shoulder. Robert does his best to keep it out of the ditch but a mighty crash signals another attempt by the truck to force them off the road.
“Oh shit, they’re trying to force us off the road,” Gonzalez says in the radio. Her voice has taken on the higher pitched voice of excitement and adrenaline kicking in.
The Humvee wheels catch the steep incline of the ditch and begin to drag the vehicle quickly into it. Their vehicle lurches to the side at a steep angle. With the mic still unknowingly pressed, she tells Robert, “Turn the wheel to the…” She doesn’t get the rest out as another lurch and clang of metal tips the Humvee into the ditch. The view outside tilts and then rolls. The side fenders and hood catch the hard dirt of the cliff and she feels herself vaulted forward. The windshield quickly nears. She feels the impact with it and everything fades.
Through the Looking Glass
The click coming across the radio is a like a jolt of electricity running through me. I stare at the speaker as if my concentration will force Gonzalez’ voice through it once again but it sits on the desk in silence.
I grab the mic from Kathy’s hand. “Gonzalez, base here, respond!” I say hoping for a reply. Nothing but continued silence.
I drop the microphone on the desk and turning, I yell across the interior, “Lynn!”
Adrenaline, fear, and worry course through me along with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. My immediate thought is they’ve run afoul of whatever red truck Gonzalez reported. A dozen thoughts of who, what, and where race through my mind but the most immediate is to get everyone mobilized and for me to get in the air. I start running for the front door and see Lynn pounding down the escalator stairs. I slow to a brisk walk as she joins me.
“Something’s happened to Gonzalez and the kids. Mobilize the teams and get them into Humvees. Start southbound on the Interstate and I’ll contact you. The last transmission from Gonzalez said a red truck was following them. I’m getting airborne,” I say walking briskly to the doors.
“”What happened? Where were they?” She asks in rapid fire succession.
“I don’t know. The transmission went dead in the middle of their report. I don’t know exactly where they are or were but I’ll follow the route they should have taken. Just be on the lookout for either the Humvee or a red truck,” I say reaching the front doors.
“Will do, Jack. We’ll be on the road soon,” she says turning back to the interior.
“All teams, on me, ASAP!” Lynn shouts across the interior.
I do a quick check on my weapons and gear reassuring myself that all is in order and I have enough ammo should I need it. I wouldn’t want to locate the kids only to find I wasn’t able to help them because of my rush. Exiting into the shade of the drive-thru overhang, I spot Greg sitting on the curb apparently enjoying the feel of the sun bathing him.
“Greg, grab your gear, you’re with me. And hurry. I’ll explain when you get back. Meet me at the helicopter,” I say and head across the parking lot towards the Kiowa parked on the far side away from the other vehicles.
Lynn shouts across the lot for everyone to gather. I turn and see Greg looking my direction with a questioning look. I shake my head to indicate he’s to ignore Lynn’s request and follow me. Greg turns, exchanges a word or two with Lynn, and runs into the building. I run over to the helicopter, jump in, and begin the start sequence. Time is of the essence. If they’ve been taken, every minute means another mile or close to it in some direction. It will take time to trace their route in order to locate either them or at least find a starting point. And, if I choose the wrong direction, then that’s a lesser chance of locating them again.
The rotors begin spinning overhead as Greg runs out of the building and jumps in. He dons the spare helmet and I brief him as the rotors come up to speed. Lifting off into the clear morning air, I swing to the south to pick up the Interstate. Tense and anxious, I gain altitude in order to get a longer range of view. I need to find them or catch sight of the red truck soon or this will turn into an area search ordeal with each moment’s passing making the odds of locating them less and less.
I hook up with I-5 to my left and make contact with the base to establish communication. The gray road stretches north and south and is empty of movement. I search for movement and look for the Humvee parked to the side of the highway. Nothing moves except an occasional flash of white from gulls circling in random patterns closer to the bay. I know where the kids were headed so I fly up the Interstate to the exit Robert should have taken to the beach. Very small wisps of brown smoke drift lazily upward from a couple of points indicating some of our area burns are still warm.
The glittering waters of the bay past the outer vestiges of downtown Olympia filter in through the windscreen. The crisscross pattern of streets is empty of movement and mostly empty of vehicles. Some cars are parked in spots on the main thoroughfares but the ghost town atmosphere prevails. I dip the nose forward picking up airspeed as the helicopter responds to my anxiousness to find my kids. A road parallels the bay into Olympia from Puget Sound to the north. I pick up this road after downtown Olympia slides by to my left.
The foundations of burnt houses appear on the left side of the road with a large embankment on the immediate right. No indications of the Humvee or a red truck appear as I slow and we proceed up the road. There is a chance they took a side road after seeing the truck so I’ll check on the roads on top of the cliff after I reach the park where they were heading.
“Where the fuck are they?” I ask in a whisper; more talking to myself than conveying a message.
“Don’t worry, Jack, we’ll find them,” Greg responds hearing my whisper.
“There,” he says pointing.
Ahead, just around a corner of the road, I see a Humvee lying on its side in the ditch. I descend and come to a hover over the vehicle. Nothing is moving on the ground or inside. The front and passenger doors are open on the driver’s side, pointing upward. The vibrations of the helicopter, the rotors turning overhead in a blur, and the wrecked Humvee below us are the only company.
“Is that a red truck cresting that hill?” Greg asks pointing to his left.
I swing the nose around to get a better look. Sure enough, I see the back end of a truck disappear over a hill in the distance across the bay. It’s driving on one of the main roads toward the south end of town. I have a dilemma; check out the Humvee or follow the vehicle. The kids and Gonzalez may still be in the Humvee hurt and needing assistance or they may be with the truck. I look in our immediate area for place to land but see I can’t quite plant it without our rotor hitting some of the burnt structures still jutting into the air. I should be able to find the truck again if we’re quick, especially from altitude. If I’m careful, I can get within a couple feet of the ground without hitting anything.
“Greg, I’m going to get close but you’ll have to jump down and check on the Humvee,” I say looking for the best spot.
“Sure, no problem, Jack,” Greg replies.
I edge down the road a touch and find a spot close to the water where I can edge down. I have to keep over the water’s edge and bring the strut close to the small embankment rising from the inlet. The tide is in so I can’t put it down on exposed land. Greg opens the door and a wash of air rushes inside along with an increase in sound from the rotors slicing through the air. He removes his helmet and, grabbing his M-4, steps out onto the strut. Leaping the two feet separating the strut from land, he lands in a crouch, rises, and rushes over to the Humvee.
I angle away from the shore and watch as he reaches the Humvee. He runs around to the front to peer in then climbs onto the vehicle and looks in the open doors. Looking over to me, he shakes his head and jumps down. As Greg trots back, I edge over to the embankment once again. I feel the helicopter list as he clambers onto the strut and I try to counteract the increase in weight on that side. I’m not familiar with that aspect of flying rotors as of yet so Greg hangs on for dear life as we jostle around and move out over the water. I’m finally able to get some semblance of control and he climbs back in the cockpit.
“Well, that was interesting,” he says settling in and donning his helmet.
“Yeah, sorry,” I reply.
“No worries. I was just wondering if I was going to take a leisurely morning swim.” I chuckle but my
