*****
A gruff looking man leaned in toward the flames of the small fire, holding his hands palm outward as though to warm them. They really did not need it. It was more fireside habit than chill even though the early morning summers in Georgia could make a body feel cold sometimes. It was a trick of the dew and humidity in the air, a wet feeling against the skin and not the temperature.
One of the other men sitting around the fire noticed the boss’s seeming discomfort and rose to his knees, grabbed a couple of limbs from a small pile set aside for the occasion, and tossed them into the yellowish flames. Hundreds of reddish sparks exploded into the night air from the disturbance, rising and winking their way upward along with the smoke, into the lower tree branches.
After watching the show of sparks, the boss said, “Any one of those could set this tinderbox on fire so keep your eyes open. Don't add anymore wood either. It will be dawn soon so let the fire die out.”
He then rose to his feet and brushed at the straw stuck to his knees and backside. “I’m going to check to see if any deer have wandered out on the air strip. That plane should be here soon.”
Nodding at a pair of the men still seated on the ground he added, “Keep a close eye on our guest over there by the tree. If what Mike Shavers told the boss is true then he's not a man to mess around with.
A wiry little guy among the group asked, "You think Veal killed Bobby with an axe even while Bobby had a gun in his face?"
"That guy," the boss said carefully, "Is Matt Veal and our associates in Atlanta have wanted him gone for a long time. They told me he has been poking his nose in all the wrong places lately so we are going to deal with him."
The boss turned to walk away and reiterated, "Don't take your eyes off of him for a second. After we unload the plane we will nail his hide to a tree.”
The boss walked the few dozen yards out of the woods and into the open area of the strip. In the hazy darkness before him was a bulldozer-hewn runway. He checked his lighted wristwatch and then glanced toward the eastern sky. The horizon was breaking into light shades of white and soft pink. His vision, now more accustomed to the darkness away from the fire, scanned the half-mile open area before him trying to spot any shadows moving that would indicate a deer herd had wandered onto the landing area. Deer were small compared to a large aircraft but a half dozen of the 100 plus pound creatures could cause serious damage to the landing gears and props of a huge cargo carrier.
The boss stood watching, waiting and listening as the eastern sky slowly turned lighter and brighter. The landing area, surrounded by trees on all sides, grew more distinct coming out of the night's last shadows.
Checking his watch again, he turned back towards the woods and shouted, “Ed? You and Lenny put Veal into the back of my truck and bring him along. The rest of you put that fire out, then get out there in the field and light up the oil pots.”
It took the men a short while to get the oil burning lanterns going along the perimeter of the strip. One by one, they wandered back to the edge of the woods where the boss waited and then stood helping him scan the horizon.
Soon enough an aircraft appeared over the most distant tree line followed by the sounds of low grumbling engines. It was a C-130, an airplane easy to distinguish against the yellowish backdrop of the coming sunrise.
Known in military circles as the Lockheed "Hercules" or "Hercky Bird," it was a 1950's designed workhorse with four turboprop engines and a 60 year (and counting) history of dependability. This particular one was retired service vet purchased on the illegal arms markets of the world and put to use by the Central American drug cartels. It was the perfect vehicle for cargo, legal or otherwise, traveling over the Gulf of Mexico and South Atlantic Ocean. The bird could fly long, nonstop runs that began and ended from short runways in hidden jungles or Georgia pine groves.
One man pointed at the plane and said, "There she is, coming in low."
The men watched the machine grow larger and then rumble slowly past overhead. Then it banked away performing an air ballet of sorts. The boss removed a hand held radio from his belt. “This is Thunder Chicken. Do you read me Blackbird?"
"Yea I got you. Are we good to go?"
"Good to go. Can you see the fire pots okay?"
"Roger, I got them. I hope you got a bowl of oatmeal down there. We don't do grits."
"Got a couple of stale pop tarts you can have. We're clear."
The aircraft climbed then turned sharply to the right and disappeared behind the tree line. When it next appeared, the wheels were down and seemed to be dragging through the treetops they were so low. Once over the edge of the clearing, the aircraft dropped like a rock but just before it seemed to be crashing, it pulled sharply upward and looked like a landing duck flaring its wings. The stall brought it to almost a standstill and then gravity set the machine down on the ground in an explosive cloud of flying grass, red dust and rocks.
"Wow" one of the men watching said aloud. "How in hell does that guy do that?"
Next, the four huge props reversed pitch, emitting an ear-piercing whistle surely heard for miles around. Then in what seemed just a few feet, the plane rolled to a complete stop. A second later, the engine roar fell to a low, dull rumble one could feel in the ground beneath their feet.
Inside the airplane, the pilot spun the nose gear steering control with his left hand and the ship made a slow one-eighty turn until it faced the rising sun from which it had just arrived. With outside vision at zero due to the dust storm, the pilot kept his eyes inside, reading the console as it spun to 134 degrees and stopped.
Satisfied with position, he lowered power to the engines until they were idle. There was no reason to shut them off because he was not going to be there long. He locked the brakes, scanned the gauges and then looked out the windshield. The dust had settled in the air now and he could see the tree line from which a signal should be coming. A small light beam flashed once, then twice and then once more. The pilot reached to an overhead panel, flipped a switch off and on, three times and the plane’s running lights flashed in response. With a sigh of relief, he grabbed the intercom button and said, "We're good. Open it up back there."
Standing near the edge of the woods, the boss watched the plane return his signal then tucked the flashlight away in a pocket. One of the men said, "Man I wish I could learn to drive my truck like that."
Another laughed and said, "Hell you can't even get your truck to run, let alone fly."
The others snickered and then looked at the boss who nodded and said, "Let's go and everybody keep your eyes open. I don't want any more trouble catching us off guard."
Eyes alert and wary, the pilot watched a pair of vehicle headlights glare on from the woods and then start toward him. A third and smaller vehicle followed the parade but had no running lights visible.
When the rear door, which also served as loading ramp, was fully open and down, two pickup trucks backed to the bottom of the ramp and a yellowish green warehouse forklift puffed to a stop at the base. A dark figure of a man from the left truck stepped out and then up the ramp of the C-130. The boss asked the load handler waiting there, “Any problems?”
“Nothing serious, we had to dive down to the water a couple of times when they hit us with radar but we lost them easy enough. What about you?”
Boss looked at the covered crates stacked and strapped in the center of the cargo bays and an idea formed in his mind. “We have a small problem outside. I have a passenger for you to take part of the way back when you leave.”
The man shook his head. “We're not stopping anywhere on the way back and besides, we don't carry passengers or solve your problems. You deal with it.”
Boss turned to the waiting trucks outside and motioned. Three men got out, walked up the ramp and stood quietly. Pointing to the wooden pallets, Boss snapped, “Bring the fork up and let’s get started.”
As the men turned and walked away, he said, “Just take our passenger and drop him off
someplace. You don't have to land and he is out cold and hog-tied. He will not be any trouble unless he stays here. He killed one of the boys from Atlanta last night. He has friends in law enforcement that we can't risk being called in to investigate. It could endanger the whole operation. I got word from Atlanta to take care of him once and for all.”
The load handler took a deep breath of the morning air, sighed, and then nodded agreement. Boss signaled two more men in the other truck and a moment later they were dragging a body clumsily up the steep incline of the ramp. The loadmaster watched then shook his head in disgust and pointed. “Put him over there and strap him down good to an empty pallet. I don't want any trouble.”
He turned back to Boss and asked, “Where do I drop him off?”
Boss smiled and said, “Drop him off over the water someplace without a parachute. Atlanta does not want this one coming back to bother us again.”
Okay, but there will be an extra charge for helping you solve this problem.”
Boss nodded. “Can’t expect anything less and I'll let them know you earned a fair share for the trouble. We got the rest of it covered from this end.”