by W. R. Benton
If the P.J.’s have their own life support section I don’t have to ask how well Banks does in training. Obviously, he’s good or the instructor would have said something to me. I’m just surprised I forgot Airman Wilson and that’s not good at all. It just goes to prove I’m too far removed the real action and missing a lot of information, Colonel Wilcox thought as he picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip.
“Sir, I hate to bother you, but there is a newspaper man out by my desk asking to speak to you.” Technical Sergeant Malory said as he stuck his head in the doorway.
“A what?”
“A reporter sir and he said he wants to speak with you, about the Wade rescue.”
“Keep him waiting until I clear this through public affairs.” Colonel Wilcox replied as he picked up the phone once more.
“Major French, public affairs, how may I help you?”
“Major, Colonel Wilcox here, did you authorize a newspaper reporter to interview me today?”
“Uh, yes sir, but that was just a few minutes ago and I didn’t have time to let you know.”
“The next time you will call me first and coordinate all interviews, won’t you Major French? I dislike surprises, major.”
“I’m sorry sir, except I thought one of my people had already spoken with you.”
“Well, they didn’t.” Wilcox closed the line and thought, A newspaper reporter! This is not good at all. I’ll have to be careful how I answer this man’s questions or I’ll be misquoted in print.
Finishing his coffee, he called Sergeant Malory on the intercom and had the reporter sent in. The man was dressed in a military surplus parka, had snow boots on, and his mittens were hanging on cords tied to his sleeves. He was a young man, not over twenty-five, good looking, and his eyes spoke of a deep intelligence.
“Glad to see you colonel. My name is Williams and I work for the Anchorage Daily Dispatch.” The reporter spoke with a Midwestern twang.
“Have a seat Mister Williams. Now, what can I do for you?” Colonel Wilcox said and pulled a pen from the top middle drawer of his desk.
“I have a few questions about the Wade crash.”
“Okay, I’ll answer them if I can.”
“Would you say Doctor Wade was a good pilot? I ask this question because I understand you knew him personally.”
“He was certified and qualified to fly and as far as I knew he was an excellent pilot.”
“Does the Air Force have any idea of what caused the crash?”
Careful here, he’s fishing for a reason for the crackup, the colonel thought but said, “The United States Air Force is only assisting in the rescue efforts and the FAA will determine the cause of the crash, not us. The cause of the crash is actually a civilian matter.”
“I understand.” Williams replied as his pen moved on the small tablet he held on his right knee. And then, he asked, “Has there been any word of David Wade and the pararescueman left behind?”
I wonder where he found out about Banks, Wilcox thought. “At this time the weather has us socked in and we’ve not been able to get airborne to continue the rescue. So, to answer your question, no, we’ve no word since the man was left behind to look for the lone survivor. By the way, Sergeant Banks requested to stay behind to continue his mission.”
“Do you think you could arrange an interview with Doctor Wade’s wife for me? I have a few questions I’d like to ask her.” William asked and then gave a shy grin.
“I’ll ask Cathy Wade, but I can make no promises.” The colonel replied quickly, knowing he'd not ask. She had enough on her plate without dealing with reporters.
“One last question sir, when will rescue efforts resume and how long will it take to get the two people out?”
“We cannot get into the air until this front passes. How long the actual rescue will take depends on a number of factors, such as wind, weather, where the rescue takes place, as well as the physical and mental condition of both people on the ground.”
Standing, Willis said, “I think I have enough to do a story. I’ve interviewed some of Doctor Wade’s friends, the FAA, the control tower, and of course, you. The tower folks didn’t tell me much, except to say the crash was under investigation and they couldn’t talk about it.”
The next morning over breakfast, Colonel Wilcox almost choked on his coffee when he read the headlines, ‘USAF Leaves a Man Behind During Rescue Attempt.’ He felt his face turning red in anger and heard Carol ask, “What’s the matter Frank, you’re as red as a beet.”
Holding the paper so his wife could read the headlines, he said, “It makes it look like we left Banks behind by accident and that’s not the way it happened at all!”
CHAPTER 12
FOUR HOURS LATER the storm was still blowing hard, but Banks had determined David’s skin tissue was just a little frost nip and not anything serious. When the young man had awakened most of his normal color had returned to his face and hand, indicating all he needed was to warm up. Over a meal of MRE stew, the two talked of what was to come.
“I’ve only one pair of snowshoes, so the going will be slow. From what I could tell, we are less than three miles from where the smoke was,” Banks spoke as he leaned back on his casualty blanket.
“We’ll just have to go slowly then. I know with you along we’ll get there, but I wasn’t so sure when I was alone. I’ve never been as frightened in my life as I was when I realized my father was dead.”
Banks gave the young man a weak grin and said, “That’s to be expected. We grow up with our parents taking care of us and in a situation like the one you faced; your survival security disappeared with the death of your father. David, I know your father would be proud of you, because I am. Of all the environments in the world to survive in the arctic cold and desert heat are the two extremes. But, you not only survived, you took actions to make sure you survived and that makes you different than most folks.”
“Different? How so?”
The P.J. chuckled and replied, “Most folks simply live until they are rescued, but you did what needed to be done to insure you’d survive. Things like killing the moose, making a shelter, building a fire, making jerky, and the list goes on. You’re different than many survivors, because your actions directly resulted in your survival.”
“I just did what needed to be done, that’s all. I have to admit though; I did some pretty stupid things at first.”
Once again, Banks laughed and said, “It was your first time as a survivor, so it’s expected. Not to mention you were facing the death of your father, extremely low temperatures, and your first night in the woods all alone. You did very well, all things considered.”
“How will my mom be notified of dad’s death?” David asked seriously.
“Colonel Wilcox and a priest or minister will go to your home to inform her. Then, if she wishes, the religious representative will stay with her so they can pray or talk. It’s a terrible job, filled with lots of emotions, but the colonel has been doing it for years. I suspect in your case he’ll have a rough time of it, since he was a friend of your father.”
David said, “I like the colonel and he’s been a friend of the family as long as I can remember. I think he’ll help my sister and mother as much as he can, but they’ll be worried sick about me.”
“There is nothing I can do right now and no way to let them know I’ve found you either. We’ll go to the smoke, stay there until the weather breaks, and then I’ll signal a rescue aircraft. The Air Force knows I’m out here, so they’ll be back. We try to never leave a person behind, even in combat situations.”
Silence filled the small shelter until Banks reached into his backpack and removed a pair of wool socks. Handing them to David he said, “Change your socks and put these on. They’re made of wool and will keep your feet toasty warm even if they get wet. In the morning before we head out I have some other clothing items I want you to wear.”
David removed his hiking boots, pulled off his old socks and was sur
prised at how comfortable the new wool socks were. His old socks were cotton and his feet had felt frozen as he’d walked. He knew immediately the wool would be much warmer and he smiled as he felt his feet warming up.
The rest of the evening went by with the two making small talk, snacking on candy and sipping hot drinks. Finally, Banks and David went to sleep, with the young man in the sleeping bag and the P.J. in the casualty blanket. Just before he drifted off to sleep, Banks looked over at sleeping David Wade and said in a low voice, “Thank you, God.”
Morning came with the air bone chilling cold and thick clouds overhead. Standing by the shelter, David was wearing a bright orange jacket that kept him warm, along with a facemask, mittens, and his wool socks. While Banks only had one pair of goggles, he gave them to the young man and smeared some soot from a candle under his eyes. David had lost the pair he’d started with, so he appreciated the eye protection. Banks knew the dark line under his eyes would protect him from snow blindness if the sun made even a token appearance. Turning to David he asked, “You ready to go? If the weather holds we should be at the smoke before noon.”
Grinning, David replied, “Let’s move then, I’d like to spend tonight in a cabin or a tent. I’m tired of sleeping in the snow and waking up half frozen each morning.”
The two moved forward and the only sound was the crunching of the snow as David’s feet broke though the frozen top layer. Banks had considered giving the snowshoes to the young man, but David admitted he’d never worn them before and they took some getting use to. The wind was light, no snow falling, and they both expected to be safe within a few hours.
Mile after cold mile was covered, with short breaks taken at times to avoid overheating and to give David a rest. Walking in deep snow is very difficult, only those in top physical shape can do it for very long. Finally, after two hours, they stopped for a quick hot drink and then back on the trail.
Near noon, they saw a group of trees at the base of a mountain and David wanted to scream for joy!
Banks spoke as he looked at David and grinned, “We’ll be at the trees in a few minutes and then we’ll have to find the source of the smoke. I see a thin finger of smoke off to the left and we’ll head that direction once we enter the woods. Keep a lookout for a hunting trail or dog trail leading in that direction. The odds are there are some trails leading to the open tundra, so all we have to do is find one and follow it back to the cabin.”
Less than an hour later, the two stood in the falling snow looking at a rough trapper’s cabin made of logs. Chained dogs were at a shed, a cache with long spider like legs was behind the cabin, and smoke was coming from a crooked stovepipe on the roof. The dogs began to bark loudly and suddenly door to the cabin opened. An old man, holding a hunting rifle in his hands, walked out and looked around.
“Hello the cabin! I am Sergeant Banks of the United States Air Force and there’s been an aircraft crash in the mountains.”
“Airplane crash? I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no crash. Come on in and tell me what in tarnation is a-goin’ on.”
After being out in the cold for days, the heat in the small cabin overwhelmed Dave. The sides of the old woodstove in the corner were glowing red-hot as they entered. Placing his gun on a rack near the door, the old trapper turned and asked, “Now, would ya mind tell me what’s goin’ on?”
Banks explained what happened and then said, “The military will be out looking for me with the first break of good weather.”
“Son, that might not be fer weeks yet. I’ve had the weather sock me in for long periods of time out here. My name is Thomas Brisk, but my friends all call me Vittles.” The trapper replied.
David saw the trapper was a short man, maybe just a little over five feet tall, had gray hair and beard, and very alert eyes. He was dressed in wool clothing and wore snow boots, as well as a wolf skin hat with long earflaps on it. The flaps were tied up and at times the trapper would squint, as if he once wore glasses and was now forced to be without them.
“Vittles? How did you come to have a name like that?” David asked as he gave the man a smile.
“I eat a lot and just about anything I can get my hands on too.” Vittles replied with a low chuckle and then continued, “And, speaking of eating, I’ve got a big pot of stew on the stove so ya both can eat a hot meal in a couple of hours. Right now, I want the both of ya to change into some dry clothes, have a cup of my coffee, and then get some sleep.”
“I don’t have any dry clothes.” David said as he met the old trapper’s eyes.
“Heck fire, son, ya can wear some of mine. I’m a short feller, so they’ll fit ya I think. They might be large at the waist, but I’ve got some twine we can tyin’ ‘em up with. We'll just tie two belt loops together with the twine.”
“I’ve only have long underwear in my backpack.” Banks said as he started unbuttoning his shirt.
Vittles gave a loud laugh and said, “This ain’t no fashion show, so wear ‘em. In the mean time I rustle up some clean duds fer the boy here.”
As Vittles looked for clothing, David stood by the glowing stove enjoying the warmth. He was hungry but so tired that his eyes ached. A few minutes later the trapper returned and handed him a pair of red long johns and the young man quickly changed.
As soon as David had changed, Vittles pointed to two bunks built into the sides of his cabin and said, “I used to have a partner, until he tried to play tag with a grizzly bear and lost the game. There are two beds there, so get some sleep.”
Three hours later, Banks woke smelling the food cooking on the stove. The ever present coffee pot was perking and Vittles was standing by the stove stirring his stew. David was still sleeping.
“Yer awake now, huh? This stew'll be done in about thirty more minutes, so get a cup off the sink over there and pour ya some coffee. The sourdough bread will be done directly.”
“Thanks. Do you have an emergency radio here by chance?”
“Nope, don’t like ‘em at all. As a matter of fact, I don’t like most electronic gadgets, but I do have a reg’lar radio that runs on batteries.”
“Do you listen to it often?”
Vittles gave a cackle and replied, “During supper I usually listen to the news, just so I have an idear what all them fools in the lower forty-eight are doin’. Or what people in other parts of the world are doin’ to hurt and kill each other. See, John, I came out heah to be left alone and to live a quiet life.”
“I can understand that. But, what if there is an emergency or you need help?”
“I’ve a dog team and if need be I can be at a Native village down the river in about two hours, if the river is frozen. I don’t worry much about those kinds of things, not really. I fig’er the good Lord has a plan for me, so what happens is his will.”
Banks thought for a moment and then asked, “Can we listen to the news tonight during supper?”
“Why shore, I ain’t got no gripes ‘bout doin’ that. Now, wake that boy and let’s eat.”
During dinner, they listened to an easy listening station that played what Banks called elevator music. It was mostly piano music or soft and easy instrumentals. While it was relaxing, it was not a station Banks would have picked, he liked hard rock and roll or country and western music.
When the news came on, David and Banks listened as the station reported, “The United States Air Force, Search and Rescue Squadron at Elmendorf Air Force Base, stated today that once the weather clears, rescue flights will continue for the missing son of the late Doctor James Wade. David Wade, the doctor’s son, has been missing since the crash of the Wade family’s private plane over a week ago. The plane crashed in remote mountains southwest of Anchorage and rescue attempts are hampered by poor weather. Stay tuned to WWX 92 FM for global news.”
David gave a loud scream of joy, but Banks was silent. He picked up his coffee, took a small sip and then said, “It may be a while yet before they come. Right now they can’t get airborne.”
Vittles
turned the radio off, gave a crooked grin and said, “Yer both safe heah, so relax John. When they come you’ll be healthy, so all ya have to do is wait.”
Banks grinned back at Vittles and said, “In the morning we have some signals to make. I want a large X made out of snow blocks constructed, some fires ready to light, and from now on during the day we have to listen for aircraft in good weather.”
Vittles stood, walked to the sink and pulled out a large piece of raw meat. Placing it in a huge pot and covering it with a clean dishcloth, he said, “Tomorrow we’ll have bear steaks fer dinner. I got me a brown bear late this season, so it will be better fixin’s than stew.”
The rest of the evening Banks and David spent looking at magazines Vittles had in box of them under his bed. Some of the publications were over forty years old and the trapper said the cabin used to belong to his dad. After his father died, he'd moved here enjoying the solitude.
“How long you been here?” David looked up from a magazine he was looking through.
“Well, near as I can guess almost twenty years. I was thirty when I came out with Franklin, he’s the man the bear killed, and I’ve been alone the last five years.”
“How in the world do you survive out here?”
“About six times a year a bush pilot friend of mine drops off some supplies I can’t grow, like salt, pepper, flour and whatnot. During the summer, I have me a big garden and I grow a lot of veggies fer the comin' winter. I can most of ‘em in Mason jars and if ya look on the shelf in the kitchen you’ll see ‘em.”
“Don’t you ever get bored?” Banks asked as he placed his magazine on the bed covers.
“Yep, I get bored during the middle of winter. I usually take my dog team into Anchorage for the annual fur rendezvous and spend a week there selling pelts and my wood carvings.”
“Could we do that now?” David asked in an excited voice.
“No, son, the river ain’t froze hard ‘nough yet. See, if we tried it now we might crack through the ice and end up dead.”