The briefing that had started at zero-five-hundred hours lasted an hour and fifteen minutes. Although the sunrise had been at 0604, by the time they stepped from the TOC at 0615 the low-hanging orb in the east had already brought the temperature to seventy-five degrees. A freight train rumble rolled in from the west as the KC-130’s four Allison turboprops—with a combined eighteen-thousand horsepower—handily pulled the refueling bird down the runway. And just when Gaines thought the sound couldn’t get any louder, the fuel-laden aircraft gained more speed as the pilot pegged the throttles. The sonic tempest ratcheted up and the plane nosed up and easily cleared the fence at the far end of the runway. The landing gear disappeared into its flat underbelly and it made a graceful roll to port and cut a large half-circle around Schriever’s south and east flanks before powering away on a northeasterly heading, leaving four tails of exhaust in its wake. Gaines craned his neck looking to the left.
