‘Fucking PACS.’

That was about the only thing going through my head as I pulled the hood of my APECS jacket over my headset and tried to get comfortable once again. My name is Eric Broussard, Dedicated Crew Chief on the Rivet Joint airframe, and I am a Technical Sergeant in the United States Air Force with about ten years in service. Yet even after working and flying on these planes for a decade now, I still could never get used to how cold these flight crews like to keep the insides of these jets whenever we went somewhere. True the RC-135 is literally packed to the gills with sensors, processor racks and a plethora of other electronic goodies, and while it is also true that all those electronics produce a lot of heat when they're all up and running. I still didn't think that it was necessary for the upstairs to be kept at icebox temperatures by running both Pressurization/Air-Conditioning Systems at full blast; effectively turning the fuselage compartment into the world’s longest deep-freeze.

This of course didn't help me to get any amount of decent sleep as we continue on our ferry flight from our home station at Offutt AFB to our detachment in Japan. Currently we are flying somewhere over Alaska after having stopped at Eielson for some gas, usually this meant that I could have taken some kind of sleep aid to help me endure the rest of our journey, but the day's flight plan didn't call for any mid-air refuels. So we were going to be stopping at Misawa to top off one more time before continuing on to our final destination. So that meant that I will only be able to grab a couple hour nap at best, before we arrived at our next destination. Now to me being a maintainer means that working long hours and getting little to no sleep was nothing new. In fact it came with the job, and I personally prided myself on being able to fall asleep pretty much anywhere on command, yet this numbing cold wasn't going to make it very easy.

Rolling on the floor in front of the aft hatch, I tried to get comfortable in my sleeping bag for what seemed like the umpteenth time, doing so I happened to catch a glimpse out of the hatch window to see one of nature’s most beautiful wonders. Dancing high above the plane with its magnificent ethereal flames of greens and purples and blues was the magical fires of the Aurora Borealis, the northern lights. Being originally from the gulf coast of Texas I never got the opportunity to see such sights before in the night skies where I grew up, and to be able to get a chance to see sights such as this was one of the reasons that I had decided to join the Air Force almost as soon as I had graduated from high school. As I watched the particles burn up in the upper atmosphere I could almost forget the icy numbness coming from my toes and accept the welcoming embrace of slumber.

That is if it wasn't for that damn whistling noise that I was now hearing.

Rolling my eyes I let out a growl of irritation as I dragged myself out of my bag, making my way towards the offending noise. The whistling seemed to be coming from somewhere on the insulated wall in front of me but I couldn't pinpoint the exact location in the depths of shadows that surrounded the aft hatch. Reaching into my backpack I grabbed my flashlight and shined the bright light against the side if the fuselage, and by using my ears and sense of touch I began to search for the source of the rushing wind. After a few moments I was able to pinpoint the noise to the top of the aft hatch where the seal hadn't completely sealed against the bulkhead. This wasn't a big thing because I could see that it was only a small leak and didn't run any risk of possibly depressurizing the plane and could be easily fixed enough by adjusting the stops on the hatch. Unfortunately, you couldn't adjust a hatch on a plane that was pressurized and currently flying several hundred miles per hour at thirty thousand feet.

Giving a sigh of frustration in knowing that I wouldn't be able to get rid of the noise until we landed at our next stop. I inspected the hatch once more to ensure that it was still properly secured before I went to go and try to find somewhere else that was quieter to take a nap.

Just then the aircraft began to lurch violently as I heard the voice of the A/C ring through my headset, “Hey everyone, make sure you’re in your seats and your buckles are fastened. Looks like we've hit a little rough patch of turbulence, but we should be out of it soon.”

With that I turned off my flashlight and went to place it back in my backpack when the plane jumped hard again under my feet, making me lose my balance. Using my hand to steady myself I began to hear a slow moaning sound come from the hatch behind me. The aluminum started to pop and creak eerily as I watched it in silent horror, unable to will my body into movement. I knew that I shouldn't be concerned, because the lip of the bulkhead made it almost impossible for the aft hatch to be sucked out, but that didn't mean that the bulkhead itself wasn't the piece failing. Then almost as soon as it had started the noise went away. I sat there waiting with baited breath for a moment as if to make sure that the danger had truly passed, but fate would not be so kind to me that night.

With one final explosive pop the hatch collapsed in on itself as it was simultaneously sucked out into the night sky along with myself. I tried to yell for help but was quickly silenced as my head came into contact with the bulkhead in my forced expulsion from the plane.

The last thing I could register as I watched the shadowy outline of my plane fly away and the inky blackness of unconsciousness consume me was the rushing of cold wind by my head, and the colors of the northern lights still flowing above me like the waves of some distant shore.