David L. Robbins - Endworld 19 - Cincinnati Run.pdf

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Cincinnati Run
#19 in the Endworld series
David L. Robbins
Prologue
The copilot gazed out of the cockpit window at the thousands of people
gathered near the terminal and gulped. "If we crash, I'll be so
embarrassed."
"You won't be the only one," the captain muttered.
"I didn't realize President Toland planned to invite everyone in the
Civilized Zone to witness our takeoff," the copilot said.
The captain laughed."Sure looks like he did, doesn't it? There must be
four thousand out there, but most are from Denver."
"What if we blow it, Skip?"
"We won't, Bob."
"I wish I had your confidence."
They both tensed as a voice crackled in their headsets.
 
"Captain Orton, this is your friendly controller in the tower speaking.
Do you copy or are you peeing your pants?"
The captain grinned. "I copy, Max. What's up?"
"I just wanted to see if you're still awake," Max responded.
"We're raring to go," Captain Orton said.
"Between you and me, Skip, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes," Max
commented.
"I wouldn't want you in my shoes either," Captain Orton quipped.
"Your feet stink."
"Seriously, Skip. How's it going?"
"Everything checks out A-Okay," Captain Orton stated. "We've been
through the preflight list twice, and all systems are go."
"President Toland is about to give his address to the crowd," Max
mentioned. "Do you want me to pipe it into you guys?"
"Must we?" the copilot asked.
"Behave yourself. Bob," Captain Orton said. "We wouldn't be flying this
bird if Toland hadn't pressed for the service. Let's hear what the man has
to say."
"You're the boss," Bob replied, grinning.
"Let's hear the speech, Max," Captain Orton told the controller.
"You've got it," Max said.
A moment later their headsets hissed and sputtered, and the dulcet
tones of President Toland reached their ears.
"…for coming here today," the Chief Executive was saying. "This is truly
a momentous occasion. Some might rightfully call this an historic
occasion."
"I can see him," Bob remarked, craning his neck. "He's about twenty
 
feet from our nose."
Captain Orton glanced down the nose of the 757 and spotted the
familiar figure of the Civilized Zone's duly elected leader attired in a dark
blue suit. "I see him too." President Toland's back was to the aircraft, but
there was no mistaking those square shoulders or his neatly clipped black
hair and his straight-as-an-arrow posture.
"And it is historic," Toland declared, talking into a microphone held in
his right hand. "Think of it! This is the very first airline flight since World
War Three, at least between members of the Freedom Federation. Once
this flight has been successfully completed, we can expand our schedule to
include other Federation members. California was selected this time
because the L.A. Airport is fully operational." He paused for effect. "The
word has gone out to the Flathead Indians in Montana, to the rugged
frontiersmen and women who control the Dakota Territory, to the Moles
in their underground city in northern Minnesota, to the Clan in
northwestern Minnesota, and to the Family. They appreciate the
importance of this flight. Restoring regular air service is but another rung
on the ladder we must climb to return our respective societies to some
semblance of our prewar greatness…"
"Why do all politicians sound the same?" the copilot asked
sarcastically.
"Hush," Captain Orton said.
"We have worked diligently and expended countless hours of hard
effort, not to mention the cost in monetary terms, to rehabilitate the 757
you see behind me. We have salvaged parts from the aircraft abandoned
in hangars here at Stapleton, and we have fabricated new parts where
necessary. Two of our top officers, Captain Skip Orton and Lieutenant Bob
Gunther, spent a year in California learning to fly the single-engine,
twin-engine, and jet aircraft utilized by that sovereign State." He glanced
over his right shoulder at the cockpit and smiled. "We can rest assured
that our investment is in excellent hands."
"Then why are mine sweating?" Gunther quipped.
"Thanks for reminding me," Captain Orton responded.
"About what?" Lieutenant Gunther queried.
 
"I forgot to bring your diapers," Captain Orton said with a smile.
"Maybe we can delay our takeoff while one of the stewardesses fetches
extra towels."
"Anyone ever tell you that you have a nasty streak?" Gunther
questioned.
"Sweet, innocent me?" Orton said.
They both shifted their attention to the President's speech.
"…plans are already on the drawing board to expand our airline fleet to
four airliners," Toland disclosed to his fidgety audience. "Within two
years, if all goes well, we hope to establish weekly flights to each
Federation faction. Fuel is our primary concern. California refines enough
to barely meet its needs, and we produce a limited supply. Unfortunately,
the days of our ancestors, the days of unlimited reserves of gas and oil, are
long gone. Oh, it's not that the crude isn't out there, waiting to be brought
to the surface. We know, for instance, that Wyoming alone could provide
our needs for the immediate future, if we possessed more of the
equipment needed to bring the crude to the surface. Our shortage of
equipment and competent personnel is critical, and we hope to alleviate
both in the next five years…"
"He's putting me to sleep," Lieutenant Gunther remarked.
"He has a captive audience," Captain Orton commented. "We could be
parked here an hour from now."
"But I can see that you're eager for the main event to begin," President
Toland declared, and the crowd vented enthusiastic cheers. "But before I
conclude, there's one crucial point which must be stressed."
"God deliver us from mutants, famine, and politicians," Lieutenant
Gunther cracked.
"Amen," Captain Orton added.
"None of this would be possible without your cooperation. As citizens of
the Civilized Zone, you have a right to feel proud of our achievement. The
757 would not get off the ground without your support."
 
"Without their tax dollars, he means," Gunther said.
"I should have brought a book," Orton observed.
"…hold your heads up in more ways than one as this big bird takes to
the air."
"Will that be this year?" someone in the throng shouted.
President Toland hesitated, surveying his restless constituents. "I can
take a hint," he joked.
A ripple of laughter greeted his stab at humor.
"So let's get on with the show!" Toland stated, and walked toward the
front of the assemblage, mingling with a row of other dignitaries;
representatives from every Federation faction, members of Toland's
administration, city officials from Denver and a dozen lesser
municipalities, members of the media, and military bigwigs.
Orton and Gunther's headsets imitated frying bacon for several
seconds.
"You heard the man, kiddies," Max the controller declared. "Time for
the main event."
"What's the latest on the weather?" Captain Orton asked.
"Unlimited ceiling and unrestricted visibility," Max said. "The
temperature is seventy-three. Just another gorgeous, sunny, September
day in Colorado."
"Say, Max?" Lieutenant Gunther said.
"What, Bob?"
"Are you sure you know how to work the radar unit?"
Max snorted. "Are you maligning my professional integrity? I studied
for eighteen months in California, and spent an entire year at the Los
Angeles Airport. True, they don't have any birds this size flying out of L.A.,
but I learned everything there is to know about keeping track of your inept
butts when you're in the air."
 

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