Delta G. David J. Crawford

if you can tilt that thing over. Then see if you can push it behind the plane so we can rig it for towing. While you’re doing that, we’ll strip the web seating, and lash up some chains to make a harness.”

      The cargo doors opened again and Bob fired up the dozer. This was definitely against tech orders. But how often do you get to tow a UFO? Bob got the dozer moving and drove it down the ramp. He moved around to the front of the plane. The fuel gauge was bouncing on empty. Rick and Dave watched as he nudged the blade up to the shell and gave it a push. The shell moved a foot or two but did not fall over. Bob raised the blade as high as it would go and then gave it another shove. This time it teetered as he gunned the throttle. It fell over like a drunken sailor.

      Dave, Rick and Glenn grabbed all the webbing, cargo netting, and chains that they could get their hands on. Bob got behind the shell and began pushing it. It did move. Now that it was on its side there was less contact with the ice and it slid much easier. The dozer wasn’t getting very good traction though.

      However, it did move and Bob was doing fairly well pushing the shell around to the back of the plane. He got it lined up about twenty feet behind the plane. Just then the diesel sputtered a few times and then the engine quit. It was out of fuel. He leapt off the dozer and went to help the other guys with the harness and rigging. He then climbed back up the dozer and walked out on the blade to the top of the shell. Glenn tossed him a corner of the cargo net. He placed it over the top. Four other cargo nets were attached around the sides. The web seating was taken out and attached to the corners. Bob said the thing weighed about 15,000 pounds and that the webbing should hold. The webbing and netting was tied off and it was secured to pallet hooks. Everyone boarded the aircraft. Bob went over to the ramp control lever and swung the ramp up off the ice. Everything looked secure and was ready to rock and roll, or in this case, slip and slide. Rick grinned in satisfaction, “Guess we’re leaving the D-7 dozer for the shell. Hope we got the better trade.”

      CHAPTER 7

      A Snail’s Pace

      Rick stood next to Bob and plugged in a headset. “Bob, I’m staying back here with you.” He pointed to Dave and motioned for him to go forward with Glenn up into the cockpit. Carl would need some help taxiing the C-130 the twenty-five miles over to DYE-3. Carl had no doubt they could get this “object” to DYE-3. The longest taxi on record was when a Raven had to taxi from halfway between DYE-2 to DYE-3 because of an emergency landing due to hydraulics failure. That was a taxi on the ice of over seventy-five miles. That took over four hours. Rick figured it would take two hours at the most to taxi to DYE-3.

      Dave didn’t bother to strap in. What was the use? They were on the ground, right? He sat in the pilot seat where there was a better view. He sat there worrying to himself. What was all the secrecy about? Why did Rick feel he had to drag this thing over to DYE-3? Why not call up Sonde and have them send out another Raven? Why not tell Sonde what you found? Dave mulled this and a hundred other questions around in his head. This was surreal.

      Rick had explained his logic back at Sonde. First of all, he wasn’t sure what the reaction would be if they found anything up here. He may be ordered back to Sonde and brought up on charges. After the disinterest that he experienced in the debriefing, along with the attempt to brand him as a poor pilot by claiming he was hot dogging, stalling a twenty million dollar aircraft and endangering his crew, he no longer trusted the chain of command. It was time to show some balls. Besides, the DYE-3 crew had twelve men on it. All of them knew something was going on out here and had at least seen something strange last week. The DYE-3 crew were contract employees. They supported the military, but were not beholden to it. If you pulled this thing up to their front door, it would be hard to brush it under the rug, or bury it under fifty feet of snow. Rick wasn’t necessarily looking to blow the lid off this thing. If that were the case, he would have loaded the plane up with a bunch of Danes from Sonde, the hotel manager and his staff, or half the Caribou Club patrons. However, his purpose was strictly to gain some leverage and to have a bargaining chip. This was the chance of a lifetime. He had heard the rumors. He had watched as pilots came and went. The thin air crowd got scoffed, ballyhooed, and even ridiculed. This wasn’t going to happen to him.

      Dave on the other hand was a little worried. He had definitely seen what this thing could do. He had made an official report. Nothing had come of it, yet. But after talking with Rick at the Club, it didn’t take long to convince him to go along for the ride. Carl, Glenn, and Bob trusted their commander implicitly and were in the same boat as him. A crew lives and dies for each other.

      He convinced himself that it definitely made sense to drag the thing over to DYE-3. There was not much that could be done out here anyway. DYE-3 could provide the personnel and equipment to maybe help figure this thing out. It would eventually become the base of operations anyway. They might as well drag this thing the twenty-five miles over to where they’ve got warm food, warm beds, a shower, plenty of power, equipment, tools, and all that good stuff. Besides, this thing can take the punishment. And by the way, how else would you move this thing anyway? A chopper could never get up here and lift it. It is better to sometimes beg forgiveness rather than ask for permission. This was one of those times. “Good grief, is this what happens to your thought process after dating a JAG officer for the past three years?” He shrugged it off. He knew she never lost an argument, and would only concede a point from time to time.

      Rick gave the order to throttle up and head towards DYE-3. Carl acknowledged and reached over to grab the throttle levers. “Glenn, you need to keep a good eye on the oil pressure and temp gauges. We’re going to be putting a lot of stress on these engines. I’m sure we’re going to need full military power to sustain our forward motion dragging all that weight behind us. I’m also concerned with sucking up chunks of ice. I’d hate to FOD out an engine up here.” Turbines were notoriously susceptible to foreign object damage. Their intakes acted like a vacuum cleaner and would ingest just about anything they could. A chunk of ice could rip the guts out of a turbine. However, the nice thing about a turboprop was that the propeller tended to deflect ice, rocks, and pebbles. The C-130’s engines were very high above the ground which helped, too.

      Carl pushed the blade pitch levers all the way forward. The constant speed propellers bit into the arctic air and the plane slowly moved forward. Carl was worried about the tension on the harness, “Major, you need to stay clear of those tie down straps. If they break loose, they’ll cut you in half.”

      Rick responded, “Thanks for the advice, but we’re very well aware of that. Everything is secure back here.” Carl responded, “Roger that. Do you want me to contact DYE-3 on the handheld radio? I think we’re in range.” Rick replied, “Negative, we’ll wait until we’re in sight of the complex.”

      Now Dave understood why Rick wanted him out of the way. He had enough things to worry about back there. The huge transport plowed through the two foot high drifts with ease. They were doing about 10 to 15 mph. They had been moving for forty-five minutes. This was turning out to be easier than everyone thought until the nose gear plowed suddenly and plunged into some soft snow. The plane stopped like it hit a brick wall. Even going this slow, Dave was slammed against the console. Rick and Bob lost their footing on the ramp. “Shit, Carl, what was that?” Rick asked.

      Just then he looked back at the shell. It was continuing its forward motion, all 15,000 pounds of it. It slid into the back of the plane with a sickening crunch. “Damn,” Rick exclaimed, “we just got rear ended by an extraterrestrial. Close encounters of the fourth kind.” Rick was trying to put everyone at ease. It didn’t do much damage to the plane. Carl asked, “You both okay back there?” Rick replied, “Yeah, we’re okay. Put a nasty dent in our ramp though. Not going to be able to pressurize this bird. We’ll have to keep the ramp down on the way back to Sonde. We’ll have to stay low and slow.” Glenn piped in, “Not much lower and slower than we can get right now. By the way, we’re not at fault. We were rear ended, right? Besides I think that bump pushed us out of that rut.” Glenn was right. The extra push did pop them out of the hole. Carl applied power and they continued on their way. Rick clicked in, “Okay, Carl, take it a bit slower, no pun intended, but we’re going to have to keep her down to a snail’s pace.”

      The Hercules