The action on the runway went on and on throughout the day. It was one of the longest civilian runways in the United States. They only had three bulldozers working on the runway itself and the snow was a couple of feet deep. It took each dozer about an hour to clear a narrow line from one end of the runway to the other.

Another old truck came out and men started throwing salt onto the parking areas. They even got an aircraft weather-spray truck pulled in close by the fourth dozer. It didn’t work, but they were obviously expecting whoever was coming in by air to have everything they needed, and they might need a spray down before take-off if bad weather came in again.

Night fell and the lights on the bulldozers showed that they were still working out there. They were halfway done, and it was going to be a very cold night. The salt truck had gone out several times and they had done a good job. One of the major’s men in white snow gear had sneaked out to inspect the runway. It was quite dry and they had about three hours of work left to go.

The major had allowed many of his men to sleep part of the day, and he had talked with two of his Chinese-American Air Force pilots who spoke fluent Mandarin, and together they had worked out a plan. Quite a few of the Chinese had come into the terminal a couple of hours earlier and helped themselves to food and the beer placed for them. The major and his guys had gone on high alert when they heard voices in the terminal for the first time. They were over 100 feet away from the door and a couple of soldiers had crawled down the dark terminal floor and found two men sitting at the main table of the bar drinking cold bottles of beer.

They hadn’t finished their brews before their necks were broken and they were dragged back to the storage area where Major Patterson and his team of pilots were holed up.

An hour later, six more men came in looking for the other two, whispering their names, an interpreter told the major. Two came down to the dark area where the troops were waiting. One American soldier made a grunt on the opposite side of the concourse and the two flashlights held by the Chinese men quickly swung around towards the sound. That was their last move before being terminated from behind by strong hands. The other four had found the beer, the demise of many men, and bottles were opened.

It wasn’t long, however, before the first two were missed. The crew in the store shouted for them, and one of the Chinese-American pilots impersonated them with a cloth over his face to hide his voice, and told them that they had found some good chocolate and American candy. One of the four men, carrying a shoulder missile launcher, swaggered over to the dark area of the concourse shouting that beer was better than chocolate and then he, too, went eerily quiet.

It took several more minutes, but the last three went the same way as the rest, sitting around the darkened terminal with flashlights and the moon, their only source of light. The eight dead men were relieved of their clothing and it was given to the shortest soldiers in the group. The two Chinese-American pilots were now as mean looking as the guys outside.

Going through the pockets and jackets, they had found two satellite phones as well as lots of small things, and now they had communications with the outside world. The major had been told to update the general whenever a phone became available, so he called the general and was connected just like he would have been on his regular cell phone a few weeks earlier. There was no answer on the other side until the major stated “Allen Key” into the phone.

“Name and location?” General Allen requested into the phone curtly.

“Patterson. Juliet, Foxtrot, Kilo,” Major Patterson replied.

“Well done, Patterson. I assume you have terminated some visitors to get this?” the general asked, now well on his way to Elmendorf Air Force Base in Alaska.

“Roger that, Allen Key.”

“Give me a quick sitrep (Situation Report) Mr. Patterson,” the general continued.

“We have 180 friendlies in four separate locations. We were visited by 40 guests in trucks a little earlier, now down to 32. We have two new cell phones and hope to have several more by tonight. So far today, two areas cleared by four bulldozers. Area 31-Lima (left) is about 120 minutes from being totally cleared. Salt is being laid. I have a plan in place. Two friendly Charlie-American pilots are ready and prepared to get into any arriving empty birds and take them to Mr. McGuire. Then we bring in reinforcements and terminate uprising ASAP. We have one friendly Charlie ready on cell phone to tell any aircraft that everything is okay. Any suggestions? Over.” The major gave his brief report into the cell phone as more visitors suddenly entered the terminal shouting for their friends.

“I have a situation. Our next cell phone has just entered the building. Out.” And he hung up on the general.

Four more cold Chinese men found the beer and were momentarily distracted. It took several minutes for them to drink one and open another. Another group of eight joined them, and then another four men came in out of the cold. Two more cases were ripped open and bottles hissed as their tops were twisted.

“Bring six men with silencers forward and place them in positions where they can take them out if need be,” the major ordered his first sergeant in a whisper. He also had an automatic pistol with a silencer and he watched through its night sights as six men crept forward and got into position on the floor in a line where they could hit the men without breaking the large windows around the concourse.

Suddenly the satellite phone rang in his hand. “Shit!” he whispered, trying to find and hit the kill button to turn it off. The men drinking beer immediately shouted to see whose phone it was. Major Patterson immediately whispered to the Chinese-American pilot next to him to answer as if he was drunk. The man did as he was told and several men laughed and hooted from the bar area. He swore, telling them to leave him alone, and told the “person” on the phone to call him later when he woke up, which prompted raucous laughter from the bar crowd.

Three men, laughing, came to find him, and were quickly laid to rest without bullets. One made a grunt as his neck was broken and the men in the bar suddenly went silent. The major prodded the other Chinese pilot and told them to shout at each other and make drunken laughter. They did a good enough job that another two came over to see what all the fun was about. They also didn’t make the party, and this time the two Chinese-American pilots got really rowdy. They started getting angry at each other and swore in rapid Mandarin to each other about being left to sleep. This time the rest at the bar went silent, one drew a pistol, and they all came forward flashing their flashlights into the darkness.

This time, their clothing couldn’t be saved, as the major shot first and the six silencers followed suit firing several shots and killing all ten men without a sound, and with no broken windows. Immediately, the major told the troops behind him to drag the bodies back, far down the concourse, out of the way, clean up any blood, make sure the prisoners were dead and strip any clothing off that did not have blood on it. This was completed in seconds with the men still wearing night goggles.

Major Patterson immediately sent two men to cover the door to the outside to watch for any more Chinese and he sent another two men to set up the bar tables again with fresh bottles, just in case.

Within three minutes the concourse was quiet, with the bar area looking like a lot of drinking had occurred, and with the odd jacket and hat lying around.

“Allen Key,” he spoke into another, new phone and waited for a response from the general.