The Last Flight

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

  Connor and Susan lay across from each other. The soft glow of the chemical light was the only illumination. Grasping his hand for a moment, she looked softly into his eyes. “Good night, fly boy.”

  He smiled and squeezed her hand in response. In minutes, she was asleep.

  Connor tossed and turned before eventually nodding off. Sleep was a fitful rest. Every half hour or so he would awaken and reposition, adjusting the blankets tightly around his body. The heavy fabric and Shultz’s borrowed jacket blocked most of the cold, but his joints were stiff from the thin cushions and hard floor. Even worse, his back muscles were flaring up again, shooting jolts of pain along his spine.

  Reluctant to take another pill for fear of being incapacitated before he could carry out his plan, he finally relented and took one when the pain became unbearable. Waiting for the medicine to take effect and listening to the sounds of breathing, he was surprised when someone slid silently past him. They knelt beside the large man further forward on the floor.

  In the pale light, he recognized Marla and saw a glint of what looked like a hypodermic needle in her hand. She moved, blocking his view, and after a long pause returned to the back of the cabin. The man remained motionless. His breathing was slower, almost indiscernible.

  Connor was unsure of Marla’s intention but assumed she administered another dose of pain medication. Her husband was obviously given more than just pain pills. The medicine was certainly effective.

  After waiting several minutes, Connor slowly stood and moved toward the door, trying to be quiet. The effort pulled sharply at his stiff muscles, causing minor spasms of opposition, but he managed to step outside without causing further grief. The access door latched with a dull thud as he turned the handle. If the cold draft of air entering the cabin hadn’t disturbed anyone, the sound of the door closing probably did.

  There was at least two inches of fresh snow on the ground. Indentations from his boots left a clear trail toward the cargo compartment. Even with the thick overcast, the summer twilight and white terrain provided enough illumination to see where he was going. He guessed the time was around midnight or early morning, for the sun was still hidden.

  The weather was better than Bril described earlier. The snow had stopped, and the clouds had dispersed off the ridge. Visibility was at least a hundred yards, for he could see the slope where the flatter ground extended from the mountain.

  The door to the cargo compartment was left slightly ajar for the dogs to go in and out. Connor glanced inside and saw two pairs of eyes staring back. The young malamute rose to greet him. The other dog nestled against a covered body and lifted her head dejectedly.

  The three fatalities were lying beside each other on the metal floor. Open luggage and other cargo were strewn around the interior. The appearance was more chaotic than the cabin section.

  Connor stroked the dog named Muck behind the ears. “How you doing, buddy? You need to go the bathroom, too?”

  The malamute accompanied him along the ridge, staying close by. A short time later the other dog joined them, limping slightly as she struggled to keep up. Connor stopped and knelt beside her, feeling his own muscles flare in protest. “Seems we’re both hurting, old girl.”

  He patted the dog on the head and under the chin, letting her smell his hand. “Let me take a look.” He spoke softly and felt along her injured hind leg. There were no bulges he could feel, but she yelped when he tried flexing the hip.

  “Sorry about that.” Connor massaged her back and hindquarter, thinking the injury was just a sprain. “I’ll walk slower. No hurry where we’re going.”

  When they were at the end of the ridge, Connor stopped to relieve himself. The dogs wandered off nearby, sniffing the ground before conducting their own business.

  The medicine started taking effect. Connor could feel his eyes becoming heavy. His back still ached. He swallowed three more pills, far more than he needed, but the extras wouldn’t make a difference. He rested on a narrow patch of soft lichen, underneath an overhang of rock where the ground was shielded from the wet snow. Carefully kneeling and lowering himself to a prone position, he lay on his back, gazing up at the sky.

  The cold air made him shiver. Thoughts of his daughter and son overwhelmed him. He missed them. His eyes moistened as stars appeared above, sparkling in the night sky through a break in the overcast. In his medicated state he imagined they looked like airport beacons, guiding him home.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Sounds of laughter drifted through the still air. There was a fragrance of fresh flowers and warm pastry. The sky was tinted a perfect shade of indigo-blue, and the forest of birch and poplar was ripe with the vibrant colors of fall.

  A spacious lodge filled with guests sat nestled on a hill nearby, surrounded by lush lawns and a stained cedar deck. Rocking chairs sat empty on the porch and a column of thin smoke curled from the tall chimney. Heavy timbered beams and thick pine logs gave an appearance of reserved strength and exceptional craftsmanship.

  In the distance, the sun was rising above the pillared mountains, casting a warm glow over the valley. Snowcapped peaks rose above the lower slopes, still bare from the summer heat. Above the tree line, a waterfall cascaded off a high basin into a deep gorge, joining a larger drainage through a carved path toward the sea.

  The setting was peaceful and welcoming, but Connor couldn’t remember being there before. He breathed in deeply, tasting the clean alpine air.

  Turning slowly to capture the entire landscape, he could see he was near a small inlet of a calm, clear lake, stretching for miles along a pristine shoreline. His eyes caught a ripple of movement on the water. A fish flipped and then another as a pair of loons glided effortlessly over the glassy surface.

  Off to the side, a gravel walkway extended down from the lodge to a small, floating pier. A single, wooden boat was tied alongside and someone was loading fishing gear into the bow. The reflection of sunlight off the water shielded the man’s features, but his outline and the way he moved looked familiar.

  The pain and tension in Connor’s back was missing. There was no soreness or stiffness in his limbs. He felt young and healthy, in his prime again. An overwhelming sense of peacefulness engulfed him. He wondered where he was.

  He stepped onto the wooden planked dock with an easy stride. As he approached the figure in the small boat, he could distinguish an athletic body with short, blond hair, wearing faded denim jeans and a flannel shirt. The man was kneeling and facing away, leaning over an open tackle box in search of something inside.

  “Good morning. I seem to be lost. Can you help me out?”

  The young man turned and stood facing him with a welcoming smile. “Hi, Dad. I was just getting the boat ready. Thought you might want to go fishing later.”

  Connor stared in shock, unsure of what he was seeing, then recovered and met his son with a strong embrace. They hugged warmly, enjoying the moment before pulling away and holding each other by the shoulders. He mirrored his son’s smile, looking him over with disbelief.

  “Where did you come from? Where is this place, son?”

  “You’ll see, Dad. Everything is fine. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Slowly, understanding spread across Connor’s face. He thought for a moment and then his eyes brightened. “We? Is she with you?”

  “Of course. They’re all here. Grandma, Grandpa, your Army buddies. And someone who has been very excited to see you.”

  “Tara? She’s here? Where is she?”

  His son grinned wider and chuckled. “I guess she couldn’t wait any longer.”

  He turned to where his son pointed and saw a little girl running down the walkway. Her tiny legs were a blur of motion. Her lemon-colored chinos and embroidered top bounced in harmony with her raven hair. “Daddy, Daddy!” she called, giggling excitedly at the same time.

  He moved quickly to meet her, falling to his knees as she ran into his arms. They held each other tightly for a long time, relishing t
he moment. The wait had been such a long time. Tears of joy ran down his cheeks.

  She kept her hands around his neck as he stood and carried her, studying his face the way she always did. He kissed her and brushed the hair from her forehead.

  “I missed you, cutie pie. I missed you so much.”

  “Daddy, my daddy.” The sound of her voice filled the air with joyful innocence. Her small hands clasped his cheeks, and she pressed her nose against his, swimming in the color of his eyes. They smiled and laughed, together again at last.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  By mid-morning of the following day, the weather gave little indication of improvement. Low, dense clouds hung over the city of Fairbanks and the nearby military bases as rescue crews waited impatiently. Three helicopters were fueled and ready, sitting with their blades untied and doors open in anticipation of a quick departure. The window of opportunity for rescue might be short, and no one wanted unnecessary delays.

  An Air Guard C-130 out of Anchorage was the first to arrive over the crash site. The crew maintained a high orbit above the jagged summits, circling at twenty thousand feet. The pilot reported a broken layer around the peaks, with heavy fog in the valleys and lower approaches. Winds were light, causing little change in the cloud cover.

  At the top of the hour, the C-130 commander attempted contact with the survivors on the emergency band frequency. There was no response initially and Colonel Patrick “Paddy” Hannesy tried several times before a broken transmission was heard in reply.

  “This is Air Guard Rescue, good morning. I’m receiving you broken and barely readable. We are currently overhead your position. How is everyone holding up, over?”

  “Rog … guard … Any chang … forecas … ver?”

  Enough of the fractured, static transmission was decipherable for Hannesy to understand. He passed the latest weather and what he was seeing from his perspective to the survivors, leaving out the likelihood of another storm arriving within the next twenty-four hours.

  “The rescue helicopters are waiting for the clouds to lift. We’re hoping for a late morning or early afternoon rescue. How was the night on the mountain? Any problems?”

  There was a delay and a change in pitch to the voice. “Affirm. One … dittion … fatalit … uring … night … ver.”

  Colonel Hannesy looked at his first officer for confirmation. “Did he say one of the survivors died during the night?”

  The first officer nodded before speaking. “Sure sounded that way.”

  Hannesy was no stranger to aviation tragedies, having flown military and civilian aircraft for almost forty years. Any loss of life reflected on the actions of the rescuers, whether circumstantial or not.

  “Say again. Understand one fatality during the night. Is that correct?”

  The response took longer this time. Each transmission became weaker and more garbled from the depleted battery in the portable radio. “firmative … one … ditional … tality…. name … Con … er.”

  Hannesy and the first officer exchanged a look of regret. “The news won’t go over very well. I better pass on the information. Looks like one more body for the morgue.”

  Bril had been fiddling with the radio since the Air Guard aircraft contacted them. Sometime during the night, the power switch had been turned on, draining the battery.

  He cursed himself for leaving the radio in a location where the power could be inadvertently activated. At the same time he was upset at Connor. Bril couldn’t understand his decision for leaving.

  Susan was the one who found Connor in the early morning, at the end of the ridge. She went looking for him after realizing he was gone. The dogs were curled close against his unmoving body and the youngest seemed reluctant to leave. A feeling of helplessness overcame her. The stress and emotional trauma of the crash, combined with the deaths of her fellow passengers and now Connor, pushed her to the limit. She sat down and cried, holding his hand to her cheek.

  In Fairbanks, word of another fatality on the mountain reached the waiting helicopter crews. A somber atmosphere replaced the optimism they felt when the day first began. The pilots spent their time between the aircraft and the hangar, checking the weather between conversations and reading about the previous day’s rescue in the morning paper. The crew chiefs and medics checked and rechecked their equipment or worked on menial tasks to keep them busy.

  Shultz was the most affected by the news. He went inside to make a phone call, wanting to verify the name of the fatality, but there was little doubt. He’d been told about Connor’s conversation with Sergeant Mayo and his reference to suicide.

  Shultz couldn’t possibly fathom everything going through Connor’s mind, but the prospect of suffering through months of hopeless pain explained his behavior. The extent and eventual outcome of the disease provided him with limited hope. He just never figured Connor would go out without a fight.

  He tried evaluating Connor’s thought process, wondering what his own actions would be in a similar situation. He couldn’t hold any resentment. Suicide was a way out, a simple choice of how and when to die. Shultz managed a smile. Connor had done it again. He lived by his own rules. He might as well die by them, too.

  Shultz checked the weather for the third time. There was some new data, and he received another briefing on the latest outlook. The forecast was better but not great. Waiting made him antsy. He needed to do something, if only to verify what the forecaster said, and decided to launch ahead of the others. Once in the air, he would have a better perspective if the weather changed.

  Shultz was airborne in a matter of minutes, soon after informing the other crews of his intention. Ferguson again accompanied him. A different medic and crew chief were in the back. Steiner had been tasked by the chain of command with writing a report on the rescue. A task he was very unhappy about.

  Thompson was supposed to be doing the same, but he had talked his way out of the assignment due to a shortage of pilots. Instead, he would accompany the unit’s maintenance officer and Lieutenant Hovan to pick up the UH-1 helicopter left at the airstrip. A maintenance team and the standby medevac pilots from Shultz’s unit would also be riding along. They intended to repair the damaged engine before flying the Black Hawk home.

  South of Fairbanks, the cloud layer was lifting. Shultz had no trouble flying along the river drainage into the foothills of the Alaska Range. He reached the face of the glacier before a solid ceiling prevented them from going further. Frustrated, he passed the information to the orbiting C-130 and repositioned to wait at the airstrip from the day before.

  “Evac two-three-nine, message has been relayed.” Hannesy and his crew had been circling for almost three hours and were frustrated as much as the Army crew. The tops of the peaks and upper slopes were clear, leaving a thick overcast in the valleys and partial accumulations hanging on the ridges. The morning sun reflected brightly off the snow-capped mountains jutting through the clouds.

  A light wind was blowing, slowly pushing the wide, pillowed overcast northeast between the expanse of towering rocks and ice. The crash site would be visible for a few minutes, then masked again by the upper limit of clouds. The layer was gradually thinning and lifting from the heat of the sun but not quickly enough to suit them.

  “Air Guard Rescue, Evac two-three-nine is on the ground. We’ll be running on auxiliary power to save fuel. I’ll be monitoring the radios. Let us know if anything changes.”

  “I copy, Evac. We just got a message from base. An Army Huey just launched with recovery crews for the two stranded helicopters at your location. They’re estimating thirty-minutes en route. Both Air Guard helicopters will be departing in the next few minutes. If the weather doesn’t improve by the time they arrive, they plan on waiting at the field site with you.”

  “Roger that. We’re standing by.”

  Ferguson looked at Shultz, who had a thousand-mile stare on his face. He imagined he was thinking about Connor. No one back at the base mentioned the word suicide, b
ut when news of his terminal cancer and unauthorized flight spread, speculation on his motives leaned in the obvious direction. Once word of Connor’s conversation with Sergeant Mayo leaked out, the rumors intensified. Ferguson didn’t know what to believe, but he could see the situation weighed heavily on Shultz’s mind.

  “Space is going to be crowded in here with three more helicopters.”

  The statement broke Shultz’s concentration. He looked around outside as if noticing the size of the airstrip for the first time. “Yeah, some might have to land on the riverbed.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Ferguson could tell Shultz wasn’t interested in a conversation and left him alone, watching the gentle breeze rustle the willow bushes instead. The medic and crew chief could be heard discussing a recently released movie, but neither pilot paid attention.

  By the time the Air Guard HH-60 Pave Hawk helicopters neared the mountains, the C-130 was reporting occasional breaks in the lower overcast over the glacier. The crash site was visible above the thicker cumulus in the valley. Hannesy informed Shultz he thought an approach was possible if they could find a hole through the clouds and followed a mountain ridge in from the foothills.

  Shultz restarted the engines immediately. The helicopter was still at idle when the two Air Guard Pave Hawks arrived. They passed the slower Huey in flight a few miles out from the foothills. Deciding not to land, they instead circled over the nearby river drainage, formulating a plan over the radio.

  “Evac two-three-nine, this is Helo Six. I can see sunlight filtering through a break in the cloud base a few miles south. I’ll climb through first and see how the weather looks.”

  Shultz searched the skyline before answering. “Roger, Helo Six. I have all three helicopters in sight. Holding position until the Huey is on the ground.”

  Once the helicopter touched down, Shultz made a smooth takeoff, keeping the nearest Air Guard Pave Hawk in sight. “Evac two-three-nine is lifting off. We’ll stay east of the drainage until you advise, Helo Six.”