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riptide_asylumTitle: Helitack
Rating: R
Summary: A helicopter crash during a California wildfire brings back uncomfortable memories for Cody, and sparks a desperate search.
I.
It was July again, and Central California was on fire.
For everyone living in the San Joaquin Valley, the summer moved indoors, windows shut tight against the hot, dry air, shirts held over mouths as people hurried from air-conditioned building to car and back again. Playgrounds and pools were deserted. Laundry smelled like smoke even when done indoors.
In San Benito County, life ground to a halt as families and neighbors huddled next to their televisions with bags packed, sneaking peeks at the angry orange sky, waiting for evacuation orders.
For General Douglas "Pitbull" Johnson, however, the fire was useful. A forest fire this big, 13,000 acres gone already, meant Army involvement: troops on the ground and in the air, keeping the peace, handing out supplies, getting fire crews in place and out again. Evacuating homes, digging fire lines, keeping the damn tree-hugging condor-preservation people from getting themselves all killed.
A lot like war but with Mother Nature firing all the bullets.
This morning, however, Pitbull would have greatly preferred a return to combat. Staff meetings accomplished nothing but the scheduling of more meetings. And wars were not won in meetings.
Wars were also not won on Army coffee. Taking another sip, Pitbull grimaced. 0500-hour meetings meant bad news, worse news even than a forest fire eating through large portions of Central California. The young corporal assisting Field Lieutenant General Jackson handed out stapled dispatches. Pitbull took one look and the coffee turned to ash in his mouth.
Aw hell. Any loss was like a punch in the gut, one more thing that kept him up at night with Bonanza reruns and bourbon, but there was something even harder about peacetime losses. They made no damn sense.
Pitbull read through the briefing. A Sikorsky 61-N, carrying two crew, four firefighters and badly needed fireline supplies had gone down approximately three hours ago somewhere in the wilderness surrounding Pinnacles National Monument, just outside Soledad. Just after takeoff, the on-board diagnostics system had alerted the base of "an unscheduled rapid loss of altitude". A crash.
As of 0430 hours, both crew and at least one of the firefighters had still been alive, having radioed in a distress call.
Pitbull continued through the briefing mechanically, noting the number of agencies already scrambling to cover their asses like cockroaches in the light. Local emergency responders were trying to determine where best to start the recovery effort--damn it, "rescue", people, not "recovery"--but the Santa Ana winds were still roaring through the Valley, pushing the fire and preventing other birds from getting in the air. They'd all be on foot, and good luck to them, with 212,000 acres of mountainous wilderness to dig through.
Then Pitbull read the names of the personnel involved. His heart dropped, joining the ashes in his stomach. Taking a deep breath, he rose crisply, and General Jackson looked up over the top of his half-rims.
Pitbull saluted. "I'd like to take point on the rescue efforts for this one, General."
Jackson's gaze didn't falter. "Your request is duly noted, General, however we already have a man in place in the field."
"With all due respect, sir, I bring specific skills and experience to this mission."
The two men stared at each other, two fierce gazes locked in battle. The silence in the mission room was absolute.
"As you wish, Johnson," Jackson said finally, carefully retreating to the papers in front of him. "A transport's leaving at 06:15 for Soledad. Corporal Robinson will have the orders drawn up and waiting for you at your office at 06:10."
Pitbull saluted. He'd be hearing about this one for a while at poker, but this was a chip worth cashing in. He just wasn't looking forward to the phone call he had to make first.
---
Despite the fires raging inland, life in King Harbor remained a succession of barbecues, beer and babes.
They'd had a close call with the Contessa last night, having lured Angie and Amy on-board for grilled hot dogs and Coronas, and while Cody listened to Murray extol the virtues of short wave radio something or other, Amy (or maybe it was Angie, now he thought about it) had snuggled in close, angling her face up towards his for a kiss. Luckily, Mama Jo had come storming down the slip like clockwork. Giving her the combination to their padlock--for "security purposes"--had been one of Nick's best ideas.
This morning, safe from the bikinied menace, Cody had gotten up early to clean things that didn't need it. He whistled along with the transistor radio in the salon and watched Murray sip tentatively at his coffee.
"Hey Boz, I can make a fresh pot if that's too strong for you," Cody suggested.
"No no, Cody, this is, uh, this is..." He took another stab at drinking it. "This is great, really. I've really gotten a lot done with this coffee."
Cody stopped polishing a brass hurricane lamp. "Were you up all night again?"
Murray set the mug to one side with a small moue. "The good news is that the Roboz's temperature monitor module finally compiled, which is really boss considering how many fans I've been trying to pack in there to keep the readings within acceptable parameters during this heat wave and I think I might actually have figured out some way to--"
Cody collected the coffee mug from next to Murray and went into the galley to empty it. He couldn't get the hang of making coffee for only two people, especially when one of them wasn't Nick. The coffee always wound up too strong or there was just too much of it, neither of which were a problem when his partner was around.
Cody washed the whale mug out with a small smile. He remembered Nick giving them to him when he first got the Riptide. He'd gotten them at the dollar store as a joke, but now the two of them never drank out of anything else. Cody turned the mug over in his hands and sighed. Six days. Six days off flying helitack for that damn forest fire. Trust Nick to be unable to turn down the chance to do the right thing.
Six days too long, Cody thought, returning to the salon.
"--and really from there it's just a hop, skip and a jump--mathematically speaking, of course--to write some code that would allow the Roboz to self-monitor for temperature, and then I'm sure that code could be used as the basis for more advanced self-monitoring routines, like motion-detection or electrical conductivity or--ooh!--"
Cody picked up the pot and turned for the stairs, intending to pour out the rest.
The radio crackled behind them, a newscaster's voice cutting off the gentle surf music. "We interrupt our programming to bring you an update on the San Joaquin fire. Early this morning the Santa Ana winds changed direction, moving now northwest across San Benito County. Authorities say that while firefighters did appear to have the upper hand on the blaze last night, the early morning winds have created a situation where the fire again appears to be out of control."
"Say Cody, that fire sure is--"
Cody held up a warning hand, staring worriedly at the radio.
"But our top story this morning," the newscaster continued, "is that a Sikorsky 61-N helicopter, part of the fire-control efforts, has crashed this morning in the Salinas Valley wilderness, near Pinnacles National Monument. While the weather is currently making aerial survey impossible, rescue teams are purportedly on the ground, searching for survivors."
All Cody heard was Sikorsky. The type of helicopter that had crashed. His heart turned to ice in his chest.
Just then the phone rang. Cody and Murray looked at one another, neither of them moving. The phone continued to ring. "Cody, Nick's a great pilot, it's just a coincidence," Murray said.
The phone stopped ringing. The two of them let out the breaths they'd been holding. Cody had started back down the steps when the phone started ringing again. He froze.
Murray sidled over to the phone with a backwards glance at Cody. "Riptide Detective Agency."
"Oh. Good morning, General....Who?...Oh you mean Cody?...just a second." Murray held a hand over the speaker and turned to his partner. Cody had gone pale under his tan. "Cody?" Murray asked.
Cody put his hands on his hips and dropped his head. Taking a deep breath, he held his hand out for the phone. "Sir."
Murray stood awkwardly next to his friend, arms crossed tight against his chest.
Cody closed his eyes. No. Please God, no. He said: "Are you sure?" After a brief pause he asked, "When was the last time you heard from them?" He listened to Pitbull outlining the situation, where he thought they were, how confident his plan was to get them out, the words nearly drowned out by the fierce pounding of blood in his ears. He reached out to steady himself against the table, and noticed Murray's arms tighten across his chest. "I'm going," he said into the phone, summoning a tone of authority against his former CO. "I'm going with you to find them." Him, his brain silently amended. I'm going to find him and bring him home and the entire US military can hang if they think-- Noises from the phone interrupted his train of thought.
Mercifully, Pitbull didn't argue, just told him he needed to get his ass to the Point Mugu airfield, where he could catch a chopper to the emergency base camp near Soledad. Murray began poking him in the chest, one skinny finger urgently prodding. "Tell him I'll bring--"
Cody turned away from Murray's jabbing. "Pitbull," he said softly, "this isn't like last time, is it? This isn't like..." Dong Nai. Say it, his brain taunted. Say the name of that hellhole you nearly lost him in over there. The other crash.
He barely registered Pitbull's answer before hanging up.
"Cody? Cody, what's going on?"
Cody was already halfway down the stairs before he heard Murray calling after him. He hurried into the stateroom and dug his green duffel bag out of the closet, throwing in whatever clothes lay around him.
He stopped short, Nick's red polo shirt in his hand. He hadn't even noticed which clothes were his and which his partner's. Well it's the Army, he decided. If memory serves, they provide everything you need, right? They just want bodies on the ground...bodies... Cody squeezed his eyes shut and dropped onto Nick's bunk. He forced the memories back, back into the dark, locked place where they usually lay in wait. He didn't have time to come apart right now. Nick needed him. Nick needed rescuing, and that was what he'd focus on.
Cody pushed himself up off the bunk and dropped the duffel bag. He'd show up with the clothes on his back and let everything else sort itself out. Nothing outranked getting Nick back. Cody picked up the photo he kept above his bunk, Nick and him grinning mid-tour, goofy with relief at getting some downtime, arms slung around each other's shoulders. Cody stared at the image of their younger selves.
Take anything else. Take me. Take the boat. Just let him be okay.
He didn't realize he'd shattered the glass until he heard Murray's hurried feet on the stairs.
II.
The trip from King Harbor to Point Mugu usually took just over an hour, but they made it in 35 minutes.
Cody had initially fought Murray coming with him but his partner quietly loaded boxes of electronics in the back of the Jimmy as Cody listed all the reasons he needed to stay behind. One hand on the passenger door, Murray had said simply, "Cody? I outrank you."
And that was that.
Now, strapped into the hold of their ride to Soledad, Cody was glad Murray had insisted. It didn't hurt any less with Nick still in danger, still apart from him, but Cody appreciated the gesture. Murray was determined to contribute any way he could, just like always.
And if you found yourself in a situation where you had to disobey direct orders in order to do the right thing, it never hurt to have a real live colonel on your side.
Cody looked around him. The two of them were strapped in next to three other guys, big Army grunts, packed into the hold with boxes of supplies, the noise from the rotor making any conversation impossible. He felt vaguely guilty that he had no idea what type of helicopter they were riding in.
Hang on, buddy. I'm coming.
---
Soledad was usually notable only for its prison, but now with the fire and the Army and the crash, the usually sleepy Central Californian town was awash in traffic and media, boots and camouflage.
Cody barely paid it any attention, focused instead on loading Murray's array of gear onto the bus that would take them to the SAR basecamp, that would take them closer to Nick.
He changed into the standard Army uniform for maneuvers: camo pants and a dirt-brown tshirt, and nearly didn't recognize Murray in his coordinating getup. Out here they were just two more foot soldiers, no longer PI's, no longer civilians, and not even remotely two friends on a mission to save the best friend either of them had ever had.
The sun was high in the sky by the time the bus got underway, heat waves shimmering off the two-lane blacktop. The interior of the bus was like an oven. Arid scrubland passed by at an excruciating rate as they wound slowly up the curved road to the entrance to the park. The brutal Santa Ana winds came rushing up the valley at intervals, throwing tumbleweeds across the grasslands, whipping up dust devils along the shoulder of the road.
Cody sat staring straight ahead, taking in nothing of the journey. Most of the time he was able to keep his in-country memories in a locked box deep in the places he never let himself go. He'd gotten to the point where even watching films of the war didn't faze him; pictures of grunts just like he and Nick had been, slogging around in the undergrowth, guns at the ready; Hueys carrying them away when they'd been bloodied by the goddamn jungle; nothing got into the box.
And nothing got out. But now, it was like the lid had been blown right off.
Jesus. Dong Nai. Neither of them had ever mentioned it again, Cody wasn't even sure he could say the name out loud and he was damn sure he'd never heard it from Nick. At least not while he was awake.
Nick was an amazing pilot. Cody knew this like he knew water was wet and the sky blue. But he also knew Nick had never forgiven himself for failing--just once--to pull off the impossible, under the worst circumstances imaginable. You couldn't let it go, he thought. Damn it, buddy, you did the best you could. You got them down as best you could in a place where safe was just a bad joke. You couldn't have saved the others.
"Cody, did you say something?" Murray put a hand on his arm and Cody jumped.
"It's nothing, Murray. Really. I'm fine." Cody lowered his head, staring at the pebbled green naughahyde seat between his legs.
Murray squeezed his arm. "I know you are. And I know Nick is too. He crashes all the time!"
The men sitting close by stirred, whispering.
Murray stammered. "What I mean is, he's a great pilot. This is what he's best at. We'll find him."
Cody was grateful for the contact, for Murray's unwavering belief. He mustered up a smile and laid a hand over his friend's. "Thanks, Boz."
The bus slowed to allow a rancher to run his animals across the road and Cody clenched his jaw in frustration, even as Murray pointed out the uniqueness of the breed, their suitability for the rugged chaparral environment. Cody listened half-heartedly as his friend fell in love with a herd of cows.
Murray doesn't know about Dong Nai, Cody realized.
Finally, the bus got back underway with a shudder, resuming its climb to the park entrance.
---
The Visitor's Center lobby, already filled with informative maps, dioramas, brochures and stuffed condors, was now also home to the search and rescue efforts. Which largely consisted of a number of folding tables and chairs, more maps, two electric tureens full of coffee and about 40 Army personnel, most of whom had just arrived on the bus. Cody held the door open for Murray with one foot, his arms full of electronics. "Boz, what is all this stuff, anyway?"
"I think from now on that should be 'Colonel Bozinsky' to you, shouldn't it?" Murray caught Cody's glare and giggled. "I'm joking! I'm joking! But the look on your face, Cody, that was, uh, that was priceless. Oh! We need a space for my system!"
Murray seized on a nearby table, clearing away an open logbook and a map, quickly becoming entangled in the latter. A snub-nosed soldier in desert camouflage came to his rescue with an audible sigh. "Thank you, yes, if you could just, yes, um, perhaps it folds back that way? Oh great! Thank you so much, uh--Captain Peterson. You've really been a big help."
Cody gingerly set his armful of gear on the table. "Seriously Murray, Nick's just up in the mountains somewhere, not on the moon. What do you need all this stuff for?"
"Well, you remember that day in Sycamore Canyon? When you guys were helping me test the receiver? You still had your arm in the sling, remember?"
Cody nodded. He'd been an ass that day, too stubborn to take care of himself, afraid that Nick would think him weak for favoring the gunshot wound in his arm. Memories of that day flooded back to him: climbing up the rocky trail, taking a bad fall, Nick's arms around him almost immediately, leading him back to safety, holding him and getting him home in one piece. Cody fought his way back to the present. The memory of Nick's arms right now was more than he could bear. Jabbing his fists fiercely in the pockets of his Army-issue camo pants, Cody asked, "What's that got to do with right now?"
"The thing is, the test that day was a success. I mean, Nick's radio failed, and then you hurt your arm again, that wasn't good, no," Murray said, ignoring Cody's glare. "But the experiment itself was great! The data I got while both radios were working turned out perfect--well, nearly perfect--but I've given this system the ol' Bozinsky tuneup between now and then and--" Murray paused for breath, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "See, the way it works, the receiver sends a signal up to a satellite, kind of calling out 'Hey! Here I am!' And the satellite sends a signal to the base camp receiver, letting it know, based on how long it took for the receiver's message to get there, where it estimates the receiver's location to be. From there it's just a matter of simple math, and--"
"Wait. Are you saying that because of all the lights I pushed, that thing can tell us where Nick is?"
"Well....no," Murray said.
"Then why'd we lug all this stuff up here?"
"Because this stuff will be able to pinpoint Nick's location as soon as the first rescuer spots him. Each rescue team will have a receiver, and as soon as they find him, they'll activate the receiver, and then, no matter what the weather or how far out they are, we'll be able to get a rescue helicopter there as soon as possible. I call it my GBS: the Global Bozitioning System."
Cody smiled. "That's really great, Murray. Good thinking."
Cody surveyed the room. He recognized no one except Pitbull. Nick and Cody's former commanding officer stood at the heart of a knot of people surrounding one of the coffee machines. He looked older than Cody remembered, more lined and weathered. A pair of pale, nervous-looking park rangers stood uneasily behind him. Cody could imagine what their morning must have been like when Pitbull commandeered the Visitor's Center. Before Cody had a chance to talk to him, though, the general took charge of the new arrivals with a sharp clap of his hands.
"All right, listen up. Don't get too comfortable here, ladies, you're all about to head out and do an honest day's work tramping around in the mountains and finding that chopper. We've already got a group out there, but the faster we find these guys, the better shape we'll all be in." Pitbull paused, eyeing the roomful of personnel. An expression of tenderness appeared on his face. "Men, these are our guys, and they're coming home with us. Pay attention, follow the rules, don't fuck up. First wiseacre to jeopardize this operation gets a size 12 up the ass. Am I clear?"
There was an assortment of nods and murmured assents.
Pitbull glared. "Am. I. Clear?"
"YES, SIR!"
Cody didn't realize he'd snapped to attention until mid-salute. He slid a glance at Murray. Apparently colonels weren't immune to The Voice any more than foot-soldiers were.
"At ease, soldiers. I'm turning it over to Matt Williams, here. He's head of San Benito Search and Rescue and he knows these mountains better than you boys know your mama's teats. You will treat his instructions as if they came from God Himself. Now, Mr Williams?"
The SAR leader was tall and muscular, dressed as if he'd only just returned from hiking a few minutes ago. He had short red hair, freckles and a gold hoop earring in one lobe. "Thanks, ah, Pitbull," he said.
The general gave him a thumbs up as he went to lean against one of the exposed wood beams. Williams took a deep breath. "So here's the drill. We're searching for a helicopter that crashed approximately 10 hours ago, somewhere in these mountains. The radio beacon on board has so far failed to provide a signal, so we're flying blind, locationwise." Williams kept going, seemingly oblivious of the ghastly pun. "We're going to be sending you out to start along the Pinnacles park's established trails, but in a number of cases we're going to be asking you to search outside the park's boundaries, making sure we cover the maximum amount of ground possible given the number of available bodies."
Cody shivered despite the heat.
"If you find the crash location, radio back in to the command center here, and stay with the victims. Those of you with medical training should practice your ABCs, but those of you without, do not attempt to provide assistance. Stay where you are until qualified personnel reach you. Am I understood?" He looked around the room.
"Now, here's how we're going to tackle this problem." Williams walked over to a topographic map tacked up on the wall. "Based on calculations using departure, flight time, wind speed and all that other good stuff, the premise is that these guys went down somewhere between McCabe Canyon here in the north--" He indicated a red pushpin at the top of the map. "--the Rocks Canyon area of Horse Valley here in the east, Divide Canyon in the Southwest, and here." Williams indicated the other red pushpins. "This unnamed area out here past Shirttail Gulch, maybe another good five or six miles. All told, our search area today is roughly 30 square miles."
A few people exhaled in amazement. Someone whistled through their teeth.
Williams smiled. "Lighten up, you guys. The Galina Mountains cover 247,000 acres of this valley. Compared to that, we should be running across our target in no time at all." He turned back to the map. "Anyway, plan is, we're sending folks out in a clockwise spiral. The first teams headed out up here, along the South Wilderness Trail, heading for Rocks Canyon. The second wave followed the same trail, but headed farther south, tacking due west here, where the South Wilderness Trail breaks off and heads for the Divide. You all will be taking a similar approach, following South Wilderness but breaking off at intervals, heading increasingly farther west. Any questions?"
Several hands were raised. Williams pointed to a huge mountain of a guy, standing wide-footed with his arms across his chest. "How long you suppose we'll be out there?"
Williams nodded. "Good question. We're sending you out with provisions, lights and gear to be out for at least six hours. At the end of that time, you'll need to return here, check in, and get a few hours of rest. We'll have the tents up before sundown. Under no circumstances should you decide to rest on the trail or anywhere out in the wilderness. This is an area that is notable for its wild boar population. If you see a boar, do not approach it, do not attempt to capture or antagonize it. They have tusks and hooves, and can bite through a man's arm."
Murray gasped. "Oh my. That doesn't sound good."
Cody put a hand on Murray's shoulder and grinned. "Don't worry, I'm sure they don't eat colonels."
A wave of laughter swept through the lobby.
"Okay men, here's the nitty-gritty for this assignment." Pitbull stepped forward. "You'll go out in pairs. Most of you will be keeping to the trails, scoping out the general lay of the land. Keep an eye out for debris. Metal fragments. Burn marks. Human debris."
Cody swallowed hard.
"Those of you with mountain rescue experience will be spending some quality time on the rocks, getting up to the peaks, getting a macro-level view of the landscape."
Williams nodded his agreement, chin in hand.
Pitbull continued. "Each team will be carrying the standard out-pack equipment, along with an experimental locating receiver. You see evidence of the crash, anything concrete--secure the area and punch that button as if your lives depended on it. Yours...or someone else's." He deftly slid on a pair of bifocals and began reading pairs of name from the logbook on the table.
"Allen, Peterson. You're heading out towards Cherry Canyon." Pitbull handed them a folded topo map. "Follow the marked route, out and back. Keep your eyes open."
Cody unfolded the map, noting the highlighted route. The cadet who had helped Murray with his equipment nodded at Cody, taking the map out of his hands. Pitbull continued listing names, moving on to the climbing teams.
Watching Peterson examine their route, Cody remembered a night on the Riptide, after they'd had a close call in the Mimi. That afternoon, midflight over open water, Mimi's pistons had given up the ghost and the whole damn engine had taken a powder, leaving Nick to gyro down, his gyroscope and damn good piloting the only thing standing between them and the deep blue Pacific Ocean. They'd beached, rough but intact, and that evening Nick had explained the maneuver.
"When you lose power--for whatever reason--you've got to get down in one piece, the quicker the better. Keep the main rotor parallel to the horizon and man, those blades won't let you down. They just keep on going. S'like magic." He'd taken a long swig of beer as they'd watched stars crawling up out of the ocean. "All you've gotta do is keep it level. Of course, it helps to get down as fast as possible. Better high small spaces than lower open ones. Shorten the fall."
High small spaces.
In this terrain, Nick would be looking for a peak, Cody realized. Searching on the ground wouldn't do either of them any good.
I have to find him. I have to get up to where he'd be.
Pitbull stepped in front of him, solid and silent. He slapped a hand on Cody's shoulder and squeezed. "Go get 'em, tiger."
Cody ducked his head and took a deep breath, hand on the doorknob, gearing up for the trek ahead.
III.
The heat outside was astounding and hit him like a clenched fist. It felt like all the moisture in Cody's body was sucked away in a great rush as a chorus of cicadas sang their approval. These mountains, so like their cousins down south in many other ways, here spoke of great suffering: the suffering of thousands of years of unrelenting sun, turning all the grass brown and dry before it had a chance to draw breath.
No wonder the whole damn state's on fire.
Cody ran a hand through sweat-soaked hair, pushing it back off his forehead, looking around the parking lot. The bus that had brought them here was gone, presumably off for the next wave of searchers. A few civilian vehicles baked here and there on the black asphalt, but for the most part, the lot was empty. Two camouflaged jeeps were parked outside the Visitor's Center, and an impossibly young dark-haired cadet was sorting shiny metal gear next to one of them.
Cody had tried rock climbing enough times to be passingly familiar with that gear: tear-shaped carabiners, stringy metal stoppers, toothy cams, ribbony harnesses. All of them painted Army-issue flat metal black. The cadet sorted the gear with a frown, threading gear on slings for easy transport across the hilly terrain.
"Don't forget your receiver, okay Cody?"
He turned. It was so hot there were beads of sweat on the inside of Murray's glasses. He handed Cody a flat black plastic object with a red button. The case was held together with duct tape. Cody turned it over in his hands. "What happened? Is it still in the testing phase? Thing's gotta work, Murray. We can't use any experimental stuff right now. It has to be the real deal."
Murray's expression softened. "I made a few modifications since the last time we used it, but I didn't have time to find a bigger case. It'll work, Cody, swear it will."
Cody clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Hey listen, Murray." The other rescuers spilled out of the building behind them and Cody pulled Murray away from the crowd. "I need a favor."
"Anything, Cody. Just name it, you know that."
"I've gotta get on one of the climbing teams."
Murray stared at him, puzzled. "But General Pitbull gave you your orders. You're on the South Wilderness trail with Peterson."
Cody grabbed his arm. "No, I'm going up one of the peaks. That's where Nick would have landed."
Murray looked nonplussed. "Cody, even if Nick could have controlled the landing to that extent, how will you know which peak he's on?"
Cody sensed other eyes on them and pulled Murray farther from the main group. "Boz, you've gotta trust me on this," he said. "This is the only way I can find Nick, okay? It's just..." He took a deep breath. "I know this sounds weird but...I know I can find him. I just have to get up high enough, maybe I could see smoke or..."
Murray grabbed Cody's arms. "Cody, I know you're worried about Nick. We both are. But this is the US military. They want him back just as bad as you do."
Cody looked at him.
"Okay okay," Murray conceded. "But they're doing the best they can. And with these receivers, as soon as anybody finds anything, we'll know right away. Cody--"
"Boz, I know what I'm doing, alright?" Cody took a deep breath, the hot air burning him from the inside out. Despite the heat, the sky had an overcast, hazy feel to it, the air thick and greasy.
"Allen! Hey!"
Cody spun around to find himself face-to-face with Peterson, the young captain who'd helped Murray wrestle a map earlier. Peterson held himself lightly on the balls of his feet, survival pack on, hat in place and regulation boots secured with double knots.
"You got someplace else to be, Allen?"
Cody bit back a sharp retort and, with a last look at Murray, he followed Peterson over to the pile of gear assembled in the parking lot. Swinging the pack over one shoulder with a grunt, Cody was surprised to see Peterson already heading for the trailhead with swift, sure strides, arms pumping. Well, at least Pitbull didn't stick me with a slowpoke, he thought.
Peterson turned, and Cody was momentarily taken aback. Anger was written large across the young soldier's face. "What are you hanging about for, Lieutenant? Let's head out! Now!" The other rescuers momentarily fell silent, looking from Peterson to Cody and back again, unsure as to the protocol. A Hispanic soldier put a hand on Cody's shoulder, offering mute assistance, but Cody shrugged it off with a quiet smile of thanks, and crossed to his search partner with long, easy strides.
At least I know he'll be able to keep up.
---
The South Wilderness Trail led up, straight up, cutting a lighter brown swathe through the darker brown of the chaparral, and in a few minutes the two of them had left the relative shade of the oak stands behind, doggedly marching up between volcanic boulders and under the full sun. They both wore regulation-issue hats that did little to protect them, but Cody barely noticed the heat or the sun, or the rugged beauty of their surroundings. He'd marched through hell before with Nick at his side, and he'd fight through worse to get him back.
Cody kept his eyes moving as they marched. He noticed none of the shrubs, the poppies, the rocks and weeds. His brain sorted automatically, looking for the telltale signs of a crash: smoke, scorched earth, glittering shards of glass or metal. A helicopter.
He kept walking, following Peterson.
Cody thought he should take comfort from the fact no one was shooting at them, and was unsurprised when the thought did nothing to ease the hard, bitter knot in his stomach. Come on, buddy, talk to me. Where are you? Back in-country, the two of them had known each others' steps like their own heartbeats; they'd walked close enough to touch, which they did until it became automatic. A brush of fingertips against hip, the weight of a hand on the other's arm, asking questions it cost too much to speak.
As Cody wiped a sweaty hand across his sweating brow, accomplishing nothing, he realized that after they'd come home, they'd continued to move that way, hands and fingers and hips and feet. Checking in. Funny, he'd never noticed it here until he tried to follow someone else. Cody's eyes went to Peterson automatically, noting how comfortable he appeared pulling himself ably to the top of a boulder next to the path, squinting across the valley. This guy was thorough.
"Nothing yet, Allen. Let's pick up the pace and push on. It's gonna be dark soon."
Cody scanned the surroundings mechanically, all his resources devoted to pattern-matching. Things that should be there: scrubby, tortured manzanita trees, limbs writhing across the arid grasslands, a stand of thick, gray-green pines nestled against the rock, and the rolling, even burnt yellow of the grass itself, covering everything that wasn't their trail.
Even the slitherquick movement of a lizard through the dry grass next to the path registered only as a blink on his consciousness, a flicker that Cody's brain quickly dismissed. Nothing that didn't pertain to the mission stuck in his brain. In a way, it was kind of relaxing. It helped dampen the roar of pain he felt with each step.
You keep on fucking being alive, Nick Ryder. I'm coming. I've got you. I will find you out here.
They walked for hours in the stifling heat, silent and brooding.
Cody couldn't keep pace with the younger soldier, despite the raw twang of his nerves. Peterson's energy was amazing. He nearly jogged up each hill, and after climbing to the highest point at the top and making a lightning quick survey, he popped off and usually slid down the trail in his haste to cover ground. Cody mentally thanked Pitbull once again. Whatever lit his fire, this guy was definitely no slouch.
Stopping for a water break to one side of the trail, Cody breathed deeply, forcing the air deep, willing it to smooth out the cramp in his side. They were moving fast alright, but unfortunately the sun was moving faster, sliding behind the mountains with an unholy speed, dying the valley shades of apricot and plum, and yet illogically doing nothing to cut the heat. He screwed the top back on his canteen as his radio squawked to life. "Base to Allen, come in Allen, over."
As Cody watched, Peterson's head disappeared along with the rest of him over the next crest of trail. He pulled the handset from his belt. "Allen to Base, copy. Over."
"Hey Cody! Isn't this boss? The receivers totally work! Around mountains! This is so great!"
After a second, Murray added: "Uh, over."
Cody grinned and shook his head. "Yeah, Colonel, your invention's doing the trick all right. Any news from the other teams? Over." He began walking, slower now, following the path Peterson had taken, leaning into the hillside.
"That's a negative, Cody." Murray paused. "I'm sorry, I know---"
The transmission broke off in a burst of static, which Cody thought was just as well, given he had a fair idea what Murray might have said next, over open military airwaves. He squinted around the clearing, watching the shadows falling on the gently waving grass. None of it was a helicopter crash. None of it was Nick. "Nah, us neither, Colonel. But we're only a quarter of the way down the trail. Over."
"Cody, repeat please. Your transmission was cut off. Please repeat transmission. Over."
Cody did as he was told, only to be greeted with what might have been the closest he'd ever heard Murray Bozinsky come to a swearword. He refrained from reminding Boz to end the transmission with "over".
"Cody....handset...be losing...I knew I should have.....but...."
Murray's message was interrupted by more static as Cody crested the hill, Peterson barely visible in the distance. Cody put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, hoping to delay his partner enough to cover some of the ground between them. "Murray, you're breaking up. What's going on with the radios? Over." As Cody took his thumb off the transmit button, he noticed a small yellow light blinking rhythmically on the back of the handset, and he figured it out immediately. "Colonel, it looks like the mountains aren't the problem with your new invention, but the battery packs are. I think we're losing power here."
Cody shrugged a shoulder up to wipe his face. After a few seconds he hit the transmit button again. "Over."
As he stood at the top of the hill, Cody watched Peterson jog back towards his position. The cadet looked dismayed. This guy might be long on stamina, but Cody couldn't remember the last time he'd met a guy with such a short fuse. The handset crackled again, and Murray's voice came through in snatches. "Batteries seem.....as much.....Cody.......base......nightfall.......to base.....night......return......falling.....to base.....to base....boars! So Cody....." The transmission finally dwindled in volume before ceasing entirely.
Cody grinned. "Colonel, I've got next to no power here. if that was an order to return to base, repeat the word 'Mimi'. If not, repeat--" Cody thought. "If not, repeat 'Roboz'." He held the handset at his side.
After a few seconds, he dimly heard the name of Nick's big pink rustbucket come intermittently over the airwaves, until the transmission died for good with a quiet hiss, like a match dropped in water. He holstered the useless handset and went to meet Peterson coming up the path.
"What's the news, Allen? Anybody find them yet? Anyone left alive?"
Though the words shot through his chest with a force like thunder, Cody kept his voice even. "Our radio's dead, and night's coming on, so they want us to return to Base. Something about boars."
Peterson shook his head. "Fucking boars. I can handle a goddamn boar like it was a kindergartner at nap time."
Cody looked at him curiously. "I'm game to keep going if you are. Boars or no, my partner's out there. I've gotta get him back."
It was Peterson's turn to look askance. "Your partner was on the helicopter?"
Cody looked away. "Yeah, we served together in 'Nam. I figure it's the least I owe him, some of the shit he got me through."
Peterson nodded vigorously, sweat standing out on his upper lip. "Too right, man. We soldiers gotta stick together." He pounded Cody on the shoulder.
"Hey, you okay, Peterson? You're not looking so hot, buddy. You drink enough water?"
Peterson sneered. "Who are you, Allen, my mama?" After a couple seconds he laughed, head thrown back, mouth wide. "Just joshin' ya, man, just joshin' ya. No seriously, I feel great. Just anxious about the mission, you know? We gotta find them!"
Cody nodded slowly. "The mission, right. So uh," Cody looked around, as if there was anyone within three miles that could hear them, "Look, boars or not, I'm game to keep going if you are. I've gotta find my partner. I don't want him out here alone tonight." And possibly hurt. Or dying.
Peterson grinned. "You know, I like you, Allen. I really do. Yeah, that's exactly what I wanna--"
The handset on Peterson's belt sprang to life, startling them both. "Allen! Peterson! You get your asses back here on the double unless you want me to come out there and court-martial you both permanently with my fist. Is that clear? Over!"
They looked at each other. Around them the shadows had grown longer, the mountains taking on gray and purple hues. "You two better not be thinking of staying out there! I've got one hell of a rescue mess on my hands already, and if you two add yourselves to the casualty list, it's going to take that much longer to find that helicopter. Get moving! Over!"
Cody swallowed the lump in his throat. As much as he hated it, he knew Pitbull was right. He'd hate for one minute of the rescue's focus to be taken off Nick. And he had no doubt Pitbull would make good on his threat. He wouldn't let either of them be left behind. He locked eyes with Peterson. Around them, the sounds of the mountain night grew stronger, the thrum of cicadas giving way to frogs, crickets, and all the big predators this region of California was known for. Finally, the two of them shrugged. Cody looked down the trail in anguish, his heart shot through with doubt.
"Don't make me come out there in the middle of the night and beat the two of you idiots senseless with one of those goddamn boars! Get back to Base! That's a goddamn order, Allen! Over!"
Peterson shrugged his pack down onto the trail. He unzipped it and pulled out the standard-issue helmet-like flashlight, strapping it on and tightening it firmly into place. Resignedly, Cody pulled off his own pack and retrieved a similar model, along with a portion of barlike rations. He pulled the headlamp on and ripped into the bar, feeling his hungry stomach clench instinctively. The bar turned to sawdust in his mouth, and tasted similar. Still, he offered it to Peterson.
"Naw man, food's just gonna slow me down. Better do like the old man says, huh? The faster we're back, the faster we can rest and get back out here!" With a weird half-smile nearly like a grimace, Peterson began his half-walk, half-jog back down the trail the way they'd come. As Cody watched, he was nearly swallowed by the near-darkness. Tossing the rest of the bar into the underbrush, Cody followed as fast as he was able, hoping Pitbull knew what he was doing.
Rating: R
Summary: A helicopter crash during a California wildfire brings back uncomfortable memories for Cody, and sparks a desperate search.
I.
It was July again, and Central California was on fire.
For everyone living in the San Joaquin Valley, the summer moved indoors, windows shut tight against the hot, dry air, shirts held over mouths as people hurried from air-conditioned building to car and back again. Playgrounds and pools were deserted. Laundry smelled like smoke even when done indoors.
In San Benito County, life ground to a halt as families and neighbors huddled next to their televisions with bags packed, sneaking peeks at the angry orange sky, waiting for evacuation orders.
For General Douglas "Pitbull" Johnson, however, the fire was useful. A forest fire this big, 13,000 acres gone already, meant Army involvement: troops on the ground and in the air, keeping the peace, handing out supplies, getting fire crews in place and out again. Evacuating homes, digging fire lines, keeping the damn tree-hugging condor-preservation people from getting themselves all killed.
A lot like war but with Mother Nature firing all the bullets.
This morning, however, Pitbull would have greatly preferred a return to combat. Staff meetings accomplished nothing but the scheduling of more meetings. And wars were not won in meetings.
Wars were also not won on Army coffee. Taking another sip, Pitbull grimaced. 0500-hour meetings meant bad news, worse news even than a forest fire eating through large portions of Central California. The young corporal assisting Field Lieutenant General Jackson handed out stapled dispatches. Pitbull took one look and the coffee turned to ash in his mouth.
Aw hell. Any loss was like a punch in the gut, one more thing that kept him up at night with Bonanza reruns and bourbon, but there was something even harder about peacetime losses. They made no damn sense.
Pitbull read through the briefing. A Sikorsky 61-N, carrying two crew, four firefighters and badly needed fireline supplies had gone down approximately three hours ago somewhere in the wilderness surrounding Pinnacles National Monument, just outside Soledad. Just after takeoff, the on-board diagnostics system had alerted the base of "an unscheduled rapid loss of altitude". A crash.
As of 0430 hours, both crew and at least one of the firefighters had still been alive, having radioed in a distress call.
Pitbull continued through the briefing mechanically, noting the number of agencies already scrambling to cover their asses like cockroaches in the light. Local emergency responders were trying to determine where best to start the recovery effort--damn it, "rescue", people, not "recovery"--but the Santa Ana winds were still roaring through the Valley, pushing the fire and preventing other birds from getting in the air. They'd all be on foot, and good luck to them, with 212,000 acres of mountainous wilderness to dig through.
Then Pitbull read the names of the personnel involved. His heart dropped, joining the ashes in his stomach. Taking a deep breath, he rose crisply, and General Jackson looked up over the top of his half-rims.
Pitbull saluted. "I'd like to take point on the rescue efforts for this one, General."
Jackson's gaze didn't falter. "Your request is duly noted, General, however we already have a man in place in the field."
"With all due respect, sir, I bring specific skills and experience to this mission."
The two men stared at each other, two fierce gazes locked in battle. The silence in the mission room was absolute.
"As you wish, Johnson," Jackson said finally, carefully retreating to the papers in front of him. "A transport's leaving at 06:15 for Soledad. Corporal Robinson will have the orders drawn up and waiting for you at your office at 06:10."
Pitbull saluted. He'd be hearing about this one for a while at poker, but this was a chip worth cashing in. He just wasn't looking forward to the phone call he had to make first.
---
Despite the fires raging inland, life in King Harbor remained a succession of barbecues, beer and babes.
They'd had a close call with the Contessa last night, having lured Angie and Amy on-board for grilled hot dogs and Coronas, and while Cody listened to Murray extol the virtues of short wave radio something or other, Amy (or maybe it was Angie, now he thought about it) had snuggled in close, angling her face up towards his for a kiss. Luckily, Mama Jo had come storming down the slip like clockwork. Giving her the combination to their padlock--for "security purposes"--had been one of Nick's best ideas.
This morning, safe from the bikinied menace, Cody had gotten up early to clean things that didn't need it. He whistled along with the transistor radio in the salon and watched Murray sip tentatively at his coffee.
"Hey Boz, I can make a fresh pot if that's too strong for you," Cody suggested.
"No no, Cody, this is, uh, this is..." He took another stab at drinking it. "This is great, really. I've really gotten a lot done with this coffee."
Cody stopped polishing a brass hurricane lamp. "Were you up all night again?"
Murray set the mug to one side with a small moue. "The good news is that the Roboz's temperature monitor module finally compiled, which is really boss considering how many fans I've been trying to pack in there to keep the readings within acceptable parameters during this heat wave and I think I might actually have figured out some way to--"
Cody collected the coffee mug from next to Murray and went into the galley to empty it. He couldn't get the hang of making coffee for only two people, especially when one of them wasn't Nick. The coffee always wound up too strong or there was just too much of it, neither of which were a problem when his partner was around.
Cody washed the whale mug out with a small smile. He remembered Nick giving them to him when he first got the Riptide. He'd gotten them at the dollar store as a joke, but now the two of them never drank out of anything else. Cody turned the mug over in his hands and sighed. Six days. Six days off flying helitack for that damn forest fire. Trust Nick to be unable to turn down the chance to do the right thing.
Six days too long, Cody thought, returning to the salon.
"--and really from there it's just a hop, skip and a jump--mathematically speaking, of course--to write some code that would allow the Roboz to self-monitor for temperature, and then I'm sure that code could be used as the basis for more advanced self-monitoring routines, like motion-detection or electrical conductivity or--ooh!--"
Cody picked up the pot and turned for the stairs, intending to pour out the rest.
The radio crackled behind them, a newscaster's voice cutting off the gentle surf music. "We interrupt our programming to bring you an update on the San Joaquin fire. Early this morning the Santa Ana winds changed direction, moving now northwest across San Benito County. Authorities say that while firefighters did appear to have the upper hand on the blaze last night, the early morning winds have created a situation where the fire again appears to be out of control."
"Say Cody, that fire sure is--"
Cody held up a warning hand, staring worriedly at the radio.
"But our top story this morning," the newscaster continued, "is that a Sikorsky 61-N helicopter, part of the fire-control efforts, has crashed this morning in the Salinas Valley wilderness, near Pinnacles National Monument. While the weather is currently making aerial survey impossible, rescue teams are purportedly on the ground, searching for survivors."
All Cody heard was Sikorsky. The type of helicopter that had crashed. His heart turned to ice in his chest.
Just then the phone rang. Cody and Murray looked at one another, neither of them moving. The phone continued to ring. "Cody, Nick's a great pilot, it's just a coincidence," Murray said.
The phone stopped ringing. The two of them let out the breaths they'd been holding. Cody had started back down the steps when the phone started ringing again. He froze.
Murray sidled over to the phone with a backwards glance at Cody. "Riptide Detective Agency."
"Oh. Good morning, General....Who?...Oh you mean Cody?...just a second." Murray held a hand over the speaker and turned to his partner. Cody had gone pale under his tan. "Cody?" Murray asked.
Cody put his hands on his hips and dropped his head. Taking a deep breath, he held his hand out for the phone. "Sir."
Murray stood awkwardly next to his friend, arms crossed tight against his chest.
Cody closed his eyes. No. Please God, no. He said: "Are you sure?" After a brief pause he asked, "When was the last time you heard from them?" He listened to Pitbull outlining the situation, where he thought they were, how confident his plan was to get them out, the words nearly drowned out by the fierce pounding of blood in his ears. He reached out to steady himself against the table, and noticed Murray's arms tighten across his chest. "I'm going," he said into the phone, summoning a tone of authority against his former CO. "I'm going with you to find them." Him, his brain silently amended. I'm going to find him and bring him home and the entire US military can hang if they think-- Noises from the phone interrupted his train of thought.
Mercifully, Pitbull didn't argue, just told him he needed to get his ass to the Point Mugu airfield, where he could catch a chopper to the emergency base camp near Soledad. Murray began poking him in the chest, one skinny finger urgently prodding. "Tell him I'll bring--"
Cody turned away from Murray's jabbing. "Pitbull," he said softly, "this isn't like last time, is it? This isn't like..." Dong Nai. Say it, his brain taunted. Say the name of that hellhole you nearly lost him in over there. The other crash.
He barely registered Pitbull's answer before hanging up.
"Cody? Cody, what's going on?"
Cody was already halfway down the stairs before he heard Murray calling after him. He hurried into the stateroom and dug his green duffel bag out of the closet, throwing in whatever clothes lay around him.
He stopped short, Nick's red polo shirt in his hand. He hadn't even noticed which clothes were his and which his partner's. Well it's the Army, he decided. If memory serves, they provide everything you need, right? They just want bodies on the ground...bodies... Cody squeezed his eyes shut and dropped onto Nick's bunk. He forced the memories back, back into the dark, locked place where they usually lay in wait. He didn't have time to come apart right now. Nick needed him. Nick needed rescuing, and that was what he'd focus on.
Cody pushed himself up off the bunk and dropped the duffel bag. He'd show up with the clothes on his back and let everything else sort itself out. Nothing outranked getting Nick back. Cody picked up the photo he kept above his bunk, Nick and him grinning mid-tour, goofy with relief at getting some downtime, arms slung around each other's shoulders. Cody stared at the image of their younger selves.
Take anything else. Take me. Take the boat. Just let him be okay.
He didn't realize he'd shattered the glass until he heard Murray's hurried feet on the stairs.
II.
The trip from King Harbor to Point Mugu usually took just over an hour, but they made it in 35 minutes.
Cody had initially fought Murray coming with him but his partner quietly loaded boxes of electronics in the back of the Jimmy as Cody listed all the reasons he needed to stay behind. One hand on the passenger door, Murray had said simply, "Cody? I outrank you."
And that was that.
Now, strapped into the hold of their ride to Soledad, Cody was glad Murray had insisted. It didn't hurt any less with Nick still in danger, still apart from him, but Cody appreciated the gesture. Murray was determined to contribute any way he could, just like always.
And if you found yourself in a situation where you had to disobey direct orders in order to do the right thing, it never hurt to have a real live colonel on your side.
Cody looked around him. The two of them were strapped in next to three other guys, big Army grunts, packed into the hold with boxes of supplies, the noise from the rotor making any conversation impossible. He felt vaguely guilty that he had no idea what type of helicopter they were riding in.
Hang on, buddy. I'm coming.
---
Soledad was usually notable only for its prison, but now with the fire and the Army and the crash, the usually sleepy Central Californian town was awash in traffic and media, boots and camouflage.
Cody barely paid it any attention, focused instead on loading Murray's array of gear onto the bus that would take them to the SAR basecamp, that would take them closer to Nick.
He changed into the standard Army uniform for maneuvers: camo pants and a dirt-brown tshirt, and nearly didn't recognize Murray in his coordinating getup. Out here they were just two more foot soldiers, no longer PI's, no longer civilians, and not even remotely two friends on a mission to save the best friend either of them had ever had.
The sun was high in the sky by the time the bus got underway, heat waves shimmering off the two-lane blacktop. The interior of the bus was like an oven. Arid scrubland passed by at an excruciating rate as they wound slowly up the curved road to the entrance to the park. The brutal Santa Ana winds came rushing up the valley at intervals, throwing tumbleweeds across the grasslands, whipping up dust devils along the shoulder of the road.
Cody sat staring straight ahead, taking in nothing of the journey. Most of the time he was able to keep his in-country memories in a locked box deep in the places he never let himself go. He'd gotten to the point where even watching films of the war didn't faze him; pictures of grunts just like he and Nick had been, slogging around in the undergrowth, guns at the ready; Hueys carrying them away when they'd been bloodied by the goddamn jungle; nothing got into the box.
And nothing got out. But now, it was like the lid had been blown right off.
Jesus. Dong Nai. Neither of them had ever mentioned it again, Cody wasn't even sure he could say the name out loud and he was damn sure he'd never heard it from Nick. At least not while he was awake.
Nick was an amazing pilot. Cody knew this like he knew water was wet and the sky blue. But he also knew Nick had never forgiven himself for failing--just once--to pull off the impossible, under the worst circumstances imaginable. You couldn't let it go, he thought. Damn it, buddy, you did the best you could. You got them down as best you could in a place where safe was just a bad joke. You couldn't have saved the others.
"Cody, did you say something?" Murray put a hand on his arm and Cody jumped.
"It's nothing, Murray. Really. I'm fine." Cody lowered his head, staring at the pebbled green naughahyde seat between his legs.
Murray squeezed his arm. "I know you are. And I know Nick is too. He crashes all the time!"
The men sitting close by stirred, whispering.
Murray stammered. "What I mean is, he's a great pilot. This is what he's best at. We'll find him."
Cody was grateful for the contact, for Murray's unwavering belief. He mustered up a smile and laid a hand over his friend's. "Thanks, Boz."
The bus slowed to allow a rancher to run his animals across the road and Cody clenched his jaw in frustration, even as Murray pointed out the uniqueness of the breed, their suitability for the rugged chaparral environment. Cody listened half-heartedly as his friend fell in love with a herd of cows.
Murray doesn't know about Dong Nai, Cody realized.
Finally, the bus got back underway with a shudder, resuming its climb to the park entrance.
---
The Visitor's Center lobby, already filled with informative maps, dioramas, brochures and stuffed condors, was now also home to the search and rescue efforts. Which largely consisted of a number of folding tables and chairs, more maps, two electric tureens full of coffee and about 40 Army personnel, most of whom had just arrived on the bus. Cody held the door open for Murray with one foot, his arms full of electronics. "Boz, what is all this stuff, anyway?"
"I think from now on that should be 'Colonel Bozinsky' to you, shouldn't it?" Murray caught Cody's glare and giggled. "I'm joking! I'm joking! But the look on your face, Cody, that was, uh, that was priceless. Oh! We need a space for my system!"
Murray seized on a nearby table, clearing away an open logbook and a map, quickly becoming entangled in the latter. A snub-nosed soldier in desert camouflage came to his rescue with an audible sigh. "Thank you, yes, if you could just, yes, um, perhaps it folds back that way? Oh great! Thank you so much, uh--Captain Peterson. You've really been a big help."
Cody gingerly set his armful of gear on the table. "Seriously Murray, Nick's just up in the mountains somewhere, not on the moon. What do you need all this stuff for?"
"Well, you remember that day in Sycamore Canyon? When you guys were helping me test the receiver? You still had your arm in the sling, remember?"
Cody nodded. He'd been an ass that day, too stubborn to take care of himself, afraid that Nick would think him weak for favoring the gunshot wound in his arm. Memories of that day flooded back to him: climbing up the rocky trail, taking a bad fall, Nick's arms around him almost immediately, leading him back to safety, holding him and getting him home in one piece. Cody fought his way back to the present. The memory of Nick's arms right now was more than he could bear. Jabbing his fists fiercely in the pockets of his Army-issue camo pants, Cody asked, "What's that got to do with right now?"
"The thing is, the test that day was a success. I mean, Nick's radio failed, and then you hurt your arm again, that wasn't good, no," Murray said, ignoring Cody's glare. "But the experiment itself was great! The data I got while both radios were working turned out perfect--well, nearly perfect--but I've given this system the ol' Bozinsky tuneup between now and then and--" Murray paused for breath, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "See, the way it works, the receiver sends a signal up to a satellite, kind of calling out 'Hey! Here I am!' And the satellite sends a signal to the base camp receiver, letting it know, based on how long it took for the receiver's message to get there, where it estimates the receiver's location to be. From there it's just a matter of simple math, and--"
"Wait. Are you saying that because of all the lights I pushed, that thing can tell us where Nick is?"
"Well....no," Murray said.
"Then why'd we lug all this stuff up here?"
"Because this stuff will be able to pinpoint Nick's location as soon as the first rescuer spots him. Each rescue team will have a receiver, and as soon as they find him, they'll activate the receiver, and then, no matter what the weather or how far out they are, we'll be able to get a rescue helicopter there as soon as possible. I call it my GBS: the Global Bozitioning System."
Cody smiled. "That's really great, Murray. Good thinking."
Cody surveyed the room. He recognized no one except Pitbull. Nick and Cody's former commanding officer stood at the heart of a knot of people surrounding one of the coffee machines. He looked older than Cody remembered, more lined and weathered. A pair of pale, nervous-looking park rangers stood uneasily behind him. Cody could imagine what their morning must have been like when Pitbull commandeered the Visitor's Center. Before Cody had a chance to talk to him, though, the general took charge of the new arrivals with a sharp clap of his hands.
"All right, listen up. Don't get too comfortable here, ladies, you're all about to head out and do an honest day's work tramping around in the mountains and finding that chopper. We've already got a group out there, but the faster we find these guys, the better shape we'll all be in." Pitbull paused, eyeing the roomful of personnel. An expression of tenderness appeared on his face. "Men, these are our guys, and they're coming home with us. Pay attention, follow the rules, don't fuck up. First wiseacre to jeopardize this operation gets a size 12 up the ass. Am I clear?"
There was an assortment of nods and murmured assents.
Pitbull glared. "Am. I. Clear?"
"YES, SIR!"
Cody didn't realize he'd snapped to attention until mid-salute. He slid a glance at Murray. Apparently colonels weren't immune to The Voice any more than foot-soldiers were.
"At ease, soldiers. I'm turning it over to Matt Williams, here. He's head of San Benito Search and Rescue and he knows these mountains better than you boys know your mama's teats. You will treat his instructions as if they came from God Himself. Now, Mr Williams?"
The SAR leader was tall and muscular, dressed as if he'd only just returned from hiking a few minutes ago. He had short red hair, freckles and a gold hoop earring in one lobe. "Thanks, ah, Pitbull," he said.
The general gave him a thumbs up as he went to lean against one of the exposed wood beams. Williams took a deep breath. "So here's the drill. We're searching for a helicopter that crashed approximately 10 hours ago, somewhere in these mountains. The radio beacon on board has so far failed to provide a signal, so we're flying blind, locationwise." Williams kept going, seemingly oblivious of the ghastly pun. "We're going to be sending you out to start along the Pinnacles park's established trails, but in a number of cases we're going to be asking you to search outside the park's boundaries, making sure we cover the maximum amount of ground possible given the number of available bodies."
Cody shivered despite the heat.
"If you find the crash location, radio back in to the command center here, and stay with the victims. Those of you with medical training should practice your ABCs, but those of you without, do not attempt to provide assistance. Stay where you are until qualified personnel reach you. Am I understood?" He looked around the room.
"Now, here's how we're going to tackle this problem." Williams walked over to a topographic map tacked up on the wall. "Based on calculations using departure, flight time, wind speed and all that other good stuff, the premise is that these guys went down somewhere between McCabe Canyon here in the north--" He indicated a red pushpin at the top of the map. "--the Rocks Canyon area of Horse Valley here in the east, Divide Canyon in the Southwest, and here." Williams indicated the other red pushpins. "This unnamed area out here past Shirttail Gulch, maybe another good five or six miles. All told, our search area today is roughly 30 square miles."
A few people exhaled in amazement. Someone whistled through their teeth.
Williams smiled. "Lighten up, you guys. The Galina Mountains cover 247,000 acres of this valley. Compared to that, we should be running across our target in no time at all." He turned back to the map. "Anyway, plan is, we're sending folks out in a clockwise spiral. The first teams headed out up here, along the South Wilderness Trail, heading for Rocks Canyon. The second wave followed the same trail, but headed farther south, tacking due west here, where the South Wilderness Trail breaks off and heads for the Divide. You all will be taking a similar approach, following South Wilderness but breaking off at intervals, heading increasingly farther west. Any questions?"
Several hands were raised. Williams pointed to a huge mountain of a guy, standing wide-footed with his arms across his chest. "How long you suppose we'll be out there?"
Williams nodded. "Good question. We're sending you out with provisions, lights and gear to be out for at least six hours. At the end of that time, you'll need to return here, check in, and get a few hours of rest. We'll have the tents up before sundown. Under no circumstances should you decide to rest on the trail or anywhere out in the wilderness. This is an area that is notable for its wild boar population. If you see a boar, do not approach it, do not attempt to capture or antagonize it. They have tusks and hooves, and can bite through a man's arm."
Murray gasped. "Oh my. That doesn't sound good."
Cody put a hand on Murray's shoulder and grinned. "Don't worry, I'm sure they don't eat colonels."
A wave of laughter swept through the lobby.
"Okay men, here's the nitty-gritty for this assignment." Pitbull stepped forward. "You'll go out in pairs. Most of you will be keeping to the trails, scoping out the general lay of the land. Keep an eye out for debris. Metal fragments. Burn marks. Human debris."
Cody swallowed hard.
"Those of you with mountain rescue experience will be spending some quality time on the rocks, getting up to the peaks, getting a macro-level view of the landscape."
Williams nodded his agreement, chin in hand.
Pitbull continued. "Each team will be carrying the standard out-pack equipment, along with an experimental locating receiver. You see evidence of the crash, anything concrete--secure the area and punch that button as if your lives depended on it. Yours...or someone else's." He deftly slid on a pair of bifocals and began reading pairs of name from the logbook on the table.
"Allen, Peterson. You're heading out towards Cherry Canyon." Pitbull handed them a folded topo map. "Follow the marked route, out and back. Keep your eyes open."
Cody unfolded the map, noting the highlighted route. The cadet who had helped Murray with his equipment nodded at Cody, taking the map out of his hands. Pitbull continued listing names, moving on to the climbing teams.
Watching Peterson examine their route, Cody remembered a night on the Riptide, after they'd had a close call in the Mimi. That afternoon, midflight over open water, Mimi's pistons had given up the ghost and the whole damn engine had taken a powder, leaving Nick to gyro down, his gyroscope and damn good piloting the only thing standing between them and the deep blue Pacific Ocean. They'd beached, rough but intact, and that evening Nick had explained the maneuver.
"When you lose power--for whatever reason--you've got to get down in one piece, the quicker the better. Keep the main rotor parallel to the horizon and man, those blades won't let you down. They just keep on going. S'like magic." He'd taken a long swig of beer as they'd watched stars crawling up out of the ocean. "All you've gotta do is keep it level. Of course, it helps to get down as fast as possible. Better high small spaces than lower open ones. Shorten the fall."
High small spaces.
In this terrain, Nick would be looking for a peak, Cody realized. Searching on the ground wouldn't do either of them any good.
I have to find him. I have to get up to where he'd be.
Pitbull stepped in front of him, solid and silent. He slapped a hand on Cody's shoulder and squeezed. "Go get 'em, tiger."
Cody ducked his head and took a deep breath, hand on the doorknob, gearing up for the trek ahead.
III.
The heat outside was astounding and hit him like a clenched fist. It felt like all the moisture in Cody's body was sucked away in a great rush as a chorus of cicadas sang their approval. These mountains, so like their cousins down south in many other ways, here spoke of great suffering: the suffering of thousands of years of unrelenting sun, turning all the grass brown and dry before it had a chance to draw breath.
No wonder the whole damn state's on fire.
Cody ran a hand through sweat-soaked hair, pushing it back off his forehead, looking around the parking lot. The bus that had brought them here was gone, presumably off for the next wave of searchers. A few civilian vehicles baked here and there on the black asphalt, but for the most part, the lot was empty. Two camouflaged jeeps were parked outside the Visitor's Center, and an impossibly young dark-haired cadet was sorting shiny metal gear next to one of them.
Cody had tried rock climbing enough times to be passingly familiar with that gear: tear-shaped carabiners, stringy metal stoppers, toothy cams, ribbony harnesses. All of them painted Army-issue flat metal black. The cadet sorted the gear with a frown, threading gear on slings for easy transport across the hilly terrain.
"Don't forget your receiver, okay Cody?"
He turned. It was so hot there were beads of sweat on the inside of Murray's glasses. He handed Cody a flat black plastic object with a red button. The case was held together with duct tape. Cody turned it over in his hands. "What happened? Is it still in the testing phase? Thing's gotta work, Murray. We can't use any experimental stuff right now. It has to be the real deal."
Murray's expression softened. "I made a few modifications since the last time we used it, but I didn't have time to find a bigger case. It'll work, Cody, swear it will."
Cody clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Hey listen, Murray." The other rescuers spilled out of the building behind them and Cody pulled Murray away from the crowd. "I need a favor."
"Anything, Cody. Just name it, you know that."
"I've gotta get on one of the climbing teams."
Murray stared at him, puzzled. "But General Pitbull gave you your orders. You're on the South Wilderness trail with Peterson."
Cody grabbed his arm. "No, I'm going up one of the peaks. That's where Nick would have landed."
Murray looked nonplussed. "Cody, even if Nick could have controlled the landing to that extent, how will you know which peak he's on?"
Cody sensed other eyes on them and pulled Murray farther from the main group. "Boz, you've gotta trust me on this," he said. "This is the only way I can find Nick, okay? It's just..." He took a deep breath. "I know this sounds weird but...I know I can find him. I just have to get up high enough, maybe I could see smoke or..."
Murray grabbed Cody's arms. "Cody, I know you're worried about Nick. We both are. But this is the US military. They want him back just as bad as you do."
Cody looked at him.
"Okay okay," Murray conceded. "But they're doing the best they can. And with these receivers, as soon as anybody finds anything, we'll know right away. Cody--"
"Boz, I know what I'm doing, alright?" Cody took a deep breath, the hot air burning him from the inside out. Despite the heat, the sky had an overcast, hazy feel to it, the air thick and greasy.
"Allen! Hey!"
Cody spun around to find himself face-to-face with Peterson, the young captain who'd helped Murray wrestle a map earlier. Peterson held himself lightly on the balls of his feet, survival pack on, hat in place and regulation boots secured with double knots.
"You got someplace else to be, Allen?"
Cody bit back a sharp retort and, with a last look at Murray, he followed Peterson over to the pile of gear assembled in the parking lot. Swinging the pack over one shoulder with a grunt, Cody was surprised to see Peterson already heading for the trailhead with swift, sure strides, arms pumping. Well, at least Pitbull didn't stick me with a slowpoke, he thought.
Peterson turned, and Cody was momentarily taken aback. Anger was written large across the young soldier's face. "What are you hanging about for, Lieutenant? Let's head out! Now!" The other rescuers momentarily fell silent, looking from Peterson to Cody and back again, unsure as to the protocol. A Hispanic soldier put a hand on Cody's shoulder, offering mute assistance, but Cody shrugged it off with a quiet smile of thanks, and crossed to his search partner with long, easy strides.
At least I know he'll be able to keep up.
---
The South Wilderness Trail led up, straight up, cutting a lighter brown swathe through the darker brown of the chaparral, and in a few minutes the two of them had left the relative shade of the oak stands behind, doggedly marching up between volcanic boulders and under the full sun. They both wore regulation-issue hats that did little to protect them, but Cody barely noticed the heat or the sun, or the rugged beauty of their surroundings. He'd marched through hell before with Nick at his side, and he'd fight through worse to get him back.
Cody kept his eyes moving as they marched. He noticed none of the shrubs, the poppies, the rocks and weeds. His brain sorted automatically, looking for the telltale signs of a crash: smoke, scorched earth, glittering shards of glass or metal. A helicopter.
He kept walking, following Peterson.
Cody thought he should take comfort from the fact no one was shooting at them, and was unsurprised when the thought did nothing to ease the hard, bitter knot in his stomach. Come on, buddy, talk to me. Where are you? Back in-country, the two of them had known each others' steps like their own heartbeats; they'd walked close enough to touch, which they did until it became automatic. A brush of fingertips against hip, the weight of a hand on the other's arm, asking questions it cost too much to speak.
As Cody wiped a sweaty hand across his sweating brow, accomplishing nothing, he realized that after they'd come home, they'd continued to move that way, hands and fingers and hips and feet. Checking in. Funny, he'd never noticed it here until he tried to follow someone else. Cody's eyes went to Peterson automatically, noting how comfortable he appeared pulling himself ably to the top of a boulder next to the path, squinting across the valley. This guy was thorough.
"Nothing yet, Allen. Let's pick up the pace and push on. It's gonna be dark soon."
Cody scanned the surroundings mechanically, all his resources devoted to pattern-matching. Things that should be there: scrubby, tortured manzanita trees, limbs writhing across the arid grasslands, a stand of thick, gray-green pines nestled against the rock, and the rolling, even burnt yellow of the grass itself, covering everything that wasn't their trail.
Even the slitherquick movement of a lizard through the dry grass next to the path registered only as a blink on his consciousness, a flicker that Cody's brain quickly dismissed. Nothing that didn't pertain to the mission stuck in his brain. In a way, it was kind of relaxing. It helped dampen the roar of pain he felt with each step.
You keep on fucking being alive, Nick Ryder. I'm coming. I've got you. I will find you out here.
They walked for hours in the stifling heat, silent and brooding.
Cody couldn't keep pace with the younger soldier, despite the raw twang of his nerves. Peterson's energy was amazing. He nearly jogged up each hill, and after climbing to the highest point at the top and making a lightning quick survey, he popped off and usually slid down the trail in his haste to cover ground. Cody mentally thanked Pitbull once again. Whatever lit his fire, this guy was definitely no slouch.
Stopping for a water break to one side of the trail, Cody breathed deeply, forcing the air deep, willing it to smooth out the cramp in his side. They were moving fast alright, but unfortunately the sun was moving faster, sliding behind the mountains with an unholy speed, dying the valley shades of apricot and plum, and yet illogically doing nothing to cut the heat. He screwed the top back on his canteen as his radio squawked to life. "Base to Allen, come in Allen, over."
As Cody watched, Peterson's head disappeared along with the rest of him over the next crest of trail. He pulled the handset from his belt. "Allen to Base, copy. Over."
"Hey Cody! Isn't this boss? The receivers totally work! Around mountains! This is so great!"
After a second, Murray added: "Uh, over."
Cody grinned and shook his head. "Yeah, Colonel, your invention's doing the trick all right. Any news from the other teams? Over." He began walking, slower now, following the path Peterson had taken, leaning into the hillside.
"That's a negative, Cody." Murray paused. "I'm sorry, I know---"
The transmission broke off in a burst of static, which Cody thought was just as well, given he had a fair idea what Murray might have said next, over open military airwaves. He squinted around the clearing, watching the shadows falling on the gently waving grass. None of it was a helicopter crash. None of it was Nick. "Nah, us neither, Colonel. But we're only a quarter of the way down the trail. Over."
"Cody, repeat please. Your transmission was cut off. Please repeat transmission. Over."
Cody did as he was told, only to be greeted with what might have been the closest he'd ever heard Murray Bozinsky come to a swearword. He refrained from reminding Boz to end the transmission with "over".
"Cody....handset...be losing...I knew I should have.....but...."
Murray's message was interrupted by more static as Cody crested the hill, Peterson barely visible in the distance. Cody put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, hoping to delay his partner enough to cover some of the ground between them. "Murray, you're breaking up. What's going on with the radios? Over." As Cody took his thumb off the transmit button, he noticed a small yellow light blinking rhythmically on the back of the handset, and he figured it out immediately. "Colonel, it looks like the mountains aren't the problem with your new invention, but the battery packs are. I think we're losing power here."
Cody shrugged a shoulder up to wipe his face. After a few seconds he hit the transmit button again. "Over."
As he stood at the top of the hill, Cody watched Peterson jog back towards his position. The cadet looked dismayed. This guy might be long on stamina, but Cody couldn't remember the last time he'd met a guy with such a short fuse. The handset crackled again, and Murray's voice came through in snatches. "Batteries seem.....as much.....Cody.......base......nightfall.......to base.....night......return......falling.....to base.....to base....boars! So Cody....." The transmission finally dwindled in volume before ceasing entirely.
Cody grinned. "Colonel, I've got next to no power here. if that was an order to return to base, repeat the word 'Mimi'. If not, repeat--" Cody thought. "If not, repeat 'Roboz'." He held the handset at his side.
After a few seconds, he dimly heard the name of Nick's big pink rustbucket come intermittently over the airwaves, until the transmission died for good with a quiet hiss, like a match dropped in water. He holstered the useless handset and went to meet Peterson coming up the path.
"What's the news, Allen? Anybody find them yet? Anyone left alive?"
Though the words shot through his chest with a force like thunder, Cody kept his voice even. "Our radio's dead, and night's coming on, so they want us to return to Base. Something about boars."
Peterson shook his head. "Fucking boars. I can handle a goddamn boar like it was a kindergartner at nap time."
Cody looked at him curiously. "I'm game to keep going if you are. Boars or no, my partner's out there. I've gotta get him back."
It was Peterson's turn to look askance. "Your partner was on the helicopter?"
Cody looked away. "Yeah, we served together in 'Nam. I figure it's the least I owe him, some of the shit he got me through."
Peterson nodded vigorously, sweat standing out on his upper lip. "Too right, man. We soldiers gotta stick together." He pounded Cody on the shoulder.
"Hey, you okay, Peterson? You're not looking so hot, buddy. You drink enough water?"
Peterson sneered. "Who are you, Allen, my mama?" After a couple seconds he laughed, head thrown back, mouth wide. "Just joshin' ya, man, just joshin' ya. No seriously, I feel great. Just anxious about the mission, you know? We gotta find them!"
Cody nodded slowly. "The mission, right. So uh," Cody looked around, as if there was anyone within three miles that could hear them, "Look, boars or not, I'm game to keep going if you are. I've gotta find my partner. I don't want him out here alone tonight." And possibly hurt. Or dying.
Peterson grinned. "You know, I like you, Allen. I really do. Yeah, that's exactly what I wanna--"
The handset on Peterson's belt sprang to life, startling them both. "Allen! Peterson! You get your asses back here on the double unless you want me to come out there and court-martial you both permanently with my fist. Is that clear? Over!"
They looked at each other. Around them the shadows had grown longer, the mountains taking on gray and purple hues. "You two better not be thinking of staying out there! I've got one hell of a rescue mess on my hands already, and if you two add yourselves to the casualty list, it's going to take that much longer to find that helicopter. Get moving! Over!"
Cody swallowed the lump in his throat. As much as he hated it, he knew Pitbull was right. He'd hate for one minute of the rescue's focus to be taken off Nick. And he had no doubt Pitbull would make good on his threat. He wouldn't let either of them be left behind. He locked eyes with Peterson. Around them, the sounds of the mountain night grew stronger, the thrum of cicadas giving way to frogs, crickets, and all the big predators this region of California was known for. Finally, the two of them shrugged. Cody looked down the trail in anguish, his heart shot through with doubt.
"Don't make me come out there in the middle of the night and beat the two of you idiots senseless with one of those goddamn boars! Get back to Base! That's a goddamn order, Allen! Over!"
Peterson shrugged his pack down onto the trail. He unzipped it and pulled out the standard-issue helmet-like flashlight, strapping it on and tightening it firmly into place. Resignedly, Cody pulled off his own pack and retrieved a similar model, along with a portion of barlike rations. He pulled the headlamp on and ripped into the bar, feeling his hungry stomach clench instinctively. The bar turned to sawdust in his mouth, and tasted similar. Still, he offered it to Peterson.
"Naw man, food's just gonna slow me down. Better do like the old man says, huh? The faster we're back, the faster we can rest and get back out here!" With a weird half-smile nearly like a grimace, Peterson began his half-walk, half-jog back down the trail the way they'd come. As Cody watched, he was nearly swallowed by the near-darkness. Tossing the rest of the bar into the underbrush, Cody followed as fast as he was able, hoping Pitbull knew what he was doing.
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Date: 2012-12-31 09:05 pm (UTC)