The desk was a large one and he searched dutifully through all the drawers and cubbyholes. There was one final drawer that had proved hard to open so he had left it for last. It was a small drawer to the right side of the desk. He used a small penknife to pry at the drawer and finally it popped open. Inside was a carefully folded piece of paper.
It was a handwritten note from Mrs. Steers to his father, faded brown, the ink writing gray. “Dear Mister Green,” it began. “We met when you immigrated by sea from the old country. We spoke of the past glory many times. Never forget your bravery.” The letter ended with the simple, “as always, Missus Steers.”
Like all children, he wished he had been able to ask his father about her note and what she meant. He wondered about it.
The rain had picked up. Hank kneeled in the puddle and prayed, for he did not know what else to do. Father Tom came and stood beside him.
“You think God has forsaken Bobby,” said the priest.
Hank replied, “I don’t know.”
“Even when he was facing death, Jesus had faith.”
Hank felt the water slapping his legs and knew he had to stand up, somehow get the energy and hope so that he could dig again. Betty helped him up.
“I’ve got to talk to Bobby on the radio,” he said, staring at her. Then he heard Sammy calling from the radio tent on the other side of the mound.
“Hank, can you hear me?” Sammy then began coughing.
“Sammy,” Hank replied. The wind gusted harder and the rain tore into Hank’s face as he listened.
“Hank,” Sammy said, between coughs, “The radio line, it’s gone dead. Charlie thinks it snapped when the plane moved. We can’t reach Bobby.”
Chapter Seventeen
“God Damn, Hank, it’s almost Easter Sunday. Easter vacation’s going to be over. Seem like we got to get that boy of yours home.”
Hank glanced at Melissa as he heard Mudman’s rough but warm voice, coming from behind him in the darkness and rain. The light humor in the voice was also standard Mudman, his way of offsetting his own demons and melancholy.
Melissa’s face brightened as she also recognized the voice. Hank could sense that she, like him, like Betty and all the rest of them, immediately felt better, that all the childhood team was together again. This was the four of them from the old days when they shared the innocent attitude that anything was possible. He knew that if the luck of this rescue was going to improve, Mudman’s strength was going to improve it.
Hank turned and as he did, Cincy called out, “I told you I’d get him here.”
“I didn’t think Cincy could get you awake in time,” Hank said. He spoke slowly, almost not ready to believe that Mudman had arrived and still numbed from the failure to keep the aircraft from slipping further into the mud.
“When she told me it was about your boy, I woke up quick enough.” Hank’s friend was dressed in oil-stained blue jeans and a sweater with an orange windbreaker. He had on large hip boots with the tops rolled down. The windbreaker was pulled tightly around the oval of his face and the water from the rain trickled off the ridges of his cheekbones.
“Nobody was getting through the roads,” Hank said, hope slowly spreading warmth through his body in the wind and rain.
“Pretty hard to stop my Harley,” Mudman grinned. He had sobered up, Hank could tell. In ‘Nam Mudman sobered quick when he faced danger, when each time he would not allow himself to let down his fellow soldiers.
Betty had gone over to join Cincy. Mudman’s wife was covered from head to ankles in a green slicker, her legs coated with mire, bare feet sticking out at the bottom like rough brown roots.
Melissa nodded to Cincy and stared at the radio, still waiting for any sound from Bobby.
Mudman said, “I never seen such a crowd of worn out rescue people in my life” He put his hand on Hank’s shoulder. “I passed boats with a lot of the men heading home.”
“It’s bad,” said Hank.
“No one’s got any ideas?”
Hank shook his head. Pete and Sammy walked up and Sammy explained the situation.
“So there was an old airplane stuck back up in that old burial mound,” said Mudman. “I see Allingham’s here figuring it’s Zinnie’s plane. Probably came as soon as he heard about the wreck.”
“He’s over at the former trench we cut. He wants to hook on to it again but it’s too far down in the mud now.”
Mudman smiled. “Will never did have much sense.”
Sammy nodded. “He didn’t have much luck, neither, finding it and then losing it again. ‘Course it was his own damn fault.”
Mudman stamped on the ground where he stood, a few feet inside the ring of sandbags. His boots splashed water and made large holes in the path.
“Trouble is,” he said, looking down at his boots, “We got no bottom out here. You put a piece of iron out here, come back in a month and you’ll never find it.”
“We’re still keeping back the water. We got a little time,” said Hank.
“I don’t think digging a new trench is going to accomplish anything,” said Mudman. “What about that plane having unexploded bombs on her?”
“We’re hoping that it’s Zinnie’s plane. If so, it was unarmed when she went down.” He shrugged. “Not much else we can do,” he said. “We just didn’t want to quit, that’s all. Some of the ropes are coming out the end of the old trench wall. They haven’t moved any more - would have disappeared if she had slid too far. I figure she’s stopped sinking for a while anyway. Far as the bombs, nothing has gone off yet and she’s been bounced around a lot. The mud will protect us pretty much even if she did blow.”
“Yeah,” said Mudman, “Like you say, though, there’s a risk of starting her moving again. Maybe you ought to stop Will from poking around back there.”
Sammy shrugged. “He’s working by himself with a shovel and the way that muck comes back in, he won’t get very far or do any damage.”
“All right.” Mudman stepped to the side of the mound and studied the surface toward the hole where the thin black microphone wire was trailing into the mound. Cathy and Richard were still there too, huddled on their small pieces of plywood, watching the small hole.
Mudman walked toward the graveyard, stepping carefully beside the remaining volunteers who were still packing sandbags. Swamp water was dripping over the top bags and into the narrow walkway. Mudman splashed water. On the graveyard end where the island had the high ground for packing sandbags, some dry land still existed.
Sammy called to one of his men standing near at the sandbag wall. “Get him light. Move one of the spotlights over.”
Hank asked, “What are you going to do?”
Mudman winked at Hank. “The muskrats get in there, don’t they?”
Melissa put her hand on Hank’s right shoulder. He turned slightly to acknowledge her presence.
Duke said, “Trappers been after muskrats around these holes for centuries. Unfortunately one of our own is caught down in them and we don’t know any trappers who can figure out how to get him out.”
Pete frowned. “Shut up, Duke.”
“Doesn’t make any difference. You stick around and you’ll see plenty of muskrats coming out of the mound, when the water gets higher,” said Duke.
Mudman’s face was toward the graveyard “Listen. Duke’s reading my mind. I’ve got an idea.”
Hank looked up. “Go ahead.”
“Rats can get down to where Bobby is located because they don’t collapse the mound, right?”
Sammy nodded. “Yeah. We’re too heavy. We’d push down on him or start the plane moving again. We already thought of that.”
“I’m talking about the idea of being suspended, like you were being hanged, but from the feet or the waist.”
Hank realized what Mudman was thinking “I get it,” he said. “You suspend us as we go down into the mound.”
Sammy’s eyes lit up. “Right,” he said, catching on. “If you hang a man so
he can work from the end of a rope support, that way he don’t put any weight on the mound, and he don’t move the airplane. Besides, if any bombs are down there, you got a better chance of not setting them off.”
“Yeah,” said Mudman, “We hang and dig.”
Hank added, “Besides, if it levels out then we dig level and if it slants down, then we dig down on a slant.”
“We follow the mike wire,” said Pete. “Right along the muskrat hole, wherever it leads.”
“Yes, but you’re not digging, old man,” said Sammy. “This is for volunteers only. If the tunnel collapses, the rope might not get you out fast enough. You could suffocate. Too much risk.”
“We shore it up as we go,” said Mudman. “It won’t be loose all the way. Pretty soon you’ll get to firmer soil. We’ll shore it up with two by fours precut maybe one foot high and three feet across. Put a bunch of them in a sack to take along and jam into place.”
“How you figuring on getting a man out?” asked Sammy.
“Like in a harness. We can pull him back out easy,” Mudman said, turning to Hank and the others, “We know the radio line is down there near Bobby. It went down that hole. We follow the line as far as we can. I figure we’ll be near the boy and the part of the plane he’s caught inside.”
“The plane slid forward. The line’s broken. Maybe it’s not near the hole,” said Charlie.
Hank reminded him, “It’s the last best chance we got to find him.”
Sammy brought his remaining men in closer. He said, “I need some of you that want to go down in the muskrat hole where we have the wire. You’ll crawl in with a rope around your feet. We’ll rig you with a radio to keep in touch with us.”
“Like working in the narrow passages of a cave,” said one of the firemen.
“Same thing, “said Mudman. “You’ll have to work fast. At any sign of a cave in, we’ll pull you right back out so you won’t be buried for long, if at all.”
“What if you can’t get us out?”
“Always the chance,” said Sammy.
“Are you going in, Mudman?” asked one of the firemen.
“I’ll do my share.”
“I’m going down too,” said Melissa.
Hank, astonished, stared at her.
Mudman continued, “It’s slow work, but we can burrow in like the rats and maybe get through before the wreck slides any further.”
“I’m going down too, Pete,” said Hank.
“You won’t be any good to us, Hank,” said Mudman.
“I’ve got to help my boy. This is his last chance.”
“What happens if you get down there and freeze up?” asked Pete. “Better think about it, Hank.”
“I’ll do my job.”
Pete stared at him then smiled, “I believe you will.”
At Sammy’s direction, several more sheets of thick plywood were laid over the soft top of the mound near the hole.
“These will give us some support. We’ll use the kids like before, to help guide the lines,” he said. “They don’t weigh so much.”
A fireman was sent down near the old trench location to check out the tractor for pulling on the rope. He reported that it was mostly under water and useless. He also advised Will to leave the spot for higher ground.
Will did not answer - just kept on shoveling.
“He won’t quit,” said Melissa.
“OK. I want volunteers,” said Sammy, ignoring Will’s stubbornness.
Charlie came up to Pete. “We’ve rigged headphones and a mike for them to carry down in the hole with them. We can keep some kind of check on how they are doing when they get way down inside the mound.”
Sammy had some of his men bring up the three poles previously used to pull on the aircraft. Two of the poles were arranged end first along the sides of the mound with their tips meeting. The third pole was pointed to the end of the mound away from the trench. The tips were joined with rope. The block and tackle was checked and attached. Sammy and his remaining men managed to guide the posts into position. Meanwhile Mudman arranged the block and tackle so that it fell over the muskrat hole.
“Human power to pull the man up,” said Hank.
Mudman smiled, lining up the ropes near him on the ground. “Me and whoever else is still around.”
Melissa watched as Mudman finished adjusting the hoist. She did not speak, just stood there. Missus Pond approached the landing, her boat full of rescued animals.
She called out, “I see some of the firemen coming home. Is it all over?”
“Just volunteers left,” said Sammy. “We’re going to keep trying.”
“I know about people running out on helpless animals. Maybe it’s time you let me help,” said Mrs. Pond.
Sammy paused. Pete nodded.
“Can you carry more sandbags out here?” asked Sammy.
“I’ll get you some,” said Mrs. Pond.
Betty called out, “I’ll load the bags with you.” She waded toward the boat.
The tall woman poled her boat closer to the shoreline and into the light. She was dressed in her full length rain suit, the wide brim hat drawn tightly around her face, her large eyeglasses dripping rainwater, her face solemn.
“I see Mudman,” she said.
Betty climbed aboard and said, “He just arrived to help us.”
“You’re lucky you got him working. He’ll do well for you, because he cares about the weak ones.”
At that moment lightning struck nearby, toppling another tree into the swamp, light sparking on the water as the flaming tree crashed. The others threatened the trench area where Will still worked. The thunder hurtled against the rescuers, the rain gusting again as the noise echoed over the swells rising against the sandbags.
Duke took a photograph and said to Pete. “Really says it, doesn’t it? I mean, tells who is going to win out here.”
“Nothing is that simple, Duke,” said Pete.
“Sure it is,” said Duke. “I’d take the animals over the kid, and nature will beat anything these guys can do.”
The two of them watched for a moment as Missus Pond slowed her boat engine on her way back to shore. She then circled around and, before proceeding again, she and Betty bent over the side to help another swimming muskrat.
Chapter Eighteen
“I respect what you’re trying to do, Mudman,” said Sammy, “I’s worried about the safety of my people. Suppose they get down there digging on their bellies and that big wreck decides to start falling off and heading down. You and I know it’s going to take along with it everything. I’m talking radios, plywood, most of the burial mound and any of us that are close enough to get sucked along. It’s a deathtrap.”
“I’ll do it,” said a young black man, taking off his fire coat as he came forward.
Sammy said, “Billy. Your mother and father would kill me if I let you do this.”
“It’s my decision, not theirs.”
Sammy put his arm around the volunteer. “I know that.”
Billy said, “I haven’t got a wife and kids. Let me do my job, Chief.”
Billy stood there, rain lacing his face, his eyes bright. “Bobby’s got to be pulled out of there, doesn’t he? No different than a bad fire. Besides, the kid’s grandfather risked his life for us. Least a River Sunday fireman can do is pay him back.”
Sammy shook his head. “Get your gear,” he said.
“Right, Chief,” said Billy.
“I’m not sure they’ll have time to use that thing,” said Pete, looking at the emergency air tank. Charlie had fixed up a radio for the volunteer to strap to his head as he went down. One of the all-weather suits in the equipment that Sammy had brought over from shore was adapted for the volunteers to wear. It would be useful in keeping a volunteer as smooth as possible against the mud. For the digging itself, Mudman had come up with a simple carry bag which held a small shovel and several precut two by four pine studs for shoring the tunnel ceiling and sides. The bag, which would hang
down beside the worker as he was suspended, could be used for material that had to be removed. The earth that could not be pushed ahead in the hole or compacted against the walls could be put into the bag for retrieval when the worker returned to the surface. Two flashlights were hung around the volunteer’s neck so they pointed ahead as he descended. A small air tank and mask for emergencies was strapped to the volunteer’s chest.
“Better to have it than not,” said Sammy.
Finally Billy was ready, dressed in his gear, kneeling on the plywood next to Cathy and Richard.
Mudman asked him, “Are you sure you got everything?”
“We’ll find out,” said Billy. “Get it done,” and he gave the thumb’s up.
Billy was first hoisted by his harness so that he was head down against the mud. He moved his arms in front of his chest and began immediately to dig into the ground. Being the first, he had to enlarge the entry hole, which was only a few inches in diameter. He dug for a while, piling muck beside him. Cathy and Richard then pushed the excavated material to the edge of the plywood. After a few minutes they had created a large pile and had started a second. The rain quickly turned the earth to liquid and it dribbled out on the mound surface away from the hole. Mudman eased the taut line to the harness and allowed Billy to drop into the ground. Soon Billy’s head and shoulders were down under the surface and eventually only his rubber boots stuck up from the edge. He was essentially suspended in the dig. To get out, he would have to rely on Mudman and the others.
Easter Sunday (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 7) Page 14