37 Days In A Strange World Read online

  Title:

  37 DAYS IN A STRANGE WORLD

  TOWBAR’S WORLD--BOOK 1

  By Dave Hazel

  Text copyright © 2014 David F Hazel

  All Rights Reserved, including reproduction

  in whole or in part in any form.

  Dedication: To my wife Deb and our kids – DeAnna, David, Frank, Mykal, Sheena & Anthony for their love and support.

  Especially to my wife Deb and my son Frank for pushing me and encouraging me.

  Table of Contents

  Title:

  Text copyright © 2014 David F Hazel

  Dedication:

  List of Personnel Lost for 37 Days

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE – Day 1

  CHAPTER TWO – Day 1

  CHAPTER THREE – Day 2

  CHAPTER FOUR – Day 3

  CHAPTER FIVE – Day 4

  CHAPTER SIX – Day 5

  CHAPTER SEVEN – Day 7

  CHAPTER EIGHT – Day 10

  CHAPTER NINE – Day 11

  CHAPTER TEN – Day 12

  CHAPTER ELEVEN – Day 13

  CHAPTER TWELVE – Day 14

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Day 23

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN – Day 33

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN – Day 36

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN – Day 37

  PROLOGUE

  Thursday, June 23rd 1983

  1014 hours, Minot Air Force Base, North Dakota

  “Ah, you’re early.” TSgt (Technical Sergeant or Tech Sergeant) Wingate smiled as MSgt (Master Sergeant) Johnson entered the secured office with a box from Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sweet breakfast or sweet lunch?”

  “Sweet brunch. This is what life is all about,” Johnson joked with a large grin and set the eighteen rings of delight on the desk. “Anything happening?”

  “No. The convoy has called in their security checks every five minutes on the dot. Lieutenant Light, the convoy commander, is a stickler about punctuality.”

  “As well he should be.” Johnson nodded and eyed the large plexi-glass tracking board. Grease pencil Xs marked the time and map location of each security check. “This is the first time Minot or any base sent the missile and the warhead together.”

  Wingate tapped his grease pencil on his palm. “I understand the Air Force is trying to save money, but I still think it’s far too risky to send them together. Look, I have to run to the latrine. Would you mind holding down the fort for a couple of minutes and listen to the radio? The convoy turned onto Highway 23 fifteen minutes ago. Their next security check is in about two minutes.” He handed the grease pencil to Johnson.

  “Sure, no problem,” Johnson said. He re-adjusted his holstered .38 revolver and sat at the master control. “Grab me a cup of Jo on your way back and leave it black. Help yourself.” He nodded to the open box of donuts. “I can’t eat them all.” He smacked his lips and picked up a glazed ring. “Hey guys go ahead and dig in.” He nudged the box toward the other two men in the protected office.

  The office of Wing Security Control managed the security and operations of the 91st Missile Security Wing of Minot Air Force Base, ND. The Missile Wing was home to 150 Minuteman III nuclear missiles, located over an 8,500 square mile area in north central North Dakota, about the same size as the state of Massachusetts. The 150 Minuteman III nuclear missiles were in hardened underground silos, and heavily guarded when being transported across the state.

  The desk top speaker crackled to life. “Chopper 238, Chopper 238 to Wing Security Control.” One of the two pilots of the helicopter escort spoke fast. His voice sounded distraught.

  Johnson turned to the two men with their fists in the donut box. “What the hell? The chopper isn’t supposed to call in security checks.” He pressed the desk top microphone of the radio while chewing on a fresh donut. “Go ahead 238.”

  “We have an emergency,” the rushed voice sounded flustered. “I repeat we have a situation on the ground. Do you copy?” Static crackled, interrupting his words.

  “Whoa.” Johnson jumped forward in his chair. He turned to the others again. “This isn’t an exercise, right? No one would ever authorize an exercise with live warheads in play.”

  The two looked shell-shocked. “No! No exercise,” Staff Sergeant Rivera replied with a gulp.

  “WSC, did you copy our last transmission?” The pilot raised his voice.

  “Minot Wing Security to last calling unit, be advised I need to hear from the convoy commander,” Johnson requested.

  “This is Chopper 238 and we have an emergency,” the pilot shouted. “The convoy is gone!”

  Johnson jammed his finger onto the desktop microphone. “Repeat your last message,” he huffed. “What’s he mean gone?” He asked of the two who looked stunned.

  “The convoy disappeared!” The pilot yelled against the noise of the rotor blades.

  “Follow protocol,” said SSgt (Staff Sergeant) Rivera. “Get the convoy commander on the radio.” He and the other sergeant immediately flipped through regulation manuals to follow proper procedures and checklists.

  “Break, WSC to Zulu One.” Johnson called for the convoy commander directly. “WSC to Zulu One,” he paused. “Damn, the CC didn’t answer,” he said as Rivera placed a checklist before him.

  “WSC, this is Chopper 238, we have an emergency,” the pilot yelled again. Anger and fear resonated in his tone. “Zulu One is gone! We have a Broken Arrow. Be advised, I repeat, we have a Broken Arrow!”

  The use of special code words involving nuclear assets was designed to get the attention of all Security Forces in the area. Their use would never be taken lightly.

  “Damn it all to hell,” Johnson snarled with clenched teeth and looked at the two other men in the office. “Get the--”

  “WSC, this is Lieutenant Anthony of Chopper 238. Did you copy my last message?”

  “Roger that, Sir. Stand by.” Johnson turned back to the others. “Get Colonel Parker in here right now!” He demanded of Rivera. “Get the Backup Alert Force on the phone now!” Johnson ordered the other. “Chopper 238, start from the beginning and explain how the convoy disappeared, Sir.” His hand trembled as he grabbed pen and tablet.

  Johnson wrote down time and facts when Wingate appeared at the door, two cups of coffee in his hands. Wingate tapped the door with his foot. Johnson buzzed the door releasing the lock and waived frantically while listening to the crackling voice through the speaker.

  “What’s going on?” Wingate asked.

  “We have an actual Broken Arrow,” Johnson barked without looking up from his note taking.

  Wingate leaned over Johnson’s shoulder to watch the speaker like a TV. He listened intently to the anxious voice.

  “…and then we flew ahead of the convoy,” Lieutenant Anthony said. “We patrolled side roads, checked valleys, searched for potential ambush points. Everything was clear. When we turned to take another run at the rear of the convoy, out of nowhere there was a very large green fog. Whatever this massive thing is, it just appeared. It wasn’t there two minutes prior.”

  A second voice from the chopper continued. “We can’t tell if it’s a cloud or fog. It could be a smoke screen,” he added with the noise of the rotor blades attacking his words. “For the written record the fog is green in color, at least one square mile in size. It could be fifty feet in height.”

  “What shade of green, Sir?”

  “What shade?” Lieutenant Anthony scoffed in anger. “It’s green. All colors of green. It keeps changing. It’s bright, dull, dark, light. It’s green! It’s the only green cloud here.”

  “Sir, could the convoy be stopped inside the fog?” Johnson asked. He nodded when Wingate offered to take the pen and tablet from him.
r />   “The convoy’s not responding to calls. We just saw two civilian vehicles drive into the fog and nothing has come out.”

  “Sir, could the convoy be under attack?”

  “I don’t know. The cloud is too thick to see through.”

  “Chopper 238, can you fly into the fog?” Johnson asked.

  “Negative!” Lieutenant Anthony responded sharply. “We’d run the risk of hitting telephone poles or wires.”

  “What is the location, Sir?”

  “Approximately twenty miles past the turn from Highway 83.”

  “Roger that Sir. Keep us updated on any new information. Be advised the BAF has been alerted and will be in route shortly.” Johnson paused as Wingate handed him a scribbled piece of paper. “Be advised, the security Crew going to the field today are already in route to that direction. They’ll be directed to your location and will arrive on scene first. Break.

  “Minot Wing Security, Minot Wing Security to Trip 16.” Johnson spoke into the microphone while scanning the list of personnel traveling to the missile field that day. At the top of the list for Crew 4 Security Police, Lieutenant Edwards - Flight Security Officer.

  “Trip 16 here, over,” Lt (Lieutenant) Edwards replied.

  “Sir, your entire Crew needs to proceed directly to Highway 23 by order of Colonel Parker. It’s possible the convoy has come under attack. We have a real time Broken Arrow in progress. This is not an exercise, I repeat, this is not an exercise.”

  “Trip 16 copies. What is the status of the BAF?”

  “Oh, damn.” Rivera shook his head and frowned. “What a Crew to have responding.”

  Wingate looked surprised. “Why do you say that?”

  “I know Edwards. He’s a prick who thinks he knows it all. I know he’s eating all this up because it’ll pad his record.”

  “What officer wouldn’t eat it up? What about his Crew?”

  “Crew 4 has a lot of bad boys and a lot of screw ups on it,” Rivera scoffed. “Too bad we couldn’t press a rewind button and get a different Crew dispatched to the field today.”

  “Yeah, but we don’t have a rewind button,” Johnson said. He held his hand up to silence them and pressed the radio key pad. “Trip 16, the BAF has been mobilized and will depart the base in minutes. A base-wide recall of all security forces is in place.”

  “Am I to understand I will be the On-Scene Commander?”

  “Roger that, Trip 16.”

  “I copy that WSC, we will comply,” Edwards replied. “Do we have permission to load our weapons? Over.”

  “That is affirmative, Sir. Be advised from this point on we need five minute security checks until you arrive on scene. What is your ETA, Sir?” Johnson turned to Wingate and Rivera. “It’s going to get crazy in here today.”

  “Crew 4 ETA is twenty-five to thirty minutes from now,” Edwards said. “First security check, all secure. Break. Break.

  “Trip 16 to all trips under my command,” Lt Edwards called to the six other vehicles on his Crew. “Did you copy the last transmissions? Over.”

  Five of the six teams replied. The seven man team of Trip 13 did not acknowledge Lt Edwards’s call.

  Edwards called out to the rest of his Crew again. “Does anyone have Trip 13 in sight?”

  “Sir, this is Trip 11, Trip 13 was ahead of everyone else and may have already turned onto highway 23 by now.”

  “Roger. Proceed with caution, and remain vigilant,” Edwards directed. “Over and out.”

  “Chopper 238 to Wing Security.” Lt Anthony called out from the helicopter, his voice dressed in static.

  “Go ahead Chopper 238.” Johnson replied while adding his personal notes to Wingate’s chronicle.

  “Be advised this green smoke or fog appears to be getting smaller. It’s not breaking up, it’s just shrinking. It is still moving eastward at a speed of approximately ten miles per hour. Still nothing has exited the cloud. Please note this; the convoy was traveling fifty-five miles per hour going west. It would appear the convoy is being carried along with the fog. We’ll go closer and have a look.” His voice popped with static.

  “Roger 238. Please keep us informed. Wing Security clear.”

  Lt Anthony called back, he sounded emotionally and physically stressed. “Whoa, be advised… there is… a magnetic pull.”

  The voice of his co-pilot could be heard rising in the background. “Keep it up, keep it up. Keep it up!”

  “Can you pull away Sir?”

  “It’s pulling us down, we can’t fight it.” Anthony yelled into the radio, his voice a clamor of panic. “We’re going down,” he yelled through static. “We can’t--”

  “Wing Security to 238, complete your message.” Johnson paused. He nervously tapped his fingers on the desk looking at Wingate’s confused expression. “What the hell could it be?” He whispered to Wingate. Johnson keyed the microphone. “Wing Security to Chopper 238, are you still there?”

  CHAPTER ONE – Day 1

  1. Thursday, June 23rd 1983

  1036 hours, Highway 83, 15 miles South of Minot N.D.

  Sgt (Sergeant) Mykal Graves (pronounced Michael) sat in the second seat of a nine passenger Chevrolet Suburban C20. He tried to get some rest while he and six others traveled to work in the missile field of Minot Air Force Base, N.D. He had traveled this route countless times in the past four years and could almost drive it blindfolded. They were a couple of minutes from the only turn in their route.

  After they turn west onto Highway 23, it’s just another sixty minutes over flat, boring, North Dakota farm land to reach their destination. Kurt Jones always drove faster than the Air Force allowed. The posted speed limit of 55 mph was just too taxing for a weekly routine.

  Mykal normally wouldn’t doze off on the drive to the field, but he hadn’t slept well lately. He knew Pamela thought he was stressed over his upcoming testing for promotion. Four stripes and increased pay would be nice. Then life could go back to normal and spend time with the family instead of studying.

  He smiled at the thought of his lovely wife encouraging him to study while she took care of their two sons, little Mykal age three, and Frank eighteen months. They’d been married for almost five years and were still best friends. Mykal hated studying, but he did it to be a better provider for Pam and the boys.

  “It’d be easier to sleep if it wasn’t so damn hot in here,” Mykal complained to the driver while everyone else slept

  “You got that right, Sarge,” Kurt Jones replied without taking his eyes off the road. “They always give us the crappy vehicles with the broken AC.”

  “Wake me when we get there,” Mykal said. He closed his eyes and lowered his head in hopes of taking a nap.

  With his eyes closed Mykal knew Kurt raced down US Highway 83, to make up time since the entire Crew had been delayed departing base. Mykal felt Kurt took the only turn onto North Dakota Highway 23 rather hastily. Sleeping bodies bounced and slid into one another. He heard Kurt snicker when the others stirred in their sleep.

  Mykal opened his eyes after the turn. He looked out his window to the north and saw the old abandoned radar site about a mile or two away. The site, called Minot Air Force Station had been closed since 1979. A few trees dotted the site’s landscape. He closed his eyes again to make the most of the drive.

  Traveling west the backdrop changed from flat boring Dakota farmland to low boring rolling hills. The slight rolling hills were considered a “big” change in scenery. Mykal knew he could still get close to an hour of sleep. He’d rather sleep than watch plain sights pass by with an occasional farm house with farming machinery.

  A few moments after closing his eyes he started to doze. He entered the subconscious area where odd thoughts blended with dreams. Abruptly his head filled with a tingling dizziness. Real dizziness, as if he had been spun too fast on a merry-go-round. The vehicle felt like it was sliding on ice slick winter roads.

  “Oh shit,” Kurt yelled, but it sounded muffled.

  ‘It’
s gotta be a dream,’ Mykal thought.

  While the dizziness and spinning continued, Mykal realized everything seemed darker as if the sun had been blotted out.

  “What the hell?” Kurt gasped. “Oh no!” He bellowed when the vehicle ‘spun on ice’. It bounced and rode rough as if Kurt had driven off the road.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Mykal shouted when he bolted up. He realized he wasn’t dreaming. The others yelled different forms of the same question.

  Mykal watched Kurt fight with the steering wheel while he slowed the vehicle to a stop. All the windows were covered with a strange thick green slime. Kurt turned the wipers on, but like a hard rain, as quickly as the wipers removed the green slime, green slime just as quickly covered the windshield.

  Kurt didn’t respond to the barrage of questions.

  “You gotta always screw around, don’t you?” Larry barked his accusation from the driver’s side of the second seat. His Boston accent burned with anger.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Kurt replied when the vehicle stopped. “Honest. I didn’t do anything. Man, I was scared. I thought I was gonna hit something,” he said while his hulking 6’4” frame curled over the steering wheel. Kurt looked visibly shaken. His face had lost its color and he breathed deeply. “Whew, I’m so glad we didn’t flip or hit anything.”

  Mykal knew Kurt to be scared because he had been speeding as usual. Clearly Kurt ran off the pavement of ND Highway 23.

  “What the hell is all over the windows, you dumb ass?” Staff Sergeant Denny Felps snapped. As the driver Kurt was responsible to drive safe, but Denny would be held responsible as the fire team leader should anything happened to the government vehicle and/or his Air Force personnel.

  “I don’t know.” Kurt let out a deep breath. “I’m as confused as you are. Everything was fine, and I came to the top of this little hill and out of nowhere this green stuff hits us. I honestly thought I kept the vehicle straight on the road, but I can feel we went off onto the grass.” He lowered his head on to the steering wheel and let out another sigh.