“No problem, Major. It’s all been arranged.”
“Good.”
The camp was a short distance from the airstrip over an extremely rough logging road. The two miles took them about a half hour. The five men were quiet during the crowded ride out of necessity, as the grind of the Jeep’s gears, shifting back and forth between granny and low, coupled with the bouncing load in the back, made conversation difficult. No other vehicle or people were seen.
Once out of the Jeep at camp, Brad explained the sleeping situation as the responsible authority for the test camp. “We’ve got you set up in the tents over there,” he said, pointing to four tents removed from the main group of five additional sleeping tents and one large community tent for the on-site test team. All the tents were constructed of heavy canvas and set up for winter, elevated on six-inch wooden platforms and insulated on all sides with bails of straw. “You decide the sleeping arrangements, and my men will finish up with the right number of cots,” Brad concluded.
“Put me in the far tent on the right by myself, with some kind of table we can use for maps,” said the major. “We’ll convene in fifteen minutes. The rest of you can divvy up as you want.”
“Include Ronald in my tent, let the lieutenant bunk with Mr. Pearson, and the flight crew can stay together. I assume that you’re already situated, Mr. Washburn?” Dr. Oppenheimer dismissed any further discussion of the sleeping arrangements with a wave of his cigarette.
Grant kicked the frozen ground in disgust to the notice of no one.
The meeting in the tent was a brief discussion focusing on the logistics of getting the team into the area called Chalkyitsik, about fifty miles east of Fort Yukon. Neither Brad nor Grant could think of anything important about the fishing village. There were only four cabins and a wooden, one-room schoolhouse. As far as they were concerned, it had never been anything but a fishing and hunting camp for Black River Gwich’in Natives.
“We’ll be traveling by dogsleds. The forecast for tomorrow is five below, so dress warm. Breakfast is at 0600 and departure time will need to be no later than 0700 to make it in time to explore the area. Most of the trip will be in semidarkness, but the dogs are good. By the way, you’re welcome to any of the gear we’re testing. Independent feedback is always good,” said Brad with a smile.
“We’ll need to stay the night there in order to cover the territory you’re interested in,” Grant added. “We can use one of the cabins.”
“Okay, our plan is set,” said Major Gordon. “I’d like to spend the rest of the afternoon with Dr. Oppenheimer and Ronald, so if you men will excuse us …”
“No problem,” Brad replied. “Grub will be ready in the mess tent at 1715.”
“Join us if you’d like,” Captain Morgan said, addressing the major and his team from New Mexico as they came into the mess tent.
“We’ll do that,” the major replied. It was clear that he spoke for the team.
Robert Endo had been assigned by the lieutenant to serve their table to help the mess staff with the additional nine people. He seemed to be handling the task well. “Pretty limited menu tonight, gentlemen, but I think you’ll like it. Mashed potatoes with hamburger gravy for the main course, salad and sheet cake to round things out.”
“Any coffee, soldier?” the major asked.
“Comin’ right up.”
“What’s with Robert,” Red whispered to Nick, twisting his body away from the group. “My dog’s not that happy, and he’s never been neutered and has the run of the farm.”
Nick just shrugged as if to say, “don’t argue with success.”
“Did I hear you say, Captain, that you had to drain the oil out of the plane,” the lieutenant chimed in.
“You’re probably not used to the temperature extremes we get here. It’s been my experience that keeping the oil inside on very cold nights makes for a much easier start the next day, particularly if there’s an emergency where you absolutely have to have the plane fly.”
“Is there a point when the oil won’t work?”
“My rule of thumb is around negative fifteen. Otherwise, the engine, starter, and battery take a beating.”
“We don’t have to think about things like that back home.”
“All you need is to let your major down once on takeoff, and I can assure you that you’ll think about it from then on.” Nick nodded toward the major in an effort to warm up the relationship a bit. “We took the liberty of draining your oil in the J5-A, also, Mr. Pearson.”
“Thanks. Saves me a trip after dinner,” replied Grant.
To Nick the reply demonstrated a level of inexperience and poor planning on the part of the acting superintendent. Why would he make the additional round trip back to the plane unless he just plain forgot, or worse yet, didn’t know any better?
Robert Endo stayed and helped the mess staff clean up after everyone was gone. It was only then that he ate dinner—alone. He wasn’t sure exactly how to approach the next two days or what events would bring, but his thoughts strayed toward excitement. One thing he knew for sure, he did not like Major Gordon’s superior attitude. He can go fuck himself, he thought.
CHAPTER 23
Fort Yukon, Alaska
December 10, 1943
My Dear Martha,
Red and I spent the day with John and Peg Cable. You remember—I told you they’re the couple from Ohio that just picked up sticks and moved to Fort Yukon. Wanted some peace and quiet. Sure got their share of that along the Porcupine River. They had us out snowshoeing most of the day. Beautiful wilderness—great experience. Tested some thermal long johns intended for cold weather duty. Pretty good results. Boy, I’m woofed! I’ll sign off for now.
Yours,
Nick
“You done writing, Captain?” Red asked, creating a cloud of vapor with his breath in the near-freezing temperature in the tent he, Nick, and Robert were assigned to. The small wood tent stove barely made a dent in the below-zero temperatures that crept in from the outside. They were all were huddled up in their sleeping bags—there were eight cots, but with only the three of them they had the run of the accommodations. It was about 2100 and Robert was sound asleep on the corner cot and Nick and Red were soon to follow.
“Just finished,” Nick said.
“I know it’s above my pay grade, pard, but what do you think of all this?”
“You mean our little vacation?”
“Yeah.”
“Hard to tell. My guess, though, is that it has something to do with a possible mineral find or something along that order with Oppenheimer being a scientist. It’s just a guess. How about you?”
“They’ve had a lot of questions about people living in the area … numbers, and so forth. Kinda like they might be in the way of whatever they’re thinkin’.”
“Interesting point.”
“So, it’s my guess it’s got something to do with a power dam on the Yukon River. Just can’t figure out why these are the folks investigating . . . and why it’s so damn secret.”
“Your theory is better than mine, but I’m all tuckered out. It was a good day with John and Peg. I admire their spirit. Wish I had some of it right now though, so I could continue our conversation. See you in the morning.”
Red had a bit more staying power than Nick, so he continued to think about the possibilities. Within minutes, however, he found himself nodding off. As a result, he turned off the kerosene lamp to avoid wasting fuel. There was a wind buffeting against the flaps of the tent that reassured Red that the warm, down sleeping bag was the place to be.
Robert absorbed the conversation between the captain and co-captain as he feigned sleep. If he was going to be of any use to Vladimir, he knew he had to get into either the major’s tent or Oppenheimer’s tent—or both—while they were gone. Normal camp activity during the day eliminated that possibility. It would have to be at night, but the need to be careful was an understatement. The location of his corner cot in the tent diagonally acr
oss from the other two men would help. He had given it thought during the day and had come up with a plan.
With a razor blade he was able to pick the nylon thread from a seam holding the canvas tent material together at the corner. This would be his exit. He reworked the seam in a drawstring fashion that would allow him to come and go without the noise of undoing the main zipper and front flaps. The drawstring made it easy to open and close the corner while avoiding drafts that might wake the others.
He successfully slipped out after carefully plumping up his sleeping bag with clothing to simulate his presence. The small slit would not allow him passage while wearing his big parka, so he layered as best he could. God, is it cold, he thought, anxious to get the coat back on. The wind had died down a little, but not much. His Russian fur hat, called an ushankas, was definitely an asset. First, he moved slowly toward the major’s tent under the light of a full moon. He could hear his beating heart over the crunch of the dry snow under his feet. Robert was well aware of the remaining sled dogs in camp bedded down on the south side of the mess tent. Luckily, the wind was blowing north and would cover what little noise he did stir, but regardless, he needed to be extra careful. With the men at Chalkyitsik, this was his chance. Shadows from the trees played with Robert’s nerves as he crossed the camp compound. He meticulously walked in the remaining imprints of the major’s tracks from the morning. He had to hope that the wind and drifting snow would eliminate his tracks, but he couldn’t be too careful. A dead tree limb dislodged from a nearby pine by a gust of wind and dropped to the ground. He was so surprised that his legs felt weak. He wasn’t used to this. What would Vladimir do? he wondered as he unzipped the front flap of the major’s tent and crawled inside, carefully leaving his boots at the entrance in order not to track in snow.
Inside the tent Robert had to be extra careful. He figured the major to be an anal son of a bitch, checking and rechecking everything. Alterations would be noticed. The table used for maps was empty. Robert wondered if the maps had been a ruse to get a private tent. The bed was minus a sleeping bag, and the extra wool army blankets were neatly stacked near the foot of the bed. The desk reminded him of a Civil War general’s field desk, where lieutenants would line up for debriefings and orders. In truth, he could find nothing remarkable on the desk or about its contents. With the help of his penlight, he did notice a bound report on the nightstand detailing the history of the Yukon Flats area. Hardly unusual, considering the nature of the trip, he thought. It was closed, but one of the pages was dog-eared. The heading on that page was Fall Weather Conditions. He must mean next fall, Robert thought, since Christmas is just around the corner. He spent another ten minutes carefully rummaging through things but found nothing noteworthy before leaving the major’s tent. I could get good at this, he thought.
Somehow Oppenheimer’s tent was less intimidating, perhaps because he wasn’t a major. His confidence was bolstered by the successful entry into the second tent. Two cots, one left and one right, occupied most of the space. A rough-hewn wooden nightstand separated the cots at the head and contained nothing other than light reading material, he observed. A trunk with a lock was at the foot of each bed. The one on the left was unlocked and contained a carton of cigarettes, a few personal writing items, and some civilian clothes. By their small size he estimated they were Ronald’s. The trunk on the right was locked—not a complicated lock but effective. Robert had anticipated as much and reached for a small screwdriver and a paper clip from his pocket. Sure enough, the mechanism responded. There was more material here, enough to warrant a chair for a more comfortable position.
The official reports were telling. Some were marked CONFIDENTIAL. The first detailed the beginning of a “hidden city” called Hanford located east of Seattle. It explained its purpose as a major supply source of plutonium. Robert had no idea what plutonium was used for, but if large-quantity production was under way in Hanford as indicated, the supply had to be somehow connected to the Flats area. The other document of interest was a map of the Yukon Flats area itself with concentric circles around a point sixty miles east of the village of Chalkyitsik and two to three miles north of the Black River. Penciled in the margin were the words, “hot zone.” They must be considering the location as some sort of test site, but why Chalkyitsik? he thought. It was difficult for him to form any real conclusions.
A quick check of his watch indicated 0400. Camp would be stirring soon with the cooks preparing breakfast for 0600. He locked the trunk and closed the tent carefully, ensuring that everything was as he found it.
The sub-zero temperatures had finally taken a toll, but he hadn’t really noticed because he was so intensely focused with his findings. When he returned to his tent he found that his hands had become numb, which caused him to struggle with the drawstring opening to the tent. He felt clumsy. But patience had always been his ally and soon enough he was safely back into his sleeping bag.
Robert’s eyes were stuck together and the inside of his head hammered in unison with the ringing alarm clock that rudely interrupted his short night’s sleep. He fought the urge to ignore the disruption with the reality that he had to make it through the day as if nothing had happened.
“Come on, Robert,” Red called out while pulling his pants up. “There are things to do.”
“Can’t we just surrender to the Nips and go back to bed,” he replied, taking on the persona that this was just another morning. “God, I just slept awful … the wind never stopped.”
“That may be, but your Captain and I have a special treat for you this morning before our guests return. Besides, the wind wasn’t just blowing on your side of the tent. Hell, I woke up once last night and noticed that you were so sound asleep you were like a pile of rocks.”
Robert went deep inside of his recollection of the previous night to replay anything that may have tipped the co-captain off that he had gone AWOL. The stark simplicity of Red’s comment coupled with his own actions reminded him of his proximity to a court-marshal.
“You’re probably right. So what’s the big surprise?”
It was Nick that responded, “I remember a conversation on one of our flights where you mentioned that you’d never been on a dog sled. We’re going to fix that this morning. Made arrangements with John Cable yesterday … and one of the crew here. It’s gonna be Red’s first go at it, as well.”
Not a bad idea, Robert thought, as it might be the one way to stay awake. “Okay, I’m in. When do we leave?”
“Right after breakfast, if you ever manage to get your ass out of that sleeping bag,” Red said.
John arrived early, and by 0900 everyone was ready to harness up the dogs. John’s sled was set up with six Siberian Huskies, which would allow him to carry a passenger. One more sled was set up as a double with six Alaskan Huskies. The army had all Alaskans, as they were bigger and more powerful, ideally suited for distance and endurance. Though not considered a breed, their genetic mix from gold-rush days allowed for perfect adaptation to sledding. John preferred the
Siberians, which were smaller, built for short-distance speed, and distinguished by unique markings and almond-shaped eyes. One additional army sled was harnessed with just four dogs, making it easier to maneuver. With his past experience with Minnesota mushing, Nick would drive that one by himself.
“I’m amazed at how disciplined the dogs are, and how well they listen to the drivers,” Robert commented to Red amid the clatter of playful barking and driver commands.
Alan, a sergeant from the crew, would act as lead. “Let me give you a little heads-up on our run. We’re going to keep it on the gentle side today, just enough to give the dogs a workout. I’ll lead. Captain, you’ll follow me. And John will be in cleanup. Once we’re out on the trail everyone will get a chance to drive. Any questions?”
With no responses other than eager faces, Alan commanded, “Mush, mush,” followed by the “mushes” of Nick and John. The power, agility, and grace of the dogs working together was imm
ediately impressive. Equally impressive was the physical strength required by the musher to handle the dogs and maneuver the sled. The responsiveness of the dogs transferred a confidence in the musher and a stability to the ride.
The day off turned out to be the perfect break for everyone. The polar twilight through most of the day gave a soft light from the sun’s refraction. Riding behind the dogs on the snowy trails in a forest of tall pines with their snow-covered boughs was amazing. It was eerily silent except for the dogs’ panting and the soft sound of their paws hitting the ground. Every so often one of the mushers would call out, “Gee” or “Haw,” which Red and Robert soon figured out was the command for right or left respectively. They covered about twenty-five miles of scenic trails between frozen lakes, mountains, and rivers with open spots of moving water. As Alan promised, each person went solo on the single sled, giving them time on the runners and the opportunity to experience a unique sensation of teamwork with the dogs. It was a great day.
By the time they returned to camp it was almost 1630, barely enough time to tend to the animals and sleds and get ready for chow. John decided not to return home until the morning. “Peg will be happy with me being gone. She’s got three straight months coming up without a break from me. Too much of a good thing, she told me the other day,” he said.
Dinner came and went with no sign of the major’s team. Robert was already in bed at 1915.
“Our PFC isn’t much for the outdoors,” Nick said to Red over a cup of coffee.
“Can’t say I much blame ’em. I’m about ready to turn in, too.” The constant jostling on the sleds and the work needed to keep them on track was tiring, particularly for the two greenhorns.
At about 1945 a large commotion of dogs could be heard heading into camp from the northeast. “I would have guessed they wouldn’t return until tomorrow,” Nick commented while stubbing out a cigarette. “I think I’ll check things out.”
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