“Make it quick,” Zombie called after them as they headed toward the Jump Shack.
Ryan knew his boss had zero sympathy for jumpers. He continually reminded them they had all winter to rest, but they were his twenty-four seven, May through September.
“You’re a Cessna whore,” Gunnar muttered as they tramped inside to their lockers.
Ryan shoulder-bumped him. “Don’t see you turning down hazard and oats.”
“What do you take me for, a dumb ski jock?” Gunnar grinned, heaving his pack onto the long bench in the middle of the locker room.
Ryan chuckled that his jump partner was anything but. “Not when I’m a Cessna whore.” He sank to the bench for a moment to regroup, thankful he’d slept on the bus from Delta. His radio squawked. He pulled it from his holster and turned it up.
Max, the DC-10 pilot, was talking. “…saw a crew that shouldn’t have been near the head. Made two drops to buy them some time. Hope they got out.”
Engine noise as another pilot responded. “Why were they there?”
“No idea. I turned them pink.”
“Hotshot crew?”
“Don’t know. All I know is they shouldn’t have been there.”
Ryan and Gunnar moved fast to ready their gear for round two. He hoped this would be a smooth and quick operation, with nothing too terribly dire.
Zombie poked his head into the locker room. “Your ride’s here.”
Ryan shoved his radio in his holster and finished helping Gunnar into his jump suit. “If it’s a hotshot crew, we’ll embarrass the shit out of them.”
“For sure,” chuckled Gunnar, helping Ryan with his suit and gear.
They grabbed their day packs and first aid kits and clambered aboard the Dornier, ready to go. The props were already spinning.
Stu greeted them as they came onboard. “Here’s the deal. We’ll circle to see if you can fly. Max says smoke is dense and it’s hard to see the ground, even with infrared. He was lucky to spot the crew. If we can’t get close, you’ll have to rappel in with Juliet. Zombie says you’re both still certified, right?”
Ryan nodded. He and Gunnar had obtained their helicopter rappelling certification at the Forest Service National Rappel Academy in Salmon, Idaho, when they crewed in California. Before the beginning of every fire season, Mel took them up in Juliet for refresher training to stay current with their certification.
The plane rolled and abruptly powered down. Stu emerged from the cockpit. “Change of plans. Max says too smoky for fixed wing. Mel’s on his way with Juliet. You’ll have to rappel in.”
“Okay.” The sudden change of plans didn’t faze Ryan. It was part of the fire game. He and Gunnar picked up their gear and exited the plane as Melbourne lowered Juliet to the tarmac.
Zombie stood outside the door holding two Army green Nomex flight suits.
“Guess we won’t need these.” Ryan peeled off his Kevlar suit from over his yellow and green Nomex.
Zombie shoved a flight suit at him. “Boone’s your rappel spotter.”
Ryan took the suit and quickly stepped into it. He stuck his arms in and pulled it over his shoulders. “What do we know about the crew?”
“We don’t know their status, other than they escaped the blow-up and made it to a ridgetop. What the hell they were doing at the head of the fire is anyone’s guess. Radio communication is down, so their batteries must have died. Here take this,” grumbled Zombie, handing Ryan a radio. “This one has a fresh battery. Give me yours.”
Ryan swapped radios. “Thanks, Zombie.” The nickname slipped out, but Ryan was too weary to give a shit.
Zombie ignored it. “Make sure everyone comes back safely. Including yourselves,” he mumbled and headed into the Jump Shack.
Ryan and Gunnar waited for Boone to exit the helo so he could do his required spot checks of their gear. He tapped their leather gloves, PG packs, and rappel harnesses and gave them a thumbs-up. The three men ducked under the rotors to hoist themselves inside Juliet’s rear crew door.
Once onboard, Boone clipped each man to a sturdy web line connected to a “Y” static line, anchoring them to the inside of the helicopter. Ryan in turn hooked Boone to an anchor system, since Boone would be leaning out the door to ensure the men rappelled safely to the ground, while Mel hovered in place.
All wore white helmets with built-in headphones and hot mics. Ryan and Gunnar buckled into stiff canvas seats facing backward. Boone sat in the spotter’s seat, facing forward. He’d been an Air Force flight engineer, and Ryan placed full faith and confidence in his spotter capabilities, same as he did with Stu.
Rappelling from helicopters was much easier on his knees, back and other joints, but Ryan preferred smokejumping. To him, it was easier than perching on helo skids in midair and inverting to dangle and rappel to the ground.
Boone leaned toward them. “Did Zombie brief you?”
“Somewhat.”
“You’ll be dropping into dense timber on a ridgetop where the crew is trapped. When you hit the ground, assess the situation, and relay their status. Stabilize the injured and make a helispot to land Juliet for transport.”
“Copy that.” Ryan peered out the window. The smoke worsened the closer they came to their destination. More acreage had burned since he’d jumped the other end of the Shackelford Fire to save the air force base. As they neared the fire, gusts swung Juliet like a loose pendulum.
He glimpsed wide smoke columns rolling skyward. The fire seized control again, whirling flame in all directions. Fire conditions like these prickled his neck and increased his pucker factor.
Tara, I hope you’re nowhere near this shit.
Through holes in the smoke, he spotted pink and yellow shirts, strung out along a blackened, smoking ridgetop. The crew must have escaped up that near-vertical slope to the ridge. A narrow escape, for sure. Ryan shook his head at how lucky they were.
Boone’s voice boomed in his ears. “Do you spot the crew? We’ll drop you five hundred feet to the
