“Here we go, Forty-four.”
He could see the Chinook a thousand feet above over the meadow. And he could still see the empty basket swinging wildly.
Karen watched the basket impact the dirt twice, and when the Chinook crew slammed it down a third time, she’d had enough and ran from ten yards away to virtually tackle it, putting an instant halt to its gyrations.
They had Joey in the basket and cinched down to almost tourniquet strength in less than ninety seconds. She patted the grimacing smokejumper on the shoulder and leaned over him, aware the helicopter was struggling mightily to maintain position overhead and keep the line slack until they were ready.
“Hang on tight! This is liable to be a wild ride.”
He smiled and nodded, taking her hand. “Thanks. Move away!”
Karen and the other two scrambled to their feet and scampered to one side as the pilot began pulling up.
They watched the basket begin to swing wildly in the wind and the rotorwash, which was already overpowering the surface winds as the Chinook picked up a bit of forward speed and tried to gain altitude, then seemed to be blown backward.
The hurricane blast of wind up the southern slope of the mountain was now beginning to carry the heat of the approaching fire, along with a steady stream of heavy smoke that was getting thicker by the minute. Burning branches and sparks and other material propelled by the same hot wind lashed at the bottom of the helicopter and at Joey Sampson, and his squad members on the ground watched helplessly as he literally twisted in the hot, dry wind. With one final surge, the pilot forced the big chopper forward, and the Chinook finally picked up forward speed and sailed free of the ridge, the basket slowly stabilizing beneath them as they soared out over a three-thousand-foot abyss and headed toward Jackson Hole.
Karen turned and counted her squad, motioning to where Pete stood ready to guide them around the ridgeline into the safe area he and Dave had prepared.
There was a new roar from east to west just below the ridgeline, and she caught the flash of a DC-6B as she waited to bring up the rear. “88” was clearly visible on the tail. She hadn’t had time to listen to anything the airtankers were doing, but she knew who was flying Tanker 88, and she imagined Clark sitting in his cockpit and worrying about her safety.
“Come on!” Pete yelled as she sprinted after him.
The roar of the approaching fire sounded like a locomotive or a squadron of jet engines howling at full power. It was gutteral and deep and full of angry frequencies as it sucked in rivers of air and oxygen and moved like a big, angry dragon marking its passage toward them with as much sound and fury as heat. She could see the plasmic clouds of flame break away from the main fire and burst upward, hanging in midair for a split second before dissipating, only to be chased by another orange flare hundreds of feet across.
It was still downslope and slowed by the continuous slurry attacks, but it was coming, and the noise level was already soul shaking.
Karen brought up the rear around a promontory of rocks that divided the south part of the mountain from the north. She could see where they were headed, an overhang of rocks clear of trees. Pete and Dave had burned out all the grass or combustible materials in case they needed to use their shelters.
But it might be okay. The wind had shifted so that it was coming up from the southeast instead of due south, and even if it breached their line and jumped the ridge, it was unlikely to burn backward to the east and toward their position at the base of the rocks.
She reached the others and turned around, watching the stream of smoke and flaming debris and firebrands now sailing over the ridge and falling onto the forested northern slopes below. It would just be a matter of time before ignition began in earnest, but if they weren’t threatened by the main flame front, there was a chance they could still do their jobs and go after individual spot fires.
“Lead Plane Four-Two, Jones. How copy?”
The male voice was instantly reassuring. “Loud and clear. Are you all sheltered? I saw the Chinook get your guy out.”
“Thank you for holding the flames back. Yes, we’re safe.” She gave him their approximate location. “We’re blind now. What’s happening?” she asked.
“It’s baking away the slurry as fast as we can lay it down, and it’s crowning and about three hundred feet from the summit. You folks did a great job…that’s a solid line you built and the backfire’s helping…but I doubt it’s going to be enough. I’m going to start my tankers down the north side now, dropping westbound from your position.”
“Okay, we’ll hunker down here and wait,” Karen answered. “But please alert me in case it starts coming our way.”
Sam acknowledged the last transmission and banked hard left. The three tankers were spent and headed back, and two new ones were arriving to take their place. There was no need to waste any more effort on the south slope. It was gone, but they’d saved the injured smokejumper and given the others extra time.
Another thought began to nag at Sam, and he flew to the east and around the back side of the wall of rock protecting the smokejumpers from the raging blaze on the south side.
There’s a back door, dammit, Sam thought to himself. The winds would have to shift around, but if the fire comes up that little draw I’m seeing in the rocks, it could ignite the other side and sneak up on them from behind.
He started to relay his concerns to Jones but decided to wait. There would be time if he saw the problem beginning. In the meantime, soaking the north side of the ridge was the first priority, and he turned his attention to the task of bringing in the two new tankers for full salvo passes.
Chapter 29
HELIBASE, JACKSON HOLE AIRPORT, WYOMING
The Helibase Operations manager moved around one of the tables in the portable building normally used by contractors and tried to get a different perspective on the topographic map. The small enclosure was full of people and noise, with portable phones and several landlines in use, radios blaring, and constant shuffling of papers and maps. Coordinating the helicopter operations against what the nation was hearing described as the Teton-Yellowstone fires had reached the critical moment, and the force of rotary-wing aircraft at his disposal—from the giant Skycranes to the smallest Bell Jet Rangers—now numbered forty-eight. More were on the way from the Wyoming Air National Guard, which was very good news indeed, since they were one of the few units that carried upgraded radios and water buckets on each of their helicopters.
Grant Spano looked around the table at two of his coworkers who were standing ready to take notes. After more than twenty-eight fire seasons, it was a familiar scene, although one thing had blessedly changed, he thought. No longer were such command posts awash in cigarette smoke and spit cups.
“You say the new fires are starting right here?” Spano asked.
Janice Nelson nodded, placing the tip of a pencil on the ridge that had been the landing spot for the Missoula Smokejumpers many hours before. She was holding a cup of hot tea with the tag still hanging loose, and started to place it on the map, then thought better of it.
“They cut a great line up here, and the tankers have done their best, but what we have now is a steady flow of sparks and firebrands flowing over the top on forty-knot winds and landing all over the northern ridge.”
“But the main fire is holding?”
“So far, yes. The line is holding, but some spot fires have started. We’re hearing upward of twelve so far, with more to come.”
“Okay, and the Skycranes are moving in?”
“It’s a struggle with the wind, but yes,” Janice replied. “Five-Eight Juliet Tango and Seven-Eight Delta Lima are working along this area, and sucking out of the lake four miles west of Bryarly. There are two Bell Super 205s with water buckets working a bit more eastward, but there’s so much burning debris in here, and it’s so dry, it could make another run very soon.”
Grant Spano sighed. “We need to transmit all this to Bozeman as well. How about th
e evacuation in Bryarly?”
“Moving slowly, but moving. By the third flight, they ran out of people to take out.”
“You’re kidding! Even after all the warnings?”
“I know. I’m told there’s a spot fire within a half mile of the town as well.”
Grant didn’t ask about the Chinooks. He already knew. The one taken out of the evacuation shuttle to medevac the injured smokejumper was just lifting off from the Jackson Hole Hospital to head back to Bryarly.
“Grant, Bozeman is worried about our putting all our air resources on North Fork and leaving the Sheep Mountain fire alone too long.”
“Tell them we’ve got to throw everything against North Fork to try to save that town and that valley first. If it doesn’t work, we’ll divert everyone to Sheep Mountain and try to knock it down before it reaches Kelly. There we have some time.”
“I already told them,” she replied.
“Please keep them off my back for at least the next six hours. We’ll know by then.”
IN FLIGHT, TANKER 88
The last pass at the fire had been the roughest yet.
Clark and Jerry had followed Sam’s King Air along the north side of the ridge and released their last load of slurry just past the rocks where Karen and her squad were taking temporary shelter. The mechanical turbulence had been brutal enough, but when in their westbound run they flew out from behind the protection of the same rocky ridge, the full force of the heat-driven southeast wind flowing over the ridgeline hit them sideways, flaring the spewing fire retardant to the right and violently shoving the old DC-6 sideways.
Sam had warned them, but still it was startling and malevolent.
Clark had begun his climb immediately afterward, turning northwest and trying to hide his personal concerns for Karen amid the need to race back to West Yellowstone and reload the tanks. There were three other airtankers in the queue behind him following his aircraft and Bill Deason’s P-3 Orion, and amazingly the fire had been halted at least temporarily at the ridge by the effective work of the smokejumpers. But it was a battle in progress, its outcome uncertain, and the intense drive to stay in the fight existed independently of his concern for Karen’s welfare.
They leveled out at 16,500 feet for a cruising altitude, and Clark glanced at his watch. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Jerry Stein looked over from the right seat and arched an eyebrow. “Did I miss something?” He smiled. “I don’t recall asking.”
“No, I was just thinking out loud.”
“Okay.”
“I suppose you’ll want to get off on this reload, and that’s okay, Jerry. You showed the guys what you needed to show them.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Clark glanced at him. “Really?”
Jerry smiled. “Hey, first, last, and always I’m a pilot, and even copiloting’s better than flying a desk.”
“Yeah, I agree with that.”
“Besides, despite the dangers back there, that was a real rush.”
Clark glanced at him again to make sure he wasn’t being teased, and Jerry noticed and smiled. “What, you think that’s mercenary of me, to be enjoying this?”
Clark shook his head. “No…I guess I’m just tunneled in on stopping that blaze.”
“Well, I want to tell you something, Clark. I’m damn glad I called you for this summer, and I’m damn glad you accepted, because you’re a masterful tanker pilot. It’s a joy watching you.”
Once again Clark looked at the owner of Stein Aviation as if he’d been replaced by aliens.
“Praise, Jerry? That’s praise?”
“Yeah. High praise.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, mister, who are you, and what have you done with Jerry Stein?”
Jerry laughed. “Yeah, I know, I don’t give out enough back pats, but even though you wrote that stupid article, I’m glad you’re working for me.”
Clark could feel his face flush.
“Ah, what makes you think—”
“Hell, Clark, the entire Airtanker Fliers Association knows you wrote it. It was your reasoned voice. Of course, I was going to have you killed, but then I thought I’d wait and let you ’splain it to me personally.”
Clark felt himself swallowing hard and trying to think of something appropriate to say without apologizing, which was decidedly not appropriate.
“Jerry, I guess I’m stunned. I figured if you knew I’d penned that, you’d never have called me.”
“Hey, you want to know something, Clark? About the points you made?”
“What?”
“You’re mostly right. I can’t build new tankers, I can’t afford new planes, and the ones we have are getting elderly. We can’t get it right. Our days are numbered in this business. I know that. It was just rather…hurtful to have you swipe at us at a vulnerable moment.”
“Hurtful?”
“Well, hell, man, I may respect your opinion and, as I was saying, even agree with it, but timing is everything, and your timing sucks.”
“When would have been a good time, Jere?”
“I don’t know. You stated facts; I’m stating a fact.”
“Okay.”
“On top of that, you’re sitting over there convinced I’m up to something with these airplanes, aren’t you?”
“What…do you mean?”
“Quit shadow boxing with me, Clark. You’re really an amateur at it. I know you think I’m doing some sort of criminal deal with these birds off the books, and I’m telling you, man, that’s not only not true, but that’s something I’d never do.”
Clark took a deep breath, feeling surprised and off balance. A rather loud voice in his mind was cautioning him to limit his tendency to trust. There were very large questions to be answered, and a bogus FBI agent out there who knew too much.
“Jerry, do you have any idea what happened to Jeff’s plane?”
It was Jerry’s turn to take a deep breath. He was shaking his head in apparent disgust.
“Yeah, Clark, I know what happened. The damned wing came off.”
“I mean—”
“I know what the hell you mean, okay? And I know I owe Jeff, and you, a better answer.”
“I have some suspicions….”
“I’ll bet. And they involve me being greedy and cutting corners, right?”
Clark altered course five degrees right and looked at him. “I don’t make that assumption, Jerry. We’ve known each other too long. But…these are tough ships, and for a wing to fail after a big round of inspections…”
“Something has to be wrong with the inspections, right? Or it’s the off the-books thing about extra flying time. By the way, I do have a maximum tolerance limit for slander, you know.”
“I’m not slandering you, Jerry. I’m just very, very worried. I don’t make the assumption that if something’s going on, you’re necessarily involved.”
“Well, who is, then? Hard to postulate without slandering, isn’t it? Especially when you have absolutely no proof.”
“No proof?” Clark asked, his eyebrows raised as he glanced at Jerry, feeling the restraints slowly slipping away from his temper. “Did you say ‘no proof’?”
“Hell, yes!”
“How about Jeff? Isn’t that proof that something’s wrong?”
“It’s tragic, but it’s not proof that my airplanes are being misused.”
“Jerry, I know you used a company in Florida for those inspections. Any chance they could have taken your money and not done them?”
“Is that what you told the FBI, Clark?”
A new shocked silence filled the cockpit. Clark felt his hand bobble on the yoke and felt the airplane respond, as if asking what he was doing. How could Jerry Stein know he’d called the FBI? And if he knew that…
“Obviously,” Jerry began, “you want to know how I know that, right?”
Clark could only nod.
“Well, would you believe me if I said I was tipped off by anoth
er pilot with the same concerns?”
“No. You’ve stunned me twice in the past few minutes. My head’s swimming. But no.”
“Maybe I was tipped off by a pilot who doesn’t automatically jump to the conclusion I must be guilty of something?”
“I never jumped to that conclusion, Jerry. I’m just not sure what’s going on. In fact, I really made the assumption that if anything nefarious was going on, it probably was behind your back. But, there’s only one other pilot who knew I was going to contact the FBI, and I cannot believe he would’ve told you.”
“But somehow I know, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay, Clark. Let me tell you how things are. Something is going on, and I haven’t a clue what it is, but that’s what I was doing when you snatched me away a few hours ago, going over the books and the logs and trying to find out if there’s an obvious problem.”
“With the maintenance shop in Florida?”
“Yes. Those inspections were supposed to be perfect. I paid a huge amount for them. How could they not catch an impending wing failure?”
Clark sighed and decided to tell about his midnight ramp inspection and the dust and dirt and apparent extra usage readable in the wing root of Tanker 74.
“Jeez, you’re kidding?” Jerry said. “Tanker Seventy-four?”
“Yes. And no, I’m not kidding. I looked at the logs, and they seemed in order. But, Jerry, there’s no way that aircraft’s attach points were inspected a mere one hundred fifty-five flight hours back.”
“Lord.”
“Where did you keep them during the winter?”
“The DC-6s?”
“Yeah.”
“Roswell. We ferried them to Roswell and bought some desert. Better than letting the snow and ice chew on them up here.”
The explanation felt like a relief, the charred business card and the newspaper from Colombia momentarily forgotten.
“You don’t own or have any financial interest in that repair station in Florida, do you?”
“What? Hell no. It was just the best contract price versus reputation I could get.”
Fire Flight Page 33