Ghost Walkers of the Western Desert

Ghost Walkers

of the Western Desert

Published by Tom Standard at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Tom Standard

ISBN 978130116636

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Preview

What happens when a long lost remnant of the Ancient Egyptians rescues a downed pilot? What mysteries and adventures does he encounter?

*****

Chapter 1 - The Trial

Cairo, 1998

This Court of Inquiry is convened to investigate the events of September 1, 1995 that led to the loss of the United States’ McDonnell Douglas F-15E Eagle Jet Fighter No. AF 88-707, known as the Golden Horus. This craft was assigned to the 391st Fighter Squadron in the 366th Wing at Mountain Home AFB in Idaho. This is a fact finding hearing to determine: first, what steps must be taken to avoid similar losses in the future, and second, if there is enough evidence of wrong doing to justify a court martial for Captain Horus Golden, or others. Capt. Golden, if you will take the witness chair, the Court Reporter will swear you in.

With this terse statement, Col. Mark Adrian, Commander of the 391st Fighter Squadron, resumed his seat, straightened the papers before him, and the hearing began. The hearing room was a simple wooden structure located in the military area of the Cairo Airport. The Egyptians had provided it to the U.S. Air Force since the incident being investigated occurred in their country. The walls had once been painted the same sand color as most barracks Horus had seen. Now the walls were peeling and dirty.

Col. Adrian and four other field grade officers, who comprised the court, sat at a long table on the north side with twenty one folding chairs for observers facing them in three rows along the opposite wall. The witness chair sat at the eastern end of the space between the court and the observers. The Court Reporter sat with her transcription machine between the witness chair and the long table. At the other end of the room were two small tables, each with two chairs. Two officers from the Adjutant Generals Office took one table, the other was for Horus and the officer assigned to assist him. There was a window in the Western wall. The windows in the Northern wall gave a view of the hanger where Horus’s F-15E, which his crew called ‘Goldie’, had been hangered. The other windows, in the Southern wall, were all shuttered against the intense Egyptian sun that would make the room an oven by early afternoon.

Horus had requested an open hearing, and his request had been granted. As a result, most of the observer’s chairs were taken. In addition to his parents, Horus recognized four of the observers as colleagues of his mother, who was a Professor of Ancient History at Kansas State University. At least two were obviously reporters. One was from Air and Space Technology the other, he found later, was from Archeology Today. Several Egyptian officers were there, but, surprisingly, Col. Husain Nasser, the Egyptian Base Commander, was not.

Overhead two slowly turning ceiling fans stirred up the heat which would soon become oppressive. An antique window unit, set in an opening in the wall behind the officers at the long table, produced more noise than cool air.

Horus walked to the witness chair, doing his best to conceal his limp. He let his gaze drift to the Western window. The dirty windowpanes broke the glare of the brilliant Egyptian sun reflected from adjacent buildings. He tried to find images in the blotches on the panes, such as he and Margaret had done as children, many years ago in Kansas. A fly uselessly beat his wings against the corner of the upper right windowpane, the one where he could imagine the dirt pattern to look like a Kansas tornado. A wolf spider stealthily stalked up the mullion toward him. Horus secretly pulled for the fly while admitting that the spider probably had the advantage. Beyond the silent combat on the dusty window pane could be seen the top of Cheops pyramid, sticking above the warren of Cairo slums which crowd up against the fence around the Egyptian Air Force Base and continue to the opulent hotels which border the broad Nile.

When Horus had been sworn in, Col. Adrian continued, Captain Golden, I made a review of your medical records before this hearing began. They indicate that you suffered severe trauma during your three-year absence, presumably in the crash of your fighter, AF88-707, known as the Golden Horus. If, during these proceedings you find yourself in need of a recess, you will let me know followed by the standard questions of name, age, etc. Captain Golden, will you please describe the events of September 1, 1995, and what followed until your return.

Thank you Colonel. I apologize if after three years in Maat I find it somewhat difficult to readjust to the tensions of life in the Outlands, and particularly to military formality. Three years among people who’s life’s goal is to do their duty, and who considered it a duty to live harmoniously with their neighbors, has altered my tolerance for many of the petty annoyances which we must put up with in more ‘modern’ civilizations.

I understand. Please begin, Captain Golden

Where to begin? Horus thought a moment, then said, "Let me first give you an overview of what happened on that day and the three years since. I will then try to fill in some of the details. When I finish, I will attempt to answer your questions.

"Since you were unable to find the remains of the plane after my disappearance, I can understand why some have questioned what happened to it. No, I did not steal off into the desert and deliver the Golden Horus to Sadam Hussein’s Iraq or to any other nation.

"Even though my flight was cleared properly with Egyptian authorities, the missile batteries near the Aswan Dam opened fire on me. I successfully evaded three missiles, but apparently ran into debris from a fourth, which must have been off course and destroyed by the range officer.

As you know, the F-15E normally has a Weapons Officer flying in the rear seat. My Weapons Officer was not to join me in Egypt until a few days before the start of the live fire portion of the demonstrations of the F-15E’s capabilities in the competition for an Egyptian order for fighter aircraft. Most of the ‘self-defense’ systems operate primarily from his position, with only limited capability from the pilot’s seat. All of the armament had been removed from the craft for the flight to Egypt from Idaho. It was to be reinstalled when needed for the demonstrations.

The self-defense systems were never removed. The Northrop Grumman Enhanced AN/ALQ-135(V) internal countermeasures set could have provided automatic jamming of enemy radar signals, but, since part of my mission was to provide aiming practice for the Egyptians, it was not activated. The Magnavox AN/ALQ-128 EW early warning set was activated, and did its job. The Tracor AN/ALE-45 chaff dispenser, and the flair dispenser worked well.

The Golden Horus was still able to fly after hitting the debris, however, my injuries were severe and I lost consciousness shortly after placing the controls on auto-pilot. Although my memory of the incident if fuzzy, I apparently ejected moments before the plane ran out of fuel and crashed. I landed on a level mesa. However, most of the plane skidded over the edge into a narrow gorge nearly one half mile deep where subsequent landslides have nearly hidden all traces of it. I presume that by now, knowing the general area in which to look, our reconnaissance satellites have found it.

The inhabitants of the region rescued me. They call themselves ‘The People’, and their nation ‘Maat’. The only previous contact with them in living memory was in the late 1940s by Professor Robert Jorgensen. He is an Egyptologist and a friend of my family. His reports of contact with the people he called the Ghost Walkers of the Western Desert were largely discounted and attributed to the emotional trauma he underwent when his party was annihilated by bandits. He discussed his experiences and information found in ancient North African records in his book, ‘The Lost Civilization'. Most Egyptologists dismissed these people as being strictly a product of his imagination.

My presence in their community made it necessary for the People to confront several problems. For many centuries, they have periodically tried to make contact with we Outlanders, but every attempt has resulted in the loss of their messenger, probably to the bandits who live on the fringe of the desert. If I recovered, and if they could get me back to my people, contact could be made. But how could they reestablish limited contact with the Outlands without jeopardizing the safety of their citizens and the integrity of their nation?

After considering the pros and cons of many possible ways of effecting my return, we built a sail plane which I flew to Cairo, the rest you know."

Horus, who had been walking around the hearing room, meeting first the gaze of one and then another of the participants, sat down in the witness chair and took a long drink of water. His eyes took on a faraway look as he stared through the cloudy window, across the air base, over the squalid slums and the high-rise hotels, to the tip of Cheops pyramid, as if his eyes were reaching for the Western Desert beyond. As the spider crept within range, the fly moved to the lower left pane, the one where Horus imagined the haze of dirt to look like a stalking lion. As the fly continued to try to penetrate the windowpane, the spider resumed his patient stalking.

Capt. Golden, we need more information than that. Colonel Adrian spoke in a voice which was not unkind, but which made it clear that he was giving an order.

CHAPTER 2 - Kansas, 1981

As the first lightness in the eastern sky began to chase the shadows from the back yard that first morning after her funeral, Horus knew what he had to do. Every since her death, he had fought with feelings of denial, anger, and hatred for the drunk who had killed her. However, he knew such feelings were no fitting memorial to Margaret. He looked out of the window as the first rays of sunlight brushed the old maple where, even as teenagers, they would still climb to share their most precious dreams and intimate thoughts. As dawn penetrated his room, he looked at models they had built, and aircraft pictures that covered every available space on the walls. This was the room where they had played, and studied, and worked, and planned for their future.

Margaret, I know you now have your perfect body which can transcend those restraints of physics which limit the rest of us, and I know the only fitting memorial to you is for me to follow our dreams and explore the very limits of human flight. he said aloud. He looked at the photograph of them that her dad had taken on their seventh birthday, the first day he had let them take the controls of an airplane. But I’ll miss you, and it won’t be nearly as much fun alone.

Horus came down the stairs, dressed in the same type blue jeans and flannel shirt that would be worn by every other kid in the 10th grade. The major difference was that his book bag contained more books and less clutter than most. Margaret and he had learned it was better to blend in as much as possible, and they did genuinely like their classmates (at least in small doses.)

His mom tried to hide her surprise at seeing him obviously bound for school. I’ll fix your lunch, she said as she turned her back so he could not see the tears welling up in her eyes. When she had her breathing back under control, she asked in a noncommittal tone, Do you want me to drive you to school today? I need to go out, anyway.

Horus thanked his mother in his heart for her concern. Could he catch that bus alone? From their first day in school, he had stopped by her house next door every morning, and except for the few days they missed with Chicken Pox and such, they had marched off each day to conquer the world, together, hand in hand. In the year and a half they had been in high school they had walked in the same manner to the bus stop every single morning, although they had learned to drop hands before reaching the other kids. Their schoolmates didn’t understand that their relationship was not one of the endemic kid-crush - high school romance things that seemed to infect their classmates as soon as their hormones kicked in, but a closer union of the soul and spirit. Their closeness might be approached by twins who had shared a common womb, and then grown up as best friends.

Margaret’s Dad had always said a man wasn’t doing his duty if he took the easy way out. Horus took another swallow of orange juice in hopes of removing the lump in his throat and in what was intended to be a bright tone said, No thanks, I have plenty of time to catch the bus.

The kids at the bus stop were subdued. They awkwardly tried to be natural then became silent as their words rung hollow even in their own ears. No one mentioned Margaret.

A pall had descended over the school; there had been no horseplay on the bus and none of the usual chatter in the halls. At first period, the teachers announced that there would be an assembly in the period following lunch and there would be grief councilors available in the guidance office and every student should feel free to just step out of class and go there if they felt the need. Horus met his teacher’s gaze with a faint smile, and mouthed Thank you. He knew she was hurting in her need to comfort him and appreciated her concern.

Between classes, Horus stepped into the office, May I speak with Mr. Journey? he asked in a steady voice.

The