INVASION USA (Book 1) - The End of Modern Civilization Read online

  “No good looking girls in Salt Lake?” asked Preston playfully. “Didn’t you know that Utah’s girls are some of the best lookers in the USA?” he added. “A lot of good-looking blondes I hear, but you won’t see them on top of a mountain and not looking through a billion dollar telescope either!”

  Buck laughed as the friendship between his buddies became easily visible. “Hey guys,” added Buck to the verbal argument. “I quite fancy fabulous Martie, too, and I bet she can out-fly both of you! Oh! Martie, Preston a little news… Sally Powers had her Pilatus offer accepted and she’s coming over to New Jersey to pick it up. You better contact her, as she is ecstatic and babbled to me last night for over an hour about it. I’m sure she will be on the blower to you pretty soon to tell you, too.”

  “Wow!” exclaimed Preston. “Carlos, Sally Powers is a ham radio friend of ours and an ex-roommate of Martie’s. She is about to finish her flight training on F-16s at Yuma and also wants to join our private air force. Oops, sorry Carlos. I forgot you have met Sally… Hey, wait a minute! I must be the odd one out here, guys! You guys know everyone, but I don’t. I must be out of the loop somewhere. At least it sounds like we will have met everyone by New Year’s Day. Martie and I know that Sally can’t afford a Mustang. That older ‘81 Swiss Air Force Pilatus PC-7 is a gem of a deal. I believe her version can carry either two 1,000 pounders under the wings, or up to four 500-pound bombs of all sorts, plus two missiles. The P-38 has the same type of bomb holders and I’m going to try and find some dummy 500 pounders that we both can fit and play with. Sally and the P-38 can be our bomber command and can be troop transport command with the DC-3. You know what I just remembered? All three Mustangs can carry 500-pound bombs as well.”

  “Preston, tell me something I don’t know for a change,” laughed Carlos. “You can’t fly two airplanes at once and both you and I are the only two who can fly the twin P-38.”

  “I believe both Sally and I could with an hour’s instruction,” interrupted Martie.

  “Girls flying a P-38?” joked Carlos. “Not in my lifetime!”

  “Go fly a kite, Carlos! You can’t fly much else!” was the response from Preston.

  “Shit, guys!” exclaimed Buck in New York.

  “Buck McKinnon! Mind your manners, there’s a lady present,” interrupted Martie. An apology was mumbled over the airwaves.

  “Living in New York is your problem, Buck,” continued Carlos. “Owning a share here and there is great, but that means you can’t fly it when you want, and getting out of that concrete monster to fly every now and again is a problem by itself.”

  “And where do I get the money to buy a complete aircraft, like your P-51, Carlos?” asked a quieter Buck. “It cost me an arm and a leg to get my shares of Baby Huey and Lady Dandy, after the initial investment of my private pilot’s license and my first 200 hours of boring flight time in a ruddy Cessna 150.”

  “Mind your mouth for the second time,” injected Martie. “First there’s a flying instructor present. You mind your manners about 150s. Secondly, most of my last 500 hours have been on ruddy Cessna’s, as you call them, and as far as I’m concerned a Cessna 150 is still better than being on the ground.” The men all laughed.

  “Buck, I’m not interested in your flying situation at the moment,” laughed Carlos. “You called me in the middle of work and I do have a job to do. We can yakkity-yak when we all get together and talk flying over New Year’s Eve at the fly-in. I’m the only person here tonight and I need to get back to studying the new black hole we’ve found. It is quite close to our solar system, only a couple of hundred light years away.”

  “Sorry, Carlos,” replied Buck, “But we actually contacted you for a reason. We have had some weird occurrences here on Earth in the last few days and need to know from our space commander whether there was an external reason for all these upsets in the electrical systems down here on Mother Earth, mountain boy.”

  “Nothing that I’ve seen in the last 30 days here on my hill,” returned Carlos. “The sun has been quiet, and apart from me dropping coffee all over myself last night, the universe is peaceful with no big bangs. The electrical and x-ray pulses coming out of this black hole have been doing so for about 20 years, so no problem there. It must be a loose connection down there in electrical Earth land.”

  They chatted for another minute or two before Carlos had to get back to work, the electrical problems on earth quickly forgotten. It was yesterday’s news anyway.

  Carlos told Preston that he would not be able to fly to North Carolina in the near future, due to a heavy workload, but he was definitely going to fly in over Christmas and New Years. Buck also mentioned that he thought a very single Sally Powers might also be in attendance over the festive season. He was sure that if she had her new toy, that she would need no small excuse to fly in, and that Preston and Martie should expect her.

  Sally Powers called them ten minutes later and sounded very excited. “I got it, I got it, Martie!” she shouted as soon as Martie answered the call.

  “We heard, from Buck, a few minutes ago,” replied Martie, the excitement of the transmission growing on both sides. “I’m dying to see it. Where is it? When do you pick it up? Can I go with you?” Martie asked as girlfriends do, by asking several questions at once.

  “Trenton, New Jersey and yes, fly up next weekend and meet me. We could fly it down to Tucson together until our fly-in. I was hoping to keep it in Preston’s hangar in Raleigh next year, if he doesn’t mind looking after it for me, until I find her a home, I mean hangar, here in Arizona,” the still excited Sally continued.

  “Of course we can give her a good home for a while,” answered Preston. “I should have enough space in the hangar if we rearrange planes and you are coming to our fly-in, which is only just over two months away, anyway.”

  Preston and Martie sat down on the couch after the radio conversations were over, each with a single malt, and talked a little and relaxed. Martie was thinking exciting thoughts about her friends and Preston, especially with the New Year’s Eve party only two and a half months away. The BBC news came in over the radio and Preston dialed it in to grab the best coverage.

  “It is three o’clock in London, and here is the early morning news,” stated the announcer over the radio. “The President stated in Washington yesterday that another 150,000 American troops are to be deployed into northern Pakistan to fight the Taliban. Amid growing concerns about U.S. home defense in the United States, the American administration continues to move troops into foreign war zones to fight terrorism around the world. During a press conference, he admitted that the number of troops in foreign countries far overstretched the troops remaining on bases at home, but he was confident that no attack on the United States was imminent and that the Pentagon would start bringing troops home by the middle of next year.” The voice of the President of the United States came over the radio.

  “We need to end these foreign wars in Pakistan, North Korea, and Iran,” he stated. “We cannot do that without a major increase in force. Nobody can, will, or is thinking of attacking us here at home. With our new Defense Satellite Monitoring System above us, we can monitor any troop movement anywhere in the world, and the latest word from Homeland Security is that we are safe from anybody trying to attack the people inside the borders of the United States.”

  The President then took a few questions and argued with the reporters about the deployment of nearly 90% of the U.S. armed forces abroad.

  “People must understand. The next war is not a war of people fighting people, but a war of technology. We are ready here at home and have the best technology in our modern war machines that everyone else in the world would love to have. We have the best aircraft, guns, and ships. We have the best scientific and latest engineered weapons. We have the best satellites and world communication systems. Nobody is even close to the fire power we have at our disposal. And to you skeptics out there, many of our troops are only eight to ten hours away from American
soil. With 90% of our fleet of Air Force troop carriers ready and waiting on foreign soil, we could have a quarter of a million troops back on U.S. soil and ready to fight before any attack could be launched. We are the United States of America.”

  “Pompous ass!” replied Preston, turning the radio to Receive mode, grabbing Martie’s hand, and pulling her up to head for the bedroom.

  CHAPTER 2

  Buck McKinnon

  Buck McKinnon was born in 1969 into a middle-class family that had lived in New York for several decades. Buck was born the only child to Joe and Mary McKinnon. Joe was a welder and as far as Buck could remember, always worked in the shipyards. His mother, Mary, was a secretary and worked for a small firm in central Manhattan.

  His younger years were typical of an American family in the mid1970s. Television was a growing fad, and his favorite show was “Leave it to Beaver.” He grew up in the small-town life of school and soda fountains where the youngsters would meet after school. School was simple for Buck. He loved anything to do with science and dreamed of being an astronaut one day. He had studied the space race and especially the Sky Lab development of the 1970s with fascination as it developed into a fully-fledged space station under NASA’s management.

  He excelled in science and math and ended up being invited to study with a scholarship at MIT in Boston in 1988. He was quickly absorbed into electronic development in CSAIL and completed a Masters in electrical engineering and then his Ph.D. in electronic communications a couple of years later.

  His interest in flying started in high school. To be an astronaut, he knew he would have to join the Air Force and fly. The McKinnon family lived a few miles away from a local airfield and Buck would often ride his bicycle over to watch the goings on. He became known to many of the private pilots there, often mowing the grass runway and, for his work, was taken up in all sorts of aircraft for pleasure flights. He helped put the gliders away and managed to get several hours of flying in the club’s two-seater trainer—an old aluminum Blanik—with an instructor.

  During his time at MIT, he did as many jobs as possible so he could afford to fly, achieved his private pilot’s license, and flew as many hours as he could at a local airfield that was not much different than the one close to his home. He managed at least an hour every other week or so, and by the time he left Boston to return to New York he had added 173 hours to his log book.

  For the next ten years he flew little, working for a national communications company in New York City. It was only in the late 1990s that he was transferred to the newly formed Future Design department of the company in Cambridge, just outside Boston. He was also invited to lecture at CSAIL at MIT and went back to his favorite airport to catch up on his flying. His financial worth had grown considerably since the last time he had visited the airfield, and he purchased a share of a Cessna 172 to continue flying.

  In 2001, he was offered a share in a more technical aircraft— an old 1967 Cessna 402—in which he completed his twin-engine rating. After selling his Cessna 172 share and his newer Cessna 402 share in 2003, Buck borrowed $100,000 and purchased a quarter-share in a 1985 Beechcraft King Air B90. For the pricey sum of $200,000, this was flying at its best for Buck—twin turboprops, luxury seating for eight, and an arm and a leg in costs to use his allotted time. He managed to get his turboprop license and complete 100 hours before it became too costly. In 2005, Buck sold his share and deposited $130,000 into his bank account after paying off the loan.

  By this time, there was a promotion offered and a grand pay raise if he would return to New York, so grudgingly he returned to downtown Manhattan.

  Luckily, a month after his move back to the “Big Apple,” he met a new friend in one of his local Friday night bars—a very pretty young lady who flew helicopters for one of the sightseeing companies operating in Manhattan. She was fun and took him with her on flights when there was a free seat. Buck got interested in helicopter flight and completed his helicopter license in December 2006.

  After lengthy searches, Buck found what he was looking for—his latest machine. In late 2007, he purchased his very own Bell Huey UH-1D from a desperate seller in Tel Aviv. Being a later 1969 model, the Huey had been in the Air Force in Israel as well as the later years of the Rhodesian war further south. She had many hours under her belt, but was in perfect condition. For a desperate “must sell it now” sum of $290,000, she was a bargain, and after a few dealings became affordable for Buck. He immediately sold two small shares to a couple of ex-Vietnam War Huey pilots—ham radio buddies of his in New Jersey who wanted to fly—for $65,000 each.

  With over 80 hours in the Huey, and enjoying every minute of his new baby, he decided to visit the Experimental Aircraft Association’s annual fly-in in Oshkosh in 2009 for the first time in his life and show off his helicopter. He had been invited by one of the EAA board members who had heard of his Huey in still perfect condition and offered him a prime place in the viewing area.

  Buck was excited. From his home airport of Bayport Aerodrome, or MacArthur Airport as it was known, three miles west of Islip on Long Island where he had found hangar space for his Huey two years earlier, the adventure was 798 miles and he needed to refuel twice. The flight was one of the longest overland trips he had ever flown in his life.

  It was only a week before his trip, out of the blue, when his old girlfriend Chloe—the one who had introduced him to helicopters two years earlier—looked him up again. She had lived with him for a couple of months until she had received a better flying job offer in Dallas. They had spent their last weekend together before she left for Texas, with Chloe promising to look him up as soon as she was able. That last weekend they shared together was only a week before he found the Huey for sale on the Internet. Chloe and Buck had not wanted a long-distance relationship and parted ways as good friends.

  This time, however, both were ecstatic to see each other again. Buck was a hard worker and had little time, or interest, in the opposite sex unless it fell into his lap, so to speak. Chloe was not happy in Dallas and had returned to her old job in New York. She was even more excited when Buck invited her to be co-pilot on his long trip—really excited to experience her old boyfriend’s new toy and have a chance to fly a real Huey.

  Buck could not believe how passionate a Huey could make a girl. She made love to him and snuggled close to him all that night and the next, after he had taken her for a spin around Long Island, letting her fly most of the time. She was a good and experienced chopper pilot and easily adapted to the heavy Huey. They first flew up to Rochester, refueled, and stayed overnight in a hotel close to the regional airport. Then they flew onto Lansing, Michigan to refuel again. The Huey cruised at 130 miles an hour at a happy altitude of 11,000 feet due to its very light cargo load.

  The cargo aboard consisted of a new porta-potty, two luxury military-style camp beds, a tent, a DC refrigerator, a television, ten days of food, beer, and wine, and water and clothing, which was less than 300 pounds of a maximum 3,500 pound payload. She flew fast and easy. Her normal range was 340 miles and her flight manual reckoned on an extra 40 miles with less than 500 lbs. of cargo, including the pilot and co-pilot’s weight, with full fuel. Each leg was blessed with beautiful weather and took three hours of cruise time.

  From Lansing, it was a shorter 200-mile leg, first across Lake Michigan and then over the much smaller Lake Winnebago. Buck headed out of Lansing in a northwest direction on a blue and cloudless morning. They headed over Grand Rapids at 11,000 feet and headed for the lake. They crossed the eastern shore of Lake Michigan ten miles south of Muskegon, and 30 minutes later crossed the western shore just north of Milwaukee. They then turned north and followed I-43 and then Route 32 up to the small town of Kiel. From here they flew due west and 15 minutes later moved into the already busy flight pattern for Oshkosh.

  It was on the ground several minutes later that Buck saw the most beautiful DC-3 he had ever seen, parked less than 100 feet away in a line of fixed-wing aircraft on display. It
was the day before opening ceremonies, and there were small aircraft taxiing everywhere, slowly filling up their allotted spaces.

  Oshkosh was fun. Buck was proud of his Huey, and dozens of older pilots came up to him and told him their war stories about Vietnam. They slept overnight in the Huey, which served as a museum by day and home by night, and they got friendly with many of the pilots around them. An old friend, Sally Powers, came over to say hello. She did not own a private aircraft, but had piloted a C-130 in for the Air Force show stand from Tucson. His good buddy Carlos Rodriquez, who was currently on the move to his new assignment in Salt Lake City, flew directly there after the show. Carlos’ always perfect Mustang P-51C would be one of the most popular aircraft there.

  The last night after the show had closed was the most fun. Buck, Chloe, Carlos, Sally and the two owners of the DC-3 Buck had admired throughout the show had a party around the Huey. Also in attendance were a dozen or so of the older ex-Huey pilots, and these guys were fun enough for Buck to throw a party on their behalf. Carlos found and secured an old 44-gallon rusted drum that had been cut in half and used as a BBQ grill at a few earlier EAA meets. Sally and Chloe bummed a ride into town with the board member who invited them, and returned with charcoal, three dozen T-bone steaks, a dozen large pork chops, several raw whole chickens, sandwich rolls, several cases of beer, a box of wine, and a case of Wild Turkey whiskey. Buck and Carlos shared the $800.00 tab and the party was a blast.

  They found chairs, and the board member, who couldn’t stay, offered them a cooler of ice, a large fire bin, and half a cord of wood. Turns were taken cooking and opening drinks, and music from the radio onboard the Huey was good enough to dance to.

  “Reminds me of ‘Nam,” shared one of the older pilots. “Often when there was a cease fire, or we had a break in the fighting, we used to sit around the Hueys and have a party. It didn’t take much over there to start a party. We had parties to respect any guys who didn’t come back, too. We just didn’t have any girls over there.”