“Is there something you’re not telling me, Lieutenant? I’m sensing something more than a concern about the weather and those survivors stuck on a mountain.”
Hovan ignored the question. He tossed the end of the tie-down over the forward rotor blade, attached the hook, and swung the blade over the tail boom, wrapping the line around the metal stinger. The rotor blades were secured. He took a deep breath and exhaled noticeably.
“Mister Connor has terminal cancer. Did he mention that?”
The expression on Shultz’s face turned sour. He looked at Hovan as if he were crazy. “You’re sure? How do you know?”
“The flight surgeon called our commander. Connor received confirmation of the cancer this morning. He was obviously upset, refused treatment and counseling, and then left the hospital.” Hovan glanced down at his boots. “The doc told him he only had a few months, more if he chose the chemotherapy option.”
“Damn!” Shultz’s voice dropped. “Life can really suck sometimes. No wonder he looks in bad shape. What type of cancer does he have?”
“I didn’t get the full story, but apparently he has tumors in his lungs and spine. And they’re spreading. The doctor was concerned and thought the commander should know. He assumed Connor could be persuaded to take chemotherapy treatments, which might give him more time.”
“I can’t say I blame Connor for refusing. He doesn’t have any family to speak of, so what’s the point?” Shultz crossed his arms and contemplated what he would do in the same situation.
Hovan ran his hand along the fuselage. “Connor also took this helicopter without authorization. I bet he didn’t mention that either? Thompson and I were sent to bring him back. The rescue mission threw a wrench into the plan.”
“What?” Shultz looked toward the mountains and then smiled. “It explains why he was flying alone. He said he was on a last flight. I assumed he meant for the aircraft, not him. I guess he deserves that much.”
“Yeah, well there’s something else. The commander wanted us to bring him back, but he didn’t tell us everything. He was concerned about something else. I think he thought Connor might be suicidal.”
“No way, I don’t believe it.” Shultz’s smile had disappeared. He stared hard at Hovan. “You don’t either, otherwise you wouldn’t have let him take off again.”
“I could be wrong. But even if he intended suicide, I don’t believe he’d take anyone with him. Why even get involved in the rescue at all?”
Shultz sighed. “From my experience and from what I’ve heard about him over the years, he always has a tendency to be in the right place at the right time. Maybe fate brought him here, instead.”
Hovan nodded, reassured of his decision. “I’ll have a lot of explaining to do when I get back.”
“Both of us will. I just hope to hell we’re right. Otherwise, two members of my crew and those survivors are going to pay the price.”
Shultz was already moving away without waiting for an answer. Hovan finished a quick inspection of the helicopter and followed, walking heavily over the rutted ground.
The disabled Black Hawk rested among a patch of knee-high willows with the cargo doors closed against the wind. Ferguson had a navigation chart spread out in front of him against the instrument panel, hiding all but the top of his head. He was comparing what he was seeing on the chart to the terrain visible from the cockpit.
Shultz stepped behind a thick bush behind the helicopter to relieve himself. He finished as a gust of wind rustled the nearby trees. A chill shook his body. He looked skyward at the fast moving clouds and felt a small raindrop pelt his forehead.
Shultz walked around the tail and met Hovan at the cargo door. He pulled hard on the handle, sliding it open, motioning to Bril’s empty crew seat. “Might as well get comfortable, sir. Grab a headset and listen in. We can monitor the radios while we wait.”
Hovan pulled himself in and nodded to Mildred, who leaned in over her husband, checking his pulse. She gave him a cursory nod in reply before shifting her gaze toward Shultz.
“How is he Mildred? Any change?” Shultz showed concern for the patient even though there was little he could do.
She finished counting silently before taking her hand away from his wrist. Her husband’s eyes fluttered but remained closed. “He’s comfortable. The medication is still working. Any news on the other helicopter?”
“No, ma’am.” He glanced down at his watch. “The other rescue helicopter should be here before long. An hour, maybe less.”
Mildred didn’t appear pleased by the answer. Before she could comment, Shultz deflected the conversation. “This is Lieutenant Hovan. He was on the last helicopter. He gave up his seat to a more experienced pilot for the rescue attempt. They should be nearing the crash site any minute.”
She attempted a weak smile, which Hovan returned. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m sorry about your husband’s injury.”
“Thank you.” She focused her attention on the other helicopter parked on the airstrip, wondering why the machine wasn’t being used to transport her husband. “Is that one broken, too?”
Shultz knew why she was asking. Even though the Huey was flyable, trying to explain the lieutenant was a reluctant pilot-in-command, and he and Ferguson weren’t current in the UH-1 helicopter would take too long. Besides, the explanation wouldn’t make sense to her anyway. The real reason was he intended to remain in the area as long as possible. Connor might need weather updates to get the survivors safely off the mountain.
Instead, Shultz decided to keep the answer simple and lie. “Yes, ma’am.” In the back of his mind, he kept the other option open. If the second Black Hawk didn’t arrive before the weather closed in or if a life and death situation arose, they would use the Huey.
Hovan glanced at Shultz with raised eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Instead, he pulled out two chocolate bars from a leg pocket of his flight suit. “Anyone want something to eat? I grabbed these before I left.”
Mildred seemed satisfied with Shultz’s answer and suddenly realized how hungry she felt. A light breakfast and the ordeal of dealing with the trauma of the crash had left her famished.
“Yes. That sounds good. I could use something to eat.”
Shultz shook his head, as did Ferguson. Mildred took one and peeled the wrapper away slowly, grateful for the treat. When she had the wrapper half open, she broke off a piece and placed the morsel gently against her husband’s lips.
He responded, flicked his eyes open in brief attentiveness as the chocolate melted on his tongue. They exchanged a few warm words the others couldn’t hear. He closed his eyes again after a few small bites, letting his wife finish what was left.
Shultz closed the cargo door before climbing into the pilot’s seat. He stretched his helmet lightly over his ears to listen to the radio, leaving the chin strap unfastened.
“Anything?”
“Just a radio check after they took off,” Ferguson answered. He reached for the radio selector. “You want me to call them?”
“No, it’s okay.” Shultz leaned back in the seat and crossed his arms. “No need to distract them. They’ll let us know when they arrive.”
Ferguson finished studying the chart and folded the sheet neatly to the original size. “I hope Steiner and the survivors are doing all right up there. The pilot of the plane sure picked a hell of a place to crash, didn’t he?”
“I’d say he did a damn good job without causing more injuries. Crashes in the high mountains are usually fatal.”
Ferguson tilted his head back, massaging the sides of his neck. He stopped after watching the movement of clouds through the overhead Plexiglas. “You think Connor can get all the survivors off before the weather closes in?”
“Not all of them.” Shultz’s voice changed to a softer tone. “Some will have to be left behind until the weather breaks. At least overnight, maybe a couple days. Steiner will decide who stays.”
Ferguson noticed Shultz staring outside. He
could see a look of regret in his expression and sensed Shultz was as disappointed in their inability to help as much as he was.
“There’s nothing else we could have done, Joe.”
“I know. We pushed too hard as it was.” Shultz turned his attention to the cockpit and blinked his eyes into focus. “Good thing Connor and the other helicopter showed up when they did. Kind of ironic though when you think about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, here we are, the new breed of pilots with a technologically advanced, more capable helicopter, sitting broken on the ground while the old aviator in the aged helicopter flies off to save the day.”
Ferguson laughed. “Sort of like the cavalry arriving at the last minute. Except they’re riding old mules while the horses are laid up at the fort.”
“Yeah, exactly. But don’t sell the Huey short. In capable hands the old workhorse is still a damn good helicopter.” Shultz raised his voice slightly for emphasis. “Even with terrain and weather, I’ll put my faith in Connor.”
There was no response from Ferguson. He stared out the window again at the far mountains. The break allowed Hovan to ask a question.
“Mister Shultz? You said you’ve known Connor since you were in flight school. Was he your instructor?”
Shultz thought for a moment. The simple answer was yes, but there was much more to the explanation. Years had passed since he last told the story. He was certain Hovan and Ferguson were unaware of the circumstances. Now was a good time as any to tell them.
“No, not at first.” Shultz paused as if choosing the words carefully. “He was the senior instructor for my class when we started flying in Contact Phase. His role was more of an administrative position, supervising the class instructors and managing the curriculum. He gave morning briefings and handled the organizational duties, letting the junior instructors handle the students. Most of the time he was stuck behind a desk. He never looked happy and many of the students were intimidated by him, including me.”
“Sounds like he hasn’t changed much.” Ferguson smiled at the attempt of humor.
Shultz grinned. “There was a rumor floating around he kicked half the previous class out of flight school for poor performance. The story was false, but we believed it. One day a student in my class made a stupid remark while Connor was giving the morning briefing. The room went completely silent and I swear Connor’s stare melted the guy in his seat. His stern look was enough. Later the same day the student talked to a bunch of us and swore Connor’s eyes burned like a blue heat.”
The corners of Shultz’s mouth curled in a smile as he took a deep breath. “Of course, the rumors persisted even more after that, for a while anyway.”
A mutual look, part skepticism and part belief, passed between Hovan and Ferguson. They let Shultz go on without interruption.
“Toward the end of the Contact Phase, the class had only lost three students, and two of them were for medical reasons. By then Connor had flown with a couple of my classmates, filling in for their assigned instructors when they were absent. The students he flew with all came away with positive comments. Still, most of us remained intimidated by him.”
Ferguson cleared his throat. “When did you fly with him?”
“I’m getting to that.” Shultz tried recalling some finer aspects of the story. There was a pause of several seconds as he rubbed his chin in thought.
“Our perspective of Connor changed after a holiday break from training. Several of the older students had visited a local watering hole and saw Connor drinking heavily. They were telling the story in the hallway during a break in class, making a joke of how he must be an alcoholic. We all laughed. Connor never showed up for work either, and we drew the obvious conclusion.
One of our instructors overheard the conversation. He could have reprimanded every one of us for insubordination but didn’t. Instead, after we returned to class he got up in front of the room and said he wanted to talk about what being a real aviator means. We didn’t know why he brought the subject up or who he was talking about, until the end. The premise of the speech was you can’t always judge a pilot by their actions on the ground. The true test of an aviator is how they perform in the air.”
Hovan turned sideways to face the cockpit. “So he was talking about Connor?”
A smile curled the edges of Shultz’s mouth. He could tell the lieutenant and Ferguson were becoming captivated by the story.
“The instructor talked about courage and sacrifice and what they mean being a pilot. He was a Vietnam veteran and took what he said very seriously. They were just words to us students. Important? Sure. But they lacked perspective until he began reading an old newspaper article from Stars and Stripes. The story was published during the Vietnam War.
The article described how a young warrant officer continued risking his life to save a company of soldiers stranded in a hot LZ. Two medevac helicopters were shot down trying to extract the wounded and no other pilots were willing to try until the warrant officer in the story did. He made a dozen trips and pulled every soldier out before they could be overrun by a battalion of North Vietnamese.
The article went on about how the young warrant officer switched aircraft three times due to extensive damage from enemy fire, barely making the flight back on each occasion. His bravery motivated others to go with him. Two of his gunners were killed and another gunner and a copilot were seriously wounded. He was wounded twice himself. For his actions the warrant officer was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.”
Shultz paused for effect. “The instructor then put away the article and looked over the class. He explained the warrant officer in the story was later reprimanded for showing up late to receive his award. At the time, he was attending a different ceremony with the men he rescued, honoring their fallen comrades. The soldiers he saved meant more to the warrant officer than a medal.
As the instructor continued, he surprised us all by stating he was one of the soldiers who had been rescued that day and was with the warrant officer toasting their fallen comrades. The young warrant officer was the reason he decided to become a pilot. The instructor let the significance sink in, then finished by telling us the man who rescued them was our senior instructor, Mister Connor.”
Ferguson let out a slow breath as Shultz finished talking. “No shit! I never knew that.”
“I didn’t either.” Hovan seemed embarrassed. “I knew he was in Vietnam, two tours I think, but this is the first time I’ve heard any details.”
Shultz continued. “There are other incidents just as amazing. He confided in me once when we were assigned together in Germany. We both had more than a few drinks before he opened up. It was the only time he ever talked about his combat experience. I was humbled, to say the least.”
Ferguson leaned forward with his hands open. “So you going to tell us what he said or what?”
“No. They’re his private memories. I think he would rather tell them himself. Besides, I thought you wanted to hear about the first time we flew together.”
Hovan glanced at Mildred in the seat beside him. She was not wearing a headset and seemed content looking out the side window at the trees bending in the wind. Maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t listening to the conversation.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A strong gust bent the tops of the tall spruce on the edge of the clearing and raced across the waist high willows, swirling across the narrow dirt runway. Leaves and dirt pelted the Black Hawk’s windshield, quickly passed and then subsided to a light breeze. The heavy rotor blades flexed and bounced from the onslaught before returning to a rigid position.
“Perhaps a sign of things to come?” Shultz’s somber remark elicited silent acknowledgement.
“Okay, tell us the rest of the story,” Ferguson prodded after a moment. He wanted to hear about Shultz’s first flight with Connor.
Glancing at his watch, Shultz estimated Connor was nearing the crash site. He decided to continue with th
e story until they received a call.
“After the class instructor read the article, the perspective of many of the students changed. For me, he no longer reflected a hard-assed figure of authority, but a real American hero. If anything, the truth was even more intimidating.
About a week later, I flew with him for the first time. I busted my end-of-phase check ride the day before and was feeling pretty down on myself. He was the instructor giving me a recheck.”
“You busted a check ride? Your exalted status just dropped a notch,” Ferguson chided.
Hovan laughed and Shultz ignored them. “My busted check ride started off poorly with the first maneuver. I bounced the helicopter heavily during a simple touchdown. After that I was even more nervous and overcompensated, trying to finesse everything, which made me erratic. Each maneuver got progressively worse. My evaluator wrote notes like crazy and all I could think about was being kicked out of flight school. He ended up taking the controls during an autorotation and I knew then I busted for sure. He flew us back to the airfield without saying much.”
“Man, and I thought my check rides were bad.” Ferguson laughed with Hovan at Shultz’s misfortune.
Shultz answered with chuckle of his own. “When we got back to base the evaluator actually went pretty easy on me. I think he knew I could do better. He said the flight wasn’t bad, but I needed to be reevaluated on a couple maneuvers. After reading previous write-ups in my training folder, he said a different perspective from another instructor might help. I felt better, but then he hit me with a bombshell. I would be flying with Connor the next day.”
“Out of the frying pan and into the fire?”
The comment from Ferguson made him grimace. “Exactly what I thought. I was apprehensive as hell when I showed up the next day. His attitude was nothing like I expected though. From the moment I sat down, I actually felt comfortable. The experience is hard to explain, but the flight was like an epiphany. All of a sudden everything I’d been taught about flying made sense.
The Last Flight Page 25