ranch. Can you give them a call and get us permission to go on their land, Base?”
“Roger that,” Spara replied.
“We’ll get him this time,” Slotnick said as they rolled out on the new heading. Leo began a series of visual scans, starting at the top of the window he was looking out of, then traveling down toward the bottom of the window in a series of stop-look-scan, stop-look-scan segments, then starting at the top again but shifted slightly in the direction of flight. Stopping and looking at the ground for brief moments was the best way to spot a target, because in continuous scanning, the human brain would fill in fine details of the terrain, so important details such as debris could be missed.
But after thirty minutes of searching both bearings they had computed, Patrick could tell Slotnick was getting frustrated. “How’s it looking, Leo?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Leo said. “It’s clear as a bell, there’s no vegetation or anything blocking the view, but I don’t see anything — no smoke, no signs of disturbed ground, nothing.”
“We’re losing the ELT,” John said. “The needle on the DF is just flopping around. Maybe we should go to the center of the grid and search from there.”
“I’m not ready to give up on it just yet, John,” Patrick said. “I think we had a good position. It’s the best clue we’ve got. How are you doing back there, Leo? Need a break yet?”
“Five minutes would be good,” Slotnick replied, rubbing his eyes.
“I’ll start a right-expanding box search around the intersection of those two bearings,” Patrick said. “You got it, John.” John programmed the GPS receiver with the starting coordinates and a right-expanding-box-search pattern, then started his own search scan out the right window as Patrick reversed course and began flying the box-search pattern with shallow right-hand turns — Patrick had to make shallower turns because otherwise the lowered right wing would block John’s view out the window.
Meanwhile, the ground team was approaching the original search reference point. The ground was muddy but drivable using four-wheel drive. “Okay, guys, we’re coming up on the original intersection spot,” David Bellville said to the others in the van. “The air team reports that the ELT signal is fading and might not be reliable, so we’re going to proceed to the intersection spot and get ready to respond if the air team makes contact. While we’re waiting, we’ll search for any signs of a crash. Let’s get sunscreened up and ready to go fast and hard.”
Just then, they heard on the repeater radio: “Battle Mountain Hasty Team, this is CAP 2722, we’re starting an orbit over a possible objective sighting, stand by.” A moment later, John read off the geographic coordinates from the plane’s GPS navigation device.
Bellville quickly plotted the coordinates on his county map. “About seven miles northeast,” he said. “The Andorsen ranch. Do we have standing permission to go on their property, or do we need to give them a call first?”
“We have standing authorization,” Fitzgerald said. “He’s offered to lend us some of his ranch hands in the past — a stand-up guy. Want to head that way?”
“A-firm,” Bellville said. He checked his portable GPS receiver. “Need a steer to the nearest gate, Fid?”
“I know every inch of this desert, Dave — I don’t need no stinkin’ GPS.”
Bellville just shrugged and shook his head — he could never tell when Fitzgerald was kidding or not.
Several minutes later they reached the gate plotted on Fitzgerald’s chart, only to find it padlocked. “It’s locked!” Fitzgerald exclaimed. “Since when does Andorsen lock his remote gates?”
Bellville read the large sign mounted next to the gate. “It’s not just a ‘No Trespassing’ sign — he’s warning intruders of the use of deadly force! What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but the CAP are not freakin’ trespassers,” Fitzgerald said. “We have standing permission to enter his property. Let’s just cut the lock off and get going.”
“We can’t cut locks, Fid, and you know it,” Bellville said. “But we do have standing permission, so I think we’ll be okay if we climb the gate and go in on foot. Meanwhile we can have Battle Mountain Base call the Andorsens and have one of their hands drive us to the crash site.”
“I’d rather just buy Mr. Andorsen a new padlock,” Fitzgerald grumbled. But he turned to the cadets in the back: “Looks like we’re going in on foot, guys. Let’s hustle.”
“Shallow up the bank angle a tad, Patrick… good, right there,” John said. He had drawn a circle on the window with a grease pencil and was directing Patrick’s orbit over his sighting so the object he was looking at stayed in the circle. Meanwhile, Leo had a pair of binoculars out and was scanning the area out the right-rear window in short cycles, being careful not to give himself vertigo. “Still can’t make it out, but it’s definitely not natural.”
“I’ll set up an orbit,” Patrick said. “If it’s a good target, your eyes will come back to it in the scan. Pick out details around it in case we have trouble picking it out.”
“Roger.”
“CAP 2722, this is Battle Mountain Hasty, we’re inside the gate and en route to the contact,” Fitzgerald radioed. “We had to go in on foot because the gate was locked, so we’re about thirty minutes out. What do you got?”
“Still trying to make it out, Hasty,” Patrick radioed back.
“Tell Slotnick to stop trying to superanalyze it and just report,” Fitzgerald radioed impatiently. “First impression is always the best. Is it a crash or not?”
“Leo?”
“It looks like an abandoned pickup or some farm equipment, not a plane,” Leo said, lowering the binoculars, clearing his eyes, then focusing again. “It’s too small to be a plane.” But his voice implied he still wasn’t sure. “Can you go lower, Patrick?”
“Sure. I’ll switch to a left orbit. John, eyes off the target, back me up on altitude and airspeed, and you got the radios. Report we’re going to five hundred AGL for a closer look.”
“Roger,” John said. On the repeater, he radioed, “Battle Mountain Base, CAP 2722 leaving one thousand AGL for five hundred for a closer look at a target.”
“Roger, 2722,” Spara radioed back. “Advise when you’re climbing back to patrol altitude.”
“Wilco.”
Patrick started a shallow descent while reversing the direction of orbit. He took a peek at what he was orbiting over every now and then while continuing to monitor his bank angle, altitude, and airspeed. “Still hard to tell,” he said, “but I think you might be right, Leo — I don’t think it’s a plane.”
“I’d expect our objective to not be busted up so bad if the ELT is still working,” Leo said.
“Try not to create any expectations,” Patrick offered. “We’re looking for
“Roger.” Leo used his telescopic digital camera to study the scene. “Nah, looks like an old hay baler or something, with pieces of tarps lying around,” he said. “We can go back up to patrol altitude, Patrick.”
“Roger,” Patrick said. “John, report that we’re—”
“Keep it in sight, Leo,” Patrick said, forcing himself to not get too excited and forget about flying the plane — every mission had dozens of false sightings. “I’ll do a shallow left turn and stay at five hundred.”
Leo was straining to keep the target in sight out of the left-rear window. “It’s about fifty yards south of the hay baler — I fixated on the hay baler and stopped scanning,” he said. “It’s lying on its left side. No wings, but the cockpit and cabin look in pretty good shape. Hot damn, I think we got it!”
“Everybody calm down and relax,” Patrick said. “Let’s stay heads-up and keep on doing our jobs until we set up an orbit around it. John…”
“Got it,” John said. On the repeater, he radioed, “Battle Mountain Base, CAP 2722, maneuvering to investigate a possible target contact, remaining at five hundred AGL.”
“Roger, 2722.”
“Battle Mountain Hasty copies, and we have 2722 in sight on the horizon,” Bellville radioed. “We’re about twenty minutes away.”
A few minutes later, Patrick had set up his orbit around a blue-and-white light aircraft. The belly was badly
