Convinced he would leave after the Search and Rescue flight the next day, Robert busied himself with securing the sled with only absolute necessities. After the sun dropped behind the mountain, he fixed a meal and trudged back to his igloo. The added comfort of a sleeping bag will be a real luxury, he thought.
The next day Robert wasn’t able to leave, because a storm front arrived, bringing high winds and new snow. It lasted two days—the longest two days of Robert’s life. The anticipation of getting off the mountain and the anxiousness of beginning a new life in South America tested his patience.
When Thursday arrived, Robert waited all morning and sure enough a Search and Rescue C-47 did a fly-by. He could see the photographer taking shots from the open door. He waited for another hour in anticipation of a second plane. None came. He wasn’t waiting any longer.
The sled weighed no more than seventy pounds with all of the supplies and gear, enough to survive a week. Any longer and he figured he would be either dead or captured. His backpack weighed about twenty-five pounds with day supplies. He protected the classified documents in waterproof canvas wrap he found in the airdrop supplies.
He stood at the edge of the ridge and considered his route again. It was obvious that the sled would become a liability, so he consolidated only critical supplies into his backpack. One chance in hell, he thought. He carefully eased himself down to a ledge about five feet below the ridge. From there he repelled fifteen feet down to a solid landing pad beyond which would be no return. Once in position he realized that he would be protected from an avalanche and considered a possible preventative strategy. With the added weight of the new snow, he thought about firing his weapon to see if the noise would cause a slide, thus eliminating the risk of a slide while he was crossing. The disadvantage would be if the slide was big enough, it could possibly wipe out his entire escape route. He felt the risk was worth taking.
He fired two rounds and waited. He knew he did the right thing when the new snow started to move. He was scared beyond reason, however, when he realized how much snow was in play. His ledge held firm as the avalanche passed within fifty feet of his perch. Vast billows of snow and the sound of a hundred freight trains filled the air. It took almost a half hour for the air to clear. He counted his lucky stars that the gamble worked. He began traversing the new snowfield, confident that his future was secure.
CHAPTER 51
On Tuesday afternoon Major Raegle reviewed the photographs from both the Sunday and Monday flyovers with great interest. They were developed in large format to provide as much detail as possible. The three men scrutinized every detail for traces of survivors, information from the wreckage, and possible rescue routes.
“We were lucky to get two good days of visibility back to back,” said Mike Norris, the lieutenant in charge of the photography. Major Raegle and Captain Baker, the two pilots of the Search and Rescue C-47s, were glued to the dozens of photographs laid out before them on the briefing room table.
“There’s no sign of survivors that I can see,” Captain Baker offered. “If there was anything you’d think it would be around the fuselage area.”
“Maybe, but in a situation like this, personnel are sometimes flung far and wide from the actual crash and wreckage site from the centrifugal force alone. Scan the whole picture, just in case. Use these magnifying glasses if you think you see something.”
For hours each man examined the photographs, independently making his own notes. It was their approach to gather their own observations first before discussing their findings as a group. This way all points of view could be explored.
“Let’s take it one topic at a time,” said Major Raegle. “Is there any evidence of survivors?”
“Nothing that I can see,” said Captain Baker.
Lieutenant Norris was bent over the table and quietly moved back and forth between two photographs, one from each day. The cigarette in his mouth had not left but once since he’d lit it and had an ash three-quarters of an inch long. It seemed he was impervious to the pending mess it would make. The major slid an ashtray onto the table and nudged the lieutenant. “You’re like a hunting dog I once owned. Once she got the scent, nothing could faze her. Best damn Brittany I ever had.” The two senior officers chuckled, but the lieutenant was not deterred.
“Maybe it’s because I look at these more than you do, but take a look at these identical positions on each of the days.” The lieutenant laid a ruler below the area in focus on both pictures for emphasis. “Right there. That’s what I’m looking at,” he said slowly while finally getting rid of the ash.
“What is it?” Captain Baker said as both officers leaned in.
“That depression across the snow looks like a trail. Is it possible that someone walked about a quarter mile from this rock outcropping to the wreckage? Now, look here,” he said, pointing to the second picture, “there’s nothing.”
“This is not good news,” said Major Raegle. “It probably means that someone did survive by being thrown from the plane, landed over here, and then sought refuge in the wreckage. The fact that we see no more movement on day two likely means that the person is dead.”
“Or can’t move,” said Captain Baker. Can you tell if the supplies have been accessed?”
“I looked, and it sure doesn’t seem like they have,” the lieutenant replied.
“Okay, what else?” Major Raegle went to a flipchart and wrote “possible evidence of a survivor near wreck site.”
“The cockpit is completely missing,” Captain Baker said. “The construction of the C-47 is vulnerable to this if the collision sheered the bolts attaching the wings to the fuselage. The resulting shock would separate the back of the fuselage from the cockpit. It’s a weak point in the original design.”
“What do you think happened?”
“It’s hard to tell exactly, Major, but my guess is that the cockpit traveled across the face of the sheer wall for a few hundred yards and fell in this snow area, causing a small avalanche of its own, and got buried. You can see the avalanche trail here if you look closely.”
“And if that’s not the case?”
“Hard to say, Major. It’s got to be buried somewhere, but I’ll say this, surviving that fall with no protection is just not realistic.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” The men paused as if to offer tribute to the pilot and co-pilot, recognizing that every man who flies could end up this way—particularly in Alaska.
“I think we need to look at one other thing,” the lieutenant said.
“What?”
“All of this debris at the base of this fall seems out of position for the rest of the crash. There wasn’t a second plane, was there?”
“No. Only one plane,” answered the major. It’s probably the debris from the C-47 that the wind carried or maybe it ended up there from the ship’s impact.”
“I didn’t hear of any report of another plane,” Captain Baker said, confirming the major’s comment.
“No. That’s never been part of the scenario,” the major reiterated. “Doesn’t mean we can’t check it out if we can get to this site.”
“If it were true, it’s buried for sure,” the lieutenant said. Plus, it did snow pretty good the day of the crash. I couldn’t find anything else to support the idea of another plane, but just to make sure, I checked every angle of these photographs.”
“I think we’ve got a tough reality to face, gentlemen,” the major said, packing his pipe bowl with tobacco. “Get some coffee if you want, but I think we should discuss our options before we break up. General Gaffney is sure to want a full report.”
The men took a brief head break and stretched their legs for a few minutes before resuming their discussion. “Have the families been notified, Captain?”
“Well, that’s the tough part. They have, but only to the extent that the flight has been lost.”
“It’s not my position to comment, sir, but that’s gotta be a bitch on the other end.”
> The smell of Major Raegle’s cherry-blend pipe tobacco filled the room. The major sat at the briefing table and motioned for the others to sit. Almost everyone on the flight crews enjoyed the aroma, as these men did today. It seemed to add a level of civility to their god-forsaken assignments on the frozen tundra.
“We have a hard decision to make, but first of all, let me thank you, Lieutenant, for the excellent photographs of the site. We’d be SOL without them.”
“That’s my job, Major.”
The men knew what was coming and dreaded it.
“There are twenty men on that mountain, and if we’re lucky one may be alive. How do we proceed? I’d like to hear each of your thoughts.”
“Permission to reply first?”
“Permission granted, Lieutenant.”
“I’ve taken a lot of photographs in my life, here and before the war. What I’ve learned to recognize is the beauty and sense of balance a place can bring to a picture. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed up close a place as dramatic as what we’re looking at here. A man couldn’t do any better in finding a final resting place.
Having said that, we owe it to the families of these soldiers to bring their sons home if possible, and, God willing, make every reasonable effort to bring one home alive.”
“Well said, Lieutenant.”
“Captain?”
“We have to consider the realistic aspects as we move forward, as well, notwithstanding my agreement with the lieutenant’s comments. The forecast calls for a new storm front tonight that will last at least two days. It’s possible that everything will be covered and chances of survival are very slim. Also, we need to deal with the matter of recovery, if rescue is beyond our reach. We’re going to need experienced men, and we’re going to have to assess the level of risk we are willing to ask others to take in bringing the bodies out. Getting to the crash site may be one thing. Bringing the bodies back is something entirely different.”
“We’re not magicians, so what I propose, and I do agree with both of your comments, is that we conduct one more rescue flyover with both C-47s as soon as the weather breaks—probably Thursday. God willing, we’ll discover activity. If it’s not meant to be, we’ll shift our effort to recovery.”
“Survival is a powerful motivator, Major,” Commanding General Gaffney said after listening to Major Raegle’s full report. “Let’s give it one more fly-by before making the decision to shift gears. I understand you have your feelers out for men who might be capable of such an undertaking?”
“Grant Pearson and Bradford Washburn are the two most experienced men I know. Mr. Pearson is obviously available to us through the Mt. McKinley U.S. Army Recreation Camp. Mr. Washburn has been in the area with the U.S. Army Alaska Testing Expedition, although I don’t know to what extent he’s available to us. With your permission, sir, I would like to begin the process of involving these men. But, before I do, I’d like to go on record, General, and say that we are very likely going to lose men in the process of recovering bodies. And, it’s going to be a tremendous undertaking requiring extensive resources. For those reasons I would recommend that we leave the bodies at rest where they lay.”
“That decision is not in your hands, Major. I’d like you to keep that opinion to yourself, as well. From what you say, we’re likely to run into several obstacles and the leader’s lack of belief in the mission won’t go down well. There’s one other thing, Major, that I’d like you to be aware of.”
“Yes, sir?”
“There are lots of people who believe that this was not an accident. There’s no proof, but the circumstances are suspicious. That an excellent pilot was that far off course and risking twenty men, coupled with the coincidence that an unauthorized Russian liaison officer was on board at the same time as highly sensitive and classified documents, is too much for higher ups to accept. They make a strong case and want to get to the bottom of this. Getting that courier bag handcuffed to Major Gordon’s wrist will put several men above my pay grade at ease. Do I make myself clear, Major?”
CHAPTER 52
“Has Martha heard anything?” It was after work on Friday, March 24, when Bud called. No one could stand the silence. The full week without hearing anything from Alaska was tearing the family apart. Bud had returned to work in Akron, but Helen stayed in Minneapolis to help out as best she could.
“Nothing,” Helen responded. She had been taking most of Martha’s calls to eliminate the repetitive telling of a story that was so hurtful. “Is it possible that they will never find the plane?”
“Anything’s possible, honey. Some of these areas that Nick was flying over haven’t even been charted yet. It may be that the flight made an emergency landing way off course and out of radio contact. I read that a similar C-47 crash took place north of Montreal and the St. Lawrence River in Canada. An extensive search out of Presque Isle took almost a week to locate the downed ship, and they had the advantage of making a positive radio contact. It seems that the magnetic compass was so far off because of their relative proximity to the earth’s magnetic pole that the pilot was thirty degrees off his true bearings. With heavy cloud cover a celestial bearing was not possible. I know this isn’t easy. We just have to hang in there.”
“I know, but we’re all very worried about what Nick must be going through if he’s alive.”
“Let me talk to Martha. Maybe I can help.”
After a few minutes, Bud realized that all of his technical descriptions just made things worse. Martha ended up crying in frustration.
“Let me talk to Dad,” Bud finally said.
“This isn’t easy, son.” His stoic monotone voice hid his emotions behind the strict German discipline. “Your mother and I don’t know what to do.”
“I know this isn’t easy. It’s strange that we haven’t heard anything. One of us should try to get through to Major Raegle or General Gaffney.”
“Good idea. I think it’s best if you call, though, with your knowledge of aeronautics.”
“Okay. It’s 5:30 here. Maybe I can catch them before their day is over since it’s 1:30 in Fairbanks. If that doesn’t work you and I might need to make a trip to Edmonton. Might help to have a few of the other families represented, as well.”
“We’ll do whatever we need to. Keep us informed, son.”
Within a short time, Bud had successfully connected with Major Raegle’s office only to receive an official response to contact General Gaffney in Edmonton. Bud did so right away and was connected with the lieutenant handling matters.
“Look, Lieutenant, I know you have protocol to follow, but my brother’s missing and we’re not getting any information. The family is just sick with worry.”
Bud listened to the lieutenant’s red tape excuses before interrupting. “Yes, I know we have a war going on and you can’t give information out on every casualty, but this crash has taken place on American soil. I don’t intend to be put off, Lieutenant. I insist on talking with General Gaffney!”
“I’ll see what I can do,” was the lieutenant’s cool response.
Several minutes went by when finally Bud heard a deep voice. “This is Commanding General Gaffney, Mr. Morgan. I understand you’re calling about Captain Nick Morgan.”
“Yes, General, he’s my brother. We’d appreciate any information you have. He’s got a pregnant wife and a mother and father who are all extremely worried.”
“Technically your brother doesn’t fall under our jurisdiction since he is on contract status through Northwest Airlines.”
“What! He’s flying under army orders for the movement of army troops for God’s sake, and you’re going to tell me that he doesn’t fall under your jurisdiction.” The silence on the other end clearly indicated that the commanding general wasn’t used to this kind of retort.
“Mr. Morgan, let me tell you this. We are treating your brother’s disappearance the same as the rest of the crew and passengers under his command. Just because our
official communication is directed to the families of the army personnel, it doesn’t mean we’re not working on his behalf, too. Unofficially, I can tell you that we have discovered a C-47 wreckage in an extremely inhospitable mountain and glacier area of the McKinley Range. We have not been able to positively ID the ship, as the tail numerals aren’t visible and radio contact has not been made. Regardless, we do feel that this is Captain Morgan’s flight, but I regret to inform you that no survivors have been identified.” The general paused respectfully.
Bud swallowed his emotions as best he could before responding. “When can a rescue team be at the site, General? It’s possible that the survivors are unable to identify themselves.” Bud was reacting out of his engineering mindset, knowing that anything was possible—with the right tools and plan. He certainly wasn’t going to accept defeat this early.
“Yes, that’s true. But, I’ve been informed that this wreckage site is very remote, and a rescue would be very dangerous, almost certain to cause further fatalities. We haven’t given up and have successfully dropped supplies in the immediate vicinity of the wreckage. It has been a week, however, and I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.” The general was patient with Bud, having had the thankless experience of walking loved ones through the reality of war incidents before and knowing how helpless they can feel. The lack of a body always made it more difficult.
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