by Hep Aldridge
They had no idea what to do next as Doc came over and said, “I’m going back in the bus to help get the injured out.”
Before I could protest, he had crossed over and dropped through the open door and was talking to the men inside.
The first out was the pregnant woman, who was obviously in pain. Doc did a quick exam and talked with her, then called out, “When you get her over there, get her lying down as soon as possible and get her some fluids.”
“Got it,” I said, and one of the young men helped her climb out the door to Joe and Eduardo. She was wobbly but determined to make it. She came across with the help of the young man, and once on the road, immediately collapsed.
Doc had briefed him, and he called to some of his fellow travelers, who helped carry her to the others and they began tending to her. Next, they moved the unconscious young girl, approx. twelve or thirteen, to the back door. She was being carried by another of the young men, whose name we found out was Paco. As he exited the back of the bus, I heard a popping sound Coming from our little tree and saw a couple of small roots breaking.
Oh, shit. “Doc, the bus is shifting, and we’re going to lose it; hurry your ass up.”
Paco was poised on the rear bumper of the bus with the girl in his arms, no free hands to hold the rope as I moved closer to the edge and extended my hand.
He said, “No, Senor,” and as graceful as a ballet dancer, launched himself and the girl across the gap and landed one step beyond me. The bus never even moved. Holy Crap, using only the muscles in his legs and not pushing off the bus bumper, he made a six-foot jump, carrying at least 65 lbs. of dead weight.
“Nicely done,” I said not expecting an answer.
“No problem, Senor,” he said in English and continued carrying the unconscious girl to the waiting group. Doc and the last young man named Raoul were straining to get the overweight driver to the back of the bus. Joe, looking in from the back door, saw their dilemma, untied the rope, and slid through the back door down towards Doc. They were close to the door, and I could hear their conversation.
Doc said, “We can’t tie the rope around him; he’s got crushed ribs and probably has internal bleeding. It could kill him!”
Joe added, “I know but we can tie it around our young friend here. Let him get the driver’s shoulders, and Dimitri and Colt can help pull him along with the driver while we get his legs. It should help us move him. It’s worth a try. I’m ready to get out of here anyway; I never liked buses…”
“Did you hear all that, Colt?”
“Sure did, Doc, We’re ready when you are; just let us know when to pull.” Within another five minutes, we were easing the driver across the gap and getting him to safety. Eduardo had jumped to the road, and Joe had his ass in the air, trying to unhook the cable. Dimitri had slowly let off on the tension, and the bus had started slowly pulling our little tree over again.
Joe said, "The cable’s jammed," and was using the small crowbar to pry it loose as he hung even further over the precipice.
Suddenly, there was a loud pop and the little tree that could… couldn’t anymore and broke off as the bus vanished from sight along with Joe. Not realizing the cable had gone slack, I ran to the edge and looked down. The bus was still falling and hit the bottom with a loud crash, and then a giant fireball formed as the fuel tank exploded, rocking the valley below. There, hanging by one hand from the hook on the end of the cable, was Joe, holding on to the crowbar in his other hand.
“You think you guys could give me a hand?” he said with that wise-ass grin of his. As Dimitri and I pulled the cable up and Joe cleared the edge of the precipice, he said, “Sure am glad I got the cable off before the tree went; otherwise that would have been ugly.”
Dimitri said, “Obviously, I should have left your little wise-ass hanging there a little longer,” and then broke into a grin and gripped Joe in a bear hug.
“Naw,” Joe said when he could catch his breath, “I would probably have dropped the crowbar, and you know how Colt is about losing tools.”
“Jesus, all right, you two jokers,” I said as I smacked Joe on the back of the head and threw my arm around his shoulder, “let’s check on these people. We’re not done here yet,” as we walked to the waiting group of survivors.
When we approached, we saw Eduardo walking amongst the passengers seated on the road, handing out bottles of water, patting kids on the head and shaking or holding the adults’ hands while speaking to them with a smile on his face.
“What do you think?” I said to my two companions.
“Kids got some balls,” Dimitri said.
“And he knows what to do and when to do it without being told most of the time,” Joe added.
“Yeah, I noticed all that and agree. I think we could use somebody like that on the team.”
“You mean permanently?” Joe asked.
“I mean while we’re in Ecuador at least.”
Joe said, “You’ll get no argument from me,” as we saw Eduardo move to where Doc was tending the young girl.
“Hell, yeah!” Dimitri replied.
“Well, guess it's settled then; we’ll talk to him later,” I said as we got to the group. Joe helped Doc, and Dimitri started the cable retrieval on the winch. I dug out the SAT phone and called O’Reilly again; she answered on third ring.
"Well?" I asked.
"Working the problem, Boss,” she replied.
"The big trouble will be finding a spot for a bird to set down," I said, "Not sure we can. We may have to go to Plan B."
She said, “And what’s Plan B?"
I paused and said, "I’ll have to get back to you on that."
"Shit, I knew that was coming. I got your location; you’re out in the middle of bum freakin’ nowhere or should I say UP in the middle. I’m showing your altitude to be about 10,000 feet."
"Bout right," I said.
"How much time do I have?" she asked.
"None," I replied. I looked at Doc’s face as he was working on the little girl. "Turn on your personal Coms and keep the SAT phone handy, now, move your ass."
"Roger that," she said.
I went back to where Doc and Joe were working on their patients. I noticed the driver was breathing raggedly and had dried blood around his mouth.
"Doc?" I asked.
"Not good, Colt, driver definitely has broken ribs and probable internal bleeding. The girl is pretty bad, head trauma, surely some swelling of the brain and possible fluid in the cranial cavity. Our expectant mother is doing well, but I’m worried about the baby since she took a hard blow to the stomach when the bus went over. I just don’t know. I still have a good heartbeat on the baby but…" he let the statement trail off.
I looked around and said, "The rest of them?"
"Not too bad," he replied "bruises, contusions, one broken arm, and probably a few fractures, but nothing as bad as these three."
"How much time do we have?"
He stood up, "With the limited resources I have, I can probably deliver the baby if I have to, but if we run into complications or it needs special treatment or if there’s internal bleeding," he shrugged and shook his head. "The other two are very serious; maybe an hour, hour and a half, no longer I would think."
"Shit." I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder and said, "I know you’ll do your best. I just talked to O’Reilly; the Cavalry is on its way."
He gave me a half smile and said, "I hope to hell they have fast horses," and went back to his patients.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As O’Reilly was hanging up the SAT phone from our first call, she had grabbed her Coms and was heading out the door. Downstairs, she flagged down a taxi and handed the driver 50 dollars U.S. and said get her to the airport in less than five minutes. There were no questions asked as he pulled into traffic with horn blaring and foot to the floor. Four minutes later, he came to a tire-screeching halt in front of the operations building on the private side of the airport. O’Reilly threw
another 20 dollars his way, blew him a kiss, and thanked the young driver in perfect Spanish. He had just had his day made as the good-looking redhead jumped out of the cab and hit the front door of the Ops building at a dead run.
Inside it only took her a minute to locate the flight operations counter, and she approached the man behind it who was writing on a clipboard. In Spanish, she asked for the director of operations, and when he identified himself as that person, she quickly relayed her story and request to him. His eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open slightly as she finished. There was a pause, and then he apologetically said they had no commercial medical evacuation helicopters at the airport and the local hospital had none. The closest thing they had to that was the military helicopter unit stationed there under the command of Captain Eduardo Montego. O’Reilly looked at his name tag and said, “And where can I find Captain Montego, Senor Gutiérrez?”
He responded, “Outside and two doors down.” She thanked him and blasted out the door at a dead run.
In less than a minute, she burst into the military operations HQ office where a young enlisted man was sitting at the front desk. She asked for Captain Montego and, when quizzed as to who she was and what was the nature of her business with the captain, she replied that there was a medical emergency in the mountains, and there were three people critically injured who might die if they didn’t get to a hospital right away. The young sergeant asked again who she was and how she came about this information. By then, adrenaline pumping, O’Reilly had had it and in a loud voice said she needed to see the captain immediately.
An inner office door opened. An officer came out and walked slowly to the desk standing behind the sergeant sitting there. O’Reilly, seeing the officer’s rank and then his name tag addressed herself to him and tried to explain the situation calmly. A slight man in an impeccable uniform stood there listening and when O’Reilly finished, he turned to the sergeant and told him to get the request forms for this young lady to fill out.
When she said, “Request forms?”
The captain replied that the forms would have to be sent to headquarters for approval before any action on his part could be taken.
“What!” she exploded. “And how long will that take?”
He paused for a minute and said, “Two to three days.”
That did it. She looked at him and through clenched teeth said, “I don’t have two to three hours, let alone days.”
He seemed nonplused at the whole situation and stated that taking on a flight of this nature into the mountains required permissions, planning, and certain flying skills she probably wouldn’t understand, and could not be implemented on such short notice.
By now, a small crowd had gathered of other officers and enlisted men in flight suits. They were looking on with somewhat amused expressions as their commander put this gringo in her place. That was the final straw; she had been at the airport for 17 minutes and that was seven minutes too long. She looked at the captain’s uniform and saw no flight wings and looked at the young faces around the room and then back at the captain.
She leaned forward against the desk, about two inches from the captain’s nose (she was around four inches taller than him) and said slowly, “You don’t even fly.” Her voice low, and ice cold as her crystalline green eyes, conveying her disdain for him, bored holes into his soul. She looked around the room again, making eye contact with everyone in a flight suit and then back at the captain, his eyes wide and mouth agape. Speaking slowly, and low, through clenched teeth she said, “Are you going to help me or not?”
The captain was beside himself and took a half step backwards. He had never met a woman that could invoke this level of intimidation in him. He felt as if he were staring into the face of some predatory beast. He had no idea that was exactly what he was doing. He stuttered, “I…I, cannot help you… Senorita.”
O’Reilly stood up ramrod straight, and said, in an even tone, “then next time you get called for an emergency, you can let your Boy Scout troop take a freaking bus! And take your arrogant machismo bullshit and stuff it.” She started to turn then hesitated, she looked directly at the captain and very conversationally said “Oh, and when the shit hits the fan… and believe me it will, I want you to remember one thing… Shannon O’Reilly,” she said, driving her finger into his chest at every syllable, “because I’ll be the one bringing the shit storm to your door.” With that, she took one last look at the amazed faces and stormed out of the office back onto the flight line.
Her mind was racing as she looked at her watch. She had been there for 19 minutes now and had nothing to show for it. As she looked out over the flight line, opposite where the military Huey’s were parked she saw a shiny Euro Gazelle helicopter with a guy in coveralls leaning into the side door. Holy shit, she thought, this may be her last chance as she sprinted toward the parked chopper. As she got there out of breath, the man in the coveralls turned around and was startled by her sudden appearance and good looks.
“Wow,” he said, “‘Scuse’ me, Ma’am, but you kind of gave me a start!”
“Sorry,” she said, “listen, I need to rent your helicopter right now. I have cash…”
“Whoa, whoa, Ma’am, I’m sorry, but this isn’t my bird to rent; I’m just the crew chief. It belongs to Mr. Mendez, and he doesn’t rent it.” She easily detected the Texas accent and said so.
“Yep,” he said, “born and grew up in Austin,” to which she said, “I really love Austin, and I really need your bird.”
“I told you, Ma’am, it’s not mine.”
“Well, can you call Mr. Mendez and let me talk to him?”
“I’m sorry. He’s out of the country right now; that’s why I’m getting her ready. He has to use it tomorrow.”
“So, it’s fueled and ready to go?”
“Yes, Ma’am, it is.”
“Look, what’s your name?” O’Reilly asked.
“James Dobson, Ma’am.”
“Okay, James.”
“But my friends just call me Tex,” he quickly added.
She forced a smile. “Okay, Tex, here’s the problem,” and quickly explained the situation to him. She could tell she hit a nerve when she told him about the injuries and potential life or death situation.
“Damn,” he said, “that is bad,” as he turned his gaze down to the tarmac. When he looked up, he said “I did one tour in Iraq and three in Afghanistan as crew chief on Blackhawks, and I’ve flown my share of Medevac flights. I feel for you and your friends, but I can’t let you use Mr. Mendez’s helicopter.”
She saw his quandary, and it only took a second for her to make her next decision. “What if it got stolen?”
His eyes got wide, “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not,” she said.
“Well, if somebody tried to steal it, then I’d have to stop them.”
“But what if you couldn’t?” she replied.
“Excuse me?”
She said, “I don’t have any more time. You can say I knocked you out and stole the bird, and I’ll deal with the consequences later.” She started for the cockpit door when he grabbed her arm, pausing, and not saying anything for a minute.
“Well, if that’s the way it is then… Guess you better make it look good.”
She knew what she had to do, so she cold-cocked him with a right hook and knocked him back into the open door of the fuselage.
“Holy crap,” he said, as he got back up rubbing his jaw, “where’d you learn to punch like that?”
She said, “I’ll tell you when I get back,” as she opened the cockpit door.
“No, Ma’am, I don’t think so,” he said, “you can tell me on the way,” as he climbed in, closing the side door and moving into the co-pilots seat. O’Reilly got in and pulled on the headset as she began the turbine start-up procedure.
Tex looked at her and over the internal Com said, “You can fly this thing, can’t you?”
“Yeah, Tex, don’t worry I’
ve only got a few more hours to complete until I solo.” His eyes got very wide!
The turbine came to life, and soon the operating temperatures were coming up as O’Reilly lifted the bird off the ground.
“Hey, aren’t you going to call the tower for take-off clearance?”
“Don’t have time for that shit,” she replied. As she brought the ship to a hover six feet off the ground, she told Tex to get in her bag and pull out what looked like an i-Pad. Tex did as he was told; she laid it on her thigh, and he heard the Velcro attach itself there. She tapped the screen, and a photo terrain map appeared with a red arrowhead sitting at the airport and a blue dot appearing in the mountains north and west of their location.
“Where are we heading?” Tex asked.
She pointed to the blue dot and said, “There,” as she began a rapid climb, nose down.
“What about other air traffic?” he began as their radio squawked with a frantic call from the tower. Tex looked at her and said, “Well?”
“Well, what?” she asked as the Gazelle glided twenty feet off the ground toward the parking lot.
“We’ve got to answer them.”
“No, we don’t; just hold on.” She leaned over and turned the radio off. By now, they had reached the northern perimeter fence of the airport, far away from the active runways, and O’Reilly pulled back on the collective, opened the throttle and said, “Let’s see what this baby will do.” They leveled off at 3,000 feet and were heading toward the blue dot at 250 k/ph. Once she was sure she was clear of any air traffic, she switched the radio back on and increased their air-speed to 295 k/ph.
Tex was staring at her and said over the Com, “Lady, you’re crazy.”
She turned and smiled a sweet smile at him and said, “Tex, you haven’t seen crazy yet… but you probably will!” The radio was alive with chatter from the airport, calling for the Gazelle’s immediate return with all kinds of threats, both legal and otherwise.