By then, the storm was gone and the sun’s rays began to light up the sky. A total of 180 Special Forces soldiers from Andrews, via McGuire had landed on the terminal roof. In total, they had four shoulder-rocket launchers with a dozen rounds for each, four heavy machine guns, cases of grenades, and hundreds of rounds of ammunition, and they now owned the desolate airport terminal. The men had quickly found entry into the terminal via a walkway entrance. The inside of the terminal was as cold as the outside, just without the wind chill, and they took out maps and searched for places to hide.

Their orders were to lay low, expect activity, and monitor it. They had four radios between them, which gave them radio communications into McGuire which now had direct communication by cell phone to General Allen, who was now in Tacoma, Washington.

One group of men planned to have ringside seats for Runway 31 Left, and took up residence in a small stranded commuter jet, parked right next to the runway. They had an excellent view of the surrounding area. With 40 seats, a toilet in the back, the windows drawn, and a couple of small gas heaters warming up the inside, it became a home away from home for 30 of the troops. They locked the aircraft’s doors and made sure that there was no light peeking out from inside, opened the flight attendant areas to access food, checked their own rations, and waited.

A second aircraft, a slightly larger McDonald Douglas M-90 commercial airliner parked at the closest gate overlooking the runway, became home for another 40 troops. With two toilets and a fully readied snack service waiting for passengers who would never arrive, the men closed it down, took watches, heated the interior of the aircraft, locked the doors, and waited.

Another 60 troops got the cold terminal closest to the Van Wyck Expressway—the direction in which the visitors were expected to arrive.

An empty Boeing 777 stood right in the middle of the taxiway. It had been turning out of the terminal to reach the taxiway when its engines and electronics must have shut down. A single ladder was standing by the front door to the aircraft, and when troops walked up it and tried to open the door, the door easily opened. Inside, the aircraft was empty, and looked like the passengers had left in a disciplined exit. All hand luggage was gone and the overhead bins empty and open. The aircraft was in a perfect place to view the surrounding area, especially from the cockpit, had several toilets, lots of snacks and drinks, and the window blinds were already drawn.

The inside warmed up and an interesting “inflight meal” was served.

The last group wasn’t so lucky and took turns nearly freezing to death on the roof of the terminal for an hour at a time, after finding a storage room close to a restaurant and a bar where they could warm up between shifts. They closed down the area so that they wouldn’t be seen if someone walked through the terminal, and radioed in to report that they were in position.

It didn’t take long for the visitors to arrive. The cold in-flight meal was just about over in the Boeing 777 when the lookout in the cockpit stated that he saw several vehicles approaching—a couple of old Suburban’s behind an even older Ford 4x4 truck working hard to get down the Van Wyck Expressway. The truck had to be pushed and manhandled until it finally got down the exit ramp closest to the terminals. The invaders cut a hole in a hedge, then the high security fence, and drove through the holes onto the aircraft area.

“We have visitors,” the radio from the 777 quietly sent the message. “Seven vehicles and about two dozen armed men have gotten out and are waiting for something. They are Chinese or Asian, mean-looking critters, have carbines and a couple of shoulder launchers. I can see three shoulder launchers. Over.”

“Keep them visual,” an order was whispered into the radio from Air Force Major Joe Patterson, the commander of the group in the terminal.

“I see some bulldozers coming into view from the airport warehouse area. There are three I can see at the moment. One is beginning to clear the expressway and the other two are heading out towards the runway clearing the area in front of the men. It looks like they are preparing for aircraft to arrive. It will take the Charlies most of the day and tonight to clear that runway out there,” reported a Lieutenant in the 777.

For three hours they watched as the bulldozers cleared an area right next to them. A couple of men were opening the fuel openings in the apron cement right next to the 777. An electrical generator on wheels was being pulled into sight behind one of the trucks and they could hear the motor starting up and then shutting down. It was a big one—the type of generator used to pump fuel into large aircraft. It had “Air China” written all over it. Pipes and connections were offloaded from a fuel truck and stacked neatly by the building out of the way. The third bulldozer slowly came back into view followed by a dozen other vehicles, mostly an assortment of 30-year old trucks and cars. One white Cadillac had what looked like red blood down the side of it. The road was now passable and the radio squawked on.

“How many men are out there?” the Major asked.

“I see about 30 so far,” answered the Lieutenant in the 777. “The new vehicles are being parked in a line and three or four more coming into view. Each is been driven by one man. A fourth bulldozer has come into view pulling a second “Air China” generator and the man is being given orders. It looks like he is being told to start clearing a second parking area. The first area is complete by the looks of it as a road is now being made out to the runway itself. The finished clearing could fit a large 747.”

“Roger that. It looks like you guys have the front row seats. We are going to move to the closest terminal next to you guys and will let you know when we are ready. The incoming aircraft are going to have to use stairs if they are parking over there. I want to see if we can find some more and bring them forward so that they leave yours alone. Check out a bottom exit to your aircraft in case they move your stairs and don’t drink the first-class liquor, boys,” the major said with a smile on his face. “Pack it up and we’ll take it back to base. We must not be seen until we have their aircraft in the hands of our pilots, who are waiting here with me. Their incoming pilots might want to freshen up, powder their noses and use these bathrooms, and we will take them out in here. We are going to collect their clothes. Hopefully our guys are short enough to fit into their clothing.”

“The way they are clearing all that snow, we will have enough packed snow to use for defensive positions. They are obviously not considering that anyone will attack them and are walking around as if they own the place. I’m sure they won’t miss a couple of their guys. And remember men, the brass reckons the aircraft are not due in until dawn tomorrow morning. Out.”

Over the rest of the day, the major worked out what the visitors would do if they had access to the terminal. First, he made sure the door was ready to be opened, and then he studied the closest store, a clothing store full of warm clothing.

“Yes,” he thought to himself. “The pilots going back won’t resist getting a few presents for themselves and their girlfriends,” and he formed a plan of action and broke the lock of the door. There was no electricity, and the concourse was dark, but they would come in here for warmth. He saw the bar on the other side. He broke that lock, too, opened the steel mesh doors on top of the counter, and then arranged cases of beer in a pile so that they couldn’t miss them—what man could resist a mountain of cold beers ready for them? He opened a couple of cases and put six cold bottles on the table and poured three down a sink to make it look like somebody had already been there when the airport closed down. He lay one on its side and let one break on the floor.