A Time for Patriots

“Son, my ranch is over fourteen thousand square miles across five Nevada counties,” Andorsen said. “I operate a thousand crop circles, fifty thousand head of cattle, eleven mines, and two thousand workers. I go eighteen hours a day, every day; I’m in the air at least three hours a day. I don’t have time to watch TV.” He looked concerned. “But I’ve got offices in Reno, and they should’ve alerted me. Same as that plane crash on my land — someone should have noticed that, and noticed you flying around out here. I’m gonna look into that too.” He saw John and Leo two-man carrying Jeremy toward the helicopter, followed closely by Ralph. “That the survivor? Damn lucky kid. Well, let’s get rolling.”

“I’ll stay with Jeremy until next of kin or child protective services show up,” Bellville said. “Fid, you head back to base with the cadets.”

“Can I stay with Jeremy, sir?” Ralph asked.

“ ’Fraid not, Ralph,” Bellville said. Ralph looked dejected, but nodded assent. Bellville turned to Andorsen and explained, “Cadet Markham here led the ground-search team right to the survivor, and he’s been the survivor’s medical attendant since moment one.”

“So why can’t he ride along?” Andosen asked. “I got plenty of room.”

“Because we need at least two adults together with at least two cadets, unless it’s an emergency,” Bellville explained. “Liability and child protection regulations.” Andorsen nodded, saying nothing but wearing a puzzled expression on his face. “Patrick, do you need John or Leo to fly the 182 back to Battle Mountain? I need one of them with Fid and the cadets.”

“I’ll take Leo and give him some stick time,” Patrick said. He saw Brad’s anxious expression, wanting some stick time too or at least a ride in the plane, but now was not the time.

“Then John will go back to base with Fid and the cadets in the van,” Bellville said. Patrick nodded. “I’ll call it all in.”

It was a half-hour flight to Battle Mountain, where Andorsen himself landed on a nearly empty parking lot next to Battle Mountain’s small hospital. He had already radioed ahead to report the situation, and a nurse and paramedic were waiting outside with a gurney. They carefully placed Jeremy on the gurney and strapped him in while Bellville got out. He shook hands with Patrick and Leo. “See you back at base, guys,” he said.

“Roger that,” Patrick said. He and Leo stayed by the helicopter while Andorsen went into the hospital with the nurse and paramedic. More hospital staff members came to the door to greet him. “Popular guy,” Patrick observed.

“Notice the name of the hospital?” Leo asked. Patrick searched and found the sign that read ANDERS G. ANDORSEN MEMORIAL HOSPITAL. “Judah’s grandfather,” Leo explained before Patrick could ask. “The Andorsens have their names on most of the public buildings all over north-central Nevada.”

“I’ve worked out here for years and never noticed,” Patrick said.

“Just like most folks out here had no idea what the military was doing out on the base for decades,” Leo said. “Even now, it’s the same: the greatest wartime general since Norman Schwarzkopf is living right here in our little town, and no one has a clue.” He looked at Patrick’s neutral, faraway expression and smiled. “I was referring to you, sir.”

“Thank you, Leo,” Patrick said. “I’m not feeling very heroic these days.”

Andorsen came out a few minutes later and climbed into the JetRanger, with Patrick and Leo scrambling to catch up with him. “Looks like the poor kid’s being taken good care of,” he said. “Let me give you a tour of the ranch, and then get some breakfast back at the house.”

“Aren’t all aircraft still grounded, sir?” Leo asked.

“I’m sure that don’t apply to local flights below one thousand feet aboveground, Trooper,” Andorsen said. “No interceptors will be flying around the boonies — they’ll be setting up over the big cities. We’ll be okay.” He started the engine and lifted off. “That Bellville guy really seems to have his shit together,” Andorsen remarked. “That Fitzgerald guy too. I’m gonna have to pay a visit to you guys someday and see what you’re all about.”

“That would be great, sir,” Patrick said.

“Please, call me Judah, General.”

“Only if you call me Patrick.”

“I’d be honored to, Patrick,” Andorsen said.

“Thank you.” Patrick noticed they were flying right toward Joint Air Base Battle Mountain, whose controlled airspace extended ten miles in all directions from the surface to five thousand feet above the surface. “Better be careful of the Class-C airspace, Judah,” Patrick said. “Do you have the approach control or tower frequency handy?”

“The guys in the tower know my chopper,” Andorsen said, “and as long as I stay away from the approach paths, we’re good.”