The Left Series (Book 3): Left On The Brink by Christian Fletcher Read Free Book Online Page B

they said they would welcome us to Scotland, if we can get there,” Remmick said.
    “That’s a very big if ,” Smith sighed.
    “You got that right,” Cole said. “It’s a logistical nightmare but we think we can do it. We’ve managed to just about fill the C-17 tanks with all the aviation fuel we have but it’s not going to be enough.”
    I felt a sudden jolt of excitement and hoped these military guys were going to ask us to tag along. I didn’t care where I lived as long as the place was free of zombies.
    “How far is it from here to Scotland?” I asked.
    Remmick took a glance back to the desk. I followed his gaze and saw the desk surface was crammed with spread out maps and aviation charts. He turned back to face me. “It’s around 3,800 nautical miles, if we fly in a straight line.”
    “And how far does the aircraft fly on a full tank?”
    “Approximately 2,400 nautical miles,” Capaldi answered.
    I quickly calculated the math. “Fourteen hundred miles short,” I sighed.
    My throat went dry, my guts lurched and my newly acquired excitement evaporated almost immediately.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
    “So what are you guys thinking?” Smith asked.
    “Come over and look at this chart, Smith.” Cole waved Smith over to the desk.
    Smith and I shuffled over towards the lamp light and bent over the desk either side of Cole. The three Air Force guys leaned over our shoulders behind. Batfish stood to the side of the desk.
    “We’re here.” Cole pointed to the New Orleans Airbase on the map. “We need to refuel someplace. My thinking was we try, Halifax in Canada.” Cole moved his finger upwards and placed it on the eastern tip of Nova Scotia.
    “And what’s the distance from Halifax to Scotland?” Smith asked.
    Cole stood up straight. “That’s the risky part,” he sighed. “It’s slightly over 2,300 nautical miles as the crow flies.”
    “That’s some fucking crow if it can fly across the Atlantic,” I spluttered.
    Nobody else found my attempt at humor slightly amusing. Everyone else in the room stood in grim silence and I felt my face redden. I expected a wind rush to blow through the control tower to further my embarrassment.
    “Hmm…not much margin for error,” Smith said, rubbing his chin.
    “The only other option is to stop and try and refuel in Reykjavik, Iceland after Halifax.” Novak spoke for the first time since we entered the control room. His voice was gravelly and had a Southern drawl. “That route takes us off course a little and we’d have to make another stop but it would guarantee us enough fuel to get to Scotland.”
    “Of course, that’s assuming you have the facilities and the opportunity to refuel at these locations,” Smith said. “What about ATC comms?”
    “Extremely limited at best,” Novak sighed. “We’re hoping we’ll get a clearer broadcast from the UK once we’re over the Atlantic.”
    “No response from Halifax or Reykjavik?” Smith asked.
    “None.” Novak shook his head. “The comms guys keep trying.” He jabbed his thumb at the young man and woman wearing the headsets, sitting at the control panels. 
    “On the plus side, the C-17 can land and take-off on small airfields and can spin around real easy. As long as we have enough space, we can put the bird down pretty much anyplace,” Remmick chipped in.
    “I know it’s a huge gamble and there are a lot of ifs and buts,” Cole sighed. “But what alternative options do we have? Stay here and eventually either die of starvation or become one of those walking pieces of shit out there?”
    Smith shrugged. “You got a good point there, Chief.”
    “Personally, I think it’s worth taking the risk,” Cole said, nodding his head. He turned and gazed out of the window onto the airfield. “Those guys out there can’t wait to get out of here either. They’re cooped up in that squadron building