“We’ve got a pulse.” Steiner’s voice was noticeably relieved. “How much longer, sir?”
“Ten minutes, tops. I was just about to call Fairbanks tower.”
“Have them notify the hospital one of the patients went into cardiac arrest. They need to be standing by with a crash cart.”
“Will do. Good job bringing him back, Sergeant Steiner.”
Leaning into Donna, Steiner spoke into her ear again over the noise. “Thank you. Help me bundle him back up. He needs to keep warm.” Silently he wondered what had caused her change in personality.
Donna nodded her head and smiled before pulling the blankets over the man’s exposed torso. With Steiner’s help she had saved a person from the brink of death. For Donna, it was a life changing moment.
Lisa first noticed the commotion when Steiner moved and hurriedly checked the injured man’s pulse. She was stuck between her friend Becka and Donna. They were leaning against her and afraid to move. She tried sliding closer to help Steiner, but she was trapped by the weight of their bodies. She became frustrated. There was a reason she had been on the airplane. Her chance to save the helicopter pilot had passed and now she couldn’t help the man in cardiac arrest, either.
When Donna finally overcame her fear and slid closer to the man, Lisa prayed. Her faith gave her strength. She reached out, almost touching her coach’s leg, willing the energy to pass through her fingers to Donna and into the man’s lifeless body. She relaxed. No one noticed the powerful force flowing through her. The man’s heartbeat suddenly returned-his life restored.
Sanders became more comfortable after leaving the mountains behind. Out of the bad weather and almost on the ground, he didn’t mind being the kid’s copilot. He set the tower frequency on the radio and turned Thompson’s selector without being asked.
“You’re on tower frequency.”
Glancing at the console out of habit, Thompson confirmed the correct setting before keying the transmit button.
“Fairbanks tower, Army eight-three-zero. Ten miles southeast for landing at Fairbanks Memorial, over.”
The tower response was immediate. Apparently, the controller was already aware of the situation. “Roger, Army eight-three-zero. You’re cleared into the surface area to Fairbanks Memorial. Winds are one-four-zero degrees at eight knots. Altimeter is two-nine-eight-four. Advise when you’re on the ground.”
Thompson acknowledged before asking the controller to advise the hospital of the cardiac arrest. The chatter from other aircraft on the radio lessened, as if their talking might somehow interfere with the patient’s outcome.
As the helicopter passed Clear Creek Buttes, the man-made structures of the city were easily distinguishable. Blue metal storage buildings near the Tanana River served as a reference for the approach. The warehouses were visible from miles away, contrasting against the white exterior of the main medical complex. From there, the course was a straight line to a soccer field across the street, where the last turn into the helipad would begin.
The landing area was painted with a large red and white cross and could handle the biggest of helicopters. The concrete pad lay situated in a field between a busy street and the hospital parking lot. A steep approach was necessary to avoid the nearby buildings and power lines.
Children stared up from the soccer field and waved as Thompson began slowing the helicopter. Several ambulances could be seen waiting adjacent to the helipad, along with three local television vans and a group of reporters and medical staff. News of the rescue had traveled quickly.
A grimace of opposition etched Sanders’ face. “This is going to be a circus.”
“The rescue is big news, Captain. You might as well talk to them before they make up the facts.” The tone of Thompson’s voice inferred he had no intention of shutting down the helicopter. A quick exit after unloading the survivors seemed a better option. He was more than content to let Sanders handle the media.
Thompson slowed the approach over the power lines, flaring the helicopter to touch down smoothly in the center of the pad. He lowered the collective control so the weight was fully distributed on the skids and rolled the throttle to idle.
A segment light on the caution panel flickered for a moment when they touched down. Thompson wasn’t surprised. He didn’t say anything. He had been monitoring the fuel since leaving the mountains and expected the Low Fuel light to illuminate. Enough fuel remained for the short flight back to Fort Wainwright.
“Watch the passengers when you get out, Sergeant Steiner. Make sure they don’t walk back toward the tail rotor.”
“Roger, I’m climbing out.” The cargo door slid back, followed by Steiner’s loud voice giving instructions.
“Everyone remain seated until the injured patients by the doors are unloaded. When I wave you out, walk toward the ambulances and stay together.” He made eye contact with each of the passengers to ensure they understood.
A sigh of relief escaped Steiner. He watched the first ambulance back in toward the helicopter with the rear doors open, stopping just outside the span of spinning rotor blades. Orderlies and a doctor immediately wheeled a gurney from the vehicle while a second ambulance backed in beside it. He motioned them toward the closest cargo door before directing the next gurney to the opposite side. He quickly briefed the medical team on each patient’s condition.
“I guess I better go face the music.” Sanders extended his arm across the console to shake Thompson’s hand in farewell. “I’m sure the accident board will have lots of questions.”
“You’ll do just fine. From what I saw on the mountain, you did a hell of a job getting the plane on the ground.”
“Maybe, but I still have three fatalities to answer for. I suspect the injured and traumatized passengers will see the situation differently. Someone has to take the blame.”
Thompson knew he was right. Still, he wasn’t sure how to respond. Any reassurance he offered was hollow at best. He realized the accident board would eventually get around to interviewing him as well. “Take care, Captain, and good luck.”
Sanders backed out of the helicopter using his good arm for leverage. He thought of something else and stopped, meeting Thompson’s eyes.
“I’ve never been in a helicopter before, but I’ve been a pilot for a long time. What you and your crew did today was amazing. You guys are real professionals. We’re all thankful you showed up when you did.”
A slight smile creased Thompson’s face. The comment was all the thanks he needed. He wondered if Sanders knew Connor was the real driving force behind the rescue. Without Connor, the flight would never have been attempted, and it would certainly never have succeeded. Even getting off the mountain safely was a direct result of Connor’s influence.
Connor’s and his chain of command would view the incident differently, of course. Regulations had been violated, a lot of them. Hopefully, because of the outcome, their conduct wouldn’t be judged too harshly, although Connor’s reason for being there in the first place might be looked at with a different perspective. Even so, he wasn’t about to let Connor take the heat on his own.
Thompson suspected the zealous media would overemphasize the rescue and only hoped his mentor would be around to share in the coverage. Their sensationalized reporting might be Connor’s only chance of staying away from disciplinary action. Of course, the outcome didn’t matter to Connor. With his terminal cancer the repercussions weren’t important. If they were, he wouldn’t have stolen the helicopter in the first place. Perhaps there was a darker motive. Would he be returning at all?
Reporters swarmed around the survivors as medical personnel tried hurrying them into the hospital. The scene was chaotic until Sanders approached, distracting their attention while the others continued inside.
The first ambulance began pulling away from the helicopter. Another immediately took its place. Steiner repeated the briefing procedure with the new medical team and waited until the last patient was safely loaded.
&nb
sp; “Don’t wait for me, Mister Thompson.” Steiner plugged back into the intercom. “I’ll be here for a while. I’ve got plenty of paperwork to fill out before I leave. I’ll catch a ride back to base later.”
“You sure? The reporters will be hounding you as soon as they figure out your involvement. Besides, I was hoping for some backup while I brief the commander.”
Steiner could tell he was only partially joking. “I’ll be there in another hour.”
He broke eye contact for a second before continuing. “For what my opinion’s worth, I think you and Connor are damn good pilots. I’ll fly with you anytime. What you guys accomplished with this old helicopter was a hell of a feat. No other pilots could have done better.”
“Thanks, Sergeant. I appreciate it.” Thompson was just thankful they made the flight back. Expressing more than a light compliment was something neither of them was used to, but this day was certainly an exception. His reply was equally heartfelt.
“You did all the hard work. You’re one hell of a medic. Without your expertise, more people would’ve died. You saved a lot of lives today. Nothing is more important than that. I had the easy part. All I did was fly the helicopter.”
Steiner searched for an answer. “Yes, sir. We’re a good team. See you back at base.”
He was suddenly gone, walking quickly toward the hospital. Thompson rolled the throttle full open and pulled in collective, smoothly climbing away from the helipad. Five minutes later he was on the ground beside the hangar, letting the engine cool as he thought about how he would explain everything to his commander.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
A sense of something out of place caused Connor to stir. Moist pressure against his chin didn’t match the events in his dream. He opened his eyes. Only inches away, a strange face was staring at him. The playful eyes and cocked head held a curious look as if wondering why someone would be sleeping at this time of day. The dog’s muzzle bumped his chin again, prodding Connor for a response.
Only after Connor recovered from surprise and began stroking behind the animal’s furry ears, did the dog seem satisfied. The malamute lay on all fours, resting its head comfortably on Connor’s chest. The amber eyes studied him with a satisfied expression.
Voices in the rear of the fuselage drew Connor’s attention. They sounded surprisingly jovial. He heard a woman speaking and could smell the odor of food. A sudden wave of hunger overcame him as he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since early in the morning.
The thought of something else alarmed him. He remembered he was in a wrecked plane and knew leaking fuel was an almost certainty. Cooking over an open flame could ignite the fuel vapor. He was about to yell a warning when he realized there was no danger. The smell was from an Army ready-to-eat ration, heated by adding water to a chemical mix in a protective pouch around the food. There was no flame. The process was completely safe.
From his position on the floor, Connor could see the heavy man still lying on the spine board. He was in a deep sleep, causing the wool blanket around his chest to rise and fall with each breath. The shoes he had been wearing earlier were off to the side and an extra cushion had been placed against the wall as a buffer. His appearance suggested he had been moved during Connor’s slumber.
Maneuvering himself carefully to a sitting position, Connor felt his muscles flex in mild protest. A dull ache had replaced the stabbing pain. The sharp spasms and burning intensity were gone for the time being. Lying on the hard surface in combination with the muscle relaxers eased the worst of the tension. He could move with only minor discomfort.
Connor recognized the four people in the rear of the cabin. Susan and the other woman were sitting across from Kwapich and Simms. Open MRE packets were beside them. They seemed to be enjoying the military rations. They talked freely. Each of them sat cross-legged on a cushion from the passenger seats.
The dog repositioned its head on Connor’s chest, then sat up and looked at him for continued attention. Connor obliged by stroking under his chin. Satisfied, the malamute lay back down with a soft moan.
Other than conversation, there was only silence. The noise from the howling wind and creaking fuselage were gone. The worst of the storm seemed to have passed. Connor wondered how long he had been asleep. Checking his watch, the dial showed a little after seven-thirty in the evening. Could he really have been out that long? Glancing through the small windows for confirmation, he saw only shades of gray. The ridge was still enveloped in clouds.
Connor looked around the interior. Most of the seats were missing. Cushions and extra clothing were in a pile by the forward bulkhead. The temperature felt surprisingly comfortable. Only a slight chill was present where his body rested against the wall. The access doors and cracks had been sealed from the outside. The accommodations weren’t perfect but were adequate for protection from the freezing air.
A creak from the forward entryway drew Connor’s attention. A draft of cold air filtered through as Bril and Bidwell entered. They were carrying sleeping bags and some camping gear retrieved from the aft baggage compartment.
The sleeping man didn’t stir. His heavy breathing subsided into a low rumble. They gave him a brief glance before continuing.
“How you feeling, Mister Connor?” Bril set the items out of the way before kneeling beside him.
“Lots better. Are we set for the night, Bril? Anything I can do?”
Bril knew he was being sincere but didn’t bite at the offer. “No, sir. Everything is taken care of. There wasn’t much to do. We managed to wrench the rear door closed and seal the cracks with some clothing from the suitcases. The front access still works fine for entry and exit.”
“Good. What about food and water? Anything other than MREs?” Connor wanted to take charge but realized he had no authority over the survivors. Bril was different of course and understood the situation. At this point Connor just wanted to contribute something and thought he might be able to offer some suggestions.
The dog looked on with indifference as Bril patted his side. “Water is limited, but there should be enough for tomorrow. There’s some runoff from an ice overhang if we run out. The survivors salvaged several water bottles and a few candy bars and crackers after the crash. With the case of MREs Steiner brought, there should be enough food for a day or two, as long as we eat sparingly.”
After pulling the door closed, Bidwell joined them in the center of the fuselage. He nodded to Connor politely and remained standing. “You’re looking better. You were out for a long time. How do you feel?”
“Much better, thanks. Sorry I wasn’t any help.”
“No need to apologize. I’ve pulled my back out a few times, myself. I know the feeling. There isn’t anything you can do except stay off your feet and let the sore muscles recover.”
“It’s true,” Kwapich added. He approached from the rear. “I can vouch for Hank’s condition. His back usually goes out about the time we start hauling loads of meat back to camp.”
Bidwell was used to the ribbing but didn’t let the banter pass without comment. “Only because I usually have the game quartered and bagged by the time you arrive. A process of several hours and great physical exertion, I might add.”
“Ouch!” Kwapich feigned insult. “One time I wasn’t there to help and you never let me forget. I guess being several miles away at the time shouldn’t be a factor.”
The two hunters grinned good-naturedly even though fatigue was evident on their faces. Connor could tell they were good friends. “Sounds like you guys were scheduled for a hunting trip when the plane crashed.”
“Yeah, we were meeting our guide in Fairbanks. We had an eight-day moose and sheep hunt planned.” Kwapich sounded disappointed. “We’ve been planning this for years. Looks like the hunt will be delayed, but we still might have a few days, depending on when we get out of here.”
“In the meantime we’ll consider this a camping trip.” Bidwell shifted his feet. “Glad you Army guys could join us.”
Throughout his life, he hadn’t been very religious. He believed in God, but attending church was something he usually avoided. To him, nature seemed a more appropriate cathedral. Solitude gave him a personal connection he was more comfortable with. Flying had the same effect on him, being alone with only his thoughts for company. The bond was something he never felt anywhere else, something special he couldn’t identify.
Those private moments changed after his daughter’s death. An angry rejection of faith took their place. But as much as he wanted to deny a presence, Connor knew he was never alone in his grief. Maybe it was the reason he resented religion so much. His prayers had been ignored. His beliefs had failed him. He wasn’t alone, but he wanted to be.
Bril stopped petting the dog and stood between the two men. “I was just explaining our situation to Mister Connor. I think we’re set for the night.”
Kwapich answered first. “Right, nothing more we can do. I even have a deck of cards if anyone’s interested?”
Bidwell saw Connor’s questioning look and explained. “Our hunting gear was part of our baggage on the plane. In addition to the typical outdoor clothing and sleeping bags, we always carry a deck of cards and some reading material, for those long days when we’re stuck in camp.”
“Good idea.” Connor wondered if they realized how valuable their sleeping bags would be. He turned his attention back to Bril. “Everyone set for sleeping arrangements? Steiner brought a case of blankets, right?”
“Yes, sir. A dozen in the case and two more they unpacked from their gear.” He motioned to Kwapich and Bidwell. “Should be enough we don’t freeze to death. The cushions from the seats will help insulate the floor.”
“The ladies can use the sleeping bags.” Kwapich was serious, not just being polite. “Hank and I both have fleece underwear and warm jackets.”
The Last Flight Page 34