Chapter 22: Nightingales Are Go!

2km west of San Andres, Riva Palacio, 45 km ENE of Cuauhtémoc, 55 km West of the city of Chihuahua
2318 Hours local (11:18 PM) ZPT (0:18 PM MST) Wednesday March 28^th 2018{br}

(dialogue is spoken in Spanish, but written in English; some Spanish in italics)

Soldado Salazar led Coronel Ehiztari and Teniente Maldonado to a nearby single-story building with a veranda on its long front. If your eyes have adapted to the dark, there is just enough ambient light seeping through the overcast, mingling with a bit of reflected light from inside several of the buildings, to allow a person to across the open areas relatively unhindered. The deep shadows under the veranda are not an issue for the two US soldiers, who flipped down their light-intensification goggles that are attached to their helmets. The young Mexican soldier stumbled several times.

Soldado Salazar clomped along the boardwalk like a mule wearing clogs; causing Coronel Ehiztari to grit his teeth. Teniente Maldonado lingered five meters back, providing security behind them, while listening for any radio messages from their team back on the helicopter LZ they had used as a Drop Zone for their HAHO insertion. At the last door, the Mexican Private blithely pushed open the unlocked door. Slipping past Salazar, Ehiztari briskly cleared the room and found no likely threats.

Ehiztari observed a bare room with only a two-drawer nightstand, a rucksack, and a man lightly snoring in a sleeping bag, a rifle close to hand. As Madonado backed into the room, Ehiztari, moving with a dancer’s grace, silently crossed the room, and picked up Teniente Coronel de Ribera’s M-4 carbine. As Eziztari took a step back, Soldado Salazar flipped the light switch; causing Ehiztari to cuss in Mexican Spanish, either he didn’t break character, or he routinely, and colorfully cursed in that language.

Soldado Salazar blathered, “It’s Not My Fault! They Made Me Do It! Blame Them!”

Ripping his helmet and attached NVGs off his head, as he turned on the cowering Mexican Private; in a deceptively quiet voice Coronel Ehiztari commanded, “Get out. Don’t tell anyone we are here.”

Before Salazar could bolt from the room, Maldonado squeezed his shoulder, and ordered, “why don’t you go over there and have another smoke.”

Clutching his right shoulder with his left hand, Soldado Salazar gimped away towards the mobile kitchen trailer. Sighing as he slumped to the ground, he pulled out a lighter and the last of the cigarettes he had pilfered earlier. Just like many other smokers, he wasn’t aware of the lingering stink of cigarette smoke on him and his clothes. Muttering about the unfairness of the world, he sucked in a lungful of poison.

Teniente Coronel Heraldo de Ribera sat up, one hand over his eyes, and said in a resigned tone, “Who are you, and why are you here?”

El Cid replied in a rich baritone, “you should call me Coronel Ehiztari. Several doctors and other medical personnel have volunteered to come here and do their best to save the lives of as many of your men as possible. We are accompanied by several security personnel. If you agree, we can have medical supplies and other material delivered that will provide you and your men a better chance of surviving the coming battles. However, you must accept our offer very quickly. It will be delivered by aircraft, and they have a very limited window.”

Blinking his eyes several times, then shaking his head like a dog lshedding water, Teniente Coronel de Ribera then stated clearly, “We were forsaken. I would make a deal with El Diablo himself to save the lives of as many of my men as possible. What must I do?”

It took a moment, then Coronel Ehiztari said, “Decide whom of your key leaders you need to notify. In thirty minutes, more or less, we will need some soldiers to move the equipment that will be delivered. Until then we would prefer that your men remain where they are. As much as possible people should remain in cover, in case a canister drifts off course.”

“Yes, of course,” Teniente Coronel de Ribera said; Coronel Ehiztari handed him his M4 carbine before de Ribera completely realized it was missing.

While Teniente Coronel de Ribera was tying his boots, Coronel Ehiztari stepped out on to the veranda, where Teniente Maldonado said, “That went easier than I anticipated.”

Glancing over his shoulder, before turning back to Maldonado, Ehiztari said, “We don’t have much on this cat. I got a tiny bit from a google search. He doesn’t seem to even have a Facebook page. Reluctantly, I put in a request to the Agency, as well as the DIA. Nothing yet. All I had to go on was reading the transcripts, and listening to the raw feed from the battle yesterday. After my briefing, Akira was able to obtain his Mexican Army file. Honestly, it is mostly my intuition, and listening to this guy putting it all on the line for his men.”

Ehiztari paused for a moment, then muttered, “I get nervous when things seem to be going too smoothly...”

At that moment Teniente Coronel de Ribera strode out of his Spartan quarters. Similar to Ehiztari and Maldonado he was in full uniform, including his body armor and helmet. Teniente Coronel de Ribera nodded to Ehiztari, then entered the adjacent room. The door was open, and although de Ribera spoke quietly, they could hear him tell Mayor Raphael Jiménez, the 25^th Battalion’s Executive Officer to get dressed and then go wake up Captain Segundo Garcia, the acting S-4 (Logistics Officer). Both were to meet him at the helicopter LZ as soon as possible.

When Teniente Coronel de Ribera cameo out of the XO’s room, he met Coronel Ehiztari’s eyes; they both nodded. Coronel Ehiztari led the threesome back to the helicopter landing zone. Rather than use a verbal Sign and Counter-Sign, Coronel Ehiztari signaled ‘All Clear’ then gave the hand & arm signal for Rally Point, indicating the northwest corner of the barn. Rapidly and nearly silently the members of Operation Nightingale picked up their rucksacks and other gear, collapsed their perimeter and relocated where indicated.

When the team had gathered, Coronel Ehiztari said, “We are a Go for this operation. Aguilar set out the beacons. Valesco, set up his radio and establish coms with the Log-Bird. As soon as Tony is done marking the DZ, he will handle coms. I need you back here.”

Antonio Aguilar adjusted the three-point sling so that his HK-417A2(R) was out of his way, secured by a clip, so that he could remove from his rucksack the beacons he needed to set out to for the parachute canisters to home-in on. Aguilar then handed his ruck to Valesco, who trotted down to the northeast corner of the barn, where he should have a clear line-of-sight to the MC-130J when it got back into range. Without removing the VHF/UHF radio from the ruck, he set up the long-range aerial, then turned on the radio.

While Aguilar (the PJ) was setting up the beacons, Mayor Jiménez and Captain Garcia arrived; Teniente Coronel de Ribera introduced them, saying, “Mayor Raphael Jiménez, my Executive Officer, and Captain Segundo Gomez Garcia is my acting Logistics Officer, since Captain Segundo Muñíoz was killed in action. Raphael, Gomez, these gentlemen have volunteered to help care for our wounded. And, perhaps provide other assistance.”

Mayor Jiménez and Captain Garcia seemed nonplused, or perhaps they had not quite awoken; they made no comment about this extraordinary statement.

At a gesture by Coronel Ehiztari the assembled members of his team removed their NVGs and helmets, then Ehiztari said, “these are Cirujano Mayor Bernardo Suarez, and Medico Captains Jorge Trueta, and Penelope Cisneros, Medico Teniente Maldonado, and Capellan (Chaplin) Ramirez. They will care for your wounded and dying.”

As soon as he had completed setting up the beacons, as well as a couple VS-17 panels and other visual markers that could be detected by the MQ-9 “Reaper” RPA and the Task Force Hidalgo personnel in the GCS back at Cannon AFB; Aguilar relieved Valesco of radio operator duties. Valesco came over to the gathering of officers. Wearing his high-tech night vision goggles and other gear, with his rifle at the low ready, he was quite intimidating.

Coronel Ehiztari said, “this is Mayor Fernando Valesco, my second in command. He will coordinate with Mayor Jiménez, Captain Garcia, and Captain Segundo Aguilar, on the delivery and distribution of the material.”

Mayor Jiménez asked, “when the helicopters arrive, would you Med-Evac our most seriously wounded. Please!”

Coronel Ehiztari said, “I regret that is not possible. Our logistics are being delivered by parachute. We have not been authorized any helicopters. Understand that my personnel and I have volunteered to assist you. We are now as committed as you are. We don’t have any way out that you don’t. It would be best if all of the canisters that will be delivered are out of sight before dawn.”

Coronel Ehiztari continued, “Coronel de Ribera, would you please introduce my medical personnel to yours.”

Teniente Coronel de Ribera led Coronel Ehiztari and the medical personnel of Operation Nightingale to meet with the Battalion Surgeon, assigned from Military Zone 5, and now stuck with the survivors of the Mexican 25^th Infantry Battalion. As they quietly moved out, Valesco began to explain to Mayor Jiménez and Captain Garcia what exactly was anticipated to be delivered, and what items would have priority of distribution.

Meanwhile Sergeant Aguilar was quietly speaking into the radio microphone, saying, “Hytek One-One, this is Nightingale Zero Fife Romeo. Do you read me? Nightingales Are Go. Over.”

There was no response from the personnel aboard the MC-130J...

Field Hospital of the 25^/a Batallon de Infanteria, 55 km West of the city of Chihuahua
2332 Hours local (11:32 PM) ZPT (0:32 PM MST) Wednesday March 28^th 2018{br}

(dialogue is spoken in Spanish, but written in English; some Spanish in italics)

There was no time for a pleasant introduction. Florence Nightingale would be saddened that there was too much resemblance between this Mexican barn pressed into service as a field hospital and the charnel houses that were the military hospitals she strove to improve back in 1854 during the Crimean War. Mexican soldiers, directed by the one doctor, and few surviving and ambulatory medical personnel did their best to make sanitary the conditions, and treat the overwhelming number of wounded. Alas, even with the medical supplies delivered early Wednesday morning it was a challenge they weren’t quite meeting.

Cirujano Capitan Segundo Eugenio Montiel was slack-faced, with bags to carry his woes prominent under his red-rimmed eyes; he seemed to have forgotten the cup of steaming coffee in his hand, then suddenly his eyes narrowed as he looked at Captain Segundo Penelope Cisneros, and declared, “You’re a Woman!”

Cirujano Mayor Bernardo Suarez stifled a cough, or perhaps a chuckle, then said, “of all the information we have shared, and asked of you, and you find That to be significant?”

Capitan Montiel blanched, then muttered, “there are not—”

Coronel Ehiztari stated, “there are not enough trained medical personnel to properly treat the wounded. You, Teniente Garza, and those assisting you have saved the lives of a remarkable number of men. More than should have been expected, considering your circumstances. If you reject the services of Medico Captain Cisneros, we must escort her to safety. We will not cast her out among the Monsters, alone. We have risked much to volunteer to try to save as many lives as possible. Do you reject our assistance?”

Trembling, and obviously near tears, Capitan Montiel quietly said, “Cirujano Mayor Suarez is the senior medical officer, I will defer to him.”

Suarez put his hand on his fellow surgeon’s arm, with his other hand he plucked away the cup of coffee before it fell; softly he said, “You have given all you can, more than should be expected. Go get some sleep. When you wake we will need your clear headed assessment of the wounded. Garza, and your notes will allow us to preserve as many lives as possible. You have given these men a chance. We will do our best to fulfil the opportunities you have provided. As the senior doctor, that is my order.”

Doctor Montiel nodded, and then staggered off; Teniente Garza apologized about the near non-existence of notes on the conditions of the patients. Other than Montiel and Garza, there was no one here who knew how to make proper medical records, had there been the time, or even paper upon which to make records. Writing upon cardboard and other scraps of material, and on occasion the skin of some patients, using permanent markers, Montiel and Garza had jotted the most essential medical data.

Cirujano Mayor Suarez took charge, he dictated that he, Trueta, and Maldonado would triage all of the wounded. Cisneros would use her tablet computer to note priorities for surgery and medication, in particular for those with severe burns. Padre Ramirez would begin administering last rights; then he would try to obtain some bleach, or other disinfectants to improve the sanitary conditions. Despite significant effort by the Mexican soldiers, the situation was far from ideal.

Teniente Garza the physician’s assistant, would coordinate the activities of the few Mexican Army medics, and other soldiers assigned to serve as medical orderlies. Coronel Ehiztari suggested that Teniente Coronel de Ribera should get some rest before the pre-dawn stand-to. Understandably the CO of the 25^/a Batallon de Infanteria declined. Similar to Ehiztari, he was too charged up to sleep, even though he was more likely to be a distraction to soldiers who were demonstrating they knew their duties, and are performing them well. So, the two senior officers went off to inspect the defenses.

Hidalgo Task Force Ground Control Station Cannon Air Force Base, near Clovis, New Mexico
0019 Hours (12:19 AM) MST Thursday March 29^th 2018 (23:19 PM ZPT)

Petty Officer First Class Leon Masipag, the chief (and currently only) cook assigned to the Hidalgo Task Force had finagled access to the Mess, or as the USAF call it D-Fac, preparing Midnight Chow, to make some chicken wraps, as well as grabbing some apples, bananas, and a few oatmeal cranberry cookies. Leon also brewed some fresh coffee, and filled several thermoses. He got Master Sergeant Christopher Cooper to drive him over to the GCS, where First Lieutenant Marshal Washington, Lieutenant Commander Akira Ellis, and Lieutenant Colonel Edgar Martinez were on duty monitoring the MQ-9 “Reaper” RPA.

The Mexican uniforms of the team members of Operation Nightingale have ‘glints’ sewn on to the shoulders of the uniforms, and ‘glints’ on their helmets. ‘Glints’ are covered with a cloth tab, but may be easily exposed when desired. The US armed forces have been using ‘glints’ on their uniforms for about a dozen years. Because of the ‘glints’ it is much easier for the members of the Hidalgo TF to identify the personnel of Operation Nightingale from the Mexican soldiers; otherwise, they would have been nearly indistinguishable.

On the screen in front of Akira they could see the personnel of Operation Nightingale collapse their perimeter, and move adjacent to the barn. Only a few Mexican soldiers seemed to be aware of their presence. It seemed that no one at the ECP had detected the presence of the Nightingales. Most likely the US soldiers were relocating to clear the LZ/DZ for the arrival of the parachute delivered canisters. The Nightingales had jumped with two VHF/UHF radios to talk to the crew of the MC-130J, however, until they recovered the cannisters, they would not have the satellite radios necessary to communicate with anyone in the USA.

Lieutenant Colonel Martinez said, “I used to hate it when battalion or higher headquarters would pester me with demands for Sit-Reps, or whatever. Now I know how they probably felt. With all of this technology we can see so much, and still not know what in the hell is going on! We won’t be able to talk to the guys on the ground until they get the canisters delivered. We can’t talk to the aircrew, and we shouldn’t call Colonel Wojciechowski, just to sooth my nerves.”

Akira said, “I am pretty sure the Nightingales are displacing in anticipation of the airdrop. Although I think they have only just made contact, and I would expect negotiations to take at least ten or fifteen minutes. Approximately the time hack for the MC One-Thirty Jay to arrive at the apex of its southern-most checkpoint. Of course, we don’t know exactly when they jumped, nor how long the HAHO jumpers were in the air. Perhaps we should shift the Reaper further west. We don’t want to lose it to an errant cargo container.”

Lieutenant Washington said, “Rodger, sir. I am altering the pattern of our racetrack five klicks west. I don’t see anything in the flightpath of our bird. I could climb above the projected altitude of the parachute drop. I recall they were planning on remaining below thirteen thousand. We should have coordinated deconfliction as part of the mission brief.”

Lieutenant Colonel Martinez said, “Ehiztari mentioned that this should be called Operation Soup Sandwich. Too damn accurate. We should have coms with the bird, even if coms with the guys on the ground is not practicable until they get their sat-coms delivered.”

Sergeant Cooper said, “I am not comfortable with what we have jury-rigged. We have to manually align the antenna for the satellite radio. The cables for both radios are just marked with engineer tape. Someone is bound to drive over them, or trip on them. We require some expert radio technicians, and a dedicated coms facility.”

Akira said, “I concur, and if Sergeant Cooper hadn’t just said something. I was going to. So, Segundo, what are you going to do about it? Also, after the briefing this afternoon, I’ve been thinking we need to rethink our SCIF facilities. We didn’t really plan for having personnel on the ground in Mexico. We need to adapt.”

Colonel Martinez said, “I’ve been considering our options. I plan to talk to Paul in the morning, and see what his Sea Bees can do. Stan has a lot of confidence in those folks, and they have really performed much better than I anticipated Reservists would.”

Akira handed over a couple of napkins upon which he had drawn some detailed sketches, and notes, as he said, “Edgar, would you have Paul take a look at these. I think this is what we need. Perhaps, Stan and you might expand upon this, if you think we will need even more capabilities.”

Colonel Martinez said, “I believe that we might need greater capabilities. It depends upon what USSOCOM and the pendejos at Sodom on the Potomac decide. This operation is snowballing. Mission creep is often a problem. I’m not completely sure What our actual Mission is. We are supposed to be very low profile, deniable, and on a shoestring budget. So far, we have been provided plenty of resources, to operate four RPAs conducting covert recon flights.”

Akira nodded, he finished chewing a bite of his chicken wrap, then said, “Operation Nightingale is just a start. We should deploy some ground recon teams too. Stan included that in his proposal, and we are supposed to be getting some personnel, soon. I think—”

From the speaker of the tactical radio came, “—dalgo, Hidalgo, Hidalgo. This is ... uhhh, Alleycat Niner-Niner. We have been Hit! I think we are going Down! I say again, Hidalgo, Hidalgo, Hidalgo. This is Alleycat Niner-Niner. We have been Hit! Vicinity Grid, uhh...”

Lieutenant Colonel Martinez exclaimed, “What the Hell! Who the Hell is That, on our frequency?”

^{Lunging for the radio microphone, Master Sergeant Cooper said, “That’s the Sprout! I recognize her voice. I think that call sign is for the J-STARS. Her previous squadron.” (1)}

Akira pondered aloud, “Why is she using that call sign? Why is she on the radio? Colonel Wojciechowski is supposed to be the only person authorized to break radio silence.”

Noticing Petty Officer Masipag was performing the sign of the cross before praying silently, his lips moving; Lieutenant Colonel Martinez said, “Stan could be a casualty, or otherwise occupied. If they have been hit and are going down, that is a reason to break radio silence. The Mexicans are likely to notice a crashed US Air Force airplane long before they decipher that message. We are in the Green? Right?”

Akira said, “Yes Colonel. We are operating in the Green. Encoded and frequency hopping. I am sure that Master Sergeant Cooper will ensure that we are secure before transmitting.”

Ignoring the others in the GCS, Sergeant Cooper mashed the transmit button, and said, “Sprout this is Coop! I hear you. What is your Location? Over.”

Nearly half a minute passed before Staff Sergeant Brussels said over the radio, “I don’t know where we are. The fires are out now, but the lights are still out. My terminal is still functioning, but it’s just the feed from the Reaper. Sergeant Okamoto was hit, I think he might be dead. Coop ... I’m scared.”

Lieutenant Colonel Martinez exclaimed, “Jesu Cristo. That’s Not a Sit-Rep. We need to know where they are, and what hit them at a minimum.”

Akira calmly said, “Wash, would you turn the Reaper south-south-east and see if we can get a visual on the MC One-Thirty.”

As he was turning the RPA in the direction Akira requested, Lieutenant Washington said, “Roger, sir. Be advised, it will take us an hour to travel the distance a Mike Charlie One-Thirty Juliet may travel in fifteen minutes. Maybe, twenty minutes, since they should have been at cruising speed.”

Akira said, “We only need to be close enough to see the aircraft. Or the location they go down, Jehovah forbid. We can check for survivors. We would have the option of vectoring in Mexican authorities. We don’t know if they will go down in Mexican territory, or that occupied by the aliens.”

“Futo!” Exclaimed Lieutenant Colonel Martinez, he turned around, then said, “I authorize you to use the Reaper to find Bach’s Kar, and specifically our people.”

Master Sergeant Cooper said, “Sprout, can you hear me? What is the Sit-Rep. Umm ... is it possible for you folks to bail out?”

Replying with only a couple seconds delay, Sergeant Brussels said, “We lost at least one engine, but the-the flames went out. Several of the crew are wounded. One of the crew said we are losing hydraulic fluid. They opened the tail ramp. Maybe to dump the bundles, it also cleared out the smoke and fumes. I think we are too low to survive jumping. At least once I saw mountains out the back! We are maneuvering erratically, and there is stuff blowing up behind us. I never experienced anything like this aboard an E-Eight J-STARS!”

Sergeant Cooper took a couple of seconds, then activated the mike, saying, “Honey, y’all gonna be Fine. You are still in the air, so I figure y’all ‘ll probably stay that way. You’re on a real rugged aircraft. I’ll be standing by. You tell us anything you think you need to. I, and the rest of the guys here are praying for you. Hidalgo standing by. Over.”

Lieutenant Colonel Martinez was on his phone, saying, “Colonel, I will be at your home in a couple of minutes. I need to advise you about a sensitive matter in the SCIF. -- Yes Sir. -- No Sir. ASAP, Sir.”

Heading for the door of the GCS before he hung up the phone, over his shoulder Lieutenant Colonel Martinez said, “I’m taking Stan’s SUV. Call me if you need to, but I’ll be in the SCIF soon, for I don’t know how long. Akira, you’re in charge until either I, or the Colonel get back.”

⁽¹⁾ SSG Brussels was previously assigned to the 461^st Air Control Wing, Robbins AFB, GA

In the Cockpit of the MC-130 J Commando II “Bach’s Kar” approximately 50 miles SSW of Chihuahua
0022 Hours (12:22 AM) MST Thursday March 29^th 2018 (11:22 PM ZPT Wednesday March 28^th)
(Flashback to what was occurring in the cockpit during the events depicted at the end of the previous chapter)

Major Josephine “Hoser” Bach, the pilot of the MC-130J was glancing at the gauges, while monitoring their position on the navigation display; while also maintaining awareness of what was around her aircraft. It was overcast, but there were indications of a storm off to the west, in the heart of the Sierra Madre Occidentals, if memory served her, near the Barranca del Cobre. Josephine was humming a favorite song; unfortunately, she couldn’t carry a tune. That was why her original handle of “Composer” was switched to “Hoser” while she was a young Second Lieutenant in Flight School.

Major Bach was focused on the designated Initial Point for their upcoming turn back to the north to drop off the parachute canisters. Presuming that ballsy Spook in a Mexican Army Colonel’s uniform was able to persuade whoever was in charge down on the ground to accept their offer. She and her crew weren’t Read-On, but she was aware that they were carrying a lot of medical supplies, and a lot of ammo. She hadn’t been around in ‘Oh-One’ when the first flights out of K2⁽²⁾ into The Stan; but this seemed like some ‘war stories’ she had heard from some hot shot pilots who had “Been There, Done That.”

⁽²⁾ K2: Karshi-Khanabad Air Base in Uzbekistan, vital to US deployments and logistics in support of operations in Afghanistan 2001-2005

Major Bach said, “Mug, you alerted Lou a couple of minutes ago. Has he acknowledged they are prepared for us to turn around? I don’t want any surprises, like cargo shifting, or someone falling out the back.”

The copilot Captain Murgatroyd “Mug” Reinbeck said, “They closed the tail before they started shifting the canisters.” Then he activated the intercom, and said, Hammer, is everything secure back there?”

>WHR-RANG – Thud – SKRANG – Clang – Skree – Krrang – WHUMP<

Major Bach said with a touch of annoyance, “What is going on back there.”

“Mug” glanced back, then snapped his head around to the right, as Major Bach said, “Number Four Engine is running hot. Now it’s losing power.”

Looking out the window, “Mug” exclaimed, “Number Four Engine Is On Fire! I think we are being Shot At!”

Major Bach calmly said, “Shut off the fuel to number four engine. Shut down number four engine. Activate the fire suppression system for number four engine.”

‘Flipping switches’ on the glass panel displays, and pulling the handle for the fire suppression system for #4 engine, “Mug” responded, “Fuel to number four, Off. Check. Shutting down number Four. Check. Activating the bottle for number four. Check.”

Due to the loss of power, and the drag caused by the number four engine’s propeller, the aircraft began turning to the right. The aircraft was also slipping to the right, similar to a car in a skid, and yawing to the right too. The airframe was shuddering, and the controls were beginning to feel mushy. Even over their headphones the crew in the cockpit could hear howling wind and other disturbing noises coming from the cargo bay. Smoke began drifting into the cockpit.

Noticing the reflection of flames, the CSO (Combat Systems Operator) Major “Ram” Ramirez, checked his displays then said, “I don’t see any SAMs⁽³⁾ on my display, but I concur we seem to have been hit by ground fire.”

Splitting her attention between her numerous displays, and the airspace outside the cockpit; there were more problems than the number four engine, however, the priority in any airborne crisis is for the pilot and crew to Fly the Plane; so, Major Bach ordered, “Feather the number four propeller. Increase power to number three engine. We are already turning to the right, so we will continue around until we are on course back north.”

Looking out the window, then turning his attention back to the displays, “Mug” said, “Fire is Out. Feathering number four propeller. I think we are still being shot at!”

>Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! PULL-UP PULL-UP<

Major Bach said, “Mug, work the engine out checklist, I will fly the plane.”

Alarms going off in the cockpit sounded like a McDonald’s during the lunch rush! The copilot Captain “Mug” Reinbeck pulled out the binder of laminated checklists and swiftly verified they had accomplished all of the initial procedures. Meanwhile, Major “Ram” Ramirez, the CSO continued working his displays, attempting to determine who was shooting at them, and where from; while simultaneously monitoring the numerous systems of the MC-130J in case anything critical might imminently fail.

“We are Losing Hydraulics!” someone shouted into the intercom.