Chapter 8

 Jim Nitz pulled the CAP truck to a stop on the shoulder of a dirt road running by the south side of Kramer and got out.  The other CAP search vehicles rolled up behind him.  He looked up and down the dark road.  They had completely circled the town but there had been no sign of the beacon on the ground.  He was never hopeful that it would be an easy search from the lack of specific location info from Looking Glass, but was beginning to feel like he was looking for a needle in a haystack. 

He unfolded a map and put it on the warm hood of the truck.  They had drawn a red line of the planned flight path of the missing plane and were standing right on it, but the transceiver was completely silent.  It was frustrating.  They just weren’t here. 

Larry thudded by in his chopper just above he trees, shining his spotlight through their leafless forms as he passed slowly overhead.  Larry had flown an orbit around the entire area and had come up with nothing on his locator.  Jim picked up his Radio.

“Sheriff-1, be advised were going to get our bearings a second,” he said.  “No sign of them yet.”

Jim gazed up and back down the road, figuring out their next move.  The next town along the lost planes flight path was Hebron, about 35 miles due south west.  He decided to move that way and see if they could pick up anything.  Above them, the CAP plane circled.  It had been monitoring the beacon, but it was still very weak, meaning it could still be a ways off.  He called Larry.

“Sheriff-1, CAP-1.” He said “We’re going to move toward Hebron.  Can you move in that direction and see if you can get anything?”

“Roger, CAP-1.”  Larry replied.  “Give me a minute to get a vector.”

Larry adjusted the pitch of the rotor blades and gunned the engine of the chopper.  He and Bruce quickly shot up to 4,500 feet above sea level.  As he gained altitude the siren-like squeal of the ELT signal began to creep into his headset.  It had been blocked by the terrain as he flew low, but now he had it.  It was just a matter of finding the right direction and if he did, it would get louder as he approached.  He adjusted his radio and raised Minneapolis tower.

            “Minneapolis, this is Lancaster County Sheriff Helicopter-1.  I am at 4,500 feet above Crete, Nebraska conducting a search, I am squawking 1200 and will ident…now,” he said pushing the identifier button on his transponder, tuned to 1200.  “Do you see me?”

            A few seconds passed then a voice came back.

            “Roger, Sheriff-1,” came the reply from Minneapolis as he appeared as a blip on their radar.  “We have you.”

“Roger, Minneapolis, can you give me a vector to Hebron?”  Larry asked.  “We’re trying to locate an ELT out there somewhere.”

“Roger Sheriff-1,” the voice said.  “Stand by.”

A few moments passed, then the reply:

“Sherrif-1, fly to magnetic bearing two-three-five.  Squawk 4342”  Minneapolis replied.  “That’ll put you right there.”

“Thank you much, Minneapolis,” Larry said back, adjusting his transponder to the code he received so the radar would identify his blip as him.  He pulled the stick and moved the helicopter toward the bearing until his compass read 235 degrees.  Then he called the CAP search plane.

“CAP Search, Sheriff-1, I am flying on heading Two-three-five, do you have a signal?”

“Roger that, Sheriff-1,” came the reply from the CAP plane that orbited above him somewhere in the dark.  The little Cessna was still picking up the weak signal, but still couldn’t tell where it was coming from either, although the pilot was beginning to suspect it was in the direction of Hebron, too.  “Go ahead and travel in that direction and I’ll see if I can get a fix on you.  I am at five-thousand, right above Kramer.”

Larry began to fly to the bearing he had gotten from Minneapolis.  In the CAP plane the pilot leveled his wings and brought the plane to a straight and level flight.  He was listening intently to the beacon coming weakly from his headset, as he watched the lights of the small helicopter began to head away from him to the southwest.  The downed plane was out there somewhere.  If he could get to a place that put the helicopter between him and the crash, the signal would be blocked, and he could extrapolate a bearing right to it.

Suddenly the signal went dead, just for a moment, and then popped up again.  Larry had flown through the beam!

Larry looked at his gauges.  He was becoming more and more aware of his slowly sinking fuel indicator.  This would have to wrap up soon, or he’d have to cut off to refuel.  He flew and waited for a signal from CAP.  He was getting ready to make sure they were still there when the radio crackled.

            “Sheriff-1, hold your position right there!!” came the cry from the CAP pilot.  Larry eased back the yolk and brought the chopper to a dead hover.  The CAP plane banked sharply to come around and fly the opposite direction.  As he passed the path of the helicopter, the signal died again.  The CAP pilot quickly turned 90 degrees, flying away from Larry.  The signal stayed silent.  The CAP pilot did a quick back azimuth calculation.  A moment later the radio crackled again.

            “Sheriff-1, you are blocking my signal to the beacon.  That puts you directly between me and them.  Continue on heading two-three-five.  I’ll continue to circle behind you and let you know if you get off course.”

            “Roger that!” Larry responded, excitedly. 

Now he had them!  He turned the chopper to the right heading again and pulled the throttle to full open slinging the chopper full tilt toward the signal, gradually descending as he went.  In his head set, the whoop of the ELT signal continued to grow louder and louder.    

            Jim listened intently to the radio transmissions from the two aircraft.  They were indeed in the wrong place.  He began to plot a route to move further southwest, toward Thayer County.  He and Jon ran their fingers along the black lines on the map, finding the roads to take them there.  He radioed to Larry.

            “CAP Search this is Cap 1,” he said.  “See if you can lock down that signal and we will start our move that way.  Do you read, Larry?”

            “Roger,” Larry replied.  “Let me see if I can get you an escort.” 

Larry flipped frequencies to the State Police band and was greeted by a patrol officer cruising a nearby highway.  Larry quickly explained the situation and the officer promised to meet the CAP team at a nearby intersection to escort them full speed to Hebron.  

            The CAP teams jumped back in their vehicles and roared south toward the officer.  They’d find them now.

            Dad hunched on the side of the highway impatiently waiting for the next vehicle which was now coming over the hill.  He wasn’t as excited now, and was, in fact, getting pretty fed up with being run off of the road.  He considered picking up a big rock to throw at them if they tried to go past too, or making some other means to make them stop, but thought better of it.  He was in no condition to get in a fight. 

As the lights crested the hill, he could see this one wasn’t a large truck but a passenger car.  It approached down the road speeding towards him as he began to wave and shout again.  He thought with building anxiety that it appeared it was going to go by, too, but then to his surprise it swerved to the side of the road and slowed, grinding to a stop on the rocky shoulder 20 or so feet away from him.  He stood for a moment squinting into the bright headlights washing over him, temporarily blinding his one eye that could blurrily see, and then began to lurch toward the driver side.

            Ricky Arnold and David McLaughlin sat stunned in the car.  They had barely caught a glimpse of the man on the side of the road when they both knew something was very wrong.  It caused Ricky to slam on the brakes and pull off before him without a second thought.  They could immediately see that the man wasn’t dressed for the cold at all.  His face appeared to be disfigured and twisted, like he was wearing some kind of mask.

            “What the hell?” David muttered as he pulled up to the shambling figure.  The man stood there for a few uncomfortable seconds, washed bright in the beams of the headlights, then began to stumble toward them.  For a moment, they were both a little nervous about this.

            Dad reached the drivers door and looked inside.  Slowly the window rolled down and dad saw David looking up at him.

            “Man…” David said. “Are you alright?”

            Dad hunched down, and leaned on the door, trying to catch his breath, then lifted his head to look at David and Ricky inside the car.  They could see that it was no mask on his face.  He really looked like that, and that was messed up.  He was covered in blood.  Dad took a few deep breaths, trying to find some words.  He felt awkward all of a sudden and out of place before these two.  Finally he spoke.

            “I crashed and airplane…” he said.  “Can you give me a hand?”