The Last Flight

by Liefer, Gregory P. ; Liefer, G P;

  When she looked back, he was watching her. There was an ache in his eyes she understood. Not sexual but more of a personal and spiritual void. She smiled and stepped out into the cold air.

  Connor lay for a minute staring at the plastic liner on the ceiling. He found himself thinking of her and tried focusing on something else. There was an alluring quality about the woman that distracted him. In one sense, he wanted to develop a relationship but in another, knew time was against him. The reality of his illness prevented any worthwhile pursuit. Even so, he couldn’t push the thought entirely away.

  As he lay there contemplating his limited options, he reached the same conclusion that drove him to take the helicopter in the first place. His desire to be on the mountain was more than a reprieve from the pain. He knew the disease would inevitably destroy him, yet he was unwilling to accept the terms of surrender. He only needed to take advantage of being stuck on the mountain, while there was still an opportunity for vindication.

  In the wreckage, the sound of the racing wind mixed with the protesting groans of metal. The rain, too, had intensified, falling harder and amplifying against the metal skin.

  Connor could hear the heavy drops hitting the roof between the gusts pushing and pulling at the fuselage. He closed his eyes, feeling each variation of movement and sound. Combined with the medicine, the subtle motion was intoxicating, like being rocked by gentle ocean swells. In a short time he was fast asleep.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Maxwell was having doubts about continuing. Clouds obscured the hilltops on either side of the canyon, and a steady rain was falling, decreasing the visibility to less than a mile. Winds were buffeting the helicopter with increasing intensity. He slowed to sixty knots, keeping his eyes on the terrain.

  “This doesn’t look good. I think we should head back before the weather gets any worse.”

  Maxwell glanced at Lorell, hoping for confirmation. Instead, she maintained a calm demeanor, concerned about the weather as well but not sharing his pessimism. “We’ll be all right, Lou. We’re almost through the hills. The terrain flattens out ahead before reaching the mountains. Let’s keep going for a few more minutes. We can turn around if we need to.”

  She knew in a few minutes they would be at the airstrip where Shultz and the others were waiting. Loading them aboard wouldn’t take but another minute or two. Abandoning them now seemed foolish. The weather was lousy but still flyable. She felt comfortable continuing.

  Specialist Damian Prosky, the flight medic, watched the trees passing out the left side of the helicopter. His mind was on helping the survivors stranded with the damaged Black Hawk. He was disappointed they couldn’t help the others on the mountain.

  The crew chief, Sergeant Chris Nickels, sat in the right crew seat. He, too, watched the terrain, wondering if they could reach Shultz’s location. The weather was a concern, but he had confidence in the pilots, more so in Lorell than Maxwell. Her Alaska experience gave her an edge as far as he was concerned.

  The helicopter was loaded with extra sleeping bags, rations, and medical gear, stacked out of the way in the corners of the cargo compartment or on the shelves of the carousel. Since they could no longer reach the crash site, the gear was taking up space. There was barely room for the five people waiting at the airstrip.

  “I don’t see any change in the weather.” Maxwell fidgeted in his seat, glancing left and right between the wiper blades moving across the windshield. “How’s the visibility behind us, guys? Any change? I don’t want to get stuck here.”

  Nickels leaned sideways, tilting his head into the gunner’s window so he had a better angle. “No, sir. No change. Visibility is still about three-quarters of a mile, maybe a little more to the west.”

  “Same here, sir,” Prosky announced from the opposite side. “I don’t see any change. Sure wouldn’t want to spend a night in this weather.”

  “Okay.” Maxwell sounded disappointed. He looked at the GPS display, then back through the windshield. “Amy, you want to fly? I’m going to double check the coordinates the other helicopter gave us.”

  Lorell shot a quick glance at Maxwell before moving her hands and feet onto the flight controls. “I’ve got the controls.”

  She had already verified the coordinates and checked them against the navigation chart beside her seat, but kept silent, grateful he relinquished the controls. She kept a steady heading and slowly inched their airspeed higher.

  The steep walls of the canyon disappeared, changing to rolling hills on either side of the river drainage spitting out of the mountains. The rise of the terrain was deceptive and began increasing at a steeper angle toward the high peaks ahead. The difference was barely perceptible from the helicopter. Only the clouds narrowing the distance above the ground provided any indication.

  “You want me to give Shultz a call? We’re about four minutes out.” Lorell could see Maxwell had placed the notepad with the coordinates aside and was studying the weather with a concerned look on his face.

  “Ah … no, I’ll do it. Watch your airspeed. If the ceiling gets any lower, we’ll have to turn around.”

  “I think we’ll be okay, Lou. We still have about three hundred feet.”

  Maxwell ignored her and pressed the transmit button. “One-one-four, this is two-three-nine on Fox Mike, over.”

  “Two-three-nine, this is one-one-four. We’ve been waiting for you. How far you out?” Shultz’s voice sounded relieved.

  “Four minutes, Joe, if we can make it. The ceiling and visibility are dropping. The canyon behind us is almost socked in. What does the weather look like from your location, over?”

  There was a brief pause before Shultz answered. “Visibility is a half mile looking in your direction. We’re getting a mixture of rain and snow. It’s intensified in the last ten minutes. The ceiling is about two hundred feet and the winds are gusting to thirty knots from the southwest. When you get here, land behind us on the strip. The winds will be at an angle off your right front. As soon as you touch down, we’ll hurry as fast as we can with the litter.”

  “Roger, Joe. After we land, Prosky and Nickels will give you a hand.”

  Shultz had been wondering if the standby crew was still en route. There was no chance of communication until they flew through the canyon. He had been watching the weather, becoming increasingly worried after losing sight of the foothills. He also knew Maxwell wouldn’t fly very long in bad weather.

  After Thompson relayed Maxwell was inbound, Shultz told Hovan to hold off on getting the Huey ready. Instead, he kept the Black Hawk’s APU running so he could continue monitoring the radios. Once the ten-minute ETA passed, they switched plans again.

  Shultz was just about to shut down the APU when Maxwell called. Hovan was already outside with Ferguson, getting ready to move the injured patient over to the Huey.

  Mildred was visibly uncomfortable with the delay and even more so by the worsening weather. Her husband had remained mostly silent. The morphine was effective in dulling the pain.

  “Don’t move him yet,” Shultz shouted and waved at Ferguson, who was standing beside Hovan in the open door. They were preoccupied and didn’t hear him talking on the radio over the hum of the APU.

  Ferguson looked up. “What?”

  Shultz motioned for him to plug into the intercom. He nodded and climbed into the nearest crew seat. Hovan jumped in the back corner so he was out of the rain while they talked.

  “Maxwell is a few minutes out. Tell Lieutenant Hovan to secure the Huey, and I’ll shut off the APU. Grab our tie-downs and the inlet covers. We need to button everything up tight before we leave. The winds could be worse tonight.”

  “Will do, Joe.” Ferguson reached for his cord. He stopped before unplugging and feigned disappointment. “I was looking forward to flying in a Huey again. But I’m not turning down a ride, not in this weather.”

  By the time Shultz turned off the radios and shut down the APU and battery, Hovan and Ferguson were busy outside. M
ildred was wrapping another blanket around her husband for protection against the wind.

  Shultz kept his helmet on as a barrier against the rain before climbing out of the pilot’s seat. He helped Ferguson secure each blade with ropes attached to the skids. They then protected the engine inlets and exhaust stacks with padded inserts and canvas covers.

  Hovan did the same with the Huey. He was running back when the sound of the approaching Black Hawk was heard over the wind.

  Lorell searched through the rain-streaked windshield for the landing site. The GPS showed the location a quarter mile to their front, but damn if she could see it. They were flying a hundred feet above the terrain and the dark spruce trees bordering the drainage masked the narrow strip of dirt.

  “Five hundred yards! Where the hell is it?” Maxwell searched intently ahead of the helicopter. “I should’ve verified the coordinates with Shultz.”

  “I see it,” Lorell stated. She had begun doubting the accuracy of the coordinates herself. “The GPS never lies. I’m slowing for the approach.”

  “You sure? I don’t have it in sight.” Maxwell stared a few seconds longer. “Okay, I see the opening. Nice and easy, Amy. Keep the nose in the wind.”

  Lorell knew exactly what she was doing. She flared the helicopter and slowed to a fast walk over the center of the airstrip. Shultz’s Black Hawk and the Huey were visible at the far end. They could see a figure running between the helicopters.

  Nickels slid the right cargo door open and leaned partway outside. The rain stung his eyes. “Right side is clear as long as you stay over the center of the strip. Keep the tail aligned with the runway.”

  “Left side is clear,” Prosky added a moment later. “The ground has some wheel ruts but no slope I can see.”

  “Thank you.” Lorell continued forward until they were fifty feet behind Shultz’s Black Hawk.

  “I don’t like these winds.” Maxwell was uncomfortable, but content in letting his more experienced copilot handle the controls.

  “Me either, Lou. I’m coming down.”

  A strong gust hit the helicopter, instantly pushing the tail to the left. Lorell corrected immediately, aligning the nose before the tail could swing into the brush.

  Maxwell’s eyes widened. “Shit, that was a strong gust.”

  She smiled and slowly descended until the tail wheel touched the ground. The main wheels followed as the fuselage settled perfectly in the middle of the strip. She let the helicopter coast another ten feet before stopping.

  “Going to idle. Lock the brakes.”

  “Roger.” Maxwell pulled up on the locking handle as Lorell pushed heavily on the control pedals. “Brakes are locked. Nice job, Amy.”

  “Thanks. Let’s get everyone aboard.”

  Prosky and Nickels were quickly outside and hurrying toward the other helicopter. They met Hovan and Ferguson at the cargo door, already in the process of lifting the injured man from the carousel.

  “How is he?” Prosky addressed Ferguson as Shultz and Mildred came around from the other side. He could see the man was wrapped snuggly in a blanket and secured on the litter.

  “Ralph is stable,” Mildred answered with a frown on her face. “Now, can we get him into the helicopter and get out of here. We’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

  “Uh … of course. I’m the flight medic, Specialist Prosky.”

  “This is Mildred, Prosky,” Shultz added in a hurry. “She can brief you while we’re moving him. She’s a retired nurse and Ralph’s wife.”

  Nickels and Shultz took a front corner of the litter, with Hovan and Ferguson positioned at the rear. Mildred followed with the flight medic, bringing him up to date on Ralph’s condition. She was thorough and Prosky was impressed.

  Less than four minutes later, everyone was aboard and strapped in. Lorell was already rolling the throttle up by the time the doors were pulled shut. She glanced at the engine torque indications, but the added weight wasn’t a concern at this altitude.

  “Secure in back,” Nickels announced.

  Prosky was busy checking Ralph’s vital signs. Shultz occupied the flight medic’s crew seat behind the pilots, and Hovan and Ferguson sat against the rear bulkhead.

  Mildred sat next to her husband, trying to ignore the vibration of the helicopter and the abrupt shudders during each strong gust. The last thing she wanted to think about was another malfunction, but as they lifted off the ground, she couldn’t think about anything else.

  “Tail wheel is off the ground. Ten feet … twenty. You’re looking good.” Nickels stayed focused outside as he passed information through the intercom. “We’re above the trees. Clear on my side.”

  “Right front is clear,” Maxwell added. “Damn, the clouds have dropped. Visibility too. This could get dicey. You okay flying, Amy?”

  “I’m fine, Lou. I’ll stay low over the trees.”

  Lorell accelerated until the airspeed showed sixty knots before banking over the gravel riverbed. The fuselage yawed with the sudden change in wind direction. In an instant the groundspeed shot up dramatically with the strong tail wind. She adjusted the controls, maintaining the same low altitude.

  Visibility was at a quarter mile and the ceiling a hundred feet. The rain had turned mostly to wet snow, obscuring the terrain on either side of the drainage.

  Lorell kept the airspeed as fast as she dared, allowing enough reaction time if they needed to come to a hover or turn around to avoid entering the tightening overcast.

  Shultz was plugged into the intercom. He remained silent, letting Lorell and Maxwell do their job. His comments would only be a distraction.

  Short of the canyon, the ceiling and visibility began lifting. The change wasn’t much, but it at least equaled what the conditions were when they passed through before. No one noticed as Lorell and Maxwell breathed a sigh of relief.

  A moment later they were on the other side. The helicopter banked on a direct course for Fort Wainwright, staying low over the Tanana Flats.

  Shultz’s thoughts were already on what he would be doing tomorrow. He would make sure he was involved in the rescue of the remaining survivors. Bril and Connor were counting on him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Twenty miles south of Fairbanks, Thompson’s heavily loaded helicopter leveled above the flat terrain, flying a few hundred feet below the scattered layer he had descended through only moments before. In the distance, large buildings and bright structures of the city were becoming recognizable against the dark landscape. With each passing mile, the shades and colors became sharper and more distinct.

  Thompson felt a shift in the balance of the helicopter as Steiner changed position. The movement was more hurried than before and Thompson immediately sensed something was wrong. Steiner crouched over the patient lying against the right door and quickly pulled the blankets and clothing away from his chest.

  The girls and women packed against the bulkhead sensed the urgency and slid further to the side, allowing more room for him to work. Steiner pulled a bright red, canvas bag, the size of a briefcase, from the corner. Inside was a portable defibrillator he needed for shocking the patient’s heart back to life.

  Steiner’s voice broke over the intercom. The words cracked with urgency. “I’ve lost a pulse. No heartbeat. I’m starting CPR.”

  Donna saw Steiner’s reaction and knew something was wrong. She hesitated, frozen by indecision. The terror of being left behind had passed, yet the girl’s coach waited for someone else, anyone else, to volunteer. No one did. She was the closest.

  Steiner looked at her, then away. She was the only adult who could help, but could he trust her? Another pair of hands could be the difference between life and death.

  After her embarrassing spectacle on the mountain, Donna needed to set a positive example. The girls would tell everyone about her panicked reaction, and she would be humiliated. Redeeming herself was the only way.

  She took a deep breath and swallowed hard. Her body moved, surprisin
g her. She slid in close beside Steiner, locking eyes with him, silently wishing he would decline assistance. Instead, he nodded his head in thanks.

  “How can I help?” She had to yell over the sound of the engine. Her voice faltered with uncertainty.

  He leaned sideways, talking directly into her ear. “I already turned the defibrillator on. Attach the chest pads while I start artificial breathing. The instructions are written on the bag, there.” He handed her the pads and pointed to the laminated plastic sheet with large print.

  She was scared, afraid of what would happen, yet for the first time didn’t let the fear overwhelm her. She looked at him, then the patient and began reading.

  The instructions were simple. Taking another deep breath she bent forward, plugging the cables into the monitor. A series of bright lights illuminated and an electronic voice explained the next step in a sequence of short commands. The words were impossible to hear over the engine, and she didn’t try. She only had to follow the diagram on the inside cover.

  Steiner pulled a plastic mouthpiece with an attached air bag from another case and placed the cup over the man’s airway. He squeezed the bag several times, forcing air into his lungs.

  Once Donna had the chest pads in place, he stopped air compressions and motioned her hands away from the patient. They watched as the man’s chest jerked from repeated bursts of electric shock. The machine paused, automatically checking for a heartbeat before repeating the procedure. On the third try, the machine stopped. His heart rhythm was restored.

  Steiner slid in closer. The man’s pulse was weak and his breathing barely distinguishable. The defibrillator pads were left attached, allowing the device to continue monitoring the patient for signs of distress.

  Gentle squeezes of the air bag forced more air into his lungs. His chest expanded with the compressions, providing oxygen to the blood stream. In seconds, the man’s pulse was stronger. He began breathing on his own and for the moment at least, he appeared out of danger.