(Thanks for being patient. I finally sat down and did some calculating. If I didn't skip ahead in time or turn back the hands of the clock, the date below would be 'about' accurate for the time frame everything is happening in. Man, I must be nuts to want to be 'that' accurate. But I had to figure a few things out and needed to know where we sat in the age of technology as well as a few other things.

Anyway, enjoy this chapter. Thanks to Eagle Hawke for being my Beta and extra eyes on this chapter. I was struggling and not sure if I was even coming off in a way that sounded like I had two brain cells to rub together. But...I'm told I do so I'll post this now and let you decide. Next chapter is slowly but surely forming in this muddled brain of mine...Read and review please, even if you didn't like it. It is truly appreciated.)


Chapter 10

3 months later (Late November 2011)

The entire hanger was a hive of activity as the crew worked to get the camera rigging packed and the railing secured to mount the new hi-res digital film cameras on. Two more camera operators were hired after extensive interviews and training. A third chopper was purchased, one that had a bit more sophistication and updated tech than their other two. Their most recent purchase was a mobile home that they converted into a rolling studio for their camera techs to work in. They could repair cameras, develop regular camera film in a small dark room, review digital film footage on a bank of closed circuit servers and computer systems during production before submitting it to the film makers.

This was their first official job working for Hendrixson Productions, a subsidiary of one of the largest movie production companies currently in the United States. After the contract had been hashed out with the executives of Hendrixson Red felt a little more comfortable with this new endeavor. Thankfully, Michael Bridges had kept his nose out of the rest of the negotiations. In fact, she had only seen him twice since their revealing 'dinner' party.

Red sat in her office that had been constructed out of what was once the storage loft. Rachelle had jokingly dubbed it 'The Hawkes Nest'. Sturdy glass panels formed most of the walls that looked out over the floor of the hanger. A few file cabinets sat in the corner and a desk angled out to face the main section of the floor below. Behind the desk, however, was a fold-up cot for when Red ended up spending extra time at the hanger instead of at the Bone Yard or at her cabin. Rachelle might be the manager of Stars and Stripes but she was still the owner and there were times when the owner was requested for business deals or social appearances.

Looking up from her computer, she watched the organized chaos below. A slight smile on her lips showed she was pleased with how well Rachelle had things in hand preparing to send off their crew for the next two weeks of shooting. Looking back at her computer, she tried to focus on the current status of their accounts as well as information the airport had sent her on possible acquisition of a bigger hanger that was being vacated early next year. She had to do some figuring to see if it was worth the extra square footage or if they could continue to manage in their current surroundings.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made her look up from her calculations. Lex knocked on the edge of her door that stood open.

"We're ready to take off Red. Any last instructions?" he asked with a grin.

She chuckled, "You look like a kid about ready to take a trip to Disney Land," she teased as she got up from her desk and left the office, letting him lead downstairs.

Rachelle handed her a clipboard as she stepped to the hanger floor. "Here's everything I can think of on what you might need to know until I get back. Think you can handle running the place by yourself for a week?" There was a touch of teasing in the tone of her voice.

Red looked at Rachelle as she took the clipboard. "Get outta here before I smack you with this. I think I can manage just fine without you."

Several of the other crew laughed at the look she gave Rachelle. They were already on the move to the choppers and the mobile video or 'MV' as Rob, their new tech, liked to call it.

Standing out of the way, Red watched as the crew left, holding her breath for a moment as she silently wished them luck.

The silence, compared to the chaos earlier, was almost deafening in the hanger now vacant of most of their equipment save one chopper. She turned away from the open door and exhaled. Going over to the coffee pot, she picked it up and went to the sink to rinse it out so she could start a new one. If she was going to be staring at numbers most of the day in this kind of silence, she was going to need whatever help she could get.


It began raining the first night she slept in her office. It wasn't much at first but by morning it was a steady downpour that was almost deafening inside the metal hanger. The rain stopped and started at odd hours throughout the next two days. With either the roar of the rain on the roof or the silence of an empty hanger when it wasn't pouring, Red felt as if she was slowly going mad from reviewing numbers and accounts too long.

Checking the clock on the wall over Rachelle's office, she wondered if it was too early to grab a bite of lunch. The rain had stopped half an hour earlier and she decided that a change of scenery was in order. Grabbing her jacket, she headed down the stairs.

The sound of someone clearing their throat from the hanger doorway made her quickly turn, her hand sliding towards the inside of her jacket. She quickly checked that reflex to grab her gun when she saw an elderly man standing there, wearing a blue baseball hat with 'World War II Veteran – USS Saratoga' written out in gold lettering, an old brown leather jacket and tan slacks.

Quickly assessing the man, she knew he had to be close to his mid-eighties. Not knowing why such a man would be standing in her hanger, she turned and walked towards him, giving him a quiet smile then held out her hand.

"Welcome to Stars and Stripes Air Service. What can I do for you?"

The old man took her hand and shook it. "Names Hank Duggen." He was quiet again as he seemed to be assessing her.

"Is there something I can help you with Mr. Duggen?" she asked, trying to be polite.

"Oh, just call me Hank. Besides, I don't need to ask whose granddaughter you are. You look so much like your grandmother Eva, it's uncanny."

Red's heart seemed to speed up slightly as she tried to casually let go of the man's hand after shaking it. For someone who was a World War II veteran, he seemed pretty spry and still had a firm grip. "Did you know my grandparents?"

Hank smiled, "Oh, you could say that. I was your grandfather's best man at his wedding." He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a worn out envelope that seemed to hold a good handful of photos, rubber banded together. He took the rubber band off of the envelope and sifted through the pictures before pulling a faded black and white photo out. "See, that's me, that's your grandfather Charles and that's your grandmother Eva." He held out the photo to Red who took it gingerly.

He sifted through the other photos and pulled another black and white faded memory to show her of three men standing in World War II uniforms. "We served together in World War II along with a crazy Italian-American we'd met named Santini."

She didn't know why but she felt herself blushing as she looked down at the smiling faces of her grandparents and a much younger version of this man standing next to her. She had only a handful of pictures of her grandparents. She handed the photo back towards Hank. Turning slightly, she motioned to the interior of the building and farther out of the reach of the light mist that was blowing in through the doorway. "I'm Cheyenne Hawke, but you can call me Red. Can I get you a cup of coffee or something else to drink?"

He looked at her jacket, "Actually it seems I'm preventing you from going somewhere."

She smiled at him, "Actually I was trying to get to some different scenery for awhile and was heading to lunch. Would you care to join me?"

"I haven't had that good of a proposal in years," said Hank with a wink. "And if the place is still there after thirty years, I think I know the perfect place to go."


Three hours later found the pair sitting in a small greasy spoon that looked like it hadn't been updated since the 60's, the remnants of their meal stacked at the edge of their table. The tables and floor were clean and the wait staff looked a bit past their prime but the service was excellent. Burger and potato salad, grilled cheese and ham with a side of slaw and four beers had been the order for the day.

The envelope had come back out and pictures were scattered across the table. Red looked from picture to picture again and again as she listened to Hank's stories about the antics of her grandfather and Santini. The history of how Charles acquired some of the paintings that hung on her cabin walls made her nearly faint from the chances he took just trying to preserve them from being destroyed. She learned a bit that day about her grandparents in their younger years before the war broke out.

When Hank seemed to fall back into his memories a bit, growing quiet, Red looked over at him. "You miss them, don't you," she stated. It wasn't a question. She had seen the look of sadness in his eyes now and then when he remembered something particular about the others that he'd forgotten and had only just now remembered.

He nodded slightly, "Yeah, I do. Your uncle and father were great kids, both very talented young men. Unfortunately, when Charles and Eva died, they became distant from everyone else but each other. Santini did the best he could to raise them right but by then I had a family of my own and had moved farther away, going where the job took me. Now I look back at all I missed and know that I never got a chance to say good-bye to any of them."

Red smiled sadly as she gathered up the photos to keep them from being damaged from sweat rings from the beer bottles and water glasses. "I think they knew, in their own way. Life happens and all we can do is keep moving forward. At least you have your memories of them, of the good times, the happy times, the adventures and their friendship. You have something I'll never have, but because of you, I now have a little peek into the past and the family I came from."

Hank looked up at her and nodded, but didn't smile. He sat quietly for a time, lost in his own thoughts and sighed. "My wife passed away about two years ago. My kids are bugging me to move to an 'assisted living' home and sell my house. They keep bugging me to go through my belongings and do away with all my extra 'junk' that I don't need, either by selling or giving it away. I honestly just think they are being lazy and don't want to deal with stuff when I'm gone." His tone of voice had changed, making him sound almost petulant.

The silence at the table stretched out between them. What was Red supposed to say to something like that? She could understand in a way where he was coming from. After her adoptive mom had died, they'd moved from place to place and with each move, she had less and less worldly possessions, her adoptive father making her 'lighten her load' each time until all she had were a few small things to remember her mother by in a backpack and a few changes of clothes. It was hard parting with things that meant so much to you, being forced to leave memories behind.

On a whim, she reached out and laid a hand over his wrinkled one. "What can I do to help you out then Hank?" she asked quietly.

His wrinkled, age weathered hand was warm to the touch and he reached over with his other and patted the top of hers. "Such a wonderful woman you are. And I hate to be a bother, but now that you ask, I own a storage unit out this way. There's probably not a lot left in it. I got rid of most of the junk out of it years ago but I think I left a few boxes, maybe a few odds and ends in there, thinking they'd be of value some day. If I give you the keys to it and the code to get into the place it's at, could you clean it out for me?"

Red stared at him for a moment then smiled. The man was disarmingly charming and the smile he was giving her now spoke of a man still full of cunning and mischief. Rolling her eyes slightly she smiled, "Sure, why not. I was getting bored looking at the computer screen and numbers anyway."

He patted her hand, "That's the spirit. Feel free to keep anything you find in there if you want, otherwise just donate it to the benevolent society. It's not like I'll need it wherever my kids want me to go to," he said with a mock frown.

She snorted slightly, "And wherever that is, you'll be terrorizing the residents within hours of being moved in with your war stories and grand adventures."

"Ain't that the truth? As the old saying goes, 'I won't go quietly into the night.' And I don't intend to go quietly into the grave either." He stood up and opened his wallet. "And with that my dear, allow an old man to treat a beautiful dame to a meal fit for the memory books."

Red found herself flushing again in spite of herself.


Once she'd driven Hank back to the airport and seen him off, she checked the time and the office message machine to see if there was anything needing her attention. Finding nothing to keep her inside except perhaps another incoming storm, she shut the hanger up again and climbed into Lex's pickup truck to head over towards the storage unit.

Two and a half hours later found her standing in front of a run down, decrepit looking storage facility on the north side of town outside of Wasco. The weather had been building again to bring in another storm system from the coast and all anyone could talk about on the radio was the threat of mudslides.

Looking down at the ring of keys Hank had given, she then looked up at the lock on the facility gate. One of these multitude of keys apparently unlocked the rusty assed thing. She looked to the left and right again to make sure there wasn't another way in and not seeing any, she wondered what the hell the code was for. Hank had handed her a ring of keys, saying he couldn't remember which one it was and that anything on that ring was fair game since it didn't go to anything at his house. Heck, there were even two keys that looked like they went to cars of some kind on the key ring.

As the wind picked up, blowing her jacket a little tighter to her back, she grabbed the lock and began working through the set of keys after verifying the make of the lock and seeing if any of the keys were marked with that particular version first. It took six keys before she found the one that fit. Working the key back and forth, she got the key to turn in the tumblers and pop the latch.

Pulling the lock off, she then pulled the chain out of the fence and pushed it open far enough to move the truck inside. As she closed the gate behind her, she felt the first fat raindrop hit the side of her face. With a sigh of resignation, she got back in the truck and slowly made her way into the storage yard, turned junk yard to the buildings in the back. Finding the one labeled with a 'K' on it, she pulled the truck up to it so the headlights hit the garage like door.

A flash of lightening and a crack of thunder greeted her as she got out of the truck, followed by a slowly increasing rainfall. The door was locked by not only the deadbolt lock but by another rusted MasterLock. Wishing for a can of WD-40, she got to work in the rain to find the right keys to open this place up.

When the last lock had been released, she was soaked to the skin and already regretting her decision to help Hank out. Grabbing the handle of the garage door, she tried to lift it. It gave a few inches with a loud screech and then slowed. Bracing her feet, she reached down with both hands and grabbed under the door to haul it upward. It moved another two foot and stopped. With a sigh, she stood up and went back to Lex's truck, pulled out the Mag-Lite from under the seat, turned it on and crawled through the now muddy sand to get under the door.

As she went to stand up, she came nose-to-bumper with what looked to be an old M52A2 military transport truck. There was barely enough room for her to stand where she'd crawled under the door but she managed to shimmy upwards and slide along the door to get around to the side. Shining the flashlight around the tightly enclosed space, she saw that there was nothing else in the storage unit but the truck and what looked like a modified OdAZ-828 semi-trailer, favored by the Russians back during the Cold War. Her brain was already calculating length and width of the trailer, cataloging small details about both truck and trailer as she shined the flashlight up and down along its side.

The rain drummed on the roof overhead as she carefully climbed up onto the footrest to peer into the cab. There were no keys in the ignition but the interior looked to be in decent shape. Climbing back down, she moved along the side of the trailer to try and reach the back to see if she could discover anything else about the rig. Part of her brain was babbling questions at her as to what was inside, why was it here, how had it come to be here, what was it for. The rest of her brain was already three steps ahead but her subconscious wasn't willing to fully acknowledge the possibility of what her calculations of trailer size might mean. She didn't want to get her hopes up.

Another crack of thunder seemed to herald the opening of the clouds to full force downpour status. Shining her flashlight along the back of the trailer, she saw there was just enough room for her to walk with her shoulders touching the back wall and the trailer. Looking for a latch to open the trailer, she found nothing but a smooth seam-line where the doors overlapped in the back. Sliding her hand along the back doors, she found nothing to unlatch the doors. After retracing her steps to the side of the trailer she'd just come from, checking the side for anything and finding nothing out of the ordinary, she moved to the opposite side. That's when her fingers found a slight ridge in the seam on one of the metal plates along the back edge. Tracing it carefully, she began to work to try and open it.

The rain covered the slight sound of the latch releasing with the push pressure of her fingers at the right spot but she felt it. A small panel door popped open, exposing a keypad. Her heart was thudding hard in her chest as she pulled out the slip of paper from her pocket that Hank gave her and entered the six digit number. The back doors on the trailer clicked and shifted slightly. Putting her fingers between the seams of the doors, she opened them as wide as was allowed by the back wall.

Taking a deep breath, her hands shaking, she lifted the flashlight. A flash of white underbelly gleamed, the once polished black metal was marred by layers of grime and dust still seemed to menace the space it occupied. A tip of red and white of rotor lay the length of the floor, grounding the creature in the trailer for the time being.

Shuddering, Red realized she was holding her breath and she suddenly sucked in a breath. For some reason she found herself afraid to look away for fear it was just an illusion. Reaching forward she hesitantly touched the edge of the tail rotor mechanism. It was cold to the touch and she pulled her hand back as if she'd been burned. The monster of her dreams and nightmares crouched in front of her as a million thoughts spiraled out of control and her paranoia went to Stage 10.

Exhaling in a gust as she continued to stare inside the trailer, she finally spoke aloud, trying to break the sense of impending doom. "Great Red, now all you have to do is get a truck that's been sitting for over twenty years running and out of here before the storm passes." She pushed her bangs up and blew out a breath, "And while you're at it, stand on your head and whistle Dixie while drinking a glass of water. No problem…."

TBC...