“When do you shift your emphasis to one of recovery?” As soon as he uttered the words, Bud felt like a traitor to the hope for his brother’s survival.
“The Search and Rescue team will make that decision, Mr. Morgan.”
“Please keep us informed. Thank you.” Bud didn’t know what else to say other than to provide a telephone number and address to speed up the flow of communications. His head dropped into his hands as a feeling of complete loss and helplessness consumed him. A misty vision of their days growing up together at Cass Lake flashed before him. Nick wasn’t just his brother, he was his best friend.
Everyone in the Morgan family struggled through the following week with no new information. Under the circumstances, Bud was able to get the following Friday, March 31, off, which would allow him time to make another trip to Minneapolis.
Helen threw her arms around him when he walked into the house. Two weeks was the longest Helen had been away from Bud since they had been married. She had tried her best to keep Martha’s spirits up, but it was difficult, as Martha was due at any time. Helen’s emotional strength proved to be the lynchpin Martha needed in order to maintain a semblance of stability. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said quietly. “Martha’s resting on the couch in the living room.” Helen’s soft voice, willowy physique, and extremely pleasant demeanor might give someone who didn’t know her the impression that she wasn’t very strong. However, her character was that of a rock, but she was exhausted from too many nights crying herself to sleep.
“Martha and I are going to take a long walk downtown tomorrow. Maybe do some window-shopping and have lunch. She needs to get out. It would be best to update her on anything you have before then.” She looked at Bud with her green eyes, desperately searching his face for any sign of hope. It didn’t come.
After dinner the entire family sat around the living room listening to Bud’s assessment of his conversation he had with General Gaffney. Martha’s mother, Ida, and Helen comforted Martha as Bud disclosed the bad news. “Nick has always known what to do,” Martha said in response to Bud’s description of the army’s inability even to land a rescue team. “It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that he’s leading a group off the mountain right now.”
No one knew what to say or how to say it except for Helen. “There are times when you just have to let go … as hard as it may be. Martha, remember the time when you had to put aside your dreams of flying because you were pregnant? As much as you wanted it, you wanted the baby more, and you couldn’t have both. Hanging on to the dream you and Nick had for the baby may be what God has planned for you.”
“But I don’t want that plan,” she said tearfully.
“What would Nick want?”
“He’d tell me to make a life for myself and the baby and to remember that he loved us both.”
No one needed to say anything more. Helen put her arm around Martha’s shoulder and gently rocked her. Martha’s mother held her hand and told her, “We will all be here to help … whatever you need, just ask.”
“Is there anything we can do?” Martha asked of Bud.
“I think a strong letter to the commanding general and Major Raegle may help state our demand for every effort to make a recovery. I’m sure the other families feel the same way.” He looked at Henry and said, “Tomorrow, while the girls are downtown, we need to contact your senator and congressman. The story’s been all over the newspapers and I’m sure they’ll offer the support of their office.”
CHAPTER 53
“I’m getting all kinds of pressure from the families, General, to bring those bodies back,” General Gaffney said to General Groves in their phone conference. “From their point of view everything is easy—just bring my son or my husband or dad home. But I can be sure of one thing, sir: bringing bodies out of this crash site will cost us more lives in the process. Now, I’ve got senators and congressmen calling, as if I don’t have enough on my plate.” The general had tried to take the pressure off Major Raegle’s shoulders so he could focus on a successful plan to reach the site.
“I’ve got people at the Pentagon breathing down my neck about retrieving that courier bag, General,” General Groves said. The contents are classified, but I can say this, those documents could influence world politics if in the wrong hands. That’s not an overstatement. Plus, there’s too much that doesn’t add up that warrants an on-site investigation. I understand your position on the dangers of a recovery. I’ve seen the photographs, but I’ve got orders to make this recovery mission happen. It’s the only cover we have for conducting an investigation.”
“I understand that Dr. Oppenheimer was to be on the flight. Did he have any ideas as to what might have gone wrong?”
“No. Nothing at all. He is the one guy in Alaska, however, feeling pretty lucky about having a heart attack. What’s our next step to get some people in there?”
“I’m meeting with Grant Pearson tomorrow at Ladd. He has had a chance to view the site from the air and has considered possible entry points from the ground. We’re going to discuss the feasibility of getting a team in there.”
“Good. Keep me apprised.” General Groves hung up, relit his cigar, and continued turning the possibilities over in his mind.
“General, sorry to interrupt, sir, but I thought you’d like to see this right away.”
“What is it, Lieutenant?”
“It’s the profile on Agent Vladimir Dubisskiy you asked for. It arrived on the Teletype while you were on the phone.” The lieutenant laid the folder on the general’s desk. “Will there be anything else?”
“No.”
General Groves was anxious to explore the report but was surprised by its deficiency, considering Agent Dubisskiy’s experience. On the surface the dossier appeared normal, describing his responsibilities as a pilot liaison officer for the P-38 Lend-Lease program. Then he saw an anomaly. The report indicated that Dubisskiy worked as an NKVD clerk for thirteen years. “Holy Christ! Lieutenant, get in here.”
“Yes, sir. What is it?”
“It’s hard to imagine that we will ever have a chance to win this war when people overlook this crap,” he said, totally exasperated and pointing at the years of Vladimir’s apparent service in the NKVD. “How a one-line entry showing that many years of ‘administrative service’ ever passed scrutiny is beyond me. This guy is a secret operative or my name isn’t Leslie Groves. Dig into this. See what you can find.” With more than two weeks since the crash, the general knew the chances of a
survivor making it off the mountain would increase, particularly since the supply drop would give him everything he would need. Any window for capturing an experienced operative was closing fast.
“General Gaffney, this is General Groves again.”
“Yes, General.”
“I’ve got new intelligence that gives me reason to believe we had a high-level Russian operative on that flight. I’d like you to secure the perimeter of that mountain for anyone that fits the profile of a Russian in his forties who speaks English very well.”
“General, you do know that we’re talking about millions of square acres.”
“Yes, I do. But there aren’t that many passable roads out of there. The person I’m looking for should be considered very dangerous. I want you to deploy a unit on a round-the-clock patrol to look for any unusual movement. Those are my orders—check your chain of command if you need to.”
The next day, General Gaffney, Major Raegle, and Grant Pearson met to discuss a possible route to the crash location. Grant had also included a local named Harry Lerdahl because of his extensive experience and knowledge of the mountain. After reviewing many photographs and citing significant safety concerns, Grant said, “With no sign of life and the fact that we’d have to excavate literally the entire slope to discover any evidence of value, I recommend that no further investigation be conducted.”
“Has the major confided in you regarding his opinion, Mr. Pearson?” asked General Gaffne
y.
“No, sir, he has not.”
“That’s good,” the general said, looking to the major for a vote of confidence. “Major, I thought you told me that he was the best man for this mission. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“Well then, why is he so skiddish about this challenge?”
“General, if I can speak on my own behalf I’d like to do so.”
“You may not be your best advocate if you can’t find a way to that site, Mr. Pearson.”
“We’re very likely to incur more deaths trying to bring bodies out. The evacuation of bodies would require an expedition of great magnitude. We would also need a complete team of mountain experts … I mean the best. I’ve been in the McKinley Range most of my adult life, and a land approach to this wreck site for the purpose of recovery is not advisable.”
“You’ve not said anything, Mr. Lerdahl. What do you think?”
“Mr. Pearson is right. A land approach will involve many risks due to huge snow and ice slides that occur along that part of the mountain. Without the slides, however, there might be a possibility of reaching the wreckage by coming in from Wonder Lake with a small team of experts. The problem is that helicopter support is out of the question, because of the severe winds and downdrafts. That leaves only a ground exit route. That’s where the problems will occur. Trying to bring the bodies out on the ground is most likely to cost lives.”
“Show me where Wonder Lake is,” the General said, pointing to the map.
Harry pointed to the Wonder Lake Weather Station thirty miles north of Mt. McKinley and about eighteen miles from the wreck over uncharted terrain.
“This kind of expedition generally takes about three months to organize,” Grant said.
“You’ve got two weeks. Major Raegle will have access to all the supplies and mountaineering equipment you’ll need. There’s a depot in Adak with everything you’ll need in stockpile,” he said with a nod of approval to the major.
“This is not an ordinary recovery mission,” Grant replied defensively and as if to imply that what he would need won’t be available.
“There isn’t anything in this god-forsaken land that the United States Army can’t have or doesn’t have, Mr. Pearson. Make your list and the major here will have it ready in a week. That gives you another week to arrange to have this road cleared out to get your equipment to Wonder Lake,” General Gaffney said, pointing to the “closed for the winter” designation on the map.
Within three days the food, fuel, and equipment, as well as the logistics for its delivery, were available. Enough mountaineering equipment to outfit the entire expedition, which had grown to forty soldiers supported by aerial supply planes and a small mechanized contingent, arrived by week’s end. Grant was impressed with the power of the General’s star, despite his uneasiness with the mission’s objective.
Grant waited before leaving Ladd, since he knew that Bradford Washburn was to fly over the crash site on his way to Ladd that morning. Bradford’s participation in the recovery expedition was crucial as far as Grant was concerned, and he wanted him to get a first-hand look.
“This is far too risky,” Brad said bluntly once settled on the ground in flight ops. Pearson didn’t even have the chance to summarize his assessment and preparation for the task, let alone explain the general’s full order.
Grant had a great deal of respect for the mountaineer and knew better than to bullshit an expert. Bradford Washburn was a world-renowned cartographer, but Alaska was his trophy portfolio, including the Yukon and Crillon Expeditions in 1935 and the Mt. McKinley Expedition in 1942. Privately, Grant doubted he could accomplish the task of getting to the crash site without Brad’s help, so he carefully explained his discussion with General Gaffney before asking again from a stronger position.
“I wouldn’t begin to ask for your support if this mission wasn’t so damned important. Basically, there are two goals: one, get to the crash site and document what we find and two, recover bodies if possible, with an emphasis on ‘possible.’ If I’m accurately reading between the lines no one can second-guess our decision on what’s safe or not safe when bringing the bodies out.” Grant knew from their time together in the Yukon Flats that Brad liked a challenge when it came to showing off his mountaineering accomplishments. He continued his persuasion with what he felt would be the clincher for Brad. “There’s another element to this mission that could be even more important. You know that that part of the range is largely uncharted. You also know that the summit of that mountain has never been climbed nor has the mountain been named. As an expert in both charting and climbing, the opportunity to greatly expand your legacy is significant. Whatta ya say, Brad?”
“It is one hellava wreck, Grant. If he had only flown a few hundred feet to the left or right he would have completely missed the mountain. This Captain Morgan was the same guy that piloted us to the Flats area, am I right?”
“Yes, he was.”
“I was impressed with him. He handled his crew well and was skillful at dealing with that self-inflated major.”
“He was on this flight, too—the major, that is—including several others from that Los Alamos team. There’s more to this than recovering bodies, Brad.”
“Well, if we do this, we’ll have to climb the north side of the peak and descend about a thousand feet to the wreckage on the south side.” By coincidence, Washburn’s team had already planned to travel cross-country near that very location on their expedition to continue testing clothing, tents, cook stoves, and other equipment. Brad knew he could develop a feasible route to the location.
“Take a look at this,” Brad said. He began hand-sketching a map of the region and charted a detailed route based solely on his memory from the flight. “What do you think?”
The men commenced to have a lively discussion, debating the size of the party they would need based on the classified pictures and report, which only Grant had access too. Even though they disagreed on many aspects of the mission’s charter and feasibility, Grant knew that the dialogue was Brad’s way of saying yes.
CHAPTER 54
On April 7, 1944, Martha Morgan gave birth to a perfectly healthy boy, George Henry Morgan.
On April 10, 1944, about a week after receiving Bradford Washburn’s agreement to join the recovery team, Grant met the preliminary expeditionary party at the base camp at Wonder Lake. It consisted of fifteen men, a D-6 Cat, three military transport trucks, a mobile power plant, a radio truck, and three and a half tons of food and supplies. The army also seized the opportunity to test a new snow tractor called an M-7. It was set up in a rear half-track configuration with interchangeable front wheels and skis. Because of the rugged terrain, two of these would be used and critiqued during the expedition.
The logistics of moving equipment and supplies was much further under way than the plan for reaching the actual wreckage, however. Considerable confusion existed between the two senior leaders, Pearson and Washburn, as to which of the surrounding peaks in the aerial photos represented the ship’s final resting place. Washburn’s first-hand knowledge from his recent flyover and his detailed memory from the McKinley expedition gave him the upper hand in what oftentimes became a public test of wills, and some would say ego. Twenty-three men left the Wonder Lake camp at 0900 on the eleventh with the goal of reaching the ridge overlooking the crash site by sunset. The long trek over wind-packed snow and ice patches coupled with occasional knee-deep powder snowfields was exhausting, and by the time they reached the narrow pass to the ridge, everyone was worn out. Much of the route followed a barrier of menacing ice blocks that could wipe out several hundred yards of trail, if dislodged, in a matter of seconds. Once at the ridge they witnessed a brilliant display of winter shadows and colors on the various peaks on the horizon, which was contrasted with the scene of destruction on a lonely shelf below. The next day they would situate a new camp directly on the ridge in order to more easily negotiate their descent to the ship.
Both Grant and Brad sipped hot chocolate at camp while attempting to sort through their continuing differences over the mission.
“You’re going to get someone killed if you insist on placing a large party at the wreck site, Grant.” Brad had witnessed the growth in their party’s size before departing Wonder Lake—over twenty men, many without the skills necessary to negotiate the thousand-foot descent down the face of the sheer wall the next day. “At best you may get one token body out, Grant, but I can virtually guarantee that coming over that shoulder and down the icefall someone is going to have an accident that you’re going to have to explain to some family.” Brad had worked with the army for years and knew how very stubborn they could become. In his experience it was usually the missions with the most to gain that had the greatest danger and risk. From what he could see here, the risk-reward ratio didn’t fit the bill. “If you were the parents of one of these boys, would you really ask us to risk their lives to bring a body home?” he asked Grant. Brad hadn’t even begun to address the likelihood of an avalanche from the slope directly above the location of the plane that could wipe out the entire party.
“My orders from General Gaffney are to get to that ship and, if possible, bring the bodies out.”
“Let’s find a middle ground here, Grant, before we do something we both regret.”
“What do you propose?”
“Let’s take our nine most experienced members of the team down tomorrow, set up camp, and assess the circumstances. For all we know, there are no bodies to bring out. In that case, there’s no need to risk a descent by greenhorns.”
“And if there are bodies?” Grant asked, remembering the general’s challenge to Major Raegle during their meeting: “I thought you told me that he was the best man for the mission?” Grant was the acting superintendent on McKinley, and he didn’t like his expertise challenged.
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