A Time for Patriots

“I got one,” Leo said as he snapped pictures. He saw the grisly sight of a body half protruding from the right side of the windshield, bent backward along the right side of the fuselage at a very unnatural angle. “I see one victim sticking out through the windshield.” John called it in.

* * *

“Base, this is Hasty, we found a section of wing,” Fitzgerald radioed a few minutes later. They passed by the crumpled piece of aluminum without stopping. “Marking the position. We’re ten minutes out. We copy the report of a victim.”

“Okay, guys, you heard it,” David Bellville said, stopping to address his cadets and let them rest. Each member of the team was carrying his Seventy-Two Hour pack; Brad and Ron were carrying the canvas bag with the medical equipment, while Ralph and Michael were carrying the water and camping equipment. They all immediately doused their heads with water while David spoke: “We have at least one victim. Fid and I will check the scene first for survivors. If there are any, we’ll have you come in, and you’ll have to do your best to work around the victims. If there are no survivors, we’ll photograph the scene, then talk about what we see until the rescue helicopter and sheriff arrive. No one has to go near the victims if you don’t want to—”

“But doing so will teach you a lot and help you do your jobs in the future,” Fitzgerald cut in. “We’re not going to force you, but do a gut check right now and stay part of the team.” Bellville looked at Fitzgerald, silently telling him to shut up, but he said nothing. Fitzgerald noticed the expression. “They’re level twos, and McLanahan is a level one — they’re expected to go on in and stay as a team.” Again, Bellville said nothing. He actually agreed with Fitzgerald, but Civil Air Patrol regulations never required anyone to go near a crash scene with victims, especially cadets. After a few minutes, they continued on toward the circling Cessna in the distance.

Soon enough they arrived at the scene. Brad was surprised at how clean it looked — no postimpact fire, no billowing smoke, no big crater in the ground — just a white-and-blue piece of battered aluminum lying in the desert, as if someone had dragged it out there and discarded it rather than its falling from the sky. But soon they could also make out the person sticking through the windscreen.

“Oh, man …” Ralph whispered.

“Looks like it shot through the windshield, then got caught in the slipstream and bent all the way backward, still stuck in the glass,” Ron said. “Wicked. Looks like a chick, too — all her clothes ripped off.”

“Button it, Ron,” Brad said quietly after he noticed Ralph’s wide eyes and face almost drained of color. “Make yourself useful and take pictures of the scene.” When Ron left, he turned to Ralph. “You can wait back here, Ralph.”

“N-no, I want to help,” the younger cadet said. “I’ll get the medic gear ready just in case.”

“Good idea,” Brad said. “Keep hydrated and listen up on the radios.”

“Yes, sir.”

Brad grabbed his camera and approached the aircraft. It was indeed a woman protruding from the windscreen, he noticed, but she was so badly mangled by the crash and so completely covered with dirt and sand that she was hardly recognizable as human.

“McLanahan…” Bellville started.

“I’m okay, sir,” Brad said. “Spivey is taking pictures, and Markham is back in the van getting the medical kit out.”

Bellville nodded, giving silent approval to stay.

“Good on you, McLanahan,” Fitzgerald said. “It’s part of the job.” He continued his careful inspection of the aircraft. “I see the pilot underneath,” he said. “Looks like he’s been crushed.” He bent down for a closer look. “I’ve seen victims look worse than this who were still alive, but he has no head that I can see.”

Brad decided to stay on the right side of the fuselage — he wanted to participate, he told himself, but only if the victim needed help, which obviously that one did not — but in reality, he admitted finally, he just didn’t want to see a crushed human body. The dead woman sticking out through the windscreen was pretty horrible too, but he wasn’t afraid — he just felt sorry for her.

“Can you see an ELT shutoff switch in there, Brad?” Bellville asked.

“Stand by, sir.” Brad strained to look behind the front passenger seat, which had left its rails, and scan the instrument panel. Most newer planes had a manual-activation and shutoff switch for the emergency-locator transmitter. “I can’t see one, sir, but the left side of the panel is pretty busted up.” He apprehensively looked in the rear of the plane, expecting to see yet another horrific sight… but he didn’t see what he expected. “Sir?”

“Yeah, Brad?”

“The third soul is missing.”

“What?” Fitzgerald asked.

“The third passenger is missing, sir.”

Fitzgerald looked at Bellville, and Bellville turned to Brad. Brad immediately understood his silent command. “Sergeant Markham!” he shouted.

“Sir?” Markham replied immediately.