeping curve to the south so we could line up with those precise vectors for our first pass. Norma was doing a fantastic job following the precise route that was laid out on our flight charts. All I had to do is maintain correct spacing on her aircraft. I found myself falling back into my role as instructor as I checked and rechecked our navigation. I clipped on my mask as we both again went on oxygen before we ascended to altitude. The Warthog was designed as a low-level assault aircraft but planners had included a very sophisticated OBOGS (On Board Oxygen Generating System) that concentrated the atmospheric gases at altitude and then used a series of scrubbers to remove nitrogen and carbon dioxide. To me it was amazing that all of that was contained in a container no larger than a five gallon mop pail.

We worked silently for the next hour making the three prescribed passes that were necessary to complete our mission. Whiting let us know that the data was good and we circled for a landing at Camp Blanding. I knew we were both looking forward to a home cooked lunch.

Our lunch at Camp Blanding found us alone in the nice cafeteria that the ladies had set up. It was quite late and I appreciated the fact that several of the ladies at Camp Blanding had prepared us a special meal. While we were eating I caught Norma nervously stealing quick glances at me. She didn't say anything but I knew from long experience with hundreds of flight students that she had a question poised on the tip of her tongue. Long ago one of my instructors had told me that the only stupid question was one the student fails to ask. I had repeated that mantra to all of my students even after hearing hundreds of really stupid questions. Looking around and seeing that there was no one within hearing I broke the ice by asking, "What's the problem? I know I used deodorant this morning. I can't smell that bad."

Without acknowledging my humor Norma nervously looked up from her mashed potatoes and asked, "Mind if I ask you a really personal question?"

Wondering if I was going to have to try to satisfy one more person's curiosity about my multiple-partner marriage I answered, "Sure you can. Of course I will then decide whether to answer it."

Then alluding to the number one question about my personal life I added another caveat, "Of course if it pertains to what happens behind closed doors with my wives you'll get more information from them."

Norma smiled and said, "No, Kari, Laura and Lana keep us all up to speed on everything that happens there."

I tried to appear shocked but just ended up laughing.

Norma got serious as she caught my eyes and asked, "You know me and Mike are engaged, right?"

I nodded my agreement as she continued, "Has Mike said anything to you or Kari about my flying status?"

I was quick to answer, "No, but I think everyone knows how he feels."

Norma looked off past me as she responded, "Steve, I feel like he's trying to smother me some times. I know our families are conservative and have always believed that the man should be the head of the household and all. Hell, I used to accept that myself, but what happened at that ... that place ... I can't call it a church anymore. Well, after that I told myself that I would never let a man force a decision on me again. I love Mike but I just feel..."

Glancing over at Norma I saw her still staring straight ahead, unseeing, as if she was fixated on some far away object. After her hesitation lengthened and I realized she wasn't going to continue, I spoke. "Norma, it's proper for a husband or a wife to worry about each other especially when they have a job that is inherently dangerous. That being said I have never tried to limit the flying of any of my wives. That didn't stop me from blaming myself when Julie..."

Norma looked over at me at the mention of that name. I wiped my eye and continued. "I'm trying to tread lightly here because our family may not work the way your family will. I'm just saying that neither Kari nor I will make a decision on what you fly or if you fly based upon Mike's wishes ... you should know that. Now if Dr. Walling grounds you for whatever reason, then you will be grounded until he says you're fit to return to flight status. I expect most of my wives will have to face that in the near future. I hope that's the answer you expected."

Norma swallowed and answered, "Yes, that's what I thought. Steve, will you help me convince Mike? I love him and I don't want to lose him but if he keeps up trying to pressure me towards a safer aircraft or a desk job I'm pretty sure we won't be together much longer. I feel so free in the air and so in touch with myself when I'm flying my hog. I can't explain it other than to say that I know it's what I was meant to do."

Her eyes locked on mine and her voice took on almost a mystical quality as she whispered, "That old plane has become so familiar that it feels almost like an extension of my body."

I smiled as the feeling of déjà-vu washed over me. I remembered that same feeling in my first assignment after flight school. I knew at that point that no amount of pleading or cajoling from Mike would convince Norma to take a desk job. I smiled as I said, "I'll talk to him when we get back. I think he'll understand."

Later that evening, upon our return to Whiting, we discussed the results of our mornings work with David LeBlanc and other members of the development team. David had been Major LeBlanc, an Electronics Project Officer stationed at Eglin AFB, immediately before the collapse. He headed the team that developed the FLIR pod that we used.

As soon as we were all seated around the circular conference table David came right to the point. "There are four concentrations of heat signatures. Three are in Jacksonville proper and one is in or near Mayport."

I whistled which caused David to look up at me and raise his bushy eyebrows.

Looking at the large map spread out on the table that detailed the location of the heat signatures I explained, "I was just thinking that if we hadn't turned back when we discovered the survivors around Camp Blanding we would undoubtedly have run headlong into one or more of these groups as we moved through Jacksonville towards Mayport."

David who seemed a bit annoyed at my statement of the obvious quipped, "I know, I read the op report."

Shrugging I asked, "Do you have exact numbers of these groups?"

David frowned and said, "For the most part."

He then began to explain the number and threat assessment of each group. David stated that only one of the three groups in Jacksonville was considered a threat. As soon as he made that statement Kari asked, "I know FLIR picks up heat and residual heat of things that give off heat, including people, but wouldn't the heat given off by an enemy and a friend be the same?"