Chapter Two
Jason walked through the rubble and smoke towards what had until very recently been the command center. It was the strongest building on the base and he hoped someone had survived the barrage but the early indications were not good. What had been an attractive if slightly spartan building with a southwestern Spanish facade was now just a hole in the ground with rocks and debris scattered around.
He had heard someone refer to this area of Texas as looking like "Hell with the fires out." He grimly mused that the description was no longer accurate because the fires weren't out. Between the upthrusts of volcanic rock that were part and parcel of the Crockett experience were fires and billows of smoke. There were cracks in the ground that—while he knew they had been caused by the bombs—looked like they could begin spewing lava at any moment.
As he walked, he was having to avoid the craters and, sometimes, just walk through them. He remarked again that whoever had planned this bombing campaign had done a very thorough job. That even two people could live through it was remarkable. That more had lived through it he began to doubt.
As he came close to the command center, he began calling out, "General? Anybody? Can anybody hear me?" But there was no response from the hole in the ground. He walked closer and spotted—completely by accident—one of the general's collar bars. He was thankful he hadn't found anything else for he knew it would have been gruesome. He picked up the collar bar and slipped it into a pocket. He seemed to remember hearing the general talk about having a couple brothers, so maybe he could at least give one of them the bar one day.
In what had been the officer's mess he found Lt. Leonard Avery, a large black man who was new to the base, trying to lift a large beam off something. Jason ran over to help and asked as he took a hold of the beam, "Someone trapped under here?"
Avery replied, straining to lift the beam, "I saw Captain McConnell fall under that table under there when the first bombs hit. Maybe he's still alive."
Kerrigan happened to look into a pile of rubble just then and let go of the beam. Putting a hand on the big man's arm, he said, "Let it go Lieutenant."
"But Captain McConnell—"
"We can't help Captain McConnell," Jason told him gently, but with the voice of command. "Maybe we can find someone who we can help." He almost had to pull the Lieutenant away from the beam but finally the young man let go and backed off. "Where were you when it happened, Lieutenant?"
"Just coming out of the kitchen—over there, sir. I was right in the doorway when it happened."
Jason looked and saw that the doorway between the kitchen and the dining hall still stood there, while the ceiling and most of the walls lay in ruin around them. He took another look at the Lieutenant and found him covered with dust, yet no worse for all that had happened. Jason remembered hearing that the best place to be during an earthquake was to stand in a doorway. He guessed he now knew that little piece of advice stood well for bombing raids, as well.
"How many people were in here, Avery?"
"Just me and Captain McConnell were in the dining hall. Everybody else had left. There were four or five people in the kitchen, though, I think. I know I saw Sergeant Tibbs—and at least a couple other people. Might have heard someone else back in the refrigerator."
Jason brightened, "Really? That refrigerator unit's got pretty stout walls. Let's see if we can get to it." He began to try and clear a path through the debris to get to the walk-in fridge back in what had been the kitchen.
Avery turned and looked at Kerrigan, as if for the first time, and asked, "Who's left, sir?"
"Three of us, for sure."
"Three?" the young man asked in disbelief.
"There's bound to be more, but we haven't found them, yet." Pulling the Lieutenant from a misstep that had landed him in a pile of rubble, Kerrigan said, "Come on Lieutenant. There were over two hundred people on this base. Three of us survived that we know of and there's bound to be more. Let's go find them."
"Yessir."
They found the walk-in under a pile of rubble. They tried banging on the walls, but go no response. "Still," Jason told the lieutenant, "They might have been knocked out or something."
"That thing's air tight, sir. You don't think they've suffocated, do you?"
"If it's remained airtight through all this, it would be the worst kind of a miracle. Anyway, I wouldn't think they would have suffocated, yet. Surely there'd be at least half an hour of air in there. Be awfully cold, though. Come on. Let's see if we can make a path to the door."
"Yessir." Avery stood a good three inches taller than Jason and probably outweighed him by at least seventy pounds, all of it muscle. He began to pick up chunks of cinder block and toss them aside like someone in a pillow fight. With Jason trying his best to keep up, they were soon at the door.
They kicked away the last of the debris at the bottom and Avery grabbed the handle. The first tug just proved that the door had been bent or something and was wedged pretty tightly closed. Jason grabbed a nearby piece of metal and was able to shove it in the crack and pry and Avery pulled on the handle. With a suddenness that landed both men on their cans, the door sprang open.
They rushed in to find Carl Hanson, a lanky country boy from over near Castroville, alive but knocked out—and cold. Jason knelt beside him and said, "Carl. Carl. Corporal Hanson, wake up. Wake up, Corporal."
Hanson's eyes shot open and he asked quickly, "What happened?" Seeing who he was talking to, he quickly added, "Sir."
"We've been bombed," Captain Kerrigan told him. "We're trying to round up the survivors. How do you feel, Hanson? Think you can walk?"
Hanson pulled his knees up to his chest then straightened his legs and said, "I think so, sir. Doesn't feel like anything's broken. Got a headache, though."
"I bet," Jason said as he helped the young man to his feet. "If you think you can walk, then you can help us look for survivors. Think you can do that?"
"Absolutely, sir." He suddenly looked around as if in a panic and said, "I gotta find my girl, Captain. She was working in the command center. Did it make it? It's the strongest building on the post, right? It had to have made it through, didn't it?"
"M-maybe she was somewhere else, " Jason offered, though without a lot of promise. "We've got to cover the whole base. Can you do it?"
Straightening as if to attention, perhaps trying to boost the morale of the room, Lt. Leonard Avery asked, "Where shall I look, sir?"
"Corporal Luis is over there searching the motor pool and the west side of the flight line. You run down to the enlisted barracks and see if you can find anyone—or anything. Like I told him, if you run across any kind of radio equipment, see if you can scare up some help. At least alert someone to our presence and what's happened."
"Yessir," Avery replied before taking off at a run for the barracks.
"You take the officer's barracks, Corporal. Can you do that?"
Hanson sucked in a deep breath and said, "Yessir."
"By the way, Corporal. How did you come to be in the freezer?"
Hanson thought a moment, then replied, "I was just putting away a fruit tray when something knocked me into the cooler. Must've been the blast. I guess it slammed the door behind me. I think I hit my head on that shelf on the back wall. Next thing I remember is you and the lieutenant leaning over me, sir."
"You need to thank the lieutenant when you get a chance, Hanson. If he hadn't remembered seeing you back in the kitchen, we might not have found you."
"What about the others, sir? There were four of us working KP."
Kerrigan hesitated, looking around at the kitchen, it's ceiling open to the sky. Hanson nodded and said grimly, "I see, sir."
After leaving the trail of the bombers and fighters, Bronwyn had circled first to the west. Even though she figured the enemy knew about the base at Marathon, maybe it was her grandfather's talks to her about the old west that kept her from leading the enemy directly to her base. The thought crossed her mind that
Marathon shouldn't be her base. Crockett was her base. But Crockett wasn't there anymore.
By the time she got close enough to Marathon to begin her decent, she was getting low on fuel. "Well," she said to no one, "This may be my chance to see if I really can land one with no power."
She had maintained radio silence on her flight and was surprised to hear, "Inbound aircraft, identify yourself. This is your only warning."
"This is Mabel One-Five-Niner of the 187th out of Crockett requesting permission for an emergency landing. And let me speak to a commander."
Another voice came on and said, "Mabel One-Five-Niner this is Commander Galinas. Please state your name, rank and serial number."
She thought about telling them she didn't have time for such nonsense, but then remembered that a war was on and it wasn't quite nonsense. She replied, "This is Lieutenant Bronwyn Dalmouth, serial number seven one eight, four five four, two two one. Assigned to the 187th at Crockett Army Air Field."
A moment later, the commander instructed, "Please state your emergency, Lieutenant."
Continuing her power down and decent, and noticing out of her windows that she had picked up an escort, Bronwyn told him, "I had just lifted off with the 187th a little more than an hour ago when we were attacked. I believe I am the only survivor. Only surviving aircraft, I mean. I saw two chutes at least, perhaps a third, but not certain if it were one of ours or one of theirs."
There was a gasp on the other end that was audible even though it probably wasn't intended to be. "What about Crockett?" the commander asked in an almost breathless voice.
"I believe it is gone, sir." Trying to keep the strain out of her own voice, she explained to him, "I counted at least six, repeat six, heavy bombers and an entire squadron of zeroes. May have been two squadrons, sir. It was hard to tell for sure at the time."
After a pause, the commander said, "You are clear to land, Lieutenant. We are dispatching rescue crews to Crockett at this moment."
"Mabel One-Five-Niner coming in, sir."
They were just about to give up on motor pool two when Avery stopped suddenly and whispered to Luis, "Quiet. I thought I heard something."
As they stood still, they head a sort of scratching noise. Avery turned slowly, trying to make sure of the direction. He heard the noise again and then saw just a breath of movement out of the corner of his eyes. He looked and, at first, couldn't see anything, then looked again. He suddenly pointed and said, "Look."
Luis trailed his gaze to where Avery was falling to his knees and starting to remove debris. Suddenly, he saw it, too. It was a hand, scratching in the dirt. Avery commanded, "Let's get this stuff off 'em. They must've heard us in here and the only noise they could make was that scratching noise!" As he saw how small the hand was, he said, "Must be a girl." He reached down and touched her hand and said, "We'll get you out, Honey!"
Luis told him, "I'm going to see if I can round up some more help. See if anyone's found a doctor or corpsman, yet."
By the time Luis had returned with Captain Kerrigan and Major Sherman, a doctor, Avery had been able to uncover the face of the trapped victim. She wasn't coughing up blood, but as the officers approached they could hear her telling Avery, "I can't feel my legs, Lieutenant. I can't feel my legs."
Major Sherman knelt down by the young woman and said, "I'm Doctor Sherman, Private. What's your name?"
"Clark. Elaine Clark. I can't feel my legs, Major."
Major Sherman nodded sympathetically as she checked Clark's pulse and then instructed the men, "See if you can get that beam out of here. But try not to move her."
Avery quickly said, "You two get on that side. I'll get this side. We'll lift it up then walk it towards her feet. Ready?" Kerrigan and Luis nodded, then picked up the steel I-beam that was holding Clark to the ground. It sickened all present to realize that it had landed right on her stomach and they feared what they would find was left of her below that point.
They lifted the beam and walked it away from her just as Avery had suggested. Then they quickly cleared away the wood and bricks that covered her lower body. What they found was surreal.
In spite of the fact that an entire ceiling had practically fallen right on her abdomen, she looked like someone who had just chosen that spot to lie down and rest. There was no blood, no scratches, and almost no tears in her clothing. If not for the facts of what they had just seen and done, they would have thought she was perfectly OK.
"Squeeze my fingers," Major Sherman instructed. "Good. Now, how do you feel?"
"Other than that I can't feel anything from my chest down, I'm fine," she replied sarcastically. She suddenly added, "Sir—ma'am."
Major Sherman nodded with an affable smile, then turned to the men and said, "Go see if you can find me either a stretcher or at least a good strong piece of plywood at least two and a half feet wide."
"On it," Luis said, then left, followed quickly by Avery.
"How are you going to get me out of here?" Clark asked.
Major Sherman took her and again and said, "I'm not going to lie to you. It's probably going to hurt. Actually, there's no probably about it. But what we're going to do is that Captain Kerrigan and I are going to very gently roll you over onto your right side while Lieutenant Avery slides the stretcher underneath you. Then we'll gently roll you back and carry you out of here."
Kerrigan jumped in then and said, "How did you even think of scratching like that with your hand, Private? That was amazing."
"It was all I could think of to do. I tried to call out when I heard them but there was too much dust in my mouth."
"Well," he said, "You owe Avery's ears a big thanks."
"I'll give both of them a big kiss," she smiled, then winced from some inward pain.
By noon, eleven people had been found. Eight were able to walk under their own power, two had broken legs and one—they were afraid—had a broken back. They had confirmed thirty-eight dead, which left them with one hundred and fifty-plus unaccounted for but presumed dead. Of course, there were twelve pilots in the air with the 187th, but—while no one said anything—there was little hope that any of them had survived. And if they had survived, they were going to have to find somewhere else to land other than the crater-filled runways of Crockett.
Major Leslie Sherman, a middle-aged woman with jet black hair and a heavy but fit figure, motioned Kerrigan to the side and said, "I am the senior officer here—but in rank, only. I'm a doctor with little knowledge of command and even less desire for it. Plus, all of my efforts need to be directed to the wounded. So, as of this moment, I am putting you in charge. You tell us what to do. I will offer advice only so far as in the treatment of the patients."
Jason nodded, then looked up to see Luis and a private named Rivera coming back from their latest reconnaissance. He motioned them over and asked, "What did you find?"
Luis replied, "Not much, but a little."
Rivera explained, "With minimal work, we found a truck behind the enlisted mess that we can get running. It ought to be big enough to get everyone out of here. It's got more than half a tank already and I think we can scrounge up enough to top her off."
"Assuming Marathon's still there, we only have to get that far," Luis pointed out.
Major Sherman injected, "But we're going to be travelling awfully slow over roads that may have been bombed as well. If Clark's back is broken like I suspect, we can't afford to jostle her around."
Luis asked, "Wouldn't it be better for you to stay here with her and let us go get an ambulance? We could be to Marathon and back in two hours."
Major Sherman took a deep breath and then shook her head and replied, "I think it's six of one, half dozen of another, Corporal. It's all we can do to keep her out of shock now. If she sees all of you leaving her behind, it might kill her. Literally. The best treatment—the only treatment—we can give her right now is hope."
Luis threw in quickly, "Captain, I found Jennings' old motorcycle under some rubble behind han
ger eight. You know, that one he was always tinkering with? I was able to get it free from the debris and it looks like it's in fairly good shape. I think I can get it running in just a few minutes."
Seeing where Luis was going with the idea, Kerrigan nodded, "You get that cycle running and take off for Marathon. Don't even bother to tell us when you leave. If it's still in good shape, you ought to be able to make Marathon in a half hour—even if the roads are bad. When you get to Marathon tell them about the situation but your first priority is to get an ambulance rolling and have it meet us on the road."
"Yessir!" Luis replied, then took off at a run for hanger eight.
Kerrigan turned to Rivera and said, "Luis said the potato truck needed some work. What needs to be done?"
"We need to find some gas—and a tire."
"A tire? How hard is that going to be?"
"We can find tires all over the place. The trick's going to be finding the tools and a jack to put it on with."
Kerrigan turned to where everyone was huddled around Private Elaine Clark. With the voice of command, he said, "Davies and Hanson, you two see if you can find some gas and something to carry it in. Fernandez, Avery and Miller, I want you three to go with Rivera and I and try to find a tire that'd fit that potato truck behind the mess hall. And if anyone sees a jack, grab it. Doctor, you stay with your patients. OK, everybody. Let's move out!"
As they took off running, Major Sherman knelt down by Private Clark and took her hand. Clark, a pretty little blonde woman who looked like she should still be in junior high, said, "If ya'll have to leave, ma'am, take off without me."
There were objections from the two men who lay nearby with broken legs but they were drowned out by the suddenly forceful voice of Major Sherman who told her, "We are not leaving anyone behind. When we leave, we're all going. We will not leave you or anyone else behind. Is that understood, Private?"
The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 3): Lost Time Page 2